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In Philadelphia, a 'disturbing' black murder rate
With more than triple the US average of African-American homicides, the city is battling to protect kids from gunfire.
from the February 13, 2007 edition
Page 3 of 3
The teenagers' reality
Sierra, Andrea, and Christopher all say that if they ever needed a gun, they'd know how to get one.
It wouldn't be hard, either. Sierra's older brother already has one, and she worries a little about his "anger issues." She lost a good friend two years ago, she says, to an argument and a gun. Sierra's not even sure what the dispute was about. "It makes me sad 'cause he's not around anymore," she says. "But it really didn't make me change anything."
The three teens are speaking, safe and warm, at the R.W. Brown Community Center in North Philadelphia. They are explaining why guns are so prevalent in their community, but all say they want nothing to do with them.
"I could get one, but it wouldn't feel right," says Andrea. Some kids she hangs out with carry them, though.
"But I don't follow what they do," says the teen, who wants to become a pediatrician. "They try to get me to, but I won't."
For Christopher, guns are a constant worry. He feels protective of his sister, who he says is a beautiful girl. "She knows a lot of guy friends, and sometimes they get too rowdy and I have to put them in their place," says Christopher. "That's when I get scared, because I don't know them. I don't know if they've got a gun."
The three have their own ideas about how to reduce gun violence. They suggest that parents should do more to "crack down" on their kids, and they say kids should do more to control their anger. They also say the legislature should do more to make guns harder to get.
"I don't think people understand how much guns affect our community," says Christopher, who wants to be a teacher. "There's a lot of guns and a lot of stray bullets flying around every day."
"Yeah, it needs to stop," says Sierra. "If it doesn't ... it's going to get worse. People need to learn how to work together again."
A gun as 'my friend'
Many of the staff here also know the gun culture firsthand. Last year, Margo Davidson's brother, who was known as Shorty, was killed. During the trial, she was struck by two things.
First is that the man convicted of killing her brother "kept referring to the gun as 'my friend,' " says Ms. Davidson, one of the top staff at the Caring People Alliance.
The second is that the accomplice in the murder – a young woman who had known "Shorty" and had pointed him out to the shooter as someone who "had money" – had ruined her own life. Her desire for money to buy drugs led to the fatal shooting.
"Knowing that, at 18, her life is over simply because of that poor decision takes the tragedy beyond the death of our loved one," says Davidson. "It also affects the families of the shooters – it has a ripple effect on the whole community."
Next steps
The Caring People Alliance plans to apply to the city to open a Curfew Center for North Philadelphia, like the one at Dixon House in South Philly. It's a big undertaking, relying on volunteers – more than 50 – for staff. The city provides funds to pay a site coordinator, a receptionist, and an intake worker. But most of the people working the overnight shift are local volunteers like Terrence Sealis.
"What makes me come out?" says the soft-spoken maintenance worker who is raising his teen daughter here. "It helps give a chance of a future for some of the teens out here. I try to come three times a week."
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