Father Greg, with his trimmed, yet bushy, white beard and avuncular smile is more akin to the relative who dresses as Santa during the Christmas season than “a gangster for God” or the founder of Homeboy Industries, the nation’s largest gang-intervention program that brings in people looking to leave their life in a gang behind and offers them jobs, paychecks, responsibilities, and, most importantly, accountability.
As Father Greg –lovingly referred to as G-Dog – notes, “no kid is seeking something when he joins a gang,” he or she is seeking a way out of the abusive, dysfunctional life that surrounds them. Ironically, they end up in a similarly abusive, dysfunctional life, but this time, they are recognized and supported.
Most admirable about G-Dog is how he instills importance and self-worth without coddling. He is a hard talker who follows a “no bullshit” mantra and calls his employees out for missing shifts, not calling, showing up late, and the like. In all, he treats the former gang members like human beings.
And while the documentary is a bit hit and miss at times – it casts a vilifying light on Greg that it quickly dismisses, seemingly for the sake of injecting potential controversy – the subtext is profound. Homeboy Industries runs on donations and charity. It is not government funded. And when it is forced to lay off three hundred employees for a time, it receives no additional help. This unfortunate circumstance alludes to a cynical sort of weeding-out stance that the government takes toward former gang members – even if they’re trying to get back on their own feet.
In essence, Greg is one of the only people acknowledging their existence and potential as people, whereas other institutions view them as grist for the recidivistic prison mill, a system that disenfranchises its prisoners. And whose prisoners can hardly shake the shade of incarceration once they are released.
The stigma of gang life – often announced by the neck and facial tattoos that former members don – follow them as closely as does the stigma of prison life. In both scenarios, the betterment of self is secondary to their past, and this is where Father Greg is most revolutionary. He treats them like people, and – as much of a microcosm as that benevolence is – his genuine interactions with each gang member illustrates that acknowledging their existence breeds a certain type of humanity currently missing in the grander scale of sustainable commerce.
This is most apparent during the aforementioned three-hundred person layoff. G Dog is noticeably emotional, wrought with disappointment, but exhibiting hope that things will turn around and they will find funds somewhere. This is a fine feel good part of the film, but the most poignant moments are when the former gang members begin raising money to keep the facility open. They volunteer and they help Father Greg with the operations to keep everything afloat.
As people who have seen their own self-worth and promise, they understand the importance of keeping a place like Homeboy Industries open. They realize their potential and have become preachers of their experiences.
This is not meant to be a public service announcement for anyone looking to make donations. Rather, G Dog becomes an observation of burgeoning humanity. Somehow, the former gang members becomes more benevolent and understanding than those who ignore them.