I want to draw attention to an excellent article in the October issue of Wired Magazine about how social media is amping up the gang wars in Chicago. The article starts by discussing Chief Keef and Lil JoJo, two rival rappers who taunted each other through YouTube and Twitter. Keef got a million-dollar record deal; JoJo was shot and killed.
Ben Austen, who wrote the article, interviewed people on the ground in Chicago: community leaders, local rappers and gang members, and cops. I’ll just flag a few tidbits I found interesting; I encourage you to check out the whole article.
First, Austen starkly describes the difficulties facing Chicago law enforcement:
Last year more than 500 people were murdered in Chicago, a greater number than in far more populous cities such as New York and Los Angeles. The prevalence of gun crimes in Chicago is due in large part to a fragmentation of the gangs on its streets: There are now an estimated 70,000 members in the city, spread out among a mind-boggling 850 cliques, with many of these groupings formed around a couple of street corners or a specific school or park.
Second, for fans of The Wire, the HBO crime drama that ran from 2002 to 2008, Austen explains how the show’s depiction of gang-life, praised at the time for its “realistic portrayal of urban life,” is already outdated:
Harold Pollack, codirector of the University of Chicago Crime Lab, says that in every talk he gives about gangs, someone inevitably asks him about The Wire—wanting to know who is, say, the Stringer Bell of Chicago. But The Wire, based in part on David Simon’s Baltimore crime reporting in the 1980s and ’90s, is now very dated in its depiction of gangs as organized crime syndicates. For one thing, Stringer Bell would never let his underlings advertise their criminal activities, as a Central Florida crew did this spring when it posted on its public Facebook page that two of its members had violated their parole and been arrested for posing with guns on their personal Facebook pages. Even a few years ago, a member of, say, the Disciples would have been “violated”—physically punished—for talking about killings or publicly outing a fellow member. But today most “gangs” are without much hierarchical structure, and many of the cliques are only nominally tied to larger organizations.
Third, in telling a story about how police warned the family of a 12-year-old that Keef’s crew was posting threatening comments on a video the boy had posted insulting Keef, Austen touches on how “predictive policing” is far less exotic than critics often allege:
For a long time, criminal-justice experts have talked about predictive policing—the idea that you can use big data to sniff out crimes before they happen, conjuring up an ethically troublesome future like the one depicted in Steven Spielberg’s Minority Report. But in Chicago and other big cities, police are finding it’s much easier than that. Give people social media and they’ll tell you what they’re about to do.
Finally, Austen observes that insulting a rival crew is “so much easier to do online than face-to-face.” This comment, interestly, echoes the heartbreaking-but-hilarious interview Louis C.K. did this week with Conan O’Brien about why he won’t let his kids have smart phones: “They look at a kid and they go, ‘you’re fat,’ and then they see the kid’s face scrunch up and they go, ‘oh, that doesn’t feel good to make a person do that.’ But they got to start with doing the mean thing. But when they write ‘you’re fat,’ then they just go, ‘mmm, that was fun, I like that.'”