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GUNMAN BARES ALL - Says some cops protect criminals
GUNMAN BARES ALL - Says some cops protect criminals
published: Sunday | January 27, 2008
Daraine Luton, Sunday Gleaner Reporter
A repentant gunman with blood on his hands says corrupt policemen and politicians are helping to sustain violent crime in Jamaica.
From atop a two-storey building in one of Kingston's most desolate inner-city communities, Gunner (not his real name) calmly and candidly speaks of his life of crime and a desire to change.
Just 27 years old, he has a past that he is struggling to leave behind; but this is proving difficult because he was introduced to guns from as early as age eight.
"Is a big yard mi did grow up inna. Mi father neva deh bout, is just mi mother," Gunner relates.
"A whole heap a people did live inna di yard and nuff gun. From mi a dem age deh, mi a roll wid di big man dem, a step pon (commit) crime," he adds.
Like his community, Gunner is also trying to swim against the tide, but he seems to be drowning in despair.
His immediate environment is unkempt. All around him are decrepit buildings, separated by pools of murky water. The pothole-filled roads are filthy and the patches of darkness encircling the community are foreboding.
In Gunner's case, it seems, the ghetto makes the man.
BAPTISED IN THE CHURCH
His baptism into 'badness' might have been short-lived if church and school had not failed him.
Gunner was baptised in the Church at age 15, but he did not stay there for very long. Nor did he stay in school for very long, as violence forced him to flee two learning institutions. The streets were his saviour and this is where he earned his stripes as a brave and deadly warrior.
"The street is a tough place. Yuh affi brave and smart fi survive. When wi a step pon crime, wi step hard," states Gunner, in admitting to a life which includes shootings and robberies.
"One thing though, wi nuh do innocent murder," he says.
By innocent murder, Gunner means that persons not connected to a particular incident are not shot. While not giving a victim count, he says he has "been there and done that". Also, he cannot count the number of times he has been to jail or the number of crimes he has committed.
In over a decade of shootings and robberies, Gunner has never been shot in a confrontation. A bullet hit him once when he was cleaning a gun. Aside from being smart and brave, he says, alliance with corrupt cops has been an important avenue of safety for him and other 'shottas' (gunmen).
"No ends (turf) caan exist without di police help. Once yuh gi dem dem regular 30-pack ($30,000) or 50-pack or 100-pack, yuh ends criss (safe). If a curfew a go drop, dem tell yuh fi move or hide yuh things good ... but wi nuh really trust dem. Police wi tek yuh money and kill yuh same way," he declares.
As Gunner warms to the conversation that appear to purge his soul, he paints a damning picture of some top cops who collect money from criminals to free a colleague from jail or to turn a blind eye when they stumble upon a gun.
"Yuh can pay dem fi kill a bwoy fi yuh," says Gunner, the second in command in one of Kingston's deadliest gangs. But it is not just the police, he says, who contribute to the menacing presence of gunmen in communities and the nasty circle of violence. He points to politicians too.
"How yuh tink man get rifle and money more time?
"One ends (turf) right now have 15 rifles and a politician mek dem reach deh," Gunner says.
He hopes, though, that all this madness would end one day, but, in reality, things are only going to get worse.
"Maybe di hanging thing will work. A nuff bad man bawl like baby when wi go fi dem an dem si dem a go dead. And when man put di first one pon him, him wet himself up."
FORCED TO CHANGE
Gunner vows not to allow himself to get close to the hangman's noose. He says that the birth of his daughter and the presence of an ever-loving girlfriend have been forcing him to change.
"A dem mi a live fah now. My little daughter, mi love har so til. An mi woman, if a neva she mi would dead long time. A nuff time mi attempt fi go step pon crime an she lock up di door wid mi inna di house an mek mi know mi caan leave," he says.
Despite having endured the rough road of crime, Gunner says that the streets are just too diverse to come up with a prescription to solve crime. Young boys, he reasons, are more aggressive than ever and they have access to guns. He says they are eager to rob and kill, too, their goal being to be viewed as 'dads'.
"Is about getting ratings. Yuh get nuff money and di most girls and a dat de youtie dem a look pon, to. Every one a dem, nuh matter how young, waan step pon crime and dem nuh care who (is the victim)," Gunner says.
As he calmly takes a sip of Guinness stout, a commotion below drew our attention. Two young boys, hardly 17, were squaring off over ganja. One threatened he would gun down the other and his entire family, something which made Gunner shake his head.
