Sudhir Venkatesh - Gang Leader for a Day

“How does that work?”

“Well, we settle shit when it gets out of hand. Like the other day-Barry knifed somebody from a different gang because the other boy was hanging out near his building. Just for hanging out! So I called my friend Officer Reggie, and we let the two fight it out.”

“Fight it out? I thought you said you settled it.”

“We did. That’s how you settle shit sometimes. Let boys fight each other-no guns, no knives. Then you tell them, ‘Okay, you-all see that you can fight without killing each other?’ ”

Autry told me that the club played a broad peacekeeping role in the community. He and other staff members worked with school authorities, social workers, and police officers to informally mediate all kinds of problems, rather than ushering young men and women into the criminal-justice system. The police regularly brought shoplifters, vandals, and car thieves to the club, where Autry and the others would negotiate the return of stolen property as well as, perhaps, some kind of restitution.

I never saw any of these mediations in person. Autry just told me about them after the fact. It didn’t seem as if he were lying, but perhaps bragging a little. He told me that he even invited rival gang leaders to the club late at night to resolve their conflicts. My conversations with Autry were a bit like some of my conversations with J.T.: it was not always easy to independently verify their claims.

One busy morning Autry surprised me by asking if I wanted to come to a private meeting at the club later that day. He explained that a few neighborhood organizations were planning a midnight basketball league.

It would be open to all teenagers, but the real goal was to attract gang members. Local community leaders liked the idea of getting unruly teens to play basketball at the club instead of spending their nights on the street. For the young men, the price of admission was to sit through a motivational speech by a pastor or some other speaker before each game. In exchange, the teenagers would get free sneakers, T-shirts, and the chance to win a trophy.

Autry’s work would soon command wide attention, when the Clinton administration used the Chicago midnight basketball league as a model for a nationwide movement. In reality there was only anecdotal evidence that the leagues reduced teenage violence, but in a climate where few programs were successful on any level, policy makers were eager to showcase an uplifting idea like midnight basketball.

When I showed up at the club that afternoon, Autry was sitting at a table bearing coffee and doughnuts, a handmade sign behind him on the wall: MIDNIGHT BASKETBALL MEETING IN CONFERENCE ROOM.

“Welcome, Sudhir,” Autry said, beaming. “Everyone is inside.” He mentioned the names of several tenant leaders, pastors, a Nation of Islam official, an ex-police officer. The basketball league was turning into a big deal for Autry. It represented his entrée into the elite group of community leaders, whom Autry very much wanted to join.

“You sure they won’t mind if I sit in?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Autry said, shuffling some papers. “And the niggers won’t mind either.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Man, we got them all!” He rubbed his hands together excitedly.

“We got all the leaders-Disciples, Black Kings, MCs, Stones. Everyone is coming!”

“You didn’t tell me they’d be there,” I said meekly.

Autry could tell I was concerned. “Don’t worry. Just sit in the back and keep your mouth shut. I’ll say you’re with me. But help me with these first.” He handed me three sets of flyers that needed to be passed out to everyone. One of them was titled “Rules for Buy-In,” which specified the mandatory donation of each sponsoring “organization.” Each gang was expected to contribute five thousand dollars and field four teams of ten players. The money would be used to pay for the referees, uniforms, and the cost of keeping the gym open at night.

“You’re getting the gangs to pay for this?” I asked. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“What would you rather that they do with their money?”

“Good point,” I said. “But something doesn’t feel right about it.”

“I see.” Autry put down the flyers and pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket. “Two thousand niggers in this project making money by selling that poison, killing each other, killing everyone who buys it. We can’t do nothing about it. And now we tell them that if they want to be selling that shit, they have to give back. They have to step up. And you look at us funny? It’s them you should be asking these questions to.”

“I would if I knew them,” I said.

“Don’t lie to me, nigger.”

Autry knew I was on good terms with J.T., although I’d been cagey about the extent of our relationship. Many times he’d told me I needed to have the courage to ask J.T. more difficult questions about the gang, even if it would upset him. “At least you can ask one of these niggers the question,” he said. “And he’ll be here tonight.” Autry let out a loud laugh and went outside to smoke his cigarette.

Shit. It would be the first time I’d seen J.T. in several weeks. I was usually careful to ask his permission before attending any event involving gangs, both to show respect and because I needed a patron. Otherwise, as he always told me, my personal safety couldn’t be guaranteed.

I decided to wait outside the club to talk to J.T. when he arrived. Autry offered to wait with me. We stood on the sidewalk and watched the busy, noisy traffic along Federal Street. The club sat in the shadow of a project high-rise. You could hear people yelling from the sidewalk up to the open windows-there was no intercom system-and you could smell the smoke of marijuana and menthol cigarettes.

Before long, J.T. and the leaders of the other gangs began pulling up with their respective security entourages. The scene was straight out of a gangsta-rap video. Each vehicle-there were sports cars, fancy trucks, and one long, purple Lincoln Continental-was immaculate, rims sparkling from a fresh wash. They drove up in a line, as if in a funeral procession, parking across the street from the club. The first man out of each car was a bodyguard, even if the gang leader was the one who drove.

Autry crossed the street, as nonchalantly as his excitement allowed, to ensure them that the club was safe, neutral territory. They were all dressed similarly: new tracksuits, white sneakers, and plenty of gold on their wrists and around their necks. As they approached, each leader was trailed by one or two bodyguards, with another one or two staying behind with the cars. All the bodyguards wore sunglasses and baseball caps.

J.T. noticed me standing there and pushed his bodyguards aside. “You-all go in!” he shouted to the other gang leaders, “I’ll see you in a bit.” Then he turned to me. He shrugged his shoulders and glared, the universal signal for “What the fuck?”

Autry intervened before I could answer. “Hey, man,” he said, “no worries, he’s with me.”

“He’s with you?!” J.T. wasn’t smiling. “You know him?”

“Yeah, big boss man, today he’s with me.” Autry smiled, his front teeth glistening as he leaned over and hugged J.T.

“Oh, so he’s with you now,” J.T. repeated, shaking his head. He pulled out a cigarette, and Autry lit it for him.

“Sorry,” I said, “I haven’t seen you in a while. Autry and I just met, and he said I could come to this meeting. I should’ve told you.”

“Yeah, the brother didn’t mean nothing,” Autry said. “Not a big deal. No taping today, right, my brother?” Autry loved to walk into a room with me at the club and yell, “Sudhir is from the university, and he’ll be taping everything you say today!”