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The Next Frontier

In 2016, we launched a groundbreaking program in Newark, NJ, that brought community members and police officers into the same room to explore trauma — especially as it is connected to encounters with policing. And we wanted to explore the trauma of both groups. Since then hundreds of community members and police officers have gone through the two-day workshop. The police department saw a dramatic decline in citizen complaints from those who had been in the program, and Trauma to Trust has become a critical component of the community-centered public safety model that is thriving in the city. 

Representatives from Baton Rouge visited Newark several times over the years to see Trauma to Trust and other key components of the public safety model. In March, we had the official launch of the program and we’re excited to keep building in that city. 

EJUSA: When did Baton Rouge get off the ground? 

Lionel Latouche: We had been working there before as part of a program called Collective Healing, and EJUSA provided assistance to grassroots organizations in a handful of cities. Our partnership with our Baton Rouge partners had gone really well. Right before the pandemic, we started talking about how we might bring Trauma to Trust to Baton Rouge. Then the pandemic happened, and I actually didn’t get to go down there until December 2021. We talked about the history of T2T and the impact it was having in Newark. 

Automatically, a lot of stories came up and there was a clear need to talk about trauma. What was clear was that Baton Rouge needed language about recognizing and expressing the impact of trauma. They knew that they were experiencing trauma, and there was some language, but it was scattered depending on who you were talking to. That was a big step. I also made some important relationships with folks and shared the vision of T2T as well as my experience with trauma. In March 2022 we did our first listening sessions and those continued until January 2023. 

We really needed to capture the voice of community. And the beauty was we really began to understand the experience of Baton Rouge, and they informed the direction we went. 

EJ: How were police involved in the planning? 

LL: Absolutely, from early on. The training division was involved in the primer session we had (an introduction to T2T). You heard the perspective of law enforcement in the south. This was a year removed from the public execution of George Floyd and the national uprisings. There was a little bit of defensiveness, some “Hey, understand me.” But there was also true willingness to get messy and learn. It was important that they were there sitting with community. 

We also had a listening session with only cops, about 15. They shared their own opinion and it was interesting. You get in those spaces and the group says, “Everything is fine.” And then one person opens up and then everyone jumps in and it’s not as fine as it appeared. It was important for that to happen because we needed their perspective. 

EJ: Any other listening sessions stand out? 

LL: Well, we had one for white folks. I had to point that out, that white folks had their own category, acknowledging that the Black community asked if white people are going to be in the room. In Newark, it didn’t matter, we were going to do what we needed to do. But because of the racist legacy of the South, the Baton Rouge community stressed the importance of white community members being a part of the conversation. This is a city where Black people live on the other side of the tracks as white people, and they’re not interfacing unless something big is happening in the community. 

EJ: What struck you as the biggest differences between T2T in Baton Rouge and in Newark?

LL: The clearest thing is the legacy of racism and oppression in the South. The impact of slavery and segregation is still really clear. We had to be prepared for that. It showed up in how we created the experience and curate conversation. In Newark, you have the 1967 rebellion, a clear stance by the community that this is not right. It’s part of the ethos in Newark. It’s different down in Baton Rouge. The nicety of southern culture is different. But when you get to a place of ruffling feathers, there’s a volcanic explosion of emotion and frustration and straight-up racism. We needed to be cognizant of how that showed up. Events had happened in the city in the lead-up to T2T that were clear to us that the waters of racism settle but only for a short time until something happens and there’s a huge flood.

And to be real, we had to show up in our northern culture and know how to present things that met the cultural dynamics of Baton Rouge to make the experience palpable for folks. We’re a little more in your face coming from Newark. And there’s an advantage to that. We had to navigate through the Baton Rouge culture to get to the same emotional points while respecting the dynamic. 

EJ: You’ll go back in the fall for a full slate of sessions. How will your learnings from the spring affect the next chapter in Baton Rouge? 

LL: We really saw the desire of the people down there to tell stories. In BR, being able rub shoulders, to sit in groups and hear each other’s voices, that feels really important. We want to make sure that the folks have the space and the comfort to share those stories and experience one another.

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Baton Rouge Explores Trauma

Baton Rouge Trauma to Trust cohort posed for a picture

Lionel Latouche, our director of Trauma to Trust (T2T), turned the lights back on as the video of Baton Rouge Police Chief Murphy Paul apologizing for the killing of Alton Sterling came to a close. My chest was tight, feeling the tension of the room as Baton Rouge community members and police officers waited for the facilitators to re-engage. Dr. Monique Swift, a former EJUSA staff member who continues to lead T2T, addressed the room: “What is one word that you think of when you see this apology?”

Baton Rouge has a long history of police violence and oppression, but it also has a strong foundation of grassroots leaders and city officials determined to chart a new path and embrace community-centered public safety. Chief Paul’s apology was as historic as it was needed. 

