In late September, Torri was driving down the highway with her 11-year-old son Junior in the back seat when her phone started ringing.
It was the Hamilton County Sheriff’s deputy who worked at Junior’s middle school in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Deputy Arthur Richardson asked Torri where she was. She told him she was on the way to a family birthday dinner at LongHorn Steakhouse.
“He said, ‘Is Junior with you?’” Torri recalled.
Earlier that day, Junior had been accused by other students of making a threat against the school. When Torri had come to pick him up, she’d spoken with Richardson and with administrators, who’d told her he was allowed to return to class the next day. The principal had said she would carry out an investigation then. ProPublica and WPLN are using a nickname for Junior and not including Torri’s last name at the family’s request, to prevent him from being identifiable.
When Richardson called her in the car, Torri immediately felt uneasy. He didn’t say much before hanging up, and she thought about turning around to go home. But she kept driving. When they walked into the restaurant, Torri watched as Junior happily greeted his family.
Soon her phone rang again. It was the deputy. He said he was outside in the strip mall’s parking lot and needed to talk to Junior. Torri called Junior’s stepdad, Kevin Boyer, for extra support, putting him on speaker as she went outside to talk to Richardson. She left Junior with the family, wanting to protect her son for as long as she could ...
TUCSON, Arizona — Adriana Grijalva was getting ready to head to class at the University of Arizona in the fall of 2022 when she got a text message from her cousin telling her to stay put. The cousin, who works in maintenance at the university, had watched law enforcement descend on campus and reached out to make sure she was safe. A former student had just shot a professor 11 times, killing him.
Equal Justice USA (EJUSA) announced October 8 that it will partner with four new communities to build new restorative youth justice diversion programs. Restorative justice includes an accountability process that identifies root causes of youth criminal actions, while providing an opportunity for healing both for the person harmed and the person who has caused harm.
Louisiana is the only state to pass and then reverse Raise the Age legislation. Louisiana’s criminal justice system now treats all 17-year-olds as adults. Is reversing Raise the Age making a difference in the number of violent crimes by 18-year-olds?
Growing up in San Jose, California, I had some amazing experiences with law enforcement that I can say likely made a huge difference in my path as a young adult. When I think back, in elementary school we had the Say No To Drugs campaign and McGruff the Crime Dog that led us into our middle school and high school years.
Youth sports was a huge part of our culture. Even if you were not an athlete, you supported a neighbor or friend that was. We had P.A.L. stadiums throughout Santa Clara County. These were operated by the Police Athletic League. We also had officers who volunteered or worked on campuses.
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When the COVID-19 pandemic first broke in New York City this spring, the most vulnerable populations were at the bottom of a long list of people who desperately needed help during the first few months of business and school closures, shortages of personal protective equipment, food and household necessities.
More than 40,000 K–12 public school students in Washington experienced homelessness in 2017–18, a number that has nearly doubled in the past decade and likely will continue to grow because of pandemic-driven job losses. For these youth, remote schooling might mean attending class in a shelter room they share with their mother and two siblings. It might mean missing classes due to glitchy Wi-Fi or insufficient cellphone data. And, especially for homeless youth who are on their own, it might mean not having an adult who can help them with assignments and prod them to stay on track.
JACKSONVILLE, Florida — Rosie Brooks has experienced both of a mother’s worst nightmares involving gun violence. Her son spent a decade behind bars for an accidental shooting in which a young woman was killed. Then, instead of a joyous reunion when he was released from prison in January 2018, it was a day of mourning. He went from behind bars to standing at his mother’s side at his sister’s funeral. Brooks’ daughter Sahara Barkley had been shot on New Year’s Day at a gas station.
Across the United States, surging COVID-19 cases are risking the health and safety of youth in juvenile justice facilities. In November, the Center on Juvenile and Criminal Justice (CJCJ) released a report examining a summer outbreak inside California’s state-run youth correctional system, the Division of Juvenile Justice (DJJ).
Shortly after our report was released, a second outbreak sparked. As of Nov. 30, confirmed COVID-19 cases spiked by 20 youth in a single week (97 total youth cases to date). DJJ’s first COVID-19 crisis serves as a warning: Lawmakers and service providers must step up to protect our nation’s youth.
There have been calls to declare gun violence a public health crisis. I would agree with this statement, which largely speaks to the rising prevalence of gun violence. However, calling it a public health crisis doesn’t convey the magnitude of gun violence. It seems like people name a thing a crisis to get things done, so there’s an oversaturation with the term.
Gun violence is different. Think of the brutality and immediacy of death that results from gun violence.
Suicide is the second leading cause of death for young people in the United States. More children and teens die by suicide than the next eight leading causes of death. Firearm suicide in particular is a growing crisis impacting young people: Every year nearly 3,000 young people die by firearm suicide. The rate of firearm suicide among youth ages 5 to 19 has increased 82% in the last decade. While suicide rates are increasing most among young people ages 10 to 19, researchers are noting a troubling trend of suicide among children as young as 5 years old.
The coronavirus pandemic has upended life as we know it, disrupting normal routines and cutting off access to many support networks.
The 2020 presidential election — which took place near the end of a tumultuous year that featured the rampant spread of a highly lethal pandemic, a disastrous economic recession and a long-overdue nationwide reckoning around systemic racism and police brutality — presented the country with a choice between two candidates with drastically different messages and visions for the nation. The election had historic levels of voter turnout, including among 18- to 29-year-olds and Joe Biden emerged as the clear winner with a victory that exceeded 300 electoral votes and a popular vote margin of victory of nearly 6 million (and growing).
Although public health experts have rightly been focused on the COVID-19 pandemic this year, America has been in the grips of another public health crisis for much longer — a gun violence epidemic that will continue to take lives long after we’re vaccinated unless bold steps are taken to curb the violence and address its underlying causes. Gun violence has continued unabated throughout the other crises of 2020 and acutely impacts Black, Indigenous and other communities of color.
In order to end the gun violence epidemic, the Biden-Harris administration must take a public health approach to solving the issue that not only corrects the harmful policies of the current administration but also goes significantly further to address the root causes of gun violence. Over the last four years, the Trump administration largely turned a blind eye to the issue of gun violence, except to encourage gun ownership and traffic in irrational and often racist fear-mongering. The administration eliminated funds for violence intervention programs in favor of law enforcement suppression and weakened the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.
Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell also worked alongside the administration to block common-sense gun legislation, including expanded background checks, closing the Charleston loophole and so-called “red flag laws,” also known as extreme risk protection orders.
