Medcalf: Let’s talk about a holistic approach to violence interruption in the Twin Cities

He was only 15 years old.

One of my favorite cousins, the one we all wanted to be like. On a basketball court, he had a mean crossover dribble and an uncanny quickness with a ball in his hands. He could sing like he belonged in Jodeci or Boyz II Men. He was also handsome. And even at 15, he had an energy that attracted people to him whenever he walked into a room.

On a Sunday morning in 1995, however, he was playing basketball in Milwaukee when a group of guys from a rival gang showed up and began to shoot. He ran home, hoping he’d saved himself. And then, he looked out a window. They were waiting for him.

I think about that moment sometimes.

I also wonder if that entire incident could have been prevented. But that contention had reached its pinnacle and he lost his life as a result.

Over the last few weeks, the dialogue about the prevention of violence has centered on the Rev. Jerry McAfee’s back-and-forth with the City Council and now, a since-dissolved request for $650,000 after a 21 Days of Peace member was charged in a shooting. That’s good for headlines, talk shows and social media fodder. But does it really reach the most vulnerable people in this conversation?

The dialogue about the millions available to the prevention of violence is much sexier than the conversation about addressing its root causes. If a family is grappling with economic instability and if kids live in communities without the necessary resources they need and deserve, there will be challenges. But that’s stickier and easier to ignore because the seeds haven’t grown yet, in some cases. That’s also the best opportunity to intervene and to consider a more holistic approach to these issues.

Justin Terrell remembers when the dialogue emphasized community connections above all.

Today, he’s the executive director of the Minnesota Justice Research Center, “an independent, nonpartisan, nonprofit organization dedicated to driving meaningful change to Minnesota’s criminal legal system through rigorous and community-centered research, education, and policy development,” per his website.

On Tuesday, he participated in the Justice for All Coalition’s advocacy push at the Capitol in that group’s effort to address pertinent issues, such as ending mass incarceration and terminating harmful policies like cash bail. This is Terrell’s mission. But it’s also his life.

While he supports the wide-ranging efforts to reduce violence across the community, he also said our kids need strong relationships along with those intervention mechanisms.

“I know young people that say stuff [to one another] online,” he said. “Are we able to intervene early on? These kids need to know that some caring, consistent adult is paying attention. In the community, we have to affirm that and then there is a structural piece where we have to intervene much earlier without a punishment lens and make sure that we are disrupting the momentum that builds towards a homicide. It’s not like any of the [causes of these homicides] are a mystery.”

When he was young, Terrell said people in his community helped him often. He said there is an abundance of supportive community members today who don’t do politics and go unrecognized at times by those who aim to engage the community and encourage change. Minneapolis doesn’t have a mentoring problem or a caring problem, he said. Minneapolis just needs more folks to listen to those who understand the intricacies of its greatest obstacles.

Additional support for organizations with the best opportunity to care for our most vulnerable youths matters, he said.

“Our Black-led institutions are struggling,” he said. “And there is a long list of things that contribute to it.”

In 1995, Milwaukee had one of the highest murder rates in America. Our city made national news because it seemed as if the shootings were endless. But those numbers weren’t tangible to me until my cousin lost his life to gun violence.

He was 15 years old. There were so many things he never enjoyed or witnessed. All because of a beef — much like the feuds in the Twin Cities that lead to violence — that ended in a murder. They were kids shooting at other kids. They did not understand the life they’d taken because they themselves had not yet lived.

At the funeral, it did not seem real. I’d just talked to him a few days before he’d lost his life — and then he was gone.

But how did it reach that point? By the time those individuals found my cousin on a basketball court in Milwaukee, the opportunity to intervene and preserve my cousin’s life was gone. They had made their choices.

They never caught the shooters. For years, I wanted vengeance, even though they were all young, just like my cousin.

Now, I would just like to talk to them.

I want to know what could have been done to avoid what happened on a Sunday morning in 1995, long before it was too late.