THERE IS nothing more haunting than talking to a child who has injured or killed, or wants to; the joy and optimism of childhood clashing with a hard-bitten, unemotional and cynical view of life and lives.

These children have not lived childhood in the way we all want to believe it should be lived. They are usually from homes where there is extreme disharmony, often violence that they have witnessed and experienced; they are often boys without a father or a male role model around; they are usually out of the education system from a young age; and they have been written off by their families, communities and society.

Such children struggle to find their place in the world. They become embittered and hostile, developing an “us and them” mentality that leads to suspicion and paranoia.

With no strong sense of family or community, they come together and develop their own social bonds that are defined by the status of the gang, respect and revenge. Within these groups they develop and maintain their status by proving their loyalty, which often means defending the honour — either reactively or as a pre-emptive strike — at whatever cost. Children with little or no sense of self-worth suddenly have a sense of belonging, a set of relationships bound by loyalty, respect and a purpose, often symbolised by the carrying of their weapons.

This is at the very heart of an investigation to which I have contributed for this week’s edition of Panorama. In a series of interviews Shelley Jofre, a Panorama reporter, was given access to some of the most violent young men in the country — all under the age of 21, and all of whom had committed acts of serious violence, including a murder by a boy of 15. They tell their stories without emotion — violence is simply accepted as part of their way of life and upbringing — and it makes for shocking testimony. But are these young men atypical, or do they belong to a new breed of more violent men ?

While many crimes are on the decrease, violent crime, according to the latest figures, remains worryingly high, and violent criminals are getting younger and more brutal, increasingly using guns and knives. As a clinical psychologist working in child and adolescent mental health I have met many young people (some as young as 10) for whom gun and knife violence is part of their life, and some who have gone on to injure and kill. For children to commit such crimes shocks society to the core and often leads to calls for tougher laws and custodial sentences as both prevention and punishment — though the brutal truth is that the gun and knife culture is growing and the law in itself is not the only answer to the problem.

Being seen to talk to such children and try to define other management options is written off by many as a soft and liberal approach that condones the behaviour. Large sections of society want to lock up these children and walk away. The trouble is that the children then often leave prison unrehabilitated, usually as more adept criminals and with their “them-and-us ” belief significantly reinforced. They return to their environments, have their own children — and so the cycle continues.

If we are ever going to deal with this growing problem, we have to put moral judgments to one side and adopt a more robust investigative and interventionist framework, such as is found in the public health approach: this is a practical, goal-orientated, community-based approach to promoting and maintaining health by defining health problems, their nature and trends, then going on to identify potential causes, risk factors and how to reduce these.

Such an approach would be used if, for example, large numbers of children in a particular area were suddenly stricken with an illness. Resources would be made available to investigate the problem and explore all the risk factors — biological, environmental and behavioural. There would also be in-depth analysis of the protective factors, looking at the children who did not get ill and asking why. After this, intervention programmes would be designed, developed and evaluated for their effectiveness. Individuals and the community would be educated so that good health practice was supported and eventually ingrained in daily routines. Successful models of practice could then be disseminated.

If we took the public health approach to the growing problem of violence in the young, it would require a multidisciplinary, multijurisdictional effort and knowledge base — which means an explicit commitment from government. It would require funding for some of the most deprived areas of Britain, where intervention needs to begin early as vulnerable families and communities are identified and supported.

I know that there are excellent government programmes such as Sure Start, set up in 2001 and originally targeted to support 125,000 children in Britain’s most deprived areas, with 250 centres offering childcare, literacy classes for parents and early intervention in behavioural or learning difficulties. However, this touches the tip of the iceberg and doesn’t reach the vulnerable older children and adolescents who are being sucked into, or are already in, the culture of violence. For these children support is scarce, but it does exist in such initiatives as Prospex in Islington, North London, where youth workers headed by Matt Calvert spend hours in stairwells, organising groups and setting up community projects on some of Britain’s most violent estates. Sadly, their funding is now threatened.

If someone I loved had been injured or killed by a young person with a gun or knife, undoubtedly I would call for the full weight of the law to deal with them. This would be an emotional response. However, there must be additional approaches to the problem of youth violence that remove emotion, introduce logic and see that, while putting out fires is crucial, preventing them from being started in the first place is essential.

What can be done about violent youngsters?
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