Feedback From Truly Pacific Islands

The two Bay Area police officers had traveled to the Kingdom of Tonga searching for answers. Like students seeking the wisdom of an ancient sage, the officers asked about an issue that befuddled them: How do we quell violence among warring gangs of Tongan American youths?

The weeklong visit did not produce a recipe for peace. Instead, it provided the officers a different view of home.

In a place dubbed the “Friendly Islands,” where children tend to obey their parents, police do not carry guns and crime is low, the officers could see the gang problem for what it is: as American as gangsta rap, Hollywood horror films and fast food.

“We learned that the violence that’s going on over here is not typical of a Tongan male or female back on the island,” said San Bruno Police Cpl. Mark Phillips.

Tongans there are “very loving, warm parents, nurturing to their children, extremely well-educated,” he said. “You’ve got to know the other side of the coin to solve the problem.”

The South Pacific trip has proved to be a milestone for police trying to prevent violence in the Tongan American community. The two officers who went on the March trip and their police chiefs say it has offered them credibility and respect, and entree into a community that they did not have before.

Among Tongans and Tongan Americans, the journey has opened up a wider -- sometimes contentious -- discussion. It has also generated a wild mix of reactions, from those who appreciate the police efforts to those who think the trip is absurd.

“If we have a Jewish [crime] problem in the U.S., do we go back to Israel?” asked Fuifuilupe Niumeitolu, a faculty member at New College of California in San Francisco.

Going to Tonga to understand Tongan American youths “negates that we are here in the United States, that we play a vibrant role. We’re not just Tongans, we’re a part of the United States,” she said.

According to the 2000 U.S. census, there are 4,549 people in San Mateo County who identified themselves as Tongan, or Tongan and another race or ethnicity.

Families frequently travel the more than 3,900 miles between the Bay Area and the islands, as do those fleeing authorities, local police said.

The officers who traveled to Tonga -- Phillips and Burlingame Police Sgt. Edward S. Nakiso -- are seasoned veterans. They are gregarious, easygoing and passionate about their work. Nakiso is part Samoan.

In Tonga, a nation of about 100,000 people south of Samoa, they met with the speaker of the parliament, police and prison officials, and common folks. The royal band played for them and they were treated to a feast with a roasted pig.

“I’ll never experience that again,” Phillips said. “I’m just a small-town cop.”

But he is a small-town cop dealing with a big-city problem. One gang is based in San Mateo, the other in San Bruno. Sometimes they meet in the middle, squaring off in Burlingame. The gangs go by names such as the Shoreview Crips and Baby Gangsters, police said.

Last year, the area experienced several violent incidents, “just an unusual spike that was destined to result in somebody dead,” said San Bruno Police Chief Lee Violett.

In San Bruno, one man was shot at his doorstep and left paralyzed. Another was beaten with a pipe. After a beauty pageant at a Burlingame hotel, fighting broke out in the parking lot and shots were fired. Nine other police departments were called to control the crowd.

“It’s not like the Tongans are going out and fighting anybody,” Nakiso said. “They’re fighting each other.”

After learning that local Rotary Club member Emil Hons was planning a trip to Tonga, Violett came up with the idea of sending officers along. Other police chiefs agreed. Donations from local businesses and service organizations covered the $4,500 cost of the trip. The officers were expected to share what they learned -- and put it to use.

It is 8:45 p.m. on a recent Wednesday, and Phillips is patrolling San Bruno, a city of about 40,000 that sits in the shadow of San Francisco International Airport and is policed by 39 sworn officers.

As he drives the streets this night, Phillips spots three young men standing in front of a blue house. He slows down and rolls down the window.

“Malo e’ lelei,” he says, using a Tongan greeting he learned.

“Sai pe,” comes the response -- then the recognition. “You the one that went to Tonga? How was it? People treat you good? You ate hella pig over there?”

“It’s everywhere,” he responds, referring to the popularity of pork in Tonga.

