Contains images you may find disturbing
Recruitment starts before the age of 10 in the barrios of Honduras
CENTRAL AMERICA
HONDURAS
For David, it was the 18th Street Gang who came calling. He started out like so many others, acting as a lookout in his neighborhood, keeping a wary eye out for strangers, other gangs, the police or anything else that caught his attention.
"They get you when you are innocent," he said. "Then they give you a fashionable watch, a cellphone, some money, clothes. When you are done, you're 25 years old and at a rank you couldn't even imagine."
Today he is 28 and, although he won't admit it on the record, his role is as one of the gang's hitmen, with the task of killing defectors and rivals. It puts him at the centre of Honduran gang wars, a violent web of organized crime and territorial battles fought out among the country's young male population.
Today he is 28 and, although he won't admit it on the record, his role is as one of the gang's hitmen, with the task of killing defectors and rivals. It puts him at the centre of Honduran gang wars, a violent web of organized crime and territorial battles fought out among the country's young male population.
The gangs have put Honduras at the top of the world's homicide league, with an annual murder
rate of more than 90 per 100,000 people. The figure for the United Kingdom is one murder per
100,000 and in the US it is 4.7.
rate of more than 90 per 100,000 people. The figure for the United Kingdom is one murder per
100,000 and in the US it is 4.7.
Across Honduras, the toll runs at almost a murder every hour.
The epicentre is David's home city of San Pedro Sula, which holds the unenviable position of murder capital of the world.
Coupled with grinding poverty and a struggling economy, it leaves many young people with little choice but to join the gangs or flee the country.
Tens of thousands of Honduran children travel north across Mexico to the United States border, risking death in the desert or abduction and worse at the hands of criminals who patrol the frontier.
For David, growing up in an area controlled by the 18th Street Gang, it was an easy decision. You do what it takes to survive. For young men like David, the gangs are everything.
Although they have their roots in the Central American population of Los Angeles in the Sixties, 18th Street and their bitter rivals Mara Salvatrucha have expanded across Central America.
They now rule the streets of Honduras. Between them they have an estimated 36,000 members – far more than the police, whose job it is to maintain order.
The epicentre is David's home city of San Pedro Sula, which holds the unenviable position of murder capital of the world.
Coupled with grinding poverty and a struggling economy, it leaves many young people with little choice but to join the gangs or flee the country.
Tens of thousands of Honduran children travel north across Mexico to the United States border, risking death in the desert or abduction and worse at the hands of criminals who patrol the frontier.
For David, growing up in an area controlled by the 18th Street Gang, it was an easy decision. You do what it takes to survive. For young men like David, the gangs are everything.
Although they have their roots in the Central American population of Los Angeles in the Sixties, 18th Street and their bitter rivals Mara Salvatrucha have expanded across Central America.
They now rule the streets of Honduras. Between them they have an estimated 36,000 members – far more than the police, whose job it is to maintain order.
It is rare for a senior figure to describe the gangs' secret world of brutality. David, who wore dark glasses, a baseball cap and rosary beads around his neck, would only tell his story in a moving car, keeping a constant eye out for the police or his sworn enemies.
He described his family's reaction when he joined the gang. "For the first two years, your family is in mourning. You don't exist to them. Then comes acceptance and resignation."
He worked his way up through the ranks, first patrolling the neighbourhood and then completing an initiation.
"Somebody comes and tells the boss, it goes to the prisons where the heads are, to get the green light to do whatever he has to do," he said, describing the process by which a young gang member will move up the organisation. "They'll decide whether he has to get one finger, one tongue, one ear, one head."
He won't describe what he was asked to do, or "get". Nor was he prepared to say how many people he has killed during his career.
"I can't remember," was his only reply to the question.
Eighteen years after he was recruited, dozens of his friends are dead. Dozens more are held in prison. David knows of only one man who has been allowed to leave the gang. That was after two of his brothers were killed – but even then he was allowed to start a new life only by joining a seminary.
