When news broke last week that three people had been shot during a funeral procession, reactions ranged from sadness and anger to incredulous disbelief. The assault was thought to be a gang-related retaliation, the type of confrontation one expects to see on a cable series, not on the streets of Indianapolis.
Even police were caught by surprise.
“At the funeral, we had uniformed officers there, and we had undercover officers there. We stayed until the end of the funeral, but we did not follow over to the gravesite,” said Captain Robert Holt, supervisor of the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department’s (IMPD) covert investigation unit. “We just did not have it on our radar that there would be potential violence there. The ability to enter and egress the cemetery, it just didn’t seem like it’d be a vulnerable place. …
“It’s just so foreign to me in my mind that someone would choose to retaliate at a somber situation like that. It’s just unconscionable.”
Though the ambush of a funeral procession was a different approach than IMPD is used to seeing, Holt said the department is not unaccustomed to gang violence, especially when it comes to the group known as the Grundy Crew, the reported targets of the attack.
“We certainly know this group is prone to violence. They’ve been reported to have committed a number of homicides,” Holt said. “We’re not asleep at the wheel; we’re well aware of it. And there’s surveillance and other techniques going on that people don’t know about. I’m not at liberty to discuss our investigative techniques, but rest assured that we’re not sitting on our hands.”
Holt said there are more than 100 identified gangs in Indianapolis, adding that the gang landscape looks a bit different in the Circle City than it does in bigger cities, like Chicago. For one, gangs in Indianapolis aren’t elaborate.
“They’re really more loosely connected than what we give them credit for. They aren’t typically an institution that can be self-sustaining. If you look at the Outlaw Motorcycle Club, everybody who was arrested in that investigation a few years back, all of them had full-time jobs,” Holt said. “The criminal enterprise that was going on with the Outlaw Motorcycle gang didn’t even support them, and they’re notorious and have networks all over the United States.”
Holt said many of the gang affiliations in Indy are determined by proximity.
“Most of what we see in the gangs in Indianapolis is related to association either through neighborhoods or schools,” he said. “It’s more about being associated with something for status and protection, not because it’s an all-out criminal enterprise.”
Holt said despite IMPD’s best efforts to quell gang activity, they’ve found convictions can be hard to come by, specifically when witnesses are afraid to come forward. Law enforcement and city officials are working to overcome part of the hesitation by restoring the community’s faith in the criminal justice system.
“Obviously we own some of the distrust that’s involved there, because everybody’s dealings with the police aren’t what we’d like to see. But we are trying to reach out, with the mayor and the chief of police going out into the community and trying to convince folks that we’re here to help,” Holt said.
“I realize it’s a two-way street. You can’t just expect people to come to you and tell you everything they know and then you not reciprocate by being respectful and providing some level of confidentiality.”
Seretha Edwards, a resident of the Butler-Tarkington area, has lost three brothers to gun violence — in 2002, 2003 and 2015 — and said all three cases remain unsolved, but not for lack of cooperation from her family.
“(Law enforcement) threw these big press conferences talking about charges (in my brothers’ deaths), and then we looked up and these (suspected) guys are out on the street at the bowling alley,” she said. “I look at my mother and my father, we do all these press conferences, all this footwork, involvement, engagement … (law enforcement) still labels all families uncooperative.”
Edwards said it has a chilling effect on the community when people see that reaction; people don’t want to cooperate with police if the cooperation will be in vain or unappreciated, she said.
While police try to keep a handle on gang activity and healing rifts between police and the community, Edwards’ organization W.A.D.E. — which stands for Working Against Despair Every day and is named for her brother, Clarence “Wade” Havvard Jr., who was killed in August of 2015 — tries to prevent problems before they start, by focusing on kids.
Edwards said her brother was beloved in the community and admired by children. Her own 10-year-old son, after his uncle was gunned down, thought he saw the writing on the wall.
“He looked at me and said, ‘I remember when Uncle Wade used to tell me that I’m supposed to do good, go to school and make good grades so I can grow up and make some money,’ but he said, ‘They killed him, so I don’t care. They’re just going to kill me too,’” Edwards said. “That made me step up, because if my son feels that way, what about the other kids who knew my brother as Uncle Wade?”
W.A.D.E. organizes rallies, barbecues and other events and has partnered with community centers to provide grief counselors and other resources to neighborhood kids in need.
“That’s our main focus, the children in the community and letting them know that you don’t have to live that way,” Edwards said. “These kids are growing up faster than they need to, because they’re being exposed to more than they should be. … They need to get their childhood back. They need to be able to be kids.”
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