‘Suits,’ Students and the Street-Wise Look for Common Ground : Delegates: The young were nearly lost in a sea of briefcase-toting ‘experts’ as tattooed ex-gang members talked with politicians.

Many of the delegates at Orange County’s gang-prevention summit Tuesday came to listen, but Julian Salas came to talk.

“They say they’re so-called experts, but they haven’t been out there, they don’t know how it is deep down in the neighborhood,” said Salas, 19, a self-described drug addict and gang member who recently joined the Victory Outreach mission.

“If a person goes up in a suit to talk to a gang member, they’re not going to listen,” said Salas, whose football jersey hung over baggy pants. “I was once out there, too. I know what it is. I want to help.”

Scattered among the suits at Tuesday’s summit meeting were a few dozen faces like Salas’. Younger faces.

High school students with backpacks squeezed in next to business people with briefcases at round tables. Tattooed ex-gang members in jeans and baseball caps traded ideas with politicians and probation officers. Collectively, the youthful delegates had one main suggestion for summit organizers: Next time you do something like this, include more of us.

“Youth have more ideas, since they’re in the streets. That’s where they’re at. They’ve got the experience,” said 16-year-old David Sanchez, a junior and leader of about 10 clubs at Santa Ana’s Valley High School.

“I don’t think the younger generation wants to be preached at by the older people, because they don’t know what we’re going through,” echoed Vanessa Corona, 15, a sophomore at Ocean View High in Huntington Beach. “They say they want to help, but they have no clue. They need to ask us.”

Summit leaders estimated that 100 of the 1,000 attendees at Tuesday’s four-hour conference were students or gang members, but teen-age faces were scarce in the crowded ballroom.

Many of the students who did attend were campus leaders in cities such as Los Alamitos, Laguna Beach, Laguna Hills and Mission Viejo--communities that have been barely touched by gang violence; they seemed unsure of exactly what to do at the summit.

“It’s pretty impressive. It’s an interesting meeting with all these people from different backgrounds,” said a wide-eyed Nate Sacks, a senior at Los Alamitos High. “I’m from a pretty sheltered community.”

At the summit, Sacks mingled with people like Michael Williamson, 29, a gang member-turned-outreach worker from South-Central Los Angeles who said he came to the summit even though he wasn’t invited.

And Billy Moisan, 36, who spent much of the past two decades in jail and on Tuesday recognized his long-ago probation officer as she walked past at the Anaheim hotel.

And 19-year-old Raymond Montoya, a Los Angeles gang member who--for the past three days--has been trying to go straight.

During the round-table discussions, the people in business suits seemed eager to hear from the gang members and teen-agers.

All afternoon, each table wrestled with two basic questions. The first: “How have gangs impacted your life?”

Jenny Sporty, 14, spoke about fear: “I’m scared to go into Santa Ana, the bad parts. It makes me afraid to go around certain people--of getting shot,” said the ninth-grader at Foothill High School in Tustin. “It scares me to go to sleep at night.”

The second question: “What actions can be taken to stop gang violence?”

One former gang member suggested community centers in every neighborhood to help youth find jobs, counseling, drug rehabilitation, recreation and health care in one place. Other students begged for more after-school activities, and employment opportunities.

And though they were listened to on Tuesday, many were not satisfied with the summit.

“I think they’re missing the point by a country mile. We’re tired of the system offering programs,” said Williamson, who spent most of Tuesday’s summit shaking his head as county officials spoke from a podium. “Everybody at this table doesn’t have any dealings with gangs.”

Jonathan Galaviz, vice president of the senior class at Mission Viejo High School, liked the summit, but said there were “too many ties.” Vanessa, the Ocean View sophomore, said there should have been fewer videos and more discussion.

“There (are) people here who want to help, but this (summit) is a thing just to rub shoulders. Where are the kids they want to help?” complained Moisan, the 36-year-old ex-convict.

As the closing, a novel idea began to germinate at one of the tables in the center of the room.

“What do you think of a summit like this . . .” Bev Hoskinson of McDonnell Douglas whispered across the table to Vanessa, and a couple of former gang members, as the conference organizers said goodby. “If it was all kids? Would it work?” Smiling, they nodded.