We’ve been honored to partner with leaders in Baton Rouge over the past few years to reimagine justice for their community. And we hit a major milestone in mid-March when Baton Rouge became the second city with a program, officially making T2T national. 

This was EJUSA’s first Trauma to Trust workshop in Baton Rouge. It marks both the years of trust and relationship building with the community and police department, as well as the beginning of years of work to come.

The feeling of tension in that room that I described above is common in a T2T session no matter where it happens. These two-day workshops bring together community members and local police officers for guided conversations about the role of trauma and violence in their interactions. The goal of T2T is to illuminate the systems that everyone in the room has been subject to by creating a vulnerable space of sharing and truth to build empathy and reduce future harm.

Reflecting on the police chief’s apology, these words came pouring into the room: peace, understanding, pandering, risk, manipulate, vulnerability, compassion, exhaustion, prepared, fake.

This tangle of honest words led to the most powerful moment of the day for me. The participants began having a more honest and direct conversation, one in which they were allowing themselves the vulnerability of honesty and gaining confidence in finding common ground. All the participants shared the desire for a thriving Baton Rouge, and began to look at the systems around them, rather than the clothes and uniforms they wore. 

We discussed economic inequality that has deep roots in Baton Rouge. We talked about some of the roots of that inequality: redlining home loans, underfunded schools, and employment discrimination.. We confronted the exhaustive list of roles that police are expected to fill — from writing tickets to breaching doors with bullet proof vests to providing crisis support for victims. All of these tasks and the primary toolkit they’re given is a ticket book, handcuffs, and weapons. 

One officer asked, “Then what can we do about it?” He began to acknowledge the systemic problems, but he couldn’t see what his role would be other than continuing to be the best he could imagine at his job. The answer, the facilitators directed, is to use a trauma-informed lens. That means that officers should understand that harm most often comes from a person who has already experienced harm. And that the system around us can’t be removed from people’s personal actions and that police officers need to show up with deep empathy even while acting in it.

Gerald, a community member, closed with words about systemic racism that sunk in for the room: “The conversation still needs to happen because America as a collective hasn’t acknowledged it. And so I’m going to keep crying. Keep protesting. Keep acting out. Until you see me. Until you acknowledge me.”

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The Momentum is Real

Jami Hodge and EJUSA Staff

I recently got a text message from one of the most prominent district attorneys in the country. He thanked me for writing this op-ed on what survivors of violence need — and why meeting those needs, especially in the communities most impacted, builds community safety. He told me that his attorneys were talking about it. 

That text came just days before the Safe and Just Communities Summit in New York. I presented there with some amazing allies on the racial disparities in the legal system and what we need to do to solve them. 

We all want to be safe. But safety means so much more than the absence of violence. That’s especially true in communities experiencing the brunt of violence. The folks that live there know what they need to thrive — good jobs, affordable housing, great schools for their kids, and so much more. And they’re advocating for and building solutions that will secure them. These solutions aren’t new. They’ve been saving and improving lives for a while.

That was the foundation of my piece that ran in The Nation about the collective community-driven effort in Newark, our flagship city, to build public safety. Just days ago, President Obama named Newark a model community for its effectiveness in violence prevention, a testament to all the work being done there.

I look back on all of that (plus another op-ed, in February, in Essence on why Black history is essential to addressing systemic racism) and think, “Wow!” Each moment is exciting on its own. Take them all together, though, and I believe it’s clear that our work — that you make possible — is resonating deeply across the nation. People are interested in effective alternatives to the policing, prosecutions, and prisons that inflict so much harm, especially on Black and Brown communities. 

I find the momentum we’re seeing exhilarating and powerful. I hope you do too! If you’re moved by this progress, I invite you to become a member of our Visionary Circle by committing to a monthly donation. Whether it’s $5 or $50, your investment ensures that the movement to build community safety will have a generational impact.

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Stop the Cycle of Trauma

Thirty years ago, my father was the victim of a brutal assault that had a lasting impact that no one in my family could appreciate in that moment. We all struggled in different ways. A big part of that struggle stemmed from not seeing ourselves as survivors of violence, and not having access to the kinds of support that everyone impacted by violence needs to repair harm (including the person who caused the harm). Elevating the needs and voices of survivors from marginalized communities is a cornerstone of EJUSA’s mission thanks to Shari Silberstein’s vision and work as our founder, and it will always be a north star for us. I wrote about the importance of identifying as survivors and much more. Please give it a read and share. And for those in NY, please go to https://oneclickpolitics.global.ssl.fastly.net/messages/edit?promo_id=18883 to support the efforts to expand victims’ compensation.

