The sun was setting at Damen Avenue as 10-year-old D’Ante Peppers milled about a community protest as the adults and older kids waved signs and cars honked in support.
“Put the guns down,” one sign read. “Moms Against Gun Violence,” said another.
The parents gathered Wednesday to denounce the shocking slaying of 9-year-old Tyshawn Lee, who was lured into an alley at 80th Street and Damen and killed Monday afternoon, in what police are calling an execution murder.
Wearing a light coat on an unseasonably warm fall day, D’Ante didn’t join in the protest — but that’s not to say the fourth-grader hadn’t given plenty of thought to what happened to Tyshawn. The two had played football together at nearby Dawes Park.
“I feel scared because that could happen to me or anybody else,” D’Ante said. “I felt bad because he’s just a little kid. What’s the point of killing little kids?”
Through the first 10 months of the year, about 50 children under the age of 15 have been shot across the city, according to data compiled and analyzed by the Tribune. In addition, eight children aged 14 and under were killed — five the victims of street violence, three in domestic incidents, the data showed.
As a high-profile investigation launched into Tyshawn’s killing and angry clergy demanded the public’s help, young people in the Auburn Gresham community began a painful ritual themselves, trying to make sense of the incomprehensible violence they face each day. On the homefront, parents wrestled with how much to share with their kids, at what age it was appropriate to go into the horrific details. And in a church basement blocks from where Tyshawn’s blood remained spattered in the alley, teens older and wiser than D’Ante seemed just as worried and confused, sharing glimpses of their journey from a childhood of fear to a young adulthood of caution and anxiety.
“I just don’t feel at ease because anything can happen to you at any moment,” said Anthony Lovelace, a high school senior from Auburn Gresham. “I’m looking over my shoulder just naturally. I always have to watch my surroundings. I have to be aware of the 100 different gangs there are, who’s cool with who. It’s almost too much at times. Sometimes I’d rather just stay at home.”
Tyshawn was just the latest fatality.
Anthony Diaz, 13, was killed last February in the Belmont Cragin community after shots rang out as he was leaving the scene of a fistfight he had recorded on his cellphone. Amari Brown, 7, was fatally shot on a Humboldt Park block on July 4 as he watched fireworks with his family. Dillan Harris, just 1, was killed in July after a car speeding away from a homicide struck him on a Woodlawn street. Tyjuan Poindexter, 14, was gunned down in September on his way to play basketball in the North Kenwood neighborhood.
A numbing experience
In the days after Tyshawn was shot, the Auburn Gresham streets were quiet and subdued at times as the chilling details emerged. The fourth-grader was targeted because of his father’s gang ties and a bloody dispute between rival factions, according to police. After being lured into the alley, he was shot multiple times. A basketball he always carried with him was found nearby. No arrests had been made by Friday night.
“Monday afternoon at about 4:30 p.m., right behind us in this T-alley, Tyshawn Lee was murdered in probably the most abhorrent, cowardly, unfathomable crime that I have witnessed in 35 years of policing,” said Superintendent Garry McCarthy, who worked most of his career in New York City before heading Chicago police the last 4 1/2 years.
Angry calls for justice and tears for the loss of a little boy followed at several press conferences and vigils.
Throughout, the children of Auburn Gresham watched and listened.
In recent years, more attention has been directed at these silent victims of Chicago’s violence.
In Little Village, teenage gang members are paired with military veterans to help them cope with the stress of street life. At Stroger Hospital and Comer Children’s Hospital, social workers are assigned full time to the trauma units to provide immediate treatment and continuing support to victims of violence. Last year, nearly 200 children between the ages of 2 and 18 received intensive care at both hospitals under that Healing Hurt People Chicago program. Four-fifths of them had been the victims of violence, the others were witnesses to violence.
“The most important thing everybody needs when they are dealing with this kind of thing is to feel safe,” said trauma psychologist Bradley Stolbach, associate professor of pediatrics at the University of Chicago School of Medicine. “So how do you provide a sense of safety in a community where something like that can happen? It can take a toll on people day to day. They really should get some support around it. And a lot of times that support is not available.”
Stolbach and other experts said Tyshawn’s classmates and friends risk suffering a wide range of physical ailments, including headaches and stomach pains. They will be hypervigilant and have deep worries about their own safety as well as their loved ones. They could startle easily or have trouble sleeping.
These immediate issues can lead to outbursts at school or conflicts with teachers or classmates. Persistent concerns over safety can present long-term risks as well.
“Initially the things that are more pressing are the day-to-day,” said Liza Suarez, co-director at the Urban Youth Trauma Center at the University of Illinois at Chicago. “There is the anger and uncertainty around not knowing why or how (Tyshawn was killed). More longer term is the person’s sense of self — ‘The world is dangerous, people are out to get me or my loved ones. I am not valuable’ — all of this can get internalized. Then it becomes numbing.”
Among the children at most risk, of course, are Tyshawn’s classmates, the dozens of fourth-graders and 400 students overall at Scott Joplin Elementary School.
In an emailed statement, Chicago Teachers Union spokeswoman Stephanie Gadlin raised concerns about the lack of full-time social workers at all public schools and whether the system has enough crisis counseling available for students.
