Tribal Trouble

New Zealand Police Sergeant Louis Ott is dealing with the fourth stabbing in an hour. It’s a wet Saturday night in south Auckland, and Ott and constable Brent Stevenson are questioning a shivering youth as blood congeals in a gash to his nose. “I fell over,” says the boy, blinking in the light of Ott’s torch. “C’mon, bro,” says Ott. “How would you feel if someone got badly stabbed tonight, and died, by the same people that did this?” The teenager, who is mysteriously wearing a clean shirt turned inside out, admits that the wound, from a box cutter, was received in a fight with members of the Junior Horse Pack gang. The name is new to the police but “that’s not surprising,” says police inspector Jason Hewett. “They can form overnight and be gone the next day. Some of them we hear of once and never hear of again.”

Ott would be happy never to hear of any of them again. “I get completely sick of them,” he says. The youth gang members, sporting baseball hats, baggy trousers and colored scarves, are armed and hyper-aggressive, and speak in a rapper idiom straight out of south-central Los Angeles. Ott mimics their delivery: “I’d like to say to these kids, ‘Hey, wake up, bro. You are not going to bust a cap in my mo’fo’ ass. You live in a suburban street in Counties Manukau.'”

With its remote location, small population and favorable international reputation, New Zealand is regarded as a pleasant and peaceful place to live. Yet this island nation harbors a small, unique and brutal street-gang culture that has defied authorities for more than 30 years and now appears to be nurturing a new, more violent mutation. Last month, the country’s older ethnic gangs were involved in a series of tit-for-tat drive-by shootings that left a toddler dead; meanwhile the country’s juvenile gangs have emerged as a new force in crime, linked to eight killings and many hundreds of other violent crimes in the past two years. Sully Paea is a youth worker who tries to reform young gang members. “We’ve already lost one generation to the gangs,” he says. “The generation we are working with now—the 14-, 15- and 16-year-olds—some of them are hard-core, already gone. These kids are cold.”

New Zealand has been home to ethnically based street gangs since the mid 1960s. The two largest—the Mongrel Mob and Black Power—between them boast about 2,600 members, gathered in 145 “chapters” that center on “pads,” or clubhouses. Members trace the names to specific incidents. The Mongrel Mob got theirs the day a magistrate described them as a “pack of mongrels.” Black Power say their gang was formed in response to a series of rapes committed by the Mongrel Mob. When the attackers demanded, “Who are you to challenge us?” the opposing men called back, “We are Black Power.” The feud between the two continues today.

Both gangs have a predominantly Maori membership and conduct initiation ceremonies in which potential members or “prospects” must prove themselves. The tests range from the revolting—drinking urine from a gumboot is one of the milder ordeals described by former members—to the criminal, such as committing a specific crime, being bashed by the whole gang or serving time in jail. Prospects are often required to serve a stint as the gang’s errand boy.

Once admitted, members are “patched,” with the right to flaunt the gang’s emblem on clothes or in fearsome tattoos on faces, shoulders and bodies. Sociologist Jarrod Gilbert says the latter practice grew out of a combination of jailhouse tattoos and traditional Maori moko. “They would be the only street gangs in the world to tattoo a patch onto their face,” he says. Members tell of one Mongrel Mob initiate whose enthusiasm so exceeded his intelligence that he used a mirror while tattooing the gang’s name across his own face—backward.

The gangs hold on to traditions that originated from a desire to shock the society that had shunned them. Mongrel Mobsters bark like dogs to show appreciation or enthusiasm, and use their hands to make the silhouette of a bulldog, the totem in the middle of their patch. Some wear German World War II helmets and use the expression Sieg Heil! as a mark of approval. Black Power members, who claim closer ties to Maori culture, always wear blue, salute each other with a clenched fist and like to cry “Yo, f___in’ yo!”Researchers believe the gangs were formed when Maori people moved into cities, away from their village culture. “Groups of young men founded gangs as a replacement for the loss of family and purpose that traditional life provided,” says sociologist Gilbert, who is writing a Ph.D. thesis on the gangs. Members are quick to agree. “I identified with the people in the gang, who were good people when I joined. I enjoyed the prestige that came with it,” says Te Kotahi, 37, who has been a member of Black Power in Rotorua, about 320 km southeast of Auckland, for 17 years. “But I didn’t have to go out and commit three rapes and a burglary to become patched.” Te Kotahi won’t give his full name for fear it might jeopardize his career at work, but claims the traditions of Black Power are part of his Maori culture. “People are naturally tribal,” he says. He has done time for burglary but says most of his gang’s members have jobs and families.

While ordinary folk rarely encounter gang members or fall victim to gang violence, the gangs’ reputation for brutality is well deserved. Many New Zealanders remember dreadful crimes that prompted tougher laws. In 1988, a 19-year-old woman was kidnapped and taken to a Mongrel Mob convention in Auckland, where she was raped by at least 15 men, beaten, urinated on, covered in petrol and photographed over a nine-hour period before she escaped. In 1996, police witness Christopher Crean, who had testified against Black Power members who’d taken part in a violent brawl, was murdered in front of his wife and children when a shotgun was fired through his front door as he answered it. These and similar crimes prompted governments to pass laws allowing witnesses to testify in secret and giving police greater power to seize the proceeds of crime.