He described his family's reaction when he joined the gang. "For the first two years, your family is in mourning. You don't exist to them. Then comes acceptance and resignation."
He worked his way up through the ranks, first patrolling the neighbourhood and then completing an initiation.
"Somebody comes and tells the boss, it goes to the prisons where the heads are, to get the green light to do whatever he has to do," he said, describing the process by which a young gang member will move up the organisation. "They'll decide whether he has to get one finger, one tongue, one ear, one head."
He won't describe what he was asked to do, or "get". Nor was he prepared to say how many people he has killed during his career.
"I can't remember," was his only reply to the question.
Eighteen years after he was recruited, dozens of his friends are dead. Dozens more are held in prison. David knows of only one man who has been allowed to leave the gang. That was after two of his brothers were killed – but even then he was allowed to start a new life only by joining a seminary.
So why do it?
The reward, he said, was the money from running rackets through the young army he controlled and, more importantly, the standing that it won him. David, and thousands of gang members like him, believe that the influence of 18th Street and Mara Salvatrucha extends far beyond the barrios.
"The power," he says simply. "If this had negative repercussions, the people that are in this country would take responsibility and do something about it. But they know that we maintain 30 to 40 per cent of the country, the economy."
And the brutal truth is that there are few other options for young men like David anyway.
Honduras is one of the poorest countries in Central America. Almost two thirds of the population lives in poverty. Unemployment runs at more than a quarter.
It is the original "banana republic", a term that was coined by O Henry, an American writer, in a 1904 book of fiction. He had holed up in the country to escape embezzlement charges at home and used it as the model for Anchuria, which was portrayed as a dysfunctional, tropical state where the fruit companies managed to exert huge influence over a weak government.
The reward, he said, was the money from running rackets through the young army he controlled and, more importantly, the standing that it won him. David, and thousands of gang members like him, believe that the influence of 18th Street and Mara Salvatrucha extends far beyond the barrios.
"The power," he says simply. "If this had negative repercussions, the people that are in this country would take responsibility and do something about it. But they know that we maintain 30 to 40 per cent of the country, the economy."
And the brutal truth is that there are few other options for young men like David anyway.
Honduras is one of the poorest countries in Central America. Almost two thirds of the population lives in poverty. Unemployment runs at more than a quarter.
It is the original "banana republic", a term that was coined by O Henry, an American writer, in a 1904 book of fiction. He had holed up in the country to escape embezzlement charges at home and used it as the model for Anchuria, which was portrayed as a dysfunctional, tropical state where the fruit companies managed to exert huge influence over a weak government.
Mike Allison, associate professor in the political science department at the University of Scranton in Pennsylvania, says: "Honduras is the country where you hear stories of pretty much entire communities, businesses, closing in the middle of the night and moving out because of threats from gangs."
One way out is to escape to the United States. Edgardo Rodríguez has twice tried to take his wife and four young children and flee to America. Both times he and his family were caught and returned by Mexican police to their leaking tin-roofed home in El Progreso, a city close to San Pedro Sula.
For Rodríguez, the final straw came with an attack on his brother.
He was visiting from out of town and therefore attracted the attentions of a drunk gang member, who followed him home and fired a barrage of bullets at the cramped family home.
But there is little chance of a third attempt at escape. He said that he had spent his savings and was in debt after spending $1,200 on their previous trips.
He has not had steady work in a year and is worried sick about his eldest daughter, Cindy, 11. Young "potheads", as he described them, had taken to blowing kisses at her in a chillingly suggestive threat.
His wife, Mabiy, said that she thanked God every morning that the family woke up alive. "I want a better future for my kids," she said. "What worries me is that the girls run the risk of being raped. And if they take my son and teach him how to take drugs, how to extort, if they teach him to go around selling drugs, then that is no life for him."
