I know first hand that victim services never reached the families of my friends who were killed by violence. That sad fact drives my work to change outcomes for other individuals and families affected by crime, not just as a better response to crime but also a strategy to prevent it.
When it comes to crime in our communities--particularly communities of color--we all lose when we emphasize reaction over prevention. Instead of simply reacting once crime happens, we need to act far before violence occurs to prevent the harm from taking place.
In recent years, street gangs have taken control of America's child sex trafficking. The risk of a child testifying against one or more of these criminals is now life threatening.
This is the first time I have ever loved a movie, but also hated it almost as much. In a rare moment of indecisiveness, it was a tough call to decide to give this a "thumbs-up" or a "thumbs-down" because of the numerous conflicting messages. There are two sides of this coin.
With the recent crisis in our nation surrounding police impropriety, violence and even murder, is our nation ready for the re-popularization of the music that gave us the "F-ck The Police!" chant?
If the goal is to stop this sort of organized violence that plagues the world, then finding other ways to provide disaffected youth the money, protection, inclusion and social bonding they are missing that lead them to become outlaws in the first place should be our top priority.
With lyrics in Khmer and English and a focus on Killing Fields era legacies, Khmer American rapper praCh Ly's first album, Dalama, was not only credited with introducing hip-hop to Cambodia--it introduced this history to a new generation largely unaware of its genocidal past.
Police brutality is real and wrong. But what we as the American public should consider are the profound pressures applied to law enforcement officers in high-crime areas and how said pressures often inform the distance between the officers and the communities they are obliged to protect.
Jafet Glissant was 14 years old when he joined Ciudad de Dios, a gang named after Cidade de Deus, the Brazilian film about street gangs in Rio de Janeiro. Today, he's a tour guide with Fortaleza Tours.
In a season focused on gratitude, 17-year-old Monica Chica has an attitude about choosing to be grateful that's wise far beyond her years: "The most important lesson I learned is that being happy is not about having with you what you loved in the past, but learning to love what you have in the present."
For some, nationalism can feel like all they have. Others turn to a gang, revenge, or a twisted form of Islam. None of this, of course, remotely excuses invasions, gang violence, massacres or terrorism. But it may be a warning that we can't just flatten the world. We also have to find ways to fill it up.
As political leaders debate whom to blame for the surge of child migrants, most agree on one goal: deporting the children as quickly as possible. Yet few advocates of their removal are willing to state on the record that the children's death is a strong possibility.
Often in the headlines for its sky-high homicide rate-close to 90 homicides per 100,000 residents -- Honduras is a country where despair is measured by the lives lost to violence every day.
In June the Manhattan district attorney and the New York City police commissioner garnered significant media attention after a pre-dawn raid resulted in the indictment of more than 100 gang members in Harlem. But what happens after the headlines fade away?
It will take political courage from leaders on both sides of the border to recognize the gravity of the violent conflict and break the ideological and policy paralysis around immigration and the obligation to protect.
Just as the Attorney General challenges us to do something about the lives being harmed, not helped, by a criminal justice system, we should do something to reform a deportation system that helps those caught up in the system to better themselves, thereby helping their families and the community.