STREETS OF FEAR

As Oakland's Homicide Rate Soars, Youths Try To Stay Out Of Line Of Fire

Twonesha Wood is only 11, but already she's felt the sting of Oakland's
deadly streets. Two of her uncles were shot to death on the same block
within three years of each other, both at age 29.

The sixth-grader is just one of the thousands of Oakland residents whose
lives have been scarred by the killings -- more than 1,100 homicides since
1992, including 99 this year.

The violence is concentrated in two drug-ridden neighborhoods, and while
homicides are on the verge of reaching triple digits for the first time in
seven years, the number of dead is well below the 1992 peak of 165.

That is little solace to Twonesha, who wears a gold cross she hopes will
protect her from a stray bullet. Oakland already has the highest per capita
homicide rate among California's largest cities, and the risk is even
greater in Twonesha's troubled East Oakland neighborhood.

"I always pray that the violence stops. I don't want to die by getting shot
or anything. I want to die when God wants me to go,'' she said as she
headed home from school less than two miles from where 15-year-old Tamellia
Cobbs was killed in a burst of gunfire in broad daylight Monday.

For many of Oakland's children, the escalating violence has become all too
commonplace -- a fact of life particularly for those growing up in East and
West Oakland. There, iron bars cover windows and makeshift memorials sit on
sidewalks in memory of those killed by gunfire.

Tamellia -- apparently an innocent bystander caught in a feud between two
neighborhood groups -- was hit when someone fired shots from a passing car
as she stood with two teenage boys in front of her aunt's home. The boys
were wounded. Two parolees have been charged in her slaying.

Tuesday night, police found 29-year-old Cary Thompson shot in front of a
West Oakland home. Less than six hours later, authorities found 33-year-old
Alandos Faulkner on the street near his red Chevrolet Corvette in central
Oakland. Both men were shot multiple times, but the killings appeared to be
unrelated.

During the economic boom of the late 1990s, the city of 400,000 became a
magnet for families priced out of San Francisco and suburban neighborhoods.
The downtown business district around Jack London Square attracted
investment, and the city moved forward with plans to open up the industrial
waterfront with parks and housing.

But while expensive homes line streets near Berkeley and in the Oakland
Hills, the East and West Oakland neighborhoods in the "flatlands''
continued to struggle with poverty, unemployment and drug-dealing. The
number of slayings citywide began a slow rise from a low of 60 in 1999 and
then surged this year, with most killings occurring on flatlands streets
and corners.

That surge has motivated many in the community to fight back. There have
been citywide marches, youth outreach efforts, forums and neighborhood
meetings decrying the killings. But a series of ballot measures to increase
taxes to pay for 100 more cops failed last week.

Much of the violence has been blamed on the declining economy, drug wars
over turf, and a large number of parolees and probationers returning home
from prison. Frustrated police say about two-thirds of the killings are
drug-related.

"We have to enforce the law,'' Mayor Jerry Brown said Thursday. "Some of
these characters run around thinking they're cowboys from the Wild West,
shooting people because someone barked at them or stole their dope. We're
not going to tolerate that.'' This week he met with the police chief and
other officials to explore ways to stop the violence.

Brown said police are intensifying patrols in high-crime areas. He wants
tougher conditions imposed on parolees and probationers, and is exploring
the legality of possible curfews for them.

Authorities plan to step up the efforts of a task force that targets
properties that are hot spots for illegal activity, particularly drug
dealing. If the owners don't cooperate, the city could evict them and
possibly demolish the buildings.

Brown also called the governor's office to ask that the Department of
Corrections send more parole agents to monitor parolees and probationers,
who authorities say commit the majority of crimes in the city.

Councilwoman Nancy Nadel, who lost a friend to the street violence this
year, said 20 percent of the flatland residents live at or below the
federal poverty level. She said she and the mayor are working on a new plan
to put before Oakland voters, one that would help create jobs and address
crime prevention in addition to adding officers to the police force.

Despite Oakland's growing homicide rate, it's far from being the worst in
the state. Compton, which has a population of 95,231, had 46 homicides last
year -- more than twice Oakland's homicide rate. In the Bay Area, East Palo
Alto, with a population of 30,054, rivals Oakland with 20 homicides per
100,000 residents.

Since 1992, San Jose has seen more than 350 killings and San Francisco more
than 850 homicides.

This week, friends and relatives gathered at the spot where Tamellia died
as the collection of stuffed animals, candles and cards grew on the
sidewalk in front of the single-story white home. The teen, who by all
accounts stayed away from gangs and illicit activity, was the city's
youngest homicide victim this year.

Though many people gathered on the street said they've known people killed
in the wave of violence, none thought it would hit them so directly.

"This is too close,'' said Nitha Smith, 18, Tamellia's cousin.

But the years of violence have desensitized other young people in the
community.

Kashawnda Sorrell appeared almost blase about the rash of killings as she
strolled through the front gates of Castlemont High School with her
1-year-old daughter, Kristasia, in tow.

"There's no way to deal with it -- you just brush it off. It's the way we
live. We have no choice,'' said 17-year-old Kashawnda, who said she knew at
least a dozen people shot to death, including five close friends this year.
"You have to get used to it. It's an everyday thing.''

She tries to keep safe by staying indoors with her daughter, and hopes to
one day move from Oakland, perhaps to Antioch or Hayward.

"Oakland's done -- everybody's gone, all my friends,'' said Kashawnda, who
wants to attend college and sell real estate.

Herb Schreier, a children's psychiatrist at Children's Hospital Oakland,
said all the talk about the international war on terror has overshadowed
children living with terror in their own neighborhood.

"So the message to these young people is that people don't care,'' Schreier
said.

Terrance Dukes shrugged off the violence.

"I don't really trip off it. It's just a normal thing now,'' said Dukes, a
tall, lanky 17-year-old wearing a beanie. ``These killings don't really
bother me any because it's been happening for so long you get used to it.''

He said these days he only comes out of his house when he needs to go to
the store or school.

"I don't trust that many people, so I really have no friends,'' he said. "I
just sit back and watch everything go down, man -- as long as I'm not a
part of it, I've got nothing to worry about.''

But Twonesha's family worries. With good reason.

Her uncle Aaron Taylor died Feb. 5, 1994, shot in East Oakland. Keese
Taylor, Twonesha's mother, said the circumstances of his death are unclear,
and that Twonesha was too young to understand at the time.

"It's hard at times. Sometimes I just sit in my room and cry from so much
buildup,'' said Taylor, 31, a custodian for Oakland schools and the single
mother of Twonesha and two boys ages 13 and 15. "But I'm trying to keep my
kids on the right path. It's kind of hard and difficult, but we get by.''

When Taylor's other brother, Troy Gardner, was killed on New Year's Day in
1997, Twonesha understood only too well. The reason for his killing is also
still unclear, Taylor said. But she recalls her young daughter waking up to
all the commotion and asking her, " 'Mama, Uncle Troy died?' and I was
like, 'yeah.' She cried.''

One year later, Twonesha's father was shot and killed in Sacramento.