They're big, brash and have come all the way from the US to try to educate young people in east London about the perils of joining gangs. Michele Kirsch meets the Truce initiative.

In the centre of the sprawling Nightingale Estate in Hackney, east London, a gang of 16 tough-looking young people walk purposefully around, waiting for something to kick off. A few local young people with pit bulls gather to stare, sizing them up and wondering what they are doing on their turf. A sound system is rolled off a van, microphone stands are set up, and the strangers start to rap in strong New York accents and begin to break-dance. The Nightingale crew weren't expecting this. They ring friends on their mobiles and, slowly, more emerge from their flats and stand watching, guarded at first, then curious, and finally, nodding their heads to the rhythm.

The group of American Christian rappers, collectively called Truce, which stands for To Reach Urban Communities Everywhere, are performing what they call a "hit and run" on one of 18 of the London Boroughs of Hackney and Waltham Forest's toughest estates. It is part of an ambitious attempt to reach out to young gang members and those out of work and involved with drugs. One of their key aims, says Peter Jordan, a police officer and the UK Truce project manager, is to get young people in gangs to try to adopt a more positive lifestyle.

He sees Truce, whose members include former gang leaders, drug addicts and others whose lives have been blighted by poverty and crime, not only as a bridge between police and the gangs, but also as a catalyst for local agencies to make their presence known to the young people. "It's about partnership," says Jordan. "Truce works alongside the police, churches and local communities."

Reach out

At the end of a hit and run, Truce members, street pastors and volunteers hand out information packs, which include a card for audience members to fill out their contact details and, crucially, what kind of help they are seeking. This can include addiction problems, or unemployment or housing issues. "We can then put them in contact with the relevant agencies, such as Connexions, drug action teams or youth offending teams," says Jordan.

Members of Truce also bound up to the most sneering members of the audience and engage them in dialogue.

Throughout the summer, the Truce crew have followed a hectic schedule, often performing at three estates on the same day. They do a few raps and recount their own harrowing stories about being in a gang, being homeless, addicted to drugs and then finding salvation. There is a sense of show business about the group performances.

At the end of the show on the Nightingale Estate, many of the young people bow their heads in silent prayer, and the members of Truce and London-based Street Pastors start speaking easily and informally to those who look the least approachable. A drug dealer and his girlfriend, who has been working as a prostitute, also approach a street pastor to ask for advice.

Joyce Daley, both a minister and a co-ordinator for Hackney's Street Pastors, who have accompanied Truce on the hit and runs, believes the pastors are in an ideal position to help follow up any queries or requests for help. "With the work we do on the streets of Hackney, we are already engaged with the people Truce is trying to target," she says.

She feels that the medium of rap and hip-hop, a musical genre that has been accused of glorifying criminal behaviour, is an "in" with the target audience. "The young people identify with the music and come forward, but when the members start to talk about their problems they can relate to that," says Daley. "I've seen people cry at these events."

Music and the mission

Although hip-hop is used as a tool to attract young people, the project deliberately avoids using aggressive and violent lyrics. David Ham, supervisor of the Truce team, says: "We don't adopt the culture that goes with it. We use it more as a form of poetry."

Not all the performances are well-received by the young people. Ham recounts initial doubts on the first London hit and run, which took place in a fenced-off basketball court with only one entrance on an estate: "It was like a cage, and this group of about 15 or 20 guys came marching up to see what was going on. But at the end, all of them walked over to talk to us."

Patrick Dow, who works with Truce as part of the Nicky Cruz outreach programme (a ministry founded by former gang leader Cruz), reflects on the questionable wisdom of sending a group of mouthy New Yorkers to work with London young people. At best, they might be sullen and indifferent, and at worst, hostile to a group who not only don't live on their estate, but don't even live in the UK. He says: "We train American kids to interact with other people in hostile environments. We know that some of the young people will be carrying guns, but we've never had an incident."

Despite the safety fears the project prefers not to have police on site, because they usually put off the people it is trying to reach the most.

"One time in the US the police received a complaint," recalls Dow. "It turns out they had been called by the local drug dealers who considered us bad for business."

Over here, Truce has been working more openly with the authorities. The visit has been partly funded by police in Hackney and Waltham Forest and partly by churches and other independent charities. But there is at least one group who doesn't think the project is a good thing, or money well spent. Terry Stewart, spokesperson for the Hackney branch of the Lesbian,Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Network, says that Nicky Cruz is homophobic and that any evangelical recruitment programme will carry that same message.

"We're not so much against the Truce performances, more where they come from," he says. "I don't think parachuting a group of ex-cons in from America does any good. It only disempowers people in their own community."

Superintendent Leroy Logan of Hackney police, who has been instrumental in bringing Truce over to the UK, emphatically denies that the project is discriminatory. "The message is very targeted at young people involved in gangs and families affected by gang activity," he says. "We need to be judged by our outcomes, which are about making positive changes in the community."

Links with the past

While Truce is not discriminatory, it is targeted mainly at young men of African or Caribbean background, many of whom have grown up in Christian households but have become alienated by religion or any code of living other than the street code. But the message seems to filter through to all strata of estate life. Eighteen-year-old Natasha was clearly moved by the performance, and linked arms with two of her friends to join the team in the centre for a group prayer. In fact, it was mostly women who went up to pray with Truce, an observation Natasha makes herself: "It was interesting at the end when they called people up. It was all girls and women who went. The guys were just standing there. Maybe they are too embarrassed."

The police have been very encouraged by the response to the project so far - not just by the young people attending the events but also by other members of the community. "It is galvanising people to reclaim the streets," says Logan. But he adds that in order for the visit to have a lasting effect it is essential to ensure that statutory and voluntary agencies are involved and referrals are followed up.

"So far we have issued more than 500 information packs, which will be followed up by Soul in the City (a faith-based urban regeneration programme)," says Logan.

Dow concedes that the hit and runs are just the start and that preventing young people from getting involved in crime requires a long-term approach.

"Life doesn't suddenly get perfect," he says. "We are trying to give young people a compass to steer by."

KEITH'S RAP REDEMPTION

Twenty-three-year-old New Yorker Keith Dewindt joined Truce as a rapper after graduating from a drug and alcohol abuse programme.

"I was kicked out of my home as a teenager and ended up selling drugs to keep myself in a hotel," he says. "I found a family in the streets, a gang who wanted me to stab people and shoot people. But in reality I was protecting people who were breaking the law and I was putting my own life in jeopardy."

Eventually, he realised there had to be more to life than crime and drugs and sought out a means to make a difference. "I saw Truce perform when I got out of rehab and I had started to go along to events as a volunteer.

Within three months I auditioned and had become a member," says Dewindt.

"Now I know everything I went through was not in vain, I can reach out and really try to help others who will listen to me because I have been there. When I tell my story, people come up to me and say, 'I know what you are talking about', which is their way of saying, 'This is happening to me'."

He says he sometimes receives "attitude" from the young people he encounters, many of whom are cynical at first. But he does not let that bother him.

"As a New Yorker, if you are not giving me attitude, then I am concerned," he says.

YOUNG PEOPLE'S VOICES

- It was OK. When I listened to them I could feel what they were saying in my heart. Not everyone could go up there with them because some don't really have the right kind of attitude - Brandon, 16, Nightingale Estate, Hackney, east London

- It should have been more interactive. I don't think it will change the way people think because it was just a one-off event, and people didn't really join in - Simon, 24, Nightingale Estate

- It was all right but it's not like everything is suddenly going to be OK. I have never had a problem on this estate anyway - Tyrell, 17, Nightingale Estate.