Violent London: ‘Some soldiers in Afghanistan have not seen this level of trauma’

London’s worst borough for youth violence is piloting a radical public health model. One key worker, Lee Dema, is at the forefront. David Cohen joins him on his patch.
Trusted voice: Lee Dema, far left, founder of charity the St Matthew’s Project, talks to young people on Tulse Hill estate
Daniel Hambury
WEST END FINAL

Get our award-winning daily news email featuring exclusive stories, opinion and expert analysis

I would like to be emailed about offers, event and updates from Evening Standard. Read our privacy notice.

Lee Dema walked up to the teenager leaning against the football cage with an unlit joint of cannabis in his hand. “How many have you had today, Sam?” he asked. “This will be my sixth,” replied Sam, 16, matter-of-factly.

It was Thursday afternoon on the Tulse Hill estate in the borough of Lambeth, where Dema works with gang-affected youths through the St Matthew’s Project. The charity, which he founded, uses football as a hook to engage them. “I thought we shook hands on an agreement, Sam,” said Dema.

As we walked on, Dema, who is in his fifties, filled me in. “The agreement I had with Sammy six-joints there was that he would attend my funeral, not vice versa, but it don’t look like Sammy’s gonna keep to our deal. He’s a talented rapper and a decent footballer but he’s high risk.” He sighed.

“These kids don’t think about CCTV or being caught or the after-effects of their actions - they just act on impulse. Take his latest YouTube video where he’s gone and dissed another rapper from Angell Town. So now he’s made another enemy. For what?

“Then last weekend he heard some boys were shooting a YouTube video on the Upper Tulse Hill estate, so he and his mates went up to cause trouble. They call it lurking. The Upper Tulse Hill lot weren’t having it and so later some of them came in a car with two Rambos [huge knives] and a machete and chased them down the block.

“Sammy six-joints had it on his toes and got away, but he was lucky to avoid another fatal stabbing. When he told me about it, he was laughing. But for how much longer? I said to him, so now you got enemies up the hill in Upper Tulse Hill and down the hill in Angell Town. How am I supposed to help you?”

When somebody is attacked, you’re immediately there, speaking to them, making sure nobody retaliates.

Lee Dema

Dema looked exasperated but the truth is he has a soft spot for Sam, having known him since he was six. “I first met Sam when he came to football practice and sprayed a can of Deep Heat in another kid’s eyes. I shouted, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Our coach came over and said, ‘Sorry, his mum has just been murdered by her boyfriend.’ Sam’s last memory of his mum is of her lying in intensive care, but his memories of her as his mum are fading, so it’s no surprise he’s messed up.”

As we walked through the phalanx of south London estates where Dema operates, he pointed out who was in gangs, who was on a tag, who carried knives, who smoked too much weed and who was prone to paranoia. He talked about their turbulent backgrounds from a young age.

I took in the clusters of youths hanging out in hoodies, their hands buried down the front of their trousers, some hiding knives. To outsiders like myself, they seemed to dominate the public space in what otherwise seemed like well-kept estates populated by ordinary law-abiding Londoners.

My investigation into youth violence has shown me that to their peers on nearby rival estates, these youths are the “pagans” (enemies) they incessantly talk about and fear. And as I have discovered, you don’t have to be in a gang to have pagans. Indeed clashes between rival pagans over the slightest of slights - or simply because of where they live - is part of the reason for the shocking resurgence of serious youth violence in London.

Tulse Hill: The scene after a recent stabbing
@ermini_chiara/Twitter

Lambeth is a hotspot. The borough has the highest volume of serious youth violence in the capital with over 7,000 crimes in 10 years as well as the greatest number of ambulance call-outs. In recent years they have tried everything - including ever more severe enforcement and increased stop and search - but the problem has not gone away.

A report to the council’s cabinet in March made clear that a “fundamental rethink” was urgently necessary. It said: “Carrying of knives by young people has become commonplace and a cultural norm in some of our communities. We know most of this violence occurs either on our transport routes or in our estates. We will develop a bespoke action plan for each estate where gang violence has been identified as a priority concern.”

