Two summers ago, I attended a church picnic at Frederick Douglass Park. The park is small, tucked away between the dead end of 30th Avenue and Franklin Street on the west and Gilpin Street on the east.
It was built years ago as part of a minimally successful crime-prevention movement that put parks in the middle of streets and cul-de-sacs in inner-city neighborhoods. The theory was that criminal activity and drive-by shootings would decrease since cars couldn’t speed through the ‘hood. The green space and playgrounds would attract children and families, driving the gangstas and hoodlums into the basements.
So there we were, enjoying a potluck meal: grilled chicken and hot dogs, potato salad, deviled eggs. The elementary school kids were laughing and playing on the small playground next to the picnic tables and we were all behaving like good neighbors.
We had long ago chosen to ignore the East Side Oldies 13 and Sureños 13 gang graffiti scratched into the slide, or written in black marker. All was peaceful, until a kid wearing a black bandana over his face cruised into the park on a bicycle. The boy, around middle-school age, starting hitting on the older elementary school girls.
Watchful, I drifted away from the grill and moved closer to the playground, eavesdropping on the conversation as the kids gathered round. Black bandana soon noticed me hovering and drew me into a one-sided conversation by pulling a gun out of his belt. “I’m not afraid of you,” he boasted.
The other adults were oblivious to the failure of the crime-prevention theory unfolding over by the sandbox. (Did the city planners think that changing the street layout would keep gangsta wannabes away?)
Time stood still as we engaged in a staring contest. At last, bandana put the pistol back in his belt and pedaled out of the park and down the street.
I imagine the incident was meant to clarify his identity as one bad up-and-coming gangsta. I, on the other hand, proved that it doesn’t take deadly force to keep our children safe. After all, police presence comes and goes, but it’s up to neighbors to take responsibility for our environment. We are the first responders and the ones who remain when the lights go down.
A third-grade boy broke the silence, looking to me with a question masked as a statement. “That wasn’t a real gun.”
“No,” I answered. “It was plastic. You could tell by how it sounded when he pulled it out.”
“Yeah,” he replied hopefully. The boy and his friends talked about what happened as they returned to their play. It was, in fact, not so big a deal for these neighborhood kids.
I walked across the street, into the church and called the police. The park created to encourage community activities that would prevent crime wasn’t keeping the hoods away. The prodigal son was still lost, and we even tried a church picnic to lure him home.
The 911 operator asked if we needed an officer sent out, but the bandana kid was already gone.
Of course, no police officer showed up. We were on our own as we cleaned up the dirty cups and plastic plates and brought the cooler inside the church’s Sunday school room.
The picnic-goers returned home to dream fitfully through the long hours of darkness and pray for a lost boy, alone, hiding behind a black mask on a dead- end street.
Today, we also pray for our partners in crime prevention. Denver police are implementing a new program, called “broken windows,” in the Cole Neighborhood where I live. Broken windows emphasizes data-driven policing combined with community partnerships.
Unfortunately, the Cole neighborhood community justice council, of which I am a member, found out that we were targeted for the program by reading about it in the paper – not exactly the best way to initiate a community partnership.
One community advocate I work with is scared that it’s another excuse to target people of color.
We’ve seen crime-prevention ideas and initiatives come and go; this is the reality of living in an inner-city neighborhood, for better or worse. We’re willing to work with the Denver Police Department, certainly, but would ask those involved to remember that trust is earned with consistency, respect and humanity, not because officers wear a uniform, carry a gun or have discovered the latest fad in crime-fighting.
We live there, so it should come as no surprise that while hopeful, we also have every reason to be cynical.
Jeremy Simons (jasimons@gmail.com) is a restorative justice facilitator for Denver Public Schools and lives in inner- city Denver with his wife and daughters.
