Gang War. Where are we now? The murders have stopped, but the gangs are still with us.

If you saw Leifel Jackson now you might be surprised.

For many, blue bandanas, drugs and guns are the only things that come to mind when they picture Jackson. But for a group of kids in North Little Rock, “Mr. Leifel” — complete with button-up shirt and a calming voice — is their teacher, friend, mentor and lifesaver.

Jackson’s story of transformation and redemption from being a top gang leader in the state to a positive role model for children brings a smile to Steve Nawojczyk’s face.

Back when he was Pulaski County’s coroner in the early ’90s, Nawojczyk was one of few reaching out to Jackson and other gang members. By roaming the streets and getting to know members of gangs such as the Highland Court Crew Bloods and the Hoover Folk, Nawojczyk became a gang expert.

After homicide rates soared and Little Rock was caught in the national spotlight as a crime-ridden city, Nawojczyk gained the coveted ear of city and state leaders. In 1993, he was appointed as an adviser to the Arkansas Attorney General’s Youth Gang Task Force and from there went on to advise former President Bill Clinton and other national figures. He is still involved today, serving as juvenile services coordinator for the city of North Little Rock.

But what Nawojczyk was reporting was grim, even startling to some city leaders who were far removed from the gang violence occurring in the city’s low-income neighborhoods. Gang leaders such as Jackson had taken over whole communities, and gang members were resorting to killing rival members. Pulaski County’s homicide rate soared, from 68 in 1990 to an alarming 99 in 1993. Most of those were murders of young black males, the result of a gang problem spiraling out of control.

That’s about the time HBO rolled into town — something city leaders wished had never happened but folks such as Nawojczyk and Rev. Hezekiah Stewart, executive director of Little Rock’s Watershed Project, say was a godsend. The HBO documentary, “Gang War: Bangin’ in Little Rock,” aired in 1994, about the same time that the New York Times did a front-page article stating that Little Rock’s homicide rate per capita equaled that of New York City and Los Angeles.

Following such negative publicity, the city came together, and homicide rates started to fall, from 94 in 1994 to 49 in 2000.

“There was lots of grumbling that [the documentary] wasn’t truly reflective of Little Rock,” Nawojczyk said. “But it was truly reflective of what was going on in the locations that it was filmed. These were neighborhoods that were under fire day in and day out.”

In fact, Nawojczyk says within an hour of picking up HBO producer Marc Levin from the airport, they were hearing gun shots. And the two were caught in an actual drive-by shooting that was a shocking part of the film. Jackson, who was part of the incidents, remembers both Nawojczyk and Levin were visibly shaken and concerned after it happened.

“It was just out of control,” Nawojczyk said. “HBO’s initial plan was to feature four different cities around the Midwest. When Marc came here, he said, ‘I don’t need to go anywhere else.’”

Forming Our Club

The HBO documentary triggered something in the community, and leaders such as Pulaski County Judge Buddy Villines and Little Rock Mayor Jim Dailey quickly set programs in place to combat the growing gang problems.

He resigned at the end of that year. 1994 was bad, in terms of murders just in Little Rock, 63; but it wasn't as bad as 1993, when the city set a record with 76.

It was decided that Pulaski County needed to focus on prevention. One of the largest and most effective programs created in 1991 was Our Club, an after-school program that targets at-risk youth ages 6-18 at 17 sites across the county. After the HBO documentary, more emphasis was placed on programs like Our Club, and the funding began to roll in.

Our Clubs are scattered across the county in some of the poorest neighborhoods where gang life is an easy alternative for many kids. Clubs such as Sherman Park in North Little Rock and Greater Friendship Baptist Church in Little Rock serve the most at-risk youth who are faced daily with poverty, drugs and little parent supervision.

“Each site is different; some are through municipalities, others are through nonprofits and faith-based organizations,” said Charles Mobley, director of juvenile services for Pulaski County. “We work with communities to design a specific site for them.”

Our Club has 600 kids enrolled in its after-school program. Academics are a large part of the programming, with kids getting one-on-one help with homework. The students also are exposed to cultural activities that they may have never experienced, such as ballet classes or a trip to the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis.

“Three to 7 p.m. has been called the most dangerous time of day because latchkey kids are unsupervised,” Mobley said. “This program is designed to target that.”

