For the past five years, the GANGS project, a European Research Council-funded project led by Dennis Rodgers, has been studying global gang dynamics in a comparative perspective. When understood in a nuanced manner that goes beyond the usual stereotypes and Manichean representations, gangs and gangsters arguably constitute fundamental lenses through which to think about and understand the world we live in.
Steffen Jensen recounts the story of Marwan, whose life is in many ways a reflection of the last 75 years of South African history, having had to navigate the violence of apartheid, prison, the Cape Flat drug wars. Central to his narrative are the notions of damnation and redemption.
I picked up Marwan one cloudy morning in May 2019, from his house in the backstreets of Heideveld, the township Cape Town, South Africa, where I have been conducting fieldwork on gangs on and off for 25 years. While much has changed over the years, the gang scene in Cape Town remains depressingly violent. In one of the other townships where I have been doing fieldwork since 2018, more than 160 have died in the past year. Gangs exist in almost all townships and partly for this reason, Cape Town remains one of the most violent and deadly cities in the world.
Sixty-year-old Marwan exudes strength as he walks over to my car, and greets me in his light blue Islamic attire. Although not particularly tall, he is well built in a wiry way, and there is an embodied intensity to him that contrasts with his soft-spokenness.
We are in the middle of Ramadan, and he tells me that he is happy to see me, although he is also very busy, preparing for a wedding with his new, much younger partner, as well as 10 days of prayer in the local mosque.
We decide to talk in a nearby park, where we begin what will end up being an eight-hour interview. During this time, Marwan leads me through his life in a way that is entirely his own choosing: “It was a Tuesday… I remember it well. I was wearing an orange jacket…”
A microcosm of South Africa’s recent history
Marwan’s life is in many ways a microcosm of South Africa’s recent history. It was fundamentally shaped by apartheid, particularly through the introduction of racist laws and policies, which included the displacement of non-white populations from central Cape Town to council housing estates on the outskirts, known as the Cape Flats. It was then also influenced by the instability of the post-apartheid era, characterised by high levels of crime and violence.
His family was one of the tens of thousands displaced from the Cape Town city centre in the 1960s, leading Marwan to grow up in the difficult environment of the Cape Flats. At the age of 16, in the mid-1970s, he began dealing drugs, quickly acquiring a notorious reputation, allowing him to operate semi-independently of the local gangs.
Marwan’s story exemplifies how drug dealing has critically impacted local gang structures. Before the mid-1970s, drugs did not play an important role in gang formation. They were mostly self-defence gangs protecting neighbourhoods against the hostile environment of the new housing estates. However, when the Mandrax drug was introduced around 1975, it radically transformed the nature of the gangs and their use of violence.
Life with the Terrible Joosters
Marwan joined one of the local gangs in Heideveld, the Terrible Joosters, and began dealing drugs. While the local gang in Heideveld gained in importance, he started making a name for himself as a robie, someone that focuses on robberies and break-ins. He excelled and joined city-wide criminal networks outside Heideveld, located in neighbouring Bridge Town, where the American gang became increasingly dominant. It was the conflict with the Americans that was partly instrumental in sending him to jail. In the interview, he describes a year of madness that began with his shooting a police officer. It then descended into increased drug abuse and gang violence, including shooting a member of the same criminal network, because, he said, the man had sold them out to the Americans. As a result, in 1982, Marwan received a long prison sentence.
Marwan is no stranger to prisons. He had been in and out of them since his late teens, but this was his longest sentence. Like his involvement with drugs before, his prison trajectory reflected the changing nature of Cape Town’s gang dynamics.
The relationship between prison gangs and street gangs has been complicated since the emergence of both in the 1940s. Prisons in South Africa are partly controlled by an intricate gang system with its own belief structure, which includes a perceived resistance to apartheid and racist regimes. The system also enforces control through the so-called numbers, referring to the three main gangs, 26, 27 and 28.
The numbers represent distinct gangs, each with a specific role within the prison hierarchy. This hierarchy is enforced through strict codes and significant violence against each other, guards, and non-gang members. Through his connections with gang-affiliated individuals and drug dealers both inside and outside the prison, Marwan quickly joined the 26 gang and rose through the ranks to become one of its leaders.
Gangsters often have a sell-by date
After Marwan left prison in 1998, his life became intertwined with the Cape Flats “gang wars” of the late 1990s and early 2000s. This city-wide war, involving his old enemies in the Americans, was much more brutal than the ones he had fought earlier on. He was horrified.
He complained about the stupidity of the youngsters: “If they get a name, they are a gang and they will die”, he told me back in 1999. There is a generational dimension to this. Most gangs last about 10 years. The gangs Marwan saw in the late 1990s were descendants – often sons – of the gangsters of Marwan’s generation.
Many gangsters face an inevitable expiration date, often ending up dead, imprisoned, or suffering from serious health issues due to a life of violence, hardship, and drug abuse. However, some do manage to successfully leave behind the world of gangs and crime.
In his mid-40s, increasingly burned out, Marwan underwent a religious conversion that allowed him to “leave” his criminal life behind.
Marwan’s life story is both a violent and strangely moral tale of comradery, solidarity, justice and of outwitting the racist apartheid state under the most arduous circumstances. Though not necessarily representative, it provides a privileged view into the Capetonian underworld and how it animated and was animated by political structures.
How I became a gang war chronicler
Our meeting in 2019 reminded me of my first encounter with Marwan, 20 years before, in December 1998.
