"At least I'll be a martyr for a day or two." 

...continuation from Issue 07...

When the rules on tagging in Highland Park got put into place and we were forced to assimilate, I was 17-years-old and by that point, I'd already been in and out of the juvenile court system since I was 13. It was an easy decision to be jumped into the gang HighLand Park (HLP). Highland Park was all I knew. Getting jumped in is pretty common for a lot of gangs. What usually happens is when you prove yourself and they feel like you're worthy of being initiated, three to five gang members will assault you and you have to fight back until someone says stop, or whatever the rules are.

At an early age there was some pressure from my stepmother's family, who threatened to jump me into the gang Avenues, but I didn't want to. In fact, I despised them because of how her family would treat me. Her brother and nephews were a handful of 20-30 year olds that would often threaten me and kick my ass. I remember this one time I got in an argument with my stepmother and I said “fuck you” to her and refused to leave the house when she kicked me out. An hour later, there’s a knock on my door and when I opened it her brother pulls out a Beretta 9mm and says "What's up motherfucker?" pointing it at my face, threatening to kill me. My stepmother just stood there with her arms crossed, content with what was happening. That always stuck with me.

Some of my close friends from BSK got jumped into Avenues because they had family who were with them, but the majority of BSK decided to go with HLP. They allowed us to keep our subclick BSK, which was important to our crew. At the time, HLP was a small gang, so when BSK joined, the numbers doubled and we started gaining more territory and within 4 years HLP was solidified. BSK made it what it wasn't before; bigger, respectable and a force to be reckoned with. We put in the work and started reaping the benefits, which was street fame, and hood respect. The whole lifestyle was captivating- the money, drugs, girls, and everything that comes along with gang culture. The best part of it all was being able to hang out with my friends. My friends were, and many are still my family. I found somewhere I belonged and somewhere I felt loved and respected. They were risking their lives for me, just as I was for them. 

I remember at one point losing five of my closest friends within a 30-day period from a gang warfare retaliation, basically watching them die one by one. One night at 3 in the morning, my homie was asleep with his wife and our enemies kicked in their door and killed both of them. This was the shit that was happening.  As we see our friends dying, retaliation becomes our main goal. And that was our mentality, literally hunting for revenge and it didn't even matter if the person was involved with a specific murder, even if they were associated with that gang, you literally had a target on your back. That’s what we were taught at a young age, we were raised with the mentality to hate and that hate grew strong between your rivals. We’d commit these senseless acts over territory, drugs and these long-standing feuds that were passed down from generation to generation. 

I didn’t have any dreams. Each day I wasn’t sure if I was gonna get killed and I honestly didn't care. I just didn't give a fuck about risking my life in the streets. I felt invincible. I just felt more bitter the more I watched my friends die. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I didn’t understand the permanent damage it would cause. Our purpose was to live and die for the gang. I had nothing to live for, and thought that at least I'd be praised if I died in the streets. I'll be a martyr; hood fame, street fame. People would mourn me for at least a couple of days and that’s that. I didn’t care.

Just to give you an idea of my mentality at the time, I will leave you with this song I wrote when I first went to prison and was very active:

--

As time goes by, I smoke weed and try to stay high,

As enemies and homies die around me,

The streets are getting sick and deadly. 

In a way, I’m ready to go- 

But a small part of my soul is saying no.

We be on a gang bangin’ suicide death wish mission, 

Why do my enemies keep missin'? 

Am I supposed to do something more with my life? 

Then when I start doing good, I end up getting the end of a homies knife. 

People be all cool with you, 

But just like enemies,

Some friends breathe jealousy and envy.

But that’s the chance I’m willing to take in this shit, 

Hand on the strap, already cocked back and ready to spit- 

Hot slugs, 

At punk mother fuckers who think their thugs. 

Go ahead and test me-

Pure hate is the last thing you see. 

Now your girl and family are getting a call to identify your bloody body, 

Now your girl and kids got nobody.

But it’s part of the game,

Living a life searching for that street fame.