Go Homeward, Angels

WHEN THE GUARDIAN ANGELS civilian anti-crime group was started by Curtis Sliwa in August 1979, it seemed like a pretty good idea. Community-minded youths would speed nights riding the New York subways, protecting the elderly, giving directions to lost people, and excorting citizens out of potentially dangerous encounters with muggers. Occasionally, they might even catch a purse-snatcher or burglar in the act. As time passed, the Angels made no significant dent in crime rates, but they did show the almost-forgotten power of citizens who care about each other. The Angels were a modern, urban version of the Boy Scouts who helped little old ladies through subways instead of across the street.

Eventually, as patrol groups expanded to cities nationwide, the Guardian Angels came under fire from civil libertarians who called them "vigilantes," and from police departments who considered them marginally effective nuisances. Still, Sliwa's organization never lost most of its popularity. But reviewing the Angels' record and analyzing a new Guardian Angel anti-crime manual co-authored by Sliwa brings out unflattering sides of the group that police, libertarians and the general public have all overlooked.

With the help of a Madison Avenue lawyer named Murray Schwartz. Sliwa has written a book called Streetsmart: The Guardian Angel Guide to Safe Living The paperback has an eye-catching glossy cover photo of Sliwa and some Angels standing on a street in tough-guy poses usually found on the covers of heavy-metal rock albums or comic books. It underscores the way Sliwa has marketed himself and his ideas in a tasteless, often crass manner.

No incident seems too sensitive to be turned into one of Sliwa's public-relations bids. He married a fellow Angel on Christmas Eve 1981, and the two spent their "honeymoon" patrolling the New York subways. The media were invited, and one T. V. report showed Sliwa carrying his new bride through a subway turnstile instead of over a threshold.

Bartering personal privacy to sell the Angels could be laughed off as tacky but clever; but Sliwa's antics in Atlanta were a different story. As the nation helplessly watched authorities try to catch the murderer of Black children in Atlanta. Sliwa joined the various psychics, bloodhound-owners and other publicity-seekers who publicly announced they would lend a hand to the investigators. Never mind that the Angels were not an investigative unit: they would start a chapter in Atlanta. The incident was especially distasteful because Atlanta residents, almost numb with grief, had already formed citizen patrol groups.

Streetsmart has tips on how to protect oneself from muggings and robberies: it re-states commonsense wisdom like not remaining in a half-empty subway car if someone starts threatening to rob you, or not walking in high-crime areas alone after dark. Such advice can never be repeated enough, but the style of the book should be carefully noted by both fans and critics of the Angels. Sliwa and Schwartz repeatedly pander to the worst fears and stereotypes held by white middle-class city and suburban dwellers.

Criminals, the enemy, are referred to only as "punks," or even worse, simply as "they." The book is liberally sprinkled with photos of Black or lower-class white teens, who represent "them." The prose stresses similar stereotypes. "Who can avoid looking at one of these street punks standing on a city street, babbling loudly and sometimes incoherently, moving and swaggering his body in all kinds of weird contortions, with a hat turned sideways on his head, a parks worn inside out, and sneakers with laces untied?" Elsewhere, the authors call for "nothing lead than a complete surrender by all the punks who have roamed the streets across America for twenty years."

The worst thing about Sliwa's view is that it lumps together clumps of people and labels them as less than human. A typical photo in the book, showing a white person bicycling past two Black teens, carries the caption, "Stay alert and watch out for groups of punks." Ironically, this sweeping dehumanization and stereotype reflects the very feelings that apparently helped lead to the death of an Angel last year.

Last New Year's Eve. the national and local news reported the death of a New Jersey Angel named Frank Melvin, a 26-year-old Black man. In a tragic incident, Melvin and a group of Angels arrived at the scene of a burglary at the same time as two Newark policemen. One officer was on the roof of the burglarized building when he saw Melvin below, running toward his partner; he misinterpreted the Angel's intentions as threatening, shouted warnings, and then fired one shot through Melvin's chest. In truth, Melvin had tried to unzip his jacket to show his identifying Guardian Angels t-shirt.

As watchdog organizations like the National Black United Front contend, Black men have often been killed by police while reaching into their pockets for identification, or, in one case, a Bible. Arrest situations are tense affairs: officers have accidentally shot each other in moments of confusion. But incidents like the Melvin killing will only repeat themselves if, as Sliwa hopes, we all get into the habit of automatically labelling "them" as "punks."