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Young Soldiers
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| By: T. C. Phipps-Benjamin |
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By: T. C. Phipps-Benjamin
Born to die! They declare they're dedication to fighting for a cause they themselves seem unable to explain. On St. Kitts, and only minutes away on Nevis, as the gun fights intensify and the homicide toll escalates, there are conferences, town hall meetings, police press releases, numbered point plans, candlelight vigils, heart wrenching burials, and grieving families, exhausted by the emotional tirade sparked by this wave of violent gun crime. Yet, young soldiers engage in their far from noble battle. They awake every day to perpetrate gun and gang violence, and if they live to see another day, their mantra remains the same; kill or be killed.
How did these young minds end up behind three-holed masks, toting some of the most destructive weaponry ever made? Who are these young soldiers and why do they sacrifice freedom for prison? Why do they give up hope for an inevitably gruesome death?
Many of our federation's young men are self-proclaimed soldiers of a cause that seems ludicrous at best. Still, adult opinion hasn't stopped the dogged pursuit of one gangster to destroy the life of another. A one-on-one conversation with a rebellious young mind is an eye opener, and while it impresses upon the listener the value of joining a cause that offers help to our young men, it is one of the most fundamental steps we can possibly take as a people if we are to redefine the social landscape of our developing nation.
Ricardo T. has long shaken his Christian name. His so-called gangster name, "Ricoshay," to his mind, is a more descriptive salutation. He claims it's strikingly appealing to the girls and revered by his male enemies. His "beef" with a fellow villager two years ago marked the culmination of peace as his single mother of two of his other siblings once knew it. At only 19, and as a third form dropout, Ricoshay has not read a book or even a newspaper since. He has never worked a regular job, nor has he considered furthering his education (“Wa me don't know cyarn hurt me,” he claims). But he has robbed helpless victims at gunpoint, and he feels empowered with each crime he commits and gets away with. Asked whether he has ever murdered anyone, Ricoshay looks away; his silence is deafening. Asked again, he declares, "I ain't know for sure, but it ain me, is de gun.” Asked where he got his gun, he responds, "You mean guns?" He suggests he'll never tell. Asked if he has any remorse for the harm he has brought to the lives of others, he claims not to be the cause of the problem but that the enemy; the system; the hand that he was dealt has caused him to careen out of control. Whatever comes next, he doesn't quite know, but he vows to fight "whoever or whatever " to the death.
What was striking about Ricoshay - a teenager who comes across as a prolific street talker - is that he claims not to fear incarceration or even death. Ricoshay's pride seemed to rest with being armed; with donning the biggest gun and being glorified as a fearless bad man; "dawgheart. There are nights when he doesn't sleep and yes there are days when he thinks about his mother and his siblings, but he suggests that the life that "chose him" is far too dangerous for him to be a part of family, so he prefers to "cut dem off," at least for now. Ricoshay's bold rantings are unnerving. You want "not" to believe that this youth, barely 20, can be so violent minded; so cut and dry; so ready to die. You hear him, but you really don't believe him. However, for that moment, a time when he probably doesn't have to look over his shoulder, Ricoshay talks, and he talks, and he opens up, revealing his childhood dreams; a seemingly therapeutic exercise.
Ricardo T. was exceptional with his hands and he was known for his ability to "fix" things. Before he wandered upon his life of crime, in his innocence, he liked to draw. He was also very good at Math. At one point, he aspired to become an architect.
Ricardo recalls that by the age of 15, he was like a freight train, careening out of control. By then, he had already given up on learning, progressively slipping to a lower class each year since first form. His younger brother and sister demanded his mother’s attention, and he claims to have pushed and pushed the envelope, eventually getting his own way. First a phone call from the school's principal, then a letter, then more phone calls to his mother, then the ultimate; expulsion. His behaviour took a severe emotional and financial toll on his mother. Soon, Ricoshay latched on to the idea of joining a gang. The streets have been his calling ever since.
In his talking, it is clear that although he did not have a very privileged upbringing, his mother, immediate and extended families were extremely involved in his life. He offers one lame excuse after another as to why he lives the life he does. He proclaims “I ain had no farder in me life and I had to do what I had to do to mek it.” Ricoshay’s life today seems ever so clouded, and the hope of a silver lining doesn't seem the least bit imminent.
Many churches today have established an outreach arm of their missionary work designed to recruit new members, to spread the doctrine of the church, and to minister to those in need of some form of support. When one hears the fate of Ricoshay, it is evident that just as the church seeks out those in need, our community groups and individuals must pioneer the outreach efforts that will find our young soldiers, recruiting them for the sustainable development of our federation. Our efforts now might save today's Ricoshays and greatly reduce tomorrow's human bloodshed.
How many of our troubled young boys had attainable dreams? How many of our young men showed promise long before gangs and street life attracted them? The emotional unrest of our boys didn't begin in the abandoned buildings of our villages or on the street corners where we see our federation's social misfits. The smoke holes and shantytowns we frown upon are havens for the boys that society has failed. They have found their solace where adults have given up hope.
We will never know the root of the turmoil of our young men until we find them, talk to them, and assess their situation. In hearing from them, we "might" better understand what we can do to help turn their lives around. Safe havens for our young men like Ricardo “Ricoshay” T. ought not be the grave. The adults of our federation must collectively pound the pavement to help find our lost boys; our young soldiers; lest we continue to lose the war on crime and violence together.
Oh troubled youthful being, wrestling with unending confusion, would you seek to be whole again? Can the hope of a free spirit move you, or will you be enslaved forever by the very gun that will grant you certain death? Young soldier, let not your fight be about money, drugs or turf might. Let it instead be about shunning darkness for awe inspiring light; armed, not with an Uzi or a TEC-9, but with a deep hunger and thirst for living your life. Young soldier, put your useless fight to rest. Live! Don't die a painful and inglorious death.
The foregoing is a reflection on the plight of one of our federation's young men; baffled emotionally, struggling socially, may serenity one day find you.
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