Teens change, given a chance

By Edwin Desamour

I pick up a call on the hotline. It's one of several services the organization I cofounded provides for at-risk youths in my Philadelphia neighborhood. The kid on the other end of the of the line sounds scared. He's trying to be macho, projecting anger, but he's coming across as unsure. Most of all, he sounds young.

"I'm thinking about doing something," he says. "These guys at school, they keep on jumping me. I may have to deal with it. I may have to bring my gun tomorrow."

"OK," I say. "Let's think this through. You bring the gun to school. Let's talk about the rest of your day. What happens? Do you go to school and everything is the same? Do you ride the bus home later? Are you sitting on the couch with your little brother in the late afternoon, watching cartoons, eating cereal, joking?

"What if something else happens that day? What if you never come home from school? What if you end up in the police station, if you need a lawyer, if something horrible has happened that you never meant to happen?"

The line goes quiet.

"I didn't think about any of that," the boy finally says.

Deadly consequences

Since being paroled from prison 13 years ago, I have worked with hundreds of young men at risk of entering the criminal justice system. Five years ago, my colleagues and I founded a nonprofit organization called MIMIC (Men in Motion in the Community) to help such youths.

The kids respond intensely to male role models. They also show me over and over what we all know about teenage brains: They have trouble handling impulses and understanding consequences. Without help, especially when they are surrounded by poverty, violence, and chaos, adolescents can't manage their reckless urges. Sometimes the result may be no big deal - like a party their parents didn't agree to. Other times, the consequences can be deadly, as I know from personal experience.

I was 16 years old the day I was arrested for homicide. Through my work with young people, I now understand how my childhood shaped me and made me more likely to go to prison than to college. I grew up around violence and drugs; at 12, I had access to a gun. I was in many dangerous and violent situations before I committed the crime I was arrested for. I saw most of the men around me - including my father, whom I idolized - serve time in prison.

I loved animals as a child, but I never imagined myself as a veterinarian or a farmer. Even at a young age, I couldn't see myself doing anything but crime.

My neighborhood, West Kensington, is called the Badlands. When I speak to young people now, I call it the "Goodlands." I want them to aspire to make the neighborhood better instead of feeling pressured to live up to its violent reputation.

I will never be able to undo the pain and loss I caused. So I do the only thing I can, which is to help today's teenagers understand that they have to find ways to remove themselves from violent situations before they hurt other people and ruin their own lives.

Final sentence

I was facing a sentence of life without the possibility of parole for what I did. I often think about how close I came to living my entire life in prison and dying there. I wouldn't have been able to work with young people in my community or give my family the love and support they deserve.

Instead, I served 8½ years in prison knowing that I had a chance to get out and give back. That's what kept me alive and made me want to better myself.

On Tuesday, the U.S. Supreme Court is scheduled to consider the cases of Kuntrell Jackson and Evan Miller, and the question of whether teenagers who have been convicted of homicide should be sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. I know from my work and my own experience that even teens who commit homicide have enormous potential for change. Every day, I work with kids who just need someone to guide them in a better direction until they become adults who are capable of making good decisions on their own. I see how well they respond to help and how readily they can change and grow.

That's why teenagers should not face sentences as final as life imprisonment without the possibility of parole. No one can accurately predict what kind of adults they will grow up to be.

I didn't grow up to be a farmer or a veterinarian, but I grew up to be something just as unexpected given my background: a community activist, a graduate student, and a caring father. I'm not proud of the things I did as a teen, but as a man, I hope I can work every day to help other teens see another way.

Edwin Desamour is a cofounder and the director of Men In Motion In the Community. For more information, see www.mimicphilly.org.