Jadine Chou, head of security for Chicago Public Schools, said in an interview last week that each school is staffed with a counselor to respond to crises. In addition, CPS began training school safety officers four years ago to spot signs that a student is in distress so that kids can be referred for help instead of punishment.
Such training will be critical in the months ahead as Joplin deals with the loss of Tyshawn.
More immediately, CPS also sent a crisis intervention team to Joplin. Two days after the shooting, community leaders in Auburn Gresham also met with the principal to talk about the immediate and long-term needs of the students and staff grieving the loss of the little boy. A health center staffed by the University of Illinois Hospital and Health Sciences System has made social workers available to the school.
“Our focus is making sure the principal has the resources following the funeral services, when everybody goes back to their regular life,” said Tenisha Jones, education director at the Auburn-Gresham Community Development Corp.
‘What do we say to our kids?’
For all the crucial support that can be provided from local experts and community leaders, many of the tough conversations happen at home, where parents must cope with their own emotions while also grappling with how to guide their children through such trauma.
That daunting challenge weighed heavily on the minds of mothers at Wednesday’s impromptu protest.
“Why? Why? Why? That’s the biggest question no one has the answer to,” said Sheneeka Harris, 29, a Washington Park mother of an 11-year-old girl. “There’s really nothing you could say because you never know with this environment. You just try to protect your kids from it.”
Kimberly Williams, of Auburn Gresham, said she and her 5-year-old son aren’t ready yet for sobering talks about Tyshawn’s murder.
“I shield him from certain things,” said Williams, 37. “I still want him to be a kid. I don’t want him to be afraid. I want him to remain innocent.”
Williams also hesitated broaching the subject because she said she did not want her son to start discussing the killing with his classmates. Asked if she feared other children launching the conversation with him, she acknowledged she might have to prepare for that possibility.
“I didn’t really think about whether he was going to find out about this little boy, but maybe I should,” Williams said. “What do we say to our kids when they see young kids dying? I have to figure it out.”
Lottie Boss, of the Pullman neighborhood, said she is upfront with her five children to equip them to live amid a violent world.
“I want them to be exposed to the bad and the good,” said Boss, 42. “I want them to know life isn’t always nice and fair, but it is doable.”
Boss said she and her family start and end each day with prayer, leaning on their faith to help them not to live in fear. But even that is not always foolproof.
“I would tell them, ‘You don’t have to worry, because you have God.’ But then my daughter said, ‘I’m sure God was looking out for that other kid, too, and he still died.’ I didn’t have an answer to that.”
Crystal Bynum, of Auburn Gresham, said the discussions differ dramatically for her two sons. Her 15-year-old initially wanted to know many of the awful details but no longer wanted to talk about Tyshawn’s slaying. Her 9-year-old did not seem able to absorb the tragedy.
“I do want him to know but I don’t know how I’m going to explain it to him,” said Bynum, 37. “I never thought I would have to have that conversation — that someone the same as you, who goes to the same parks as you, that’s from the same neighborhood as you was basically executed.”
For 13-year-old Darlene Johnson, D’Ante Peppers’ sister, the way to cope was to speak out. An eighth-grader at Joplin, Johnson went straight from school to join the protest.
“It’s better that we do it and speak for the children,” Darlene said. “We want to grow up.”
Paralyzed by fear
A dozen teenagers packed into a basement room Thursday night at St. Sabina Academy. They squeezed into chairs and couches surrounding a dummy they constructed: a boy with a plaid hoodie and light-colored jeans, riddled with bullet holes. On the dummy’s chest sat a sign: “Elected officials don’t listen to the voices of those who don’t vote!”
They’re called the B.R.A.V.E. Youth Leaders, their name standing for “Bold Resistance Against Violence Everywhere,” one of several after-school programs at The Ark of St. Sabina aimed at steering kids toward constructive activities and away from street violence.
They had a lot on their minds on this night, and over 90 minutes, some hard, sad truths came out. Some yelled, their frustrations obvious. Others sat quietly, listening.
“This week has been so hard. The child was very happy,” Roushan Parham, 19, said of Tyshawn. “He wanted to play basketball. … For them to do that to him was so heartbreaking.”
The fact that the shooting remained unsolved nagged at some. Others understood the intense dread their neighbors feel and the impact that has on a community.
“Why are our communities paralyzed by fear?” asked Lamar Johnson, the 25-year-old moderator.
“Because people are ruthless,” Amani Johnson, 17, said flatly. “They don’t care anymore. They have no remorse. We have no love for each other. It’s nothing but hate.”
“We’ve paralyzed ourselves,” Anthony Lovelace added.
Yet this is their home. And like many teens in troubled neighborhoods, they have adjusted their routines to survive.
They carefully pick which streets to travel. They are wary of who they will be seen with. And they pay close attention to the words and gestures they make in public. After all, anything could set someone off.
Despite all this, these teens don’t want to simply disconnect from their neighborhoods as they leave for college or other opportunities.
“I truly don’t want to leave because I know I’ll have to leave future generations with this same problem,” said Trevon Bosley, 17. “And I don’t want to do that.”
“That’s like a father leaving his household when it’s in turmoil. You don’t leave when it’s bad,” Lovelace said. “We’re here to plant the seeds of anti-violence and youth advocacy.”
Chicago Tribune’s Abraham Epton contributed.
