Bangin' in L-Dub

A half mile from Lake Worth's trendy eateries, a war is under way. With guns and cyber-graffiti.

Sometimes, it doesn't require a trained eye, just an observant one. After two rival Southern California gangs — MLK and Sur13 — made their presence known in Lake Worth about five years ago via a series of shootings and stabbings, police monitor their activity by the tagging they do to antagonize each other.

They can also translate the markers that define a gang's history.

Not quite two years ago, a 14-year-old MLK member was gunned down as he stood smoking a cigarette in his driveway. Ricardo Andres, known as Silent, was shot five times. He was a tough kid, covered in tattoos, including his street name in huge letters across his stomach, but he couldn't survive the bullets that hit him in the face, leg, and back.

Territorial markings around Lake Worth
Colby Katz
Territorial markings around Lake Worth

Hermanson, who worked that case, slows down, looking for the right house. He puts the SUV in park and strolls halfway up the driveway. Marking the stain on the cement where he lay bleeding out, a spray-painted message reads "R.I.P. SILENT."

Within days of the killing, police spotted a taunting graffiti message scrawled in black just a few blocks away. "We killed that boy at 6th Ave and F Street," it read. It was signed "Crips and Sur 13."

In the hospital, as Andres' disbelieving friends and relatives filed in, Sister Rachel Sena, director of the Maya Ministry for the Diocese of Palm Beach, tried to comfort them. She's used to dealing with the issues faced by the immigrant population in Lake Worth, but this tragedy was galvanizing.

"The younger kids, 11- and 12-year-olds, were saying, 'Help me get out of this. I didn't know people could actually die.' And the parents were saying, 'Help me understand. What is this? What's going on?'"

Sister Rachel saw the assassination as a watershed event, and she helped to organize rallies and marches to protest the violence. Then she encountered a different kind of trouble. "Parents and children were threatened, told that they would get beaten up if they showed up in the procession through the streets," she says. "And parents from Guatemala or El Salvador understand what death threats mean. That's why they're here. They lived through it."

Gradually, Sister Rachel began to understand the unique set of circumstances that allows gangs such a foothold in a seemingly bucolic world like little Lake Worth.

"These are kids who have become the confidantes of the parents — translating business transactions, helping with getting a car, buying a home. In those households, their word is gold. So when they say they're not doing anything, the parent takes it at their word. They're trying to help their parents any way they can, and unfortunately, this is how they've learned how."

Working with indigenous people from Mexico and Central America, Sister Rachel sees that dynamic play out every day. The Maya Ministry runs a family literacy program for "pre-literate" adults who have immigrated but have no education and have never learned to read or write.

"When you have parents who are pre-lit," she points out, "but their kids are not only literate but bilingual and computer-savvy, there's a lot of information they can withhold."

Moms and dads who've never been inside a classroom are often overjoyed when their kids spend time with schoolmates, get involved in extracurricular activities, and learn to use computers. It's easy to picture them smiling benignly as their children surf the Internet for the first time. In many families, kids have to get online at school or a friend's house.

What Sister Rachel sees happening not only in Lake Worth but surrounding communities, she explains, is "an immigrant community whose youngest generation is empowered by education and exposed to a negative and destructive form of leadership.

"Especially if the parent is focused on survival and the child is focused on lifestyle and culture."

In fact, while Hermanson was probing the murder, some of Andres' friends told him where to look. Visits to MySpace and C-Pixel turned up what he calls "nasty-grams" — threats, insults, taunts bouncing back and forth between Sur 13 and 18th Street.

Piecing together clues and interviewing distraught family members, police learned what had happened: A pissed-off Sur 13 member who lived out in Greenacres drove with a group to Lake Worth looking to start shit. When his target couldn't be located, they drove around in their green SUV until they spotted Andres over on F Street. A man identified as Miguel Lemu-Flores, then 23, allegedly poked his head out of the window. "What barrio you claim?" he asked menacingly.

Andres exhaled a big cloud of cigarette smoke, and Lemu-Flores asked again. "I said what barrio you claim, homes?"

With another puff, Andres said, "Makin' Life Krazy." Nine bullets sailed from the SUV in his direction, killing him and wounding two others. Months later, two teens who had been in the vehicle were arrested, charged with being an accessory, and are doing time. One, Francisco "Paco" Garcia, begged to be tried as an adult, because he feared retaliation if he ended up in a juvenile lockup. Lemu-Flores, Hermanson says, is now believed to be in Mexico.

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