news-record.com

It was well past midnight three Saturdays ago on High Point Road. A car slipped alongside mine as I idled at a red light, its windows tinted too darkly to see inside.

One intersection later the car had changed lanes from my right to my left. Again, we idled side-by-side at a red light.

Suddenly, the front passenger door opened and a slender young man stepped outside. He looked at me, his cornrows dangling. Then he formed a mock pistol with his right hand, pointed it my way and pretended to shoot.

He smiled and returned to his car.

I don't know what it meant -- a prank, a threat, a ritual? But whatever the intent, it was unnerving.

My first thought, rightly or wrongly, was that this could be gang-related. When the car door had opened, I could see several other young men inside. But it just as well could have been a carload of bored teenagers.

The incident came to mind, eight days later, as I attended a community meeting at St. James Baptist Church, about the ongoing push for a truce among gangs. At least a dozen members of the Latin Kings were there, including their state leader, Jorge Cornell. They wore yellow T-shirts with black lettering, some with matching hats and bandanas. One of the young men held a cooing toddler against his chest.

They were joined by an unlikely audience of about 100 in the pews, mostly African American folks, the kinds you'd see at St. James on a typical Sunday morning. Some were aunts, uncles and grandparents with neatly trimmed, gray-flecked hair. Others were teens who appeared to be ninth- or 10th-graders.

They listened quietly as Latin King members, and a group of black ministers, made their case for peace.

Cornell seemed to be recovering well from a pair of gunshot wounds he suffered in August. No one knows who shot him or why. But he has maintained his earlier call for gangs to lay down arms against one another. Even if it turns out a rival gang member shot him.

The primary thrust of the meeting, which consisted mainly of recorded video interviews with gang members, was that some Greensboro police officers are using heavy-handed tactics to intimidate gang members. One Latin King said an officer had told him he hoped Cornell would die from his gunshot wounds. Others cited rough treatment by police, harassment and being jailed on flimsy charges when they hadn't broken the law.

Police Chief Tim Bellamy disputes those allegations, although there have been several meetings to discuss them. But Capt. John E. Wolfe, whose command includes the gang unit, said Thursday that the squad has, in fact, "targeted" the Latin Kings "based on intelligence." "I would love to believe Jorge and I'd like to support him," Wolfe said. "But you've got to give me some tangible evidence that you are going to do what you say you are going to do. I cannot put my trust in him at the expense of the safety of the public."

For its part, the audience at St. James seemed more willing to give the Latin Kings the benefit of the doubt.

And Cornell repeated his intent to stage a graffiti clean-up day among different gangs. Bellamy, by the way, said he would welcome such a gesture and suggested that the gangs team with the Greensboro Merchants Association, when it holds its next clean-up day.

Some of the Latin Kings also said they were looking for jobs and would appreciate help finding them. Others said the gang's origins were community empowerment, not crime and violence.

One fiftysomething man stood and asked, "How do I join?"

Everyone laughed.

A woman stood and thanked the Latin Kings for offering "another side of the story." But if she saw gang members loitering near properties she managed, she said, "I will call the police." The audience chuckled again.

As for me, I don't know what to think, especially in light of the conflicting accounts of police and gang members. But, like anyone else, I want to feel safe in my hometown, on High Point Road or anywhere else.

And if other gang members buy into the peace plan, why haven't any of their leaders spoken up?

Then again, it shouldn't flatter the rest of us that the most resonant call for closer ties between Latinos and African Americans locally has come from a gang leader.

After the program, Cornell talked to a man who was struggling to find a job. The man, one of a handful of white audience members, let slip an F-bomb while expressing his frustration. Cornell winced, his eyes glancing upward at the sanctuary's ceiling.

"Hey, man," he reminded softly, "you're in a church."