Alexander The Great
I ain't gonna say this sh*t again
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Even when Kaos landed a job, there were complications getting there. Riding public transportation can make gang members easy targets for rivals.
But the alternatives are tough, too: Kaos had recently gotten a job with a company baking pastries for international flights, but he quit after three days because he wouldn’t be paid until after his second week, he said, and he didn’t have gas money to get to work. And in a neighborhood where people haggle over dollar bills, he did not have anyone to borrow money from.
As darkness fell, Kaos said he peeked out of the window and saw about 10 gang allies slipping on the Guy Fawkes masks.
A few minutes later, one knocked on his door, Kaos said. He and some of the younger gang members had tried to rob a man, he told Kaos. But the man pulled a pistol, shot one of them in the leg and ran off.
An ambulance carted away the wounded man. His friends lingered in the courtyard, laughing about the fiasco.
Inside, Kaos shook his head.
“I don’t know what they were thinking,” he said, injecting a curse word.
He later lamented, “It only takes one to push a crowd.”
Now there were fresh worries: The man they tried to rob could belong to a gang, meaning they may have incited a battle with an unknown clique, Kaos said. And if that guy wanted to retaliate, he had the element of surprise on his side because no one got a good look at his face.
A Red Hoodie on Enemy Turf
Retaliation is a universal worry of gang members. So it was in the rival Jaro City, which had been in a state of alert since the New Food shooting weeks earlier.
The clique worried that the war was about to flare again, said Antwine White, 24, a Gangster Disciple who is called Weedy. “You just get prepared for the worst,” he said. “They can walk over here. We can think it’s cool. They shoot.”
That defines day-to-day gang life in Chicago. The young men bound around with their chests out, but their heads are on constant swivels, eyeing everything around them.
It’s why the gang members here engage in their own sort of profiling: People with dreadlocks and hoodies, especially those they have never seen before, draw more scrutiny.
And so, weeks after the convenience store shooting, when peace seemed to have been restored, a passionate discussion about politics and revolution between Weedy and his gang allies broke up at the sight of an unfamiliar face: a man in a red hoodie.
“Steady walking back and forth on the corner, right here in front of Rothschild,” a fellow Gangster Disciple said, referring to a liquor store about 100 yards from where they were standing.
A couple of the Gangster Disciples hustled over to check him out. But Weedy hung back.
Here he was, caught in a middle ground of ambivalence. Am I in the gang or out? How can I leave when most of my friends are still in it? Or when I still need to rely on it to make a few dollars?
Weedy grew up on the block. His father was a prominent Gangster Disciple. His father’s friends would get a kick out of it whenever they reached for Weedy’s hand and he would mimic the gang handshake.Click to expand...
He relished the attention. But as he got older, he yearned for a deeper relationship with his father. There was no fatherly slap on the back or shoes promised to him for making the honor roll. His father, who Weedy said had a drinking problem, would arrange to pick him up from his mother’s house, but he would sit there until 2 a.m., waiting.
“Once I got immune to him lying, it was a wrap,” Weedy said. “My trust, that bond with him wasn’t there no more.”
So when he got into fights at school, when he needed information or wanted help solving problems, Weedy did not call his father. He turned to his friends on the block.
The streets became even more appealing after a popular Gangster Disciple, Jarvis Smith, 22, was killed 11 years ago, drawing everyone in the neighborhood closer.
Weedy started selling drugs and gambling. He wasn’t a gunman himself, he said, but he would put up money to buy guns.
All seemed well until June 2, 2014, when he was headed to his job at a sportswear store downtown.
Weedy would take the elevated train, but the closest stop was near rival turf, so he used one farther away in the other direction. As he walked toward the stop, he felt a shock pulse through his body. He fell.
On the ground, he said, he looked over his shoulder and saw a man firing a gun about 20 yards away. Weedy had been shot twice before, but those were relatively minor injuries. This was serious.
“I thought he was going to run up, stand over me,” Weedy said. “I thought it was over.”
His son was then only about six months old and it pained him, he said, to think the boy would grow up without a father. But the shooter never rushed up for the kill.
After that, Weedy started thinking differently, he said. He resolved to reconcile with his father. He would recommit to leading his son in a better direction. And he told his friends not to seek revenge.
“I’m covered in the blood of Jesus,” he told them.
But leaving gang life is not simple. For one, just because you say you’re out of the gang doesn’t mean your rivals see it that way.
On that afternoon, while his friends marched over to see if the man in the red hoodie was a threat, Weedy hung back. His allies would learn that the young man was, indeed, a rival’s relative. But he was not doing anything threatening, so they let it go.
Weedy leaned on a black iron gate, looking on from afar.
“Even if it was an opp, he can go to the store,” Weedy said, using the slang term for a rival. “We go to their store. What’s the problem? You got to play fair.”
He has not fully extricated himself from gang life, and may never do so. But here he was, no stranger himself to gunplay, questioning not just the scene playing out before him, but his own life.
It was a delicate dance, Weedy said. Approach an opp aggressively and he might shoot you. Or you’re the one with the gun. “He talk crazy, you shoot him,” he said.
“You go to jail, you get killed. It’s either/or. For what?”
Meanwhile someone like Chief Keef could have built 2 factories in the community to make his own brand of shoes while employing the community and having State wide support. But this is the difference between the educated and non. The "Build a plan, execute" and "We don't know what to do". Lost souls make a lost community, they keep waiting for a saviour but none of them are even thinking of being one. And the ones that can be, leave with the quickness because they know they are around lost souls not worth saving. Sad situation all around. Then they will turn around and be upset at the immigrants who run a business, but they had the 'stack' to do just that a month ago but blew it all on materialistic bullshyt like a fendi belt, lean, jordans and a night of fun to flex on IG. Meanwhile the immigrant business owner is wearing sweats to the shop and saving up to possibly have 2 or 3 more stores.Click to expand...
The blame game doesn't resolve, blaming is not a solution. We know who's fault it is, but I don't really care, that's past, now gears need to be in motion by the people (outside entities won't do shyt) to fix it.Whos fault is it that they arent educated?Click to expand...
Meanwhile someone like Chief Keef could have built 2 factories in the community to make his own brand of shoes while employing the community and having State wide support. But this is the difference between the educated and non. The "Build a plan, execute" and "We don't know what to do". Lost souls make a lost community, they keep waiting for a saviour but none of them are even thinking of being one. And the ones that can be, leave with the quickness because they know they are around lost souls not worth saving. Sad situation all around. Then they will turn around and be upset at the immigrants who run a business, but they had the 'stack' to do just that a month ago but blew it all on materialistic bullshyt like a fendi belt, lean, jordans and a night of fun to flex on IG. Meanwhile the immigrant business owner is wearing sweats to the shop and saving up to possibly have 2 or 3 more stores.Click to expand...
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