One way out is to escape to the United States. Edgardo Rodríguez has twice tried to take his wife and four young children and flee to America. Both times he and his family were caught and returned by Mexican police to their leaking tin-roofed home in El Progreso, a city close to San Pedro Sula.
For Rodríguez, the final straw came with an attack on his brother.
He was visiting from out of town and therefore attracted the attentions of a drunk gang member, who followed him home and fired a barrage of bullets at the cramped family home.
But there is little chance of a third attempt at escape. He said that he had spent his savings and was in debt after spending $1,200 on their previous trips.
He has not had steady work in a year and is worried sick about his eldest daughter, Cindy, 11. Young "potheads", as he described them, had taken to blowing kisses at her in a chillingly suggestive threat.
His wife, Mabiy, said that she thanked God every morning that the family woke up alive. "I want a better future for my kids," she said. "What worries me is that the girls run the risk of being raped. And if they take my son and teach him how to take drugs, how to extort, if they teach him to go around selling drugs, then that is no life for him."
So why do i A new government, which was elected last year, has promised to get tough. It set up a military police force given the task of reclaiming no-go zones in the barrios from gangs.
But even Lt Col José Cerrato, who is in charge of operations in San Pedro Sula, admitted that the problem needed a huge push, with better schooling, more jobs and cheaper healthcare to wean youngsters off the idea of seeing gangs as a way out of poverty.
"All these aspects are needed for a solution," he said at the army barracks where he was based. "There's no quick fix."
The road between the Rodríguez family's home in El Progreso and San Pedro Sula is flanked by tall sugar cane plants. The fields are a favourite dumping ground for bodies. Circling vultures are usually the first sign that a murder has been committed.
But even Lt Col José Cerrato, who is in charge of operations in San Pedro Sula, admitted that the problem needed a huge push, with better schooling, more jobs and cheaper healthcare to wean youngsters off the idea of seeing gangs as a way out of poverty.
"All these aspects are needed for a solution," he said at the army barracks where he was based. "There's no quick fix."
The road between the Rodríguez family's home in El Progreso and San Pedro Sula is flanked by tall sugar cane plants. The fields are a favourite dumping ground for bodies. Circling vultures are usually the first sign that a murder has been committed.
Sometimes the bodies don't even make it that far.
Back in the barrios, small crowds gather beside shrouded bodies almost daily.
There was nothing unusual about the murder of José Tinoco, a 22-year-old man whose body was found in Rivera Hernández, one of the most notorious neighbourhoods.
He was found in the morning, lying face down beside a padlocked gate on a dirt road in 18th Street territory. His uncle, José Valle, said that he had nothing to do with gangs but was working as an odd-job man and went missing after visiting a church to fix an electrical fault.
"The young people get threats all the time," he said. "The gangs want to recruit them. They can't stand to see anyone working honestly."
But the police told a different story. One officer said they believed that he was a former member of the 18th Street Gang but had made the fatal mistake of straying back into the neighbourhood, where he was spotted and chased down.
Local people said that they knew nothing and had seen nothing — a sensible survival strategy.
A neighbour had come out of her house to watch the police at work. "You see, there's no future here," she said, pointing to the shrouded body. "That's why we are all trying to get out and go to America."
There was nothing unusual about the murder of José Tinoco, a 22-year-old man whose body was found in Rivera Hernández, one of the most notorious neighbourhoods.
He was found in the morning, lying face down beside a padlocked gate on a dirt road in 18th Street territory. His uncle, José Valle, said that he had nothing to do with gangs but was working as an odd-job man and went missing after visiting a church to fix an electrical fault.
"The young people get threats all the time," he said. "The gangs want to recruit them. They can't stand to see anyone working honestly."
But the police told a different story. One officer said they believed that he was a former member of the 18th Street Gang but had made the fatal mistake of straying back into the neighbourhood, where he was spotted and chased down.
Local people said that they knew nothing and had seen nothing — a sensible survival strategy.
A neighbour had come out of her house to watch the police at work. "You see, there's no future here," she said, pointing to the shrouded body. "That's why we are all trying to get out and go to America."
