In Aotearoa New Zealand, a new law has been enacted, banning gang patches and other identifying insignia in public spaces. However, for those embedded within gang communities, identity runs far deeper than a piece of fabric. In Hawke’s Bay, members of the Mongrel Mob have chosen to etch their affiliations into their very skin, a testament to the enduring bonds within these groups.
For over half a century, the Mongrel Mob has maintained a significant presence in Hawke’s Bay, with several chapters operating across the region. Hastings, in particular, is considered by some members to be the gang’s “Fatherland.” The Mongrel Mob is just one of 38 gangs in New Zealand, a landscape where gang membership has surged to unprecedented levels. As of February, the nation’s police force is outnumbered by gang members.
The government has pledged a robust approach to tackling outlaw motorcycle clubs and home-grown street gangs, citing their disproportionate involvement in criminal activity. Prime Minister Christopher Luxon has stated unequivocally, “To the gangs, I say this: you are no longer above the law.” This law-and-order focus has translated into new police powers designed to disrupt gang gatherings, bolstered non-consenting laws, and an expansion of prison capacity.
From the Streets to the Pulpit
However, for individuals like Lucky Te Koha, a former gangster who has since become a Christian pastor, the current crackdown fails to address the underlying issues that drive people to gang life. In New Zealand, the gang world is far more complex than simple organised crime syndicates or motorcycle clubs. For many, especially in certain communities, gangs like the Mongrel Mob and Black Power are deeply entrenched, often spanning multiple generations and encompassing entire families.
Within these groups, members frequently describe their chapters as “whānau” – an extended family unit – offering a crucial sense of belonging and protection. Yet, these same gangs are inextricably linked to serious violence, drug offending, and significant harm within communities. This complex reality has consistently challenged successive New Zealand governments.
Lucky Te Koha believes his calling from God is to work directly within this intricate world. He describes the men he engages with as belonging to a high-risk, hard-to-reach demographic. Predominantly Māori, they often hail from lower socio-economic backgrounds and harbour a profound mistrust of the police, government agencies, and mainstream services.
Lucky himself is an unconventional figure in the ministry. He freely uses strong language from the pulpit, rides a motorbike, and is welcomed into spaces that many traditional church leaders would never access. He refers to his approach as “QBE – qualified by experience.” Having joined his first street gang as a teenager and moved through various groups in his adult life, this deeply personal history informs his current work. Lucky understands the immense difficulty of leaving behind a life built around gang affiliation.
“I don’t go in there and tell them they have to leave the gang,” he explains. Instead, his focus is on influencing the environment surrounding gang membership – impacting homes, relationships, and the lives of children growing up within this context.
Breaking the Cycle of Silence
In Hawke’s Bay, Lucky facilitates bi-monthly sessions with a Mongrel Mob chapter, held at a local church. These sessions begin with check-ins for the men and are followed by relationship-building sessions with their partners. The discussions within these circles cover a wide spectrum of issues, including addiction, shame, parenting, relationship dynamics, financial stress, and the constant pressure of maintaining stability.
Lucky’s core aim is to encourage the men to vocalise the things they have been conditioned to keep hidden. “We come from a world of silence,” Lucky states. “Once we share it, it comes out of our puku, out of our stomach, out of the dark and it gets put into the light. Then shame lifts, but it costs you vulnerability.” This emphasis on vulnerability is not accidental; Lucky believes it is the vital first step in dismantling the intergenerational trauma that affects many of the men he supports.
Professor Tracey McIntosh, from the University of Auckland’s Te Wānanga o Waipapa, School of Māori Studies and Pacific Studies, highlights a strong correlation between New Zealand’s gang history and the nation’s past treatment of Māori youth in state care. “It’s impossible to look in the New Zealand situation at the formation of gangs without recognising the really significant state engagement,” she asserts. Professor McIntosh observes that practices within boys’ homes and group homes during that era foreshadowed behaviours later seen in gang life, describing “the cruelty, coercion, complicity, collusion and compliance” as features of institutional life that some boys carried with them.
Acknowledging Past Abuses
This history is deeply personal for Lucky. As a young person, he experienced time in foster care and later at Cherry Farm, a psychiatric institution near Dunedin, where he alleges he suffered sexual abuse. He is one of thousands of New Zealanders who have shared their experiences with the Royal Commission of Inquiry into Abuse in Care, which investigated institutions nationwide, including boys’ homes and psychiatric hospitals.
In 2023, a unique gang hui was convened, with the royal commission invited to participate. Representatives from various gangs, chapters, and patch colours gathered to openly discuss experiences of abuse, trauma, and the state care system. Some of the men involved in Lucky’s programs also attended this significant gathering. For Lucky, this process was instrumental in transforming private shame into a shared experience that men could discuss collectively. “It was always made to be our shame. My shame,” he reflects. “The hui showed that it’s okay to be bold and have some courage to share what’s going on.”
The testimonies shared at the hui were among the crucial evidence that informed the inquiry’s final report, released in 2024. This report estimated that as many as 256,000 individuals experienced abuse or neglect in state and faith-based care between 1950 and 2019. In a significant step towards reconciliation, the New Zealand government issued a formal apology to survivors in November 2024, acknowledging the profound harm inflicted upon generations of vulnerable people.
Lucky now actively works with individuals who have transitioned from state and faith-based care into gang life, as well as the children of survivors who continue to grapple with intergenerational trauma.
Judas, one of the men participating in Lucky’s Hawke’s Bay program, sees this historical legacy reflected in his own family. “I’m the product of that generation,” he states. His mother experienced state care, and his father was a member of the Mongrel Mob. “My mum went through a lot in state care. She’s lost and unhealed,” Judas explains. “My father was in and out of prison for most of my life.”
Judas expresses a strong desire to break the cycle of violence, addiction, and incarceration that has marked his family’s history. Becoming a father himself prompted a profound re-evaluation of the kind of environment he wanted his children to grow up in, seeking to provide stability and safety away from the instability, drugs, and absence that defined his own childhood. He has personally battled addiction, but proudly states he stopped using methamphetamine in 2019 and has not looked back. “My life was shit, it was just broken. I was on meth and all the things,” he recounts. “But I’ve come a very long way since then. I’ve changed many things in my life, many old habits, old patterns.” He credits Lucky’s program with helping him maintain accountability and gain clarity when facing life’s challenges. “I do regret some of the decisions that I’ve made, as I haven’t known any better in some areas. But I’m just a big believer of learning from my mistakes and trying not to repeat them,” Judas adds. He is now actively involved as a facilitator in a local youth program, guiding Māori teenagers in connecting with their cultural heritage.
A Different Path to Rehabilitation
Meanwhile, not far from where Lucky conducts his workshops, construction cranes are busily erecting pylons for a new, fortified jail. Hawke’s Bay Regional Prison, already designed to house over 700 inmates, is undergoing a significant expansion, with the government adding 316 new beds to accommodate an increasing number of prisoners. Approximately 200 Mongrel Mob members are currently serving sentences at this facility for a range of serious offences.
Lucky’s ultimate goal is to prevent more men from ending up within these walls. “You’ve got to pay the price for what your action’s done,” he acknowledges. “But what led you there? What’s going to stop you from going back there?”