Today the gangs are involved in the production and sale of methamphetamine, and deal in marijuana through outlets known as tinny houses, named for the tinfoil tubes the drug is sold in. Regular police busts give a clue to the scale of gang involvement in the drugs trade. In 2005, Operation Soprano resulted in the conviction of the head of the Auckland-based Black Power Sindi chapter, Abraham Wharewaka, whose marijuana dealing operation netted $NZ35,000 a week. A rival Mongrel Mob chapter in the South Island became so bold as to sell cannabis from their clubhouse, posting a sign at the door: “$25 or f___ off”.

In May, the gangs set a new low in their violent history when tit-for-tat drive-by shootings between the Mongrel Mob and Black Power claimed the life of a toddler in Wanganui, about 330 km south of Auckland. Jhia Te Tua, 2, was asleep on a couch in her Black Power father’s home when a bullet was fired into the house, killing her instantly. Police have charged 12 men over her murder and arrested several more in connection with the ongoing violence between the local chapters.

Jhia’s killing has reignited debate in New Zealand about whether enough has been done to deal with gangs. The government announced a review of existing laws, while justice officials have been put to work on an organized anti-gang strategy. The New Zealand Police Union has called for a Royal Commission to inquire into the gangs, and recommended a national, rather than divisional, strategy to control them. Police Minister Annette King, however, believes the incident was an anomaly—a death at a time when gangs are becoming less violent. “The killing of innocent people by gangs is very rare,” she says. “Looking back over time, the only other [such case involving] an innocent bystander was in Christchurch in the 1990s. But having said that, violence between gang members probably does go on every day, and it’s unreported.”

Sociologist Gilbert, who has spent many hours with gang members and inside clubhouses for his research, is another who thinks gang violence is overstated. “An objective observer would see that the pattern of gang violence was at its peak in the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s and is on the decline now,” he says.

The mayor of Wanganui sees it very differently. “That’s bullshit,” says Michael Laws, who wants gangs banned from public areas. “You might have the older ones doing less crime, but they are still recruiting. And you get the younger ones who need to do crime to become patched. We’ve got all the police statistics for our area. The number of gang-on-gang incidents tripled in 2006, and would be even worse in 2007.”

Gang members will have to get their tattoos removed if they want to remain in Wanganui, if Laws has his way: “You get a laser treatment or go somewhere else.” Chester Burrows, the National Party’s law and order spokesman and member for Wanganui, has indicated that he’ll try to introduce a bill to Parliament that will give local councils the right to ban gangs and gang regalia in cities. King thinks it unlikely the bill will succeed. She favors U.K.-style anti-social behavior orders to curb gang activity.

Gang veterans say the gangs are aging, with members mellowing as they become parents themselves. Lifetime Black Power member Dennis O’Reilly, who has also worked as a senior bureaucrat for the New Zealand government, says the shooting into a gang member’s house was highly unusual, and that attacks on family go against tradition. Claude Kahika, president of the Mongrel Mob’s foundation Hastings chapter, admits “sporadic gang violence flares up now and again. But because of the network of older guys, a dialogue and communication is there now.” He says he has been negotiating with the gangs in Wanganui, and claims to exercise a benign influence on gang affairs, despite having once been told, he claims, that police thought he was the largest amphetamines dealer in New Zealand. “I was so hurt by that,” he says, “not just me, but for my family and my larger family. But I can honestly tell you that crime has dropped 80% in Hastings since I became president.”

Kahika politely serves coffee in the Hastings pad, a spartan-looking house down a cul-de-sac that is surrounded by a sturdy fence. “Most of our guys have got jobs here,” he says. “Only about two or three are in jail.” It’s mid-morning and younger members in red tracksuits are waking up and tidying the pad. The cupboards are missing their doors, but the kitchen is spotless.

While debate continues about how to deal with the problems posed by older gangs, it’s the new wave that is costing the government sleep. Police statistics suggest that about 70 teenage gangs, with more than 1,000 members, are prowling the depressed suburbs of southern Auckland. Inspired by violent rap, hip-hop music and L.A. gang culture, they seem destined either to swell the ranks of the more established ethnic or motorcycle gangs, or, perhaps more alarmingly, to create their own equally ruthless organizations. Dubbed the ABC gangs by police, who shorten their two- or three-word names to acronyms, they have been linked to at least eight deaths in the last two years, not to mention numerous serious assaults, car theft, drug dealing, burglary and extortion. Victims have been run over and dragged under a van, beaten with baseball bats, or stabbed. The cases are before the courts.

