Juvenile Justice Information Exchange (https://jjie.org/author/jjie-org/page/21/)
For close to seven years, a Mississippi man bought firearms in and around Natchez before sending them to contacts in Chicago, many of them family members he grew up with.
Once there, the weapons would find their way to the streets of some of the city’s most violence-plagued communities and be used in homicides, shootings and other crimes.
“I don't know how to tell you this, but your brother was shot.”
Michael Taylor’s heartbeat quickened. He was having difficulty breathing. The words...
Do not call Brittany Gray, Kenderick Cox and Marcellus Gray activists. The Greenwood natives prefer to be called who they are — members of the community...
Ten years ago, Rosemary McCoy never would have imagined that today she’d be in a Jacksonville library, tears streaming down her face, as she tells a stranger how it feels to...
Today, Judge Candice Bates-Anderson will likely take the bench in Orleans Parish Juvenile Court and sentence a chubby-cheeked 13-year-old boy to a term called “juvenile life,” which means he would remain in juvenile prison until he’s 21.
Youth homelessness is a tragedy, not a crime. But in cities across the country, homeless youth face civil and even criminal penalties for unavoidable human activities like standing, sitting and sleeping in the very streets where they’re trying to survive.
What does “justice” look like for young people experiencing homelessness in the United States? As one of the wealthiest nations in the world, it is troubling to consider the numerous ways that we, as a society, fail youth and young adults in securing one of the most basic needs: shelter.
Matthew “Fire” Mishefski’s experience with homelessness is the last of three stories on LGBTQ homeless youth as reported by the JJIE’s New York City Bureau. He uses the pronouns he/him.
Over the past two decades, I have had the extraordinary experience of working with youth involved in the juvenile justice system and the child welfare system. I am thrilled to bear witness as Los Angeles County finally moves toward using diversion programs to keep kids out of juvenile justice and in school and at home where they belong.
He broke my heart. After that night I’d see him act the same bewildering way many more times. It was, I eventually learned, what too many beers did to him. But the first time my uncle hit me (I was 4 or 5 years old), all I knew was that something had changed. Not in him. No. Something had changed in me.