As gang culture evolves, St. Paul works to intervene in informal but dangerous ‘group violence’

St. Paul police say the dynamic remains the same: Rival groups of young people taunt or otherwise offend one another, leading to violent retaliation in the streets.

But their structure is far removed from the days when gang activity was easier to spot, and members telegraphed their allegiance with red or blue clothing, claimed street corners and spray-painted tags around town to mark territory. Today, much of the city’s modern gang culture lacks organization or hierarchy, instead consisting of loosely formed, nameless cliques whose beefs over Snapchat and TikTok often end in bloodshed.

Though efforts by the city and the police department’s nonfatal shooting unit have proved successful, with homicides down by nearly 60% and shootings by a third, it’s also revealed a dangerous trend: While gangs still exist, in St. Paul it’s become more common for young people to join unnamed “groups” that are unpredictable and often without hierarchy and sometimes without loyalty — making them inherently more dangerous.

They’re formed by kids who grow up in the same neighborhood or school, and provide a perceived sense of belonging, or protection from another group that has threatened them, said St. Paul police Cmdr. Eric Vang-Sitcler, who runs the department’s gang and gun unit.

“It’s the herd mentality,” he said. “It’s that, ‘I need to survive, and I don’t have other people to ally with. Who can I ally with?’”

When gangs had more obvious presence and structure, prosecutors focused on charging members under Minnesota’s gang statute — which applies only if the gang has at least three members, shares a common name, symbol or gesture, and commits certain crimes such as murder, assault, burglary, carjackings or drive-by shootings.

In Minneapolis, federal prosecutors are now bringing racketeering charges against dozens of gang members, including the Bloods, Highs and Lows, in connection with gun violence, resulting in successful conviction and in some cases, life prison sentences.

That loose hierarchy in a demographic that’s getting younger — with easier access to high-powered firearms and no one to answer to — is a dangerous combination, Vang-Sitcler said.

“You wouldn’t see a 35-year-old Crip member pull out a gun and spray 70 rounds into a crowd because they know they’re going to prison if that happens,” he said. And, while Vang-Sitcler said anyone intending to commit a crime with a gun is dangerous, “the younger ones are more reckless, and because they’re more reckless, they’re more dangerous.”

St. Paul’s Harding High School community was shaken by group violence in February 2023, when 15-year-old sophomore Devin Scott was stabbed to death on his first day attending the school. According to the charging document, Scott and another boy got into a fight with Nosakhere Kazeem Holmes, who was 16 at the time.

The charges say it started with a fistfight, with camera footage showing the other boy tackling Holmes to the ground as Scott and the other boy punch Holmes. Holmes then took out a knife and stabbed Scott multiple times.

Four months prior in October 2022, J’Veon Jamauri Brown, 16, was charged with shooting and killing Antwan Watson, 16, in a St. Paul alley. The group involved in Watson’s killing was previously in the same clique as one associated with Scott’s stabbing at Harding High School.

While the police department and other St. Paul officials have worked to help youth out of gang culture, those who have grown up around it say it’s not so simple.

Kardell Davis, 19, became a father at 16 and realized he needed to separate himself from street life, though he said he’s never been a part of one of the “cliques” he’s observed. He served time in juvenile detention for stealing cars.

For those in a clique, it can be hard to leave the lifestyle since those who leave the streets can face retaliation.

“You can’t just get out of the streets like that,” said Davis, who attends Journeys Secondary School and said he wants to go to college to become a chef or learn woodworking. “It’s not as easy as everybody thinks it is.”

Davis and other teenagers are finding a reprieve from street life though the nonprofit World Youth Connect, which aims to empower young people by placing them in leadership roles while also helping them find jobs, and, in some cases, escape violence in the streets.

One boy, age 15, described getting into a fistfight with someone from a different friend group at a tobacco shop. He didn’t elaborate on why he initiated a fight. But, he said, “I did it for my friends.”

“It wasn’t even my problem, and that’s what’s messed up about it,” he said.

Someone in the rival group pulled out a gun and shot the boy in the hand. His arm went numb and he didn’t realize he was injured and needed to go to the hospital until he left the store. The incident made him rethink how he handles conflict and why it didn’t make sense to use violence, he said.

“What am I trying to prove?” the boy said.

Another 16-year-old boy seated next to him said fights can arise because of a variety of disputes over money or interest in a girl. “Stupid beef,” he said, “it could be about anything.”

And the city’s Office of Neighborhood Safety’s recently departed director, Brooke Blakey, said she’s been proud of the office’s work with police and organizations and nonprofits like Youth World Connect.

“It’s really about the lack of resources in our public health realm, and then figuring out: How do we really provide a resources for this? How do we have mentorship? How do we get employment?”

In most cases, Davis said, he hasn’t seen people successfully get out of gang culture. But he said it’s possible.

“I feel like you can, you just got to have a team behind you,” he said. “You’ve got to have people pushing you.”