Last year the government committed $NZ10 million over four years for youth workers and services for high-risk youth. Police set up six-man “youth action teams” who speed to outbreaks of gang violence and arrest troublemakers. The aim is to get the youngsters charged with breaches of the peace with bail conditions that will take them off the streets at night. Says Inspector Jason Hewett, the policing development manager: “The goal is for zero tolerance.” He is confident authorities are already having some success. “I’m being careful here—and homicides could happen in 30 minutes—but there have been no murders since November and that’s a significant drop in violence.” Nevertheless, he says, “there have been eight murders in this district in relation to youth gangs, and that’s too many. Another one is probably likely—and entirely unnecessary and unwanted.”

That the murder rate is so low, say many observers, is not necessarily because the police are in control but because pistols are so hard to come by in New Zealand. “It’s a blessing,” says sociologist Gilbert. “These kids are going into battle armed with knives and anything they can pick up off the street. If they could pick up a handgun it would be different.”

An evening with one of the youth action teams last month shows that police still have much to do to bring the streets to heel. Gangs of teenage boys are skirmishing over a 1-sq.-km patch of turf in south Auckland. In Electra Place, officers Ott and Stevenson find a bare-chested youth holding a blood-soaked cloth to a 3-cm slash above one eye; his friend is screaming about a gang attack. The victim says the knife wielder has run off into a house a few doors down the street. “The guy with the knife could still be inside,” says Stevenson as the officers wait for backup. Dogs are barking behind the house as though the offenders are fleeing over the back fence. The officers strap on pistols, and with a dog handler as backup, approach the house. A large, angry Polynesian man clad in a singlet and long baggy trousers opens the door. “Hey, you need a warrant,” he yells as the officers walk into his house. “Not for this,” says another officer. Another man, tall and thin, emerges and glares at the police, swearing, then starts head-butting the support pole of the garage.

Stevenson is heavily outweighed and at least a foot shorter than both men, but stands his ground. “You’ve got to calm down,” he shouts at the man at least five times. Later he says: “You can’t back down on these guys. It just gets worse. I would have pepper-sprayed the big guy.” Dealing with the incident has taken five patrol cars and a lock-up van; the effort brings calm to the street, but the violence continues to spread across the suburb like a brush fire. Within minutes, reports of three more stabbings in the same district blare out of the police radios.

There are sinister signs that this teenage mayhem can turn swiftly into serious organized crime. One police intelligence report reveals how the Killer Beez (KBZ) have graduated to the big league. KBZ was formed in 2003, when a long-established motorcycle gang, the Tribesmen, were recruiting local teenagers to help deal drugs from tinny houses. Now KBZ’s 50-plus members range in age from 15 to 25, wear yellow and black gang regalia, often featuring the word “Mojo” (the name of a deceased gang member) or their motto “F___ the world” on their clothes. The gang pay regular visits to Mojo’s grave, where, says the report, “they drink and make a nuisance of themselves.”

Crime statistics reveal that in one four-month period in 2005, KBZ were responsible for almost 10% of crimes for the Counties Manukau East. One member has committed more than 100 burglaries. Two youth gangs known as Troublesome and the Bud Smoking Thugs are feeder gangs to The Killer Beez. Then there are the charmingly named “Motherf_____ Ruthless C___s,” or MRCs. “The MRCs are known to the people in the area as bullies who use standover tactics to get money. They are also big on threatening people, snatching handbags and doing burglaries,” says the intelligence report.

Youth worker Paea has spent 25 years working with troubled children in the Manukau area. “When I’m here to observe my school [where he is a counselor] there’s a Killer Bee standing at the corner shop selling drugs, and a lot of kids see them stoned,” he says. The youths show no respect even to older gangs: several months earlier Paea tried to break up a territorial dispute between the Killer Beez and the local Black Power chapter. “It was like something out of the movies,” he says. “I heard they were all down at this park and when I got there it sounded like a football match.” More than 100 youths had been summoned by phone text messages. “They were already fighting. I rang the police and the police didn’t turn up. There was one police officer, and he was 100 m away from the fight.” Three weeks later the violence flared again. This time, Paea says, “the police turned up with the riot squad, the guns and the whole works.”

Paea says gangs are everywhere. “Every street corner has one,” he says. “A lot of kids we deal with have no direction, no activities, nothing whatsoever. You’ve got some who have grown up without a dad—just a mum—and the only role model they’ve got is the older guys in the neighborhood who are gang connected. They are connected into the wrong environment, and it’s the same in school: they connect with the wrong child.”

Associate Professor Greg Newbold, a New Zealand criminologist, believes the situation is now beyond control: “They might manage to suppress it in one area temporarily, and it will just crop up again somewhere else. The problem is generated by the cultural milieu and the economic conditions in that area.” Newbold speaks with the authority of a man who has done jail time himself for drug dealing and written a book on crime in New Zealand. “This is their excitement. This is their entertainment. This is what they live for. They live for their patch, for their gang and for their neighborhood. They are living worthless, meaningless lives without a proper future.” Paea’s prognosis is equally bleak: “We are in a situation where the ambulance is parked at the bottom of the cliff.”