'I Had to Leave Or I'd Be Dead'

'I had to leave or I'd be dead'

Jobe (not his real name) was a member of an east London gang. Just turned 21, he is the second oldest boy in his family of two brothers, a sister, a stepbrother and stepsister. Between the ages of 13 and 17, everyday life for him was selling drugs, street robbery and hunting down enemies with knives and guns.

Then, three years ago, he witnessed the murder of his best friend and fled to Manchester to escape the killers. He realised that if he didn't run away, he would soon be dead, and still lives in fear of them tracking him down.

Selling drugs was his first job: deliveries of cannabis, but also cocaine, crack and other hard drugs, were arranged by phone using code words. The older gang members would supply the drugs and take a 20% cut of profits.
Once established in the gang, and known locally as a member, Jobe, though barely a teenager, had an income, protection and status. "People had more respect for me than they did before. I hadn't been beaten up for a very long time. I hadn't had anyone take the mick out of me for a very, very long time. I was in control. But I started to become more aggressive, my attitude changed and I wouldn't listen to anybody outside the gang. I was in trouble at school, suspended a few times. I'd take money off people in the street - even from old friends sometimes."
"People you have grown up with who aren't in gangs, their attitude towards you changes. My dad lost respect from his friends, who were amazed that I'd come from a good family and yet I was like this. They wouldn't allow me near them any more. I had friends who didn't want to know me any more. They know what you're doing, they know you're dangerous. You become like poison to people - they don't want to be seen with you. And I couldn't get any girlfriends: any female you're gonna make contact with, she has to be in a gang as well. You couldn't get a nice female, because of who you are. So you've really got to hang out with others in the gang. But I was in control, I was running things in my area, so it didn't really bother me."
"After the drugs, it becomes more about defending yourself and your area. That's when the killings come, with guns. I've been threatened with guns five, six, seven times, and stabbed in the ankle. "Someone comes into our area and sells drugs. Beats up one of our friends, or sleeps with one of our females. We don't like it, we'd go down to their area with guns, knives, everything - go prepared”.
"I was 16, coming up 17. I remember sitting in my bedroom. I did loads of crying, loads of thinking that day. He died for nothing; I lost someone very, very close to me. It was windy and the curtains were blowing. It came to me: I had to leave London or I'd be dead."
He says that after a while, normal codes of behaviour, morals, responsibilities and aspirations to join civil society just don't apply. Gang members are very quickly cut off from the wider community and its values.
"My dad was pretty young when he had us. He was a bit of a wild party man and used to drink a lot. He was trying to build up a business and wasn't around much, so we grew up with our stepmother. None of us got on with her - she was bossy, hit us a lot, and she turned my dad against us."
Jobe's older brother (by three years) was 12 when he joined a gang. He wasn't around much either, and over the next few years things got even tougher at home for Jobe. "I'd found out that my real mother, who I thought had moved away when my parents separated, had died when I was six, and I took that very badly. I was stubborn, wouldn't listen to anybody. I was out of the house a lot to get away from my stepmother. Other kids on the streets in rival gangs would beat me up because of my brother. Things were getting tough." So at the age of 13, he joined his brother in the gang.
In 1999, Jobe's best friend was shot dead in front of him. They were cornered on a street: Jobe ran and survived. "I came home and cried for two days." He cries as he recounts the events and is unable to talk for a while. "I didn't tell anybody at first, I was scared. I got my brother to tell my dad, I went to the police and my friend's family and told them what had happened. His mum had known me since I was young. He'd been my only friend in the area whose house I could go to and the parents would allow me in. Now she didn't like me no more, and she blamed me for his death at first. Later she realised it wasn't my fault: it wasn't meant to be him. I started getting words from people - 'Jobe, be careful, you're next, you're gonna die'."

The Guardian, Tuesday 10 September 2002 09.07 BST