But for all the good it does, Our Club, like many nonprofits, is struggling financially. In the beginning, foundation grants poured in and kept the program afloat. Now, Mobley said, the program is finding it harder and harder to secure funding. The county provides some of the site buildings, but grant money has to pay for operations. Funding has come from the city of Little Rock for its six sites, the Arkansas Community Foundation and private companies such as Allstate Insurance.

“These programs are very worthwhile and needed because they are a deterrent to getting in trouble,” Mobley said. “If we invest in kids now, we won’t be concerned with the number of jails beds we have later on.”

Like Mobley, Rev. Stewart worries about continued funding for intervention and prevention programs at Watershed. Stewart is reaching out to the community as much as he can, but he has big dreams for what could be done, such as a Summer Olympics for kids who have nothing but time on their hands. “It would be a place where they could come and get involved in athletics. That’s the kind of thing that has to happen here,” he said.

Nawojczyk can’t agree with that more. Programs like Our Club give kids an alternative to gang life. But just because the programs are available doesn’t mean parents can leave all the work to someone else.

“If you don’t support your kid every single day, don’t tell them you love them or hug them or be there with them when they have events at school, then they’re going to turn to other things,” Nawojczyk said. “No matter what it is, you’ve got to talk to your kid about it. And if you’re not comfortable with that then you have to be prepared to pay the consequences.”

Truly Connecting

If a parent isn’t around to take the lead, people like Jackson and Stewart are ready to step up to the plate.

“Once a child makes the decision to be a better person, the support has to be there,” Stewart said. “Someone has to keep checking back with them until their [good] behavior becomes habit-forming.” Through his ministry, the Watershed Project, Stewart and his staff support some of the city’s poorest with any need they have, from food and clothing to counseling services for children.

While others were building prevention programs back when gangs were spiraling out of control, Stewart was focusing on intervention. “We were doing the hard stuff. We were on the streets, counseling kids, going to court with them, visiting them in prison.”

Stewart was known for putting families in the “hot seat.” He would make family members face each other, hold hands and talk. It was a way of getting troubled kids to communicate with their parents — something most had never done before.

Jackson emphasizes parent involvement as director of the Sherman Park Our Club in North Little Rock, but he’s there for the kids who don’t have support at home.

“The kids know I understand where they are coming from,” said Jackson, who also is director of outreach for “Street Wise,” the training conference division of the Little Rock-based L.O.V.E. (Let Our Violence End) Foundation. “What I have lived is a big asset in working with these kids who are heading in the same direction I was. And through all this, I had a mother and a father. The cards are stacked against most of these kids [who have no father figure involved in their lives.]

“I grew up in the projects just like these kids and have seen a lot of things people go through a lifetime not seeing — teen-age pregnancy, gangs, common use of drugs and alcohol, killing.”

Throughout childhood and many years of adulthood, Jackson got by in life without being able to read. It wasn’t until he was sent to federal prison at age 32 that he taught himself how to read and write.

“Lots of kids are doing the same thing I did — being creative in how they make it through life, keeping it from the ones close to them,” he said.

While in prison Jackson decided to teach himself how to read after he received a letter from his 9-year-old son and couldn’t read it.

“I cried when I got that letter,” he said. “A guy next to me had to help me write a letter back to him.”

Where Are We Now?

The killings may have stopped, but everyone agrees the gangs are still here. In the early ’90s, there were about 60 gangs in central Arkansas. There are half that number now, but that doesn’t mean gang leaders aren’t recruiting — no matter a child’s color or economic status.

“The gangs have become much more secretive, but they still exist,” Nawojczyk said. “It’s called ‘going quiet.’ You don’t hear near the gunshots or see the activity like you used to. The contemporary gangs, the Crips, Bloods, People Nation and the Folk Nation, are much like the Mafia. They’ve made a lot of money through drug rings and have even bought legitimate businesses. But they are still here, and parents still need to be alert.”

Stewart says he is alarmed because the conditions that produced the gang activity of the early ’90s haven’t gone away.

“The lack of jobs, the bad relations with parents, the apathy, the drug culture. It’s all still here,” he said. “Selling drugs to bring home money to your family and joining gangs is their way of surviving.”

Stewart agrees that the HBO documentary didn’t portray all of what Little Rock offers, but he is adamant that the film truly showed what was happening to many of the kids he sees every day.

“The impact of that documentary has helped people all over the world. Little Rock can benefit too if the city comes to terms with what really happened,” he said.

To email Leifel Jackson, click here: lrjacc@hotmail.com