Lambeth’s plan is to implement a new 10-year strategy adopting the “public health model”, a holistic approach imported from Chicago and used to cut youth violence in Scotland. At its core it requires all statutory bodies - including police, health services and community organisations - to work together proactively rather than the crisis-driven, fragmented approach of the past.

They aim to disrupt youths inflicting violence, protect those at risk and prevent people being involved in the first place. But they want the change to be “hyper-localised” and “led by the community”.

The first step to making this happen, Lambeth believes, is to win over embedded youth workers such as Dema who have the trust of high-risk youngsters and are in a position to try to “interrupt” the violence and prevent it from spreading.

It’s a big ask. How does he do it? “You pick up when somebody’s angry, have a quiet word,” he said. “When somebody is attacked, you’re immediately in there, speaking to them, making sure that nobody does anything rash or retaliates.

“But mostly you’re trying to provide the kids with more attractive options. I’ve taken Sammy six-joints down Fitzroy Lodge to do boxing, I’ve bought him football boots. We’ve helped many youngsters become FA level 1 and 2 coaches.”

Dema was reluctant to talk about himself but said the last thing he intended was to become a youth worker. “I was living on the St Matthew’s estate in Brixton and organised a kickabout in the local park,” he said.

“I meant to do it for a few weeks. I never imagined I’d still be doing it 14 years later. Being a volunteer, doing something for nothing, you kidding me? But once you get involved, you can’t walk away. I set up a charity and now we’re funded for what we do. Thing is, I had a similar youth: I also got into trouble and although I don’t like to go on about it, it gives me hope they can change, cos I did.”

He pointed to a brass plaque on the Tulse Hill estate marking the spot where Nana Darko-Frempong, 18, was shot dead seven years ago. “Nana happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” said Dema.

Latest victim: Katerina Makunova was stabbed to death in Camberwell

“The judge found he was an innocent teenager who was killed by a gang that came into the area to attack anyone on the Tulse Hill estate. He had just got his uni acceptance letter that very week, his whole life ahead of him. Such a tragedy. Not all of these kids you see are in gangs.”

The interim findings of the Youth Violence Commission, published in yesterday’s Standard, call for the implementation of a city-wide public health model approach which is “trauma-informed”. In other words, it recognises that childhood trauma needs to be supported because otherwise victims frequently become perpetrators.

​Dema has worked intensively with Nana’s friends to pick up the pieces, but sadly there have been more deaths. “We’ve lost four kids over the years,” he said. “One kid we work with, he’s 24, he’s lost two of his best friends, watched them die. We got him counselling but he was reluctant. I told him, there are soldiers who have done two tours of Afghanistan who haven’t had to witness two of their best mates dying.”

Dema pointed towards Sam still loitering by the football cage. “Whenever there’s been a murder in the area, I immediately get in touch with four of the boys I work with, including Sammy six-joints there. That they’ll get murdered, it’s my greatest fear. I’d be devastated.”

Does Dema think the public health model can work? He sighed wearily. “Maybe if the authorities show commitment to really understand these kids, how alienated they are, how violence is normalised in parts of London and why they do what they do, things can begin to change.

“Sometimes I ask myself: what can I actually do for these kids? They have to want to change. Often all I can do is keep engaging with them, getting them past the most dangerous ages of 17 to 21. It takes a lot of patience. Because quite frankly, youth violence might be trending but it has been around a long time. And we ain’t miracle workers.”

Sam’s name has been changed and he is not pictured.

Create a FREE account to continue reading

eros

Registration is a free and easy way to support our journalism.

Join our community where you can: comment on stories; sign up to newsletters; enter competitions and access content on our app.

Your email address

Must be at least 6 characters, include an upper and lower case character and a number

You must be at least 18 years old to create an account

* Required fields

Already have an account? SIGN IN

By clicking Create Account you confirm that your data has been entered correctly and you have read and agree to our Terms of use , Cookie policy and Privacy policy .

This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged in