Catchy slogans don’t help Black kids who live in constant fear of Philly’s gun violence | Opinion

During the pandemic year and onward, Philadelphia has been mired with gun-related deaths, mostly young Black people shot at in a park, in the car, walking home.

It is sorrowful, the displays of gun violence shattering the embodied dreams, hopes, and wishes of Black young people in Philadelphia. The gut-wrenching cries of mothers, the anger of family members, and the fear that friends of those slain are left to feel and hold alone. It crushes my spirit, and I am left without words often. The protection of our young people lands on all of us, and something must shift in how we relate to the conversation of violence.

Growing up in Philadelphia during the 1990s, I am accustomed to the cycles of discourse around gun violence and how the comingling of guns and Black communities has been used to bait us into believing that we alone are the source of our demise.

When I went to Shaw Middle School, I was constantly bombarded with the slogan “Stop the violence, increase the peace,” and I remember being confused. How was I, alone, supposed to stop the violence and increase the peace? The catchy saying collapsed the problem too simply for me. Years later, I’d see the billboards put up by then-U.S. Attorney Bill McSwain that read “Gun Crime = Fed Time” and have the same issue.

Both slogans ignored the humanity of the people at the heart of the issue — the Black kids who live in constant fear of gun violence. Any effort to reduce gun violence, if it has any chance of success, has to address that.

Black trauma and death have always been commodities to exploit. Where else do you have an easily leveraged narrative that ties in anti-Blackness and death? You don’t have to be overt about racism when you can point to a problem that is not only backed up by data, news coverage, and politicians retelling empty words at a makeshift memorial. You know the ones, with bodega candles, Henny bottles, and teddy bears. They usually come with the promise of increased accountability, the demand that the violence must be ended, press fodder. They rarely result in much change in our communities.

For me, like so many other Black Philadelphians, this problem feels personal. My brother was shot twice, a year apart from each other. Both times he had to be in a medically induced coma and now deals with new disabilities attributed to the injuries from those shootings.

What we lack in our public discourse about the impact of gun violence on Black communities is the racialized way we get placed in a never-ending loop: that Black children are dangerous; that those who are for police abolition don’t understand our problem; and that more cops and increased surveillance will solve our problems.

Concerned Black Philadelphians are often pitted against lofty-minded activists, further perpetuating the misunderstanding of the complexity of our community.

Last week, the city announced the first five community groups to receive funding from a new $22 million program to help with Philadelphia’s gun crisis. It is a good start, but there is more that can be done.

Philadelphia’s leaders should spend more time talking to Black people who are impacted by this violence. Additionally, we need specific resources to cope until the violence has been stemmed. There should be a program that gathers our young people to discuss safety planning — what to do if you’re at the park and gunshots rang out. The city should distribute maps with the locations of block captains, community leaders, and others who can help with de-escalation. There should be free gun safety classes and free courses on how to care for a gunshot wound until paramedics arrive.

At a time like this, it isn’t helpful to just exclaim sorrow or disappointment, we must have concrete strategies if we are to deal with the immediacy of how quickly a terse argument or beef turns to death. We must break away from the loop that tries to disprove the humanity of Black people in Philadelphia and start talking about the people most sorely impacted by this crisis.

Abdul-Aliy Muhammad is an organizer and writer born and raised in West Philadelphia. @MxAbdulAliy