There is another way.
This summer, Kenco launched Coffee vs Gangs — a pilot project to provide young people in Honduras with the opportunity to stay out of the gangs that blight Honduran society and train as coffee farmers.
Coffee accounts for 42 per cent of all agricultural exports in Honduras, and Mondelēz International, owner of Kenco, is the biggest coffee buyer from the country, accounting for 30 per cent of the coffee exported each year.
There are 114,000 coffee farmers in Honduras and Kenco is keen to develop the communities and provide alternatives to gang life through coffee. One of the causes of the gang problem is a lack of opportunity. Coffee vs Gangs will equip young people with the skills and support to become successful future coffee entrepreneurs.
Twenty young people were selected — drawn from the inner city and rural communities. Many were at risk of falling into a life of gangs, drugs and crime or falling victim to crime, either in Honduras or through attempts to migrate to the US. Focus groups, individual interviews and family interviews were part of the process — with community leaders playing a part.
For the next year they will live and work on a pilot farm — where their education will go beyond learning how to grow coffee.
Coffee accounts for 42 per cent of all agricultural exports in Honduras, and Mondelēz International, owner of Kenco, is the biggest coffee buyer from the country, accounting for 30 per cent of the coffee exported each year.
There are 114,000 coffee farmers in Honduras and Kenco is keen to develop the communities and provide alternatives to gang life through coffee. One of the causes of the gang problem is a lack of opportunity. Coffee vs Gangs will equip young people with the skills and support to become successful future coffee entrepreneurs.
Twenty young people were selected — drawn from the inner city and rural communities. Many were at risk of falling into a life of gangs, drugs and crime or falling victim to crime, either in Honduras or through attempts to migrate to the US. Focus groups, individual interviews and family interviews were part of the process — with community leaders playing a part.
For the next year they will live and work on a pilot farm — where their education will go beyond learning how to grow coffee.
As well as lessons in maths, languages and good agricultural practice, the participants will learn valuable life skills in a safe environment — something many of them will never have experienced before.
Amongst them is Carlos, 18. He said: "I saw this as a chance to change my life. The life I led was leading me to hell."
Growing up in the city of El Progreso, he was surrounded by friends who drank, smoked marijuana and carried out robberies. The pressure was on Carlos to follow suit: it was only his parents' strong faith that kept him from joining the neighbourhood gang.
Now Carlos plans to save money and learn skills so he can eventually buy some land and start his own farm.
But it's not enough simply to remove young people like Carlos from the risks in their community for a year. Kenco wants all the participants to have a business plan at the end of the project — and the skills, confidence and passion to make it a commercial reality.
The bottom line is simple. By supporting Carlos and the 19 other young people in the scheme with the skills and opportunities they need Kenco is helping future generations of Hondurans to find a life outside the gangs.
Amongst them is Carlos, 18. He said: "I saw this as a chance to change my life. The life I led was leading me to hell."
Growing up in the city of El Progreso, he was surrounded by friends who drank, smoked marijuana and carried out robberies. The pressure was on Carlos to follow suit: it was only his parents' strong faith that kept him from joining the neighbourhood gang.
Now Carlos plans to save money and learn skills so he can eventually buy some land and start his own farm.
But it's not enough simply to remove young people like Carlos from the risks in their community for a year. Kenco wants all the participants to have a business plan at the end of the project — and the skills, confidence and passion to make it a commercial reality.
The bottom line is simple. By supporting Carlos and the 19 other young people in the scheme with the skills and opportunities they need Kenco is helping future generations of Hondurans to find a life outside the gangs.
To find out more and follow the progess of Carlos and his fellow students throughout the year visit telegraph.co.uk/coffeevsgangs
For more information on Kenco and the Coffee vs Gangs scheme, visit coffeevsgangs.com
For more information on Kenco and the Coffee vs Gangs scheme, visit coffeevsgangs.com
