Racist and predator both threaten our community's safety, success, and stability — and like every Black parent, I worry about my children and grandchildren running into one or both.
As a father of four — one boy, three girls — I've watched my children grow into adulthood, three building their own families, navigating the uncertainties of inner-city Cleveland's hardcore neighborhoods. Three have college degrees: one is the Chief Manufacturing Officer at a Fortune 500 company, one a licensed social worker, one works for the State of Ohio, one at a charter school. They've blessed me with five grandchildren — two boys with college degrees, one girl headed to Morgan State this fall — and two great-grandchildren simply enjoying being children.
Despite that success, I'm deeply concerned about their future. Why? Because success doesn't make them immune from that one random racist — a law enforcement officer having a bad day, a Karen who can't accept that a Black person can afford to shop where she shops, or a MAGA fool who just dislikes Black people. That's only the race-based danger. Equally threatening is the predator prowling our streets, searching for whose life to disrupt. Racist and predator both threaten our community's safety, success, and stability, and like every Black parent, I worry about my children and grandchildren running into one or both.
Today I want to focus on what we don't discuss enough: violent crime and its threat to our future. As a criminal defense attorney, I've seen the results of unprovoked violence — thousands of autopsy photos, hundreds of pages of coroner's reports. Most were somebody in the wrong place at the wrong time, or someone who lacked judgment or critical thinking. I've defended people who harmed strangers and, when asked why, could only stare blankly — they didn't have a clue. I've also defended people who killed in self-defense, survivors who live knowing that had they not acted, they or someone they loved would be the ones mourned.
Being a Black parent means living in constant worry about the unexpected. When a banner scrolls across the screen announcing a tragedy, I subconsciously hold my breath until I hear enough to know it isn't someone I know. Then I call my children, and when they answer, I exhale and invent some disjointed reason for calling. Just the other day a house exploded in Canton, where one of my girls lives — the moment she answered, relief flooded through me.
For those of us who are baby boomers, coming of age in the turbulent '60s and '70s meant worrying about racist cops, employers who hired us last and fired us first, and a social service system that treated us like a nuisance. That racism was constant, and we fought it until we built the strength and educated masses to end it. But this new thing — Black crime against other Blacks, the loss of self-esteem and pride now prevalent in our community — is a threat we still struggle to comprehend.
Look at our community: broken families, children born before their parents are old enough to grasp what raising a child means. Add the collapse of our public schools, the failure of churches to provide moral clarity, and a lack of civic engagement — we should all be alarmed. Everything we relied on to overcome overt racism and secure our rights is being abandoned, and the results are not good.
Some argue the violence stems from generations of racism, poverty, and a justice system that targets Black men. I don't disagree those are factors. But too many people have risen above those same triple threats to achieve success. We tend to rationalize the perpetrator's acts at the victim's expense, giving them a pass while ignoring the pain caused to survivors. I believe in rehabilitation, punishment, and deterrence — but let's not forget the victims.
If we don't stop glorifying and excusing violence with simple slogans, violence in our neighborhoods will increase, and people will turn to guns to protect themselves. That's not far-fetched: there are between 303 and 500 million guns in circulation in a country of roughly 343 million people, 1.2 to 1.5 per person, more than any other civilized country on the planet. To be clear, this isn't about gun ownership — I believe every family should own one and be trained to use it — nor is it about white crime. I don't live in a white neighborhood; this is about my community, the Black community.
So what's the solution to the epidemic of crime in Black neighborhoods?
First, redevelop a genuine sense of community, where every parent's authority could be trusted. Growing up, any neighbor could discipline me and my siblings, and my own parents would repeat it once they found out.
Second, pride in community. We may have been poor, but we didn't lack self-esteem. I grew up in the Outhwaite Projects, on 55th and Case Court, where every tenant kept their space clean from doorway to landing.
Third, education mattered. No excuses for bad grades. If you didn't do well, you weren't ridiculed — you were encouraged and given the resources to improve. No playground time until homework was done.
Fourth, the church, a center of excellence where you learned to dress, be still, and learn. Churches promoted order, discipline, and education, and we became secure in ourselves.
Fifth, self-sufficiency. The retail stores in our community were owned by people we knew, who worshipped and socialized with us and showed up at the same rallies. They supported us, and we patronized them.
Will these five pillars solve all our problems? Probably not. But they're a great start toward reversing the moral decline taking hold in our community. This approach worked for Martin Luther King Jr., Fannie Lou Hamer, and the warriors of the civil rights movement. It's what got Carl Stokes and Richard Hatcher elected as the first and second Black mayors of major American cities. If it worked for your grandparents between 1920 and 1965, it will work for us today.
Sometimes you have to recognize what brought you through tough times before — and readopt it to save yourselves.