"Yuh si, a di same thing mi a talk bout," he says, as the conversation ends.
published: Sunday | January 27, 2008
Daraine Luton, Sunday Gleaner Reporter
A repentant gunman with blood on his hands says corrupt policemen and politicians are helping to sustain violent crime in Jamaica.
From atop a two-storey building in one of Kingston's most desolate inner-city communities, Gunner (not his real name) calmly and candidly speaks of his life of crime and a desire to change.
Just 27 years old, he has a past that he is struggling to leave behind; but this is proving difficult because he was introduced to guns from as early as age eight.
"Is a big yard mi did grow up inna. Mi father neva deh bout, is just mi mother," Gunner relates.
"A whole heap a people did live inna di yard and nuff gun. From mi a dem age deh, mi a roll wid di big man dem, a step pon (commit) crime," he adds.
Like his community, Gunner is also trying to swim against the tide, but he seems to be drowning in despair.
His immediate environment is unkempt. All around him are decrepit buildings, separated by pools of murky water. The pothole-filled roads are filthy and the patches of darkness encircling the community are foreboding.
In Gunner's case, it seems, the ghetto makes the man.
BAPTISED IN THE CHURCH
His baptism into 'badness' might have been short-lived if church and school had not failed him.
Gunner was baptised in the Church at age 15, but he did not stay there for very long. Nor did he stay in school for very long, as violence forced him to flee two learning institutions. The streets were his saviour and this is where he earned his stripes as a brave and deadly warrior.
"The street is a tough place. Yuh affi brave and smart fi survive. When wi a step pon crime, wi step hard," states Gunner, in admitting to a life which includes shootings and robberies.
"One thing though, wi nuh do innocent murder," he says.
By innocent murder, Gunner means that persons not connected to a particular incident are not shot. While not giving a victim count, he says he has "been there and done that". Also, he cannot count the number of times he has been to jail or the number of crimes he has committed.
In over a decade of shootings and robberies, Gunner has never been shot in a confrontation. A bullet hit him once when he was cleaning a gun. Aside from being smart and brave, he says, alliance with corrupt cops has been an important avenue of safety for him and other 'shottas' (gunmen).
"No ends (turf) caan exist without di police help. Once yuh gi dem dem regular 30-pack ($30,000) or 50-pack or 100-pack, yuh ends criss (safe). If a curfew a go drop, dem tell yuh fi move or hide yuh things good ... but wi nuh really trust dem. Police wi tek yuh money and kill yuh same way," he declares.
As Gunner warms to the conversation that appear to purge his soul, he paints a damning picture of some top cops who collect money from criminals to free a colleague from jail or to turn a blind eye when they stumble upon a gun.
"Yuh can pay dem fi kill a bwoy fi yuh," says Gunner, the second in command in one of Kingston's deadliest gangs. But it is not just the police, he says, who contribute to the menacing presence of gunmen in communities and the nasty circle of violence. He points to politicians too.
"How yuh tink man get rifle and money more time?
"One ends (turf) right now have 15 rifles and a politician mek dem reach deh," Gunner says.
He hopes, though, that all this madness would end one day, but, in reality, things are only going to get worse.
"Maybe di hanging thing will work. A nuff bad man bawl like baby when wi go fi dem an dem si dem a go dead. And when man put di first one pon him, him wet himself up."
FORCED TO CHANGE
Gunner vows not to allow himself to get close to the hangman's noose. He says that the birth of his daughter and the presence of an ever-loving girlfriend have been forcing him to change.
"A dem mi a live fah now. My little daughter, mi love har so til. An mi woman, if a neva she mi would dead long time. A nuff time mi attempt fi go step pon crime an she lock up di door wid mi inna di house an mek mi know mi caan leave," he says.
Despite having endured the rough road of crime, Gunner says that the streets are just too diverse to come up with a prescription to solve crime. Young boys, he reasons, are more aggressive than ever and they have access to guns. He says they are eager to rob and kill, too, their goal being to be viewed as 'dads'.
"Is about getting ratings. Yuh get nuff money and di most girls and a dat de youtie dem a look pon, to. Every one a dem, nuh matter how young, waan step pon crime and dem nuh care who (is the victim)," Gunner says.
As he calmly takes a sip of Guinness stout, a commotion below drew our attention. Two young boys, hardly 17, were squaring off over ganja. One threatened he would gun down the other and his entire family, something which made Gunner shake his head.
"Yuh si, a di same thing mi a talk bout," he says, as the conversation ends.
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