The officer and the young men talk about the capital of Nuku’alofa, the Tongan language and a spot called the Billfish. Then the officer wants to know how they are doing. He has visited this house before for a less cordial reason.

“Just trying to stay out of trouble,” one young man says.

“It’s appreciated,” Phillips says before driving off.

Then he explains: “You have this white police officer looking at them saying, ‘Malo e’ lelei.’ It breaks down cultural barriers.”

In Burlingame, there is no sizable Tongan community among the more than 28,000 residents. But with its beautiful views of the bay, it is a favored place for youths to gather, drink and sometimes refuse police orders to disperse, Nakiso said.

“They challenge everything,” he said of Tongan youths as he drove past the hotels and restaurants that make Burlingame attractive to tourists. “They’re actually spoiled, like our kids.”

Since returning from the South Pacific, he and Phillips have participated in monthly meetings with the Tongan Interfaith Council. The gatherings left him hopeful that “they want to do something to ensure that the Tongan community is viewed with respect and admiration.”

David Taumoepeau, who sits on the South San Francisco Parks and Recreation Commission, said that some people balked at the trip’s cost, but that he explained how taxpayers were not footing the bill. Then he praised the police departments’ decision to focus on a long-ignored community.

“We should be appreciative that people are willing to outreach,” said the 33-year-old Tongan American. “For them to send an officer out there just to learn about the culture is a great step forward.” The problems facing Tongan youths are more severe than some realize, Taumoepeau said. According to a recent report by the Asian Law Caucus, only 6% of Tongans in the Bay Area have a college degree.

In San Mateo County, Pacific Islander youths are overrepresented at every stage of the juvenile justice system. From July 1, 2002, through April 30, 2003, they were 5.8 times more likely to be referred to probation than their proportion in the population would indicate, according to the National Council on Crime and Delinquency, based in Oakland.

Those statistics have not generated the attention or resources they merit, said Taumoepeau, who is active in the interfaith council and many other Tongan and Pacific Islander organizations. The officers “have become our biggest advocates in many ways,” he said.

Lolo Tohi, a mother of five children ages 5 to 14, is worried about young Tongans.

“Anything to help is fine,” she said of the officers’ efforts. “We need somebody to hear our voices.”

But Kosini Lavulo, 29, said she “actually laughed” when she heard of the officers’ trip. “It’s a nice vacation for them.”

To understand Tongan American youths, officers should look not to their parents’ homeland but to their homes right in San Mateo County, she said.

“I was born and raised here all my life,” she said. “It all goes back to how you’re raised.”

, In Tonga, family bonds are tight and a good name is treasured. Fear of bringing shame to the family keeps youths out of trouble; a desire to make the family proud keeps them achieving.

In the U.S., that structure is fractured, said K. Loselea Naufahu, who teaches a Polynesian culture class at the College of San Mateo. Here, parents who use corporal punishment are reported to authorities. Parents sometimes feel a loss of control.

“Every Tongan youth has memorized the number” to report abuse, Naufahu said. “You don’t dare raise your hand.... In Tonga, it’s not abuse. You’re going by the Bible.”

With both parents often forced to work, there are fewer eyes minding the children. Some families even send children to live for a while with relatives in Tonga, where they learn “to toe the line,” said Naufahu, who holds a PhD in clinical psychology and a law degree.

The trip has benefited police officers not just here but in Tonga as well. Though Phillips and Nakiso went there to learn, they ended up teaching.

One day they spotted three letters scrawled on a building: TCG. Then on the beach they saw one word written in block letters in the sand. “The Tongan police didn’t think anything of it,” Nakiso said.

But he and Phillips were alarmed. They explained to the officers: TCG stands for Tongan Crip Gang. The word in the sand was CRIP.

The officers reasoned that they might have been the work of a Tongan from the U.S. or a kid mimicking behavior from America. Either way, they spelled trouble.

“We said, ‘Wait, you need to know.’ ”