This preacher was once part of NZ's gang world. Now he's trying to heal it

Since New Zealand banned gang insignia in 2024, Mongrel Mob members can only display their gang patches at home or in private. (Compass: Marty Smiley)

In Aotearoa New Zealand, gang patches and other insignia are now banned in public. But in gang communities, identity is not so easy to erase.

In Hawke's Bay, Mongrel Mob members have inked it into their skin.

For more than 50 years, the gang has operated several chapters across the region, including in Hastings, which some members refer to as the "Fatherland".

The Mongrel Mob is just one of 38 gangs in New Zealand, where membership has grown to historic highs. As of February, there are now more gang members than police officers in the country.

The nation's leaders have promised to come down hard on outlaw motorcycle clubs and homegrown street gangs, pointing out their over-representation in crime statistics.

"To the gangs, I say this, you are no longer above the law," Prime Minister Christopher Luxon said after the patch ban came into force.

The government's law-and-order approach has resulted in new police powers being introduced to break up some gang gatherings. Non-consorting laws have been strengthened and prisons expanded.

Former gangster turned Christian pastor Lucky Te Koha believes the crackdown does not address the root causes of gang life.

Lucky Te Koha, a former gang member turned Christian pastor, works with rival gang chapters around New Zealand. (Compass: Riki Reinfeld)

New Zealand's gang world is not easily reduced to organised crime groups or motorcycle clubs. In some communities, gangs like the Mongrel Mob and Black Power are intergenerational, with whole families connected to them.

Many members describe their chapters as whānau or extended family, a source of belonging and protection. But gangs are also linked to serious violence, drug offending and community harm.

It is a complexity successive New Zealand governments have struggled to resolve.

That is the world Lucky believes he was called by God to work inside.

He describes the men he works with as part of a high-risk, hard-to-reach community: largely Māori, often from lower socio-economic communities, and carrying deep mistrust of police, government agencies and mainstream services.

Lucky is far from a typical preacher. He swears from the pulpit, rides a motorbike and is welcomed into rooms most church leaders would never enter.

"In our world, we call it QBE, qualified by experience," he says.

He joined his first street gang in his teens and moved through other groups in his adult years.

Lucky runs bi-monthly sessions