The meaning of redemption

In the heart of South Los Angeles still known as South-Central, former gang members, loved ones of young men killed by gang violence, community activists and vulnerable teens gathered Thursday afternoon to watch “Redemption,” a provocative TV movie about Stanley “Tookie” Williams.

Co-founder of the Crips, Williams is on San Quentin prison’s death row for his role in four murders. Yet Williams was also nominated in 2000 for a Nobel Peace Prize for his behind-bars advocacy for street peace.

“Redemption,” starring Jamie Foxx and Lynn Whitfield, will premiere Sunday on FX. The mood at Thursday’s screening was largely conciliatory and accepting. In his former neighborhood Williams remains a unique personality, not least because of his renunciation of his gang past once he got to prison. But the film -- which focuses on the dramatic story of a death row inmate who through books and the Internet counsels young children to avoid gang life, yet largely ignores the crimes for which he was convicted -- has already stirred intense reactions from people involved in the cases as well as the people who knew him in Los Angeles in the 1970s.

“I completely believe in redemption, but not the type of redemption that Stan Williams is talking about,” said Lora Owens during a telephone interview. Williams was convicted for the 1979 murder of her stepson Albert Owens, a 7-Eleven employee who was killed during a robbery; and the murders a few days later of Robert Yang, his wife and his daughter, during a robbery at the motel Yang owned.

Although Williams, 50, has apologized on his website for helping to form the deadly Crips gang, he has never addressed the Owens or Yang families. He has always maintained his innocence and contends he was framed. He has been at San Quentin prison since he was convicted in 1981, and is second in line among the state’s more than 600 inmates awaiting execution.

“Redemption means you take responsibility and then you try to make amends,” Owens said. “He has never been a responsible adult. The very fact that they used that [title] is a disgraceful thing to even consider.”

Vernell Crittendon, a correctional lieutenant at San Quentin who has known Williams since the day he arrived at the prison, said that if Williams really wanted to help stop gang violence, he should start by helping the adults who get paid to do so.

“He refuses to do a debriefing with law enforcement about gangs and gang activity, which is something that almost all death row inmates do,” Crittendon said. “I see no ownership for the lives he has devastated by his ruthless acts. To me, this is not redemption. This shows me a person who is trying to use every strategy to escape the ultimate punishment for the heinous acts he committed.”

Opinions were more conciliatory at Thursday’s screening at the Community Coalition center in South Los Angeles.

“This is Tookie’s neighborhood,” said 40-year-old Najee Ali, the founder of Project Islamic Hope who organized the community screening.

“These young people are potential gang members. We need to have a discussion among ourselves about the message of this movie. This isn’t Stan’s story. This is the community of South-Central’s story.”

“Those of us who live in South-Central, we’re fighting this war and we take this very seriously,” said Donald Bakeer, an educator and author of “The Original South-Central L.A. Crips.” “I don’t think gang members liked [‘Redemption’] because they want it to be more gritty and show more of his escapades. But it’s more important than that. It’s bigger than that. It’s about the redemption of the community.”

FX executives and a representative for Williams said their intention was to produce a movie about his anti-gang work and the question of his atonement instead of the legalities of his cases.

“We know there’s a lot of opinions on the subject, but we didn’t set out to be political or to review the case,” said Gerard Bocaccio, senior vice president of entertainment at FX. “The movie challenges you to respond to the question: Can he redeem himself? It’s really a cautionary tale, and that message seems to emerge in a positive way. The movie doesn’t answer questions. It raises questions. What can we do about gang violence?”

Williams could not be reached for an interview. But Barbara Becnel, a journalist who helped Williams write his books and often serves as his spokeswoman, said Williams was not interested in a movie that glorified gang life or could be construed as a vehicle for his legal claims.

“What he wanted to do was a movie that inspired youths not to join a gang or be incarcerated,” said Becnel, a central figure in the film. “The key element is that it’s ... the co-founder of the Crips who reformed himself and is saying, ‘Don’t do what I did.’ ”

“To hear this huge dude saying sorry to the kids and talking about black-on-black crime and calling it madness is incredible,” said Fred Jackson, a violence prevention activist in the East Bay who uses the “Tookie Speaks Out Against Gang Violence” book series to capture the attention of children in his youth center. “They hear the truth in his voice that he has reformed, and they respect that.”

Still, critics argue the film exalts Williams by glossing over the violent acts behind bars that earned him 6 1/2 years in solitary confinement, and instead focuses on his rigorous studies, his relationship with Becnel, and the writing of his books.

“It’s a story about Stanley and his supposed redemption,” said Robert Martin, the retired prosecutor who tried Williams and has seen the movie. “In other words, he has shown some remorse for the crimes he was never charged with. He’s sorry for his gangbanging days. But he’s never apologized for the crimes he was charged with and committed. How can he be rehabilitated then? What Stanley is now is a celebrity criminal. All the media attention is on the living while the four victims lie in their graves.”

Indeed, one of the biggest points of contention for the Owens family is that in the film’s single reference to Albert Owens, he is called “Alvin.” The mistake, which originated in press reports at the time, was apparently undetected when the script was written. “He is so unimportant to their way of thinking that they didn’t bother to get his name right,” Lora Owens said. “He was a human. Any time they bring up the murders in the movie, they refer to it as one of Williams’ bad choices. Albert was a human, an optimist who believed he could set a goal and walk right into it. There was no reason he had to die. He was not an ‘it.’ ”

If there is anyone who can empathize with Owens it is Vicky Lindsey, founder of Project Cry No More, whose son was killed in 1995 by his own “homeboys.” Lindsey, 46, who grew up in South Los Angeles with Williams and other gangsters mentioned in the movie, dedicated herself to saving her community long before her son’s death. She expresses the mixed emotions many seem to feel about Williams and his death sentence.

“He should not be responsible for the ill actions of other people even if he did form the gang,” she said. “People are not out there killing today because Tookie founded the Crips. You do have choices. But as a mother who lost a child, I will say that no matter what good works you’ve done in life, if you have committed murder, that person doesn’t have another chance and that person cannot be redeemed because that person is dead. So you don’t deserve a chance either.”