He had just been released from prison after serving a 19-year sentence for multiple charges, including robbery, violence, drug dealing, and shooting a police officer. He was the brother-in-law of my best friend and confidante in Cape Town, Shahiedah.
I was conducting my doctoral fieldwork on gang dynamics, and over the following months, as the ongoing gang wars in the Cape Flats escalated, Marwan assumed a somewhat distant yet pivotal role as a guardian, helping me navigate the violent and unpredictable ganglands of post-apartheid Cape Town.
I once told Marwan that I planned to interview members of their rival gang, the Americans. Marwan – and nearly all of my other contacts – lived in New Yorker territory. The war between the New Yorkers and the Americans was a local manifestation of a larger conflict over control of the drug market in a city going through a huge turmoil: transitioning from a closed environment due to strict apartheid to opening up post-1994.
The transition produced a volatile environment in which the transforming state struggled to find its feet, not least because of the wave of crime and violence. Murder rates soared and bombings became the order of the day. Seared in my memory was a Cape Argus newspaper article published on January 2, 1999, which quantified both the violence and the police’s impotence in the previous year: 668 attacks, 118 arrests, 0 convictions.
This created an atmosphere of fear and unpredictability.
Marwan had heard about my upcoming interview through the local rumour machine. He looked at me, and said gravely, without any context or explanation: ‘In a conflict like this, you cannot stay neutral. Everybody must choose sides’. ‘You too?’, I asked. ‘Also me. Everyone!’.
What I understood was that I wouldn’t be able to offer a “neutral” narrative, I had to tell the story from the perspective of one gang. That day, I became a chronicler of the war from the (ultimately losing) side of the New Yorker gang…
A story of redemption
Although we chatted regularly in his house, I never managed to formally interview Marwan when I was in Cape Town in 1998-99. He was always on his way somewhere – to the shops, the doctor, his mother or he simply stood me up. I saw him from time to time during subsequent visits in the 2000s and 2010s, but only to greet him and see how he was doing.
Hence, when I returned to South Africa in 2019 in the context of the GANGS project, I was determined to not let him escape me this time, and get him to open up about his life.
And what a storyteller he was. But beyond the rich content of his tale and the wider insights it offered about gang dynamics in Cape Town, I was most struck by Marwan’s ability to maintain complete control over his narrative.
He would often chide me whenever I tried to hurry his story along, especially when he got caught up in small details or when I wanted him to move on to a new event. “I want to tell it right,” he would say. “Wait, I’ll get to that when the time is right.”
At one point, he described a court case he was involved in, after being accused of shooting a policeman:
“You can have the best lawyer or the best advocate, but it’s what you say and the answers you give that makes you guilty or not guilty. That’s the main thing. How you tell your story. What I thought, what I was going through in my mind – everything you describe, so the judge can see your picture. A story without a picture is not the truth.”
What insight, I thought. And in many ways, his constant production of images applied to the entire story that he told me. The way that Marwan told his story was as a narrative of redemption and salvation. The critical turning point in his story was how, a few years after having been released from prison, he had planned a heist with some friends, but suddenly refused to carry it out.
“They [came by] and wanted to confirm the time we were going. I said, ‘You know what, I’ve changed my mind.’ ‘What do you mean you changed your mind?’ ‘No, I changed my mind. You two can go. But I am not going.’ ‘Why?’ I said, ‘There is no reason, but I just feel I am not going anymore.’ And they left. And I’ve never saw them again.”
Marwan was convinced that his last-minute change of heart saved his life, as both friends ended up dead over the next couple of months. One was found hanged and the other was found in the trunk of a burnt-out car. For Marwan, even if he did not realise it at the time, felt that he had been “warned by Allah” not to go. This marked Marwan’s turn toward religion. He finally accepted Allah into his heart, and turned his life around, leaving his gang years behind.
While I learned from interviews with his family that Marwan’s decision to leave behind a life of crime was only partially true – he continued dealing drugs and was involved in some gruesome acts of violence – he presented his moment of religious conversion as the pivotal point in his life, a moment of redemption. From that point on, his narrative focused on his piety and the long hours he spent at the mosque, portraying himself as a growingly accepted, though still somewhat suspicious, member of the Muslim community.
Strong bones
Do Marwan’s relapses into crime suggest that his narrative of redemption was false, and that he was merely manipulating me? It’s possible. This is always a consideration in interviews like these, particularly given the ambiguous and controversial nature of many of Marwan’s activities over the years. However, instead of viewing his story as a web of lies and misrepresentations, we might interpret these conflicting incidents as evidence of the co-existence of different moral narratives.
A key moral concept on the Cape Flats is the notion of “sterk bene” or “strong bones”. According to Elaine Salo, this is the ability to endure humiliations, violence, and the injustices of a racialized society. The term originated in prisons to describe the kind of “hard man” toughness that Marwan projected, even after his religious conversion. This strength is often associated with being a criminal.
In this context, Marwan’s redemption narrative and his display of “strong bones” can be seen as two culturally intelligible moral frameworks that exist in parallel – and at times in conflict – with one another. Perhaps Marwan would argue that, to survive on the Cape Flats, you need both: redemption and strong bones
Steffen Bo Jensen is a senior researcher at DIGNITY-Danish Institute Against Torture and a professor at the Department of Politics and Society, Aalborg University in Denmark
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
