Last fall, a Chicago headline caught my eye: A man who had posed with Governor J.B. Pritzker at a “Peacekeepers” anti-violence event had just been charged with murder.
The man was part of a state-funded program designed to prevent gang violence by paying locals—often former gang members—to mediate conflicts on the street. About a week after appearing with the governor, prosecutors say, the man participated in a smash-and-grab robbery of a Louis Vuitton store. In the chaotic getaway, another man was killed: Mark Carlo Arceta, whose son was born the next day without a father.
The story raised obvious questions: What exactly is a Peacekeeper? And how often do people in this program end up back in cuffs?
The local press quickly moved on. I started digging.
After three months of Freedom of Information Act requests, door-knocking, and speaking with ex–gang members, I answer those questions in today’s story.
The Peacekeepers program is just a single piece of an experiment in crime-fighting that has attracted around a billion dollars. It also is a program that a growing chorus of city leaders, law enforcement officials, and even a donor now say doesn’t work. One city alderman called it a “scam.” A member of the mayor’s own public safety team told me it is a “revolving door” for gang members.
Read my investigation, and watch our video report, on whether the Peacekeepers really keep the peace on Chicago’s streets. —Olivia Reingold
I: “The Biggest Lobby in Chicago”
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS — Darron Randle said he used to believe anyone could change—even the hardened ex–gang members he counseled on the South Side.
“I was extremely optimistic,” he said.
As a life coach at the Firehouse Community Arts Center, a violence-prevention nonprofit that has received more than a million dollars in public funding since 2022, Randle advised participants on how to live an honest life. The men attended therapy sessions, worked toward their high school diplomas, and met with Randle twice a week. In exchange, they received up to $550 every two weeks.
Everything was fine, Randle said. Until the checks ran late one payday. Almost immediately, a mob of about 30 men gathered, some of whom blocked the office doors so no one could leave.
“We were held hostage almost. . . . It really was scary,” said Randle, who grew up in a Bronzeville project. “I was uncertain as to what could happen, like a fight could break out. I didn’t feel safe.”