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How We Respond to Tragedy

group of people bowing their heads for moment of silence

About six weeks ago, Najee Seabrooks sent out a call for help. He texted his co-workers at the Paterson Healing Collective — an EJUSA partner and ally in the movement to build community safety — that he was in crisis and he needed them. Najee was trained as a healer and a violence interventionist, so he understood how they could help him and guide him through a serious mental health episode. 

Before his teammates could reach him, the Paterson Police Department arrived. They were armed when they entered the apartment where Najee had barricaded himself. They refused to let members of the Collective talk to Najee, instead sending in a negotiator. 

Najee didn’t need to negotiate. He needed healing, he needed a friend, he needed someone trained to support mental health. He needed his Paterson Healing Collective family.

The police only had weapons. And after several hours, the crisis escalated and two officers fired their guns, killing Najee. 

The days that followed were agonizing. Our allies at the Collective were in deep, desperate pain after losing their brother.

A few days after his murder, the Collective gathered its community members and its grassroots partners for a protest and march. I knew I needed to be there so I took a train north from Maryland. 

I went first to the Collective’s offices just down the street from Paterson’s city hall. I felt a powerful heaviness when I walked in. The staff hadn’t had time to even process their grief. And yet, there they were. Najee’s death compelled them to act. 

Despite frigid temperatures, the community showed up strong. Allies from across the state and beyond showed up to support. And I was proud to see EJUSA’s Will Simpson and Zayid Muhammad take leadership roles in the protest. 

One moment in particular stays with me. Liza Chowdury, the founder of the Paterson Healing Collective, was speaking and, of course, she struggled. Within seconds, Will, Zayid, and several members of the Collective surrounded her to support her in that raw moment.  

In real time, I saw the EJUSA difference. It isn’t always about what we do as much as how we do it. We build trust, we build relationships, and we put our partners and communities first. 

I also want to lift up Liza, the huge challenge she faces right now as she tries to heal from this pain and lead her team and demand accountability from the Paterson Police Department. She is not alone in trying to hold a demanding job while processing violence and harm every day in her community. I see Ruth Rollins in Boston and Sateria Tate in Baton Rouge and Michelle Smith in St. Louis, all of them heroic but also, we can’t forget, deeply human. 

This work is so hard. We must support these women, who make history by changing the lives of the community around them, and we must resource their impactful work. They have brought transformation to their respective communities. And as recent events, including Najee’s murder, always remind us, the road ahead is wide with room for us all.

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Newark’s Community-Centered Public Safety Ecosystem

man sitting in chair next to plant

In 2018, I left the Department of Justice after a dozen years as a prosecutor. I had seen our criminal legal system up close and came away certain that it was too big, too rigid, and too steeped in its racist origins to ever deliver true justice.

I wanted to find the solutions to violence, mass incarceration, and the trauma caused by both. After coming to EJUSA, I found them in one particular community.

Last year, in partnership with the City of Newark, NJ, and the Newark Community Street Team, we documented what a community-centered public safety ecosystem looks like and how residents from all corners of the city were taking ownership of their safety. We released a report to capture that story.

Today, I’m thrilled to share with you a multi-media digital platform that breaks that story into pieces with a feature docustory, other videos that you can share via social media, short descriptions of the crucial parts of the ecosystem, and more.

Here’s a great example, with some of the key leaders in the ecosystem, including our own Will Simpson and Lionel Latouche, describing what safety means to them:

I chose this video because that definition of safety is key. It’s not just the absence of violence. The presence of well-being is every bit as important — that means food security, quality education, good-paying jobs, and affordable housing.

The video is a great entry point into community-centered public safety. I hope you’ll explore the entire site and all the videos and share it with your networks.

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Safety & Healing Session

people sitting at table

The idea began with a question: What would it look like to accompany a church willing to match faith with deeds so they can meet the justice needs in their community? 

The question that led to an idea led to a journey to Richmond, VA. I teamed up with Will Simpson, EJUSA’s director of violence reduction initiatives, and Rev. Nathan Walton, co-lead pastor of East End Fellowship in Richmond and a member of the EJUSA Evangelical Network advisors group. Nathan extended an invitation to some members of his congregation to come to three meetings we held beginning last December. We called them Safety & Healing Sessions. 

In our very first session, an older Black woman brought on a moment of silence after asking with exasperation, “Why do [the police] have to bring guns to a basketball game?!” Her frustration stemmed from seeing police repeatedly escalate situations and the criminal legal system as a whole using the only tools at its disposal: punishment, fear, and control. 

The room was filled with Black and white people; married and single individuals; those from a variety of age brackets. All were united around wanting to learn how to more effectively respond to violence in their community. 

Another participant referred to “gang violence,” which Will Simpson acknowledged and then nuanced to frame the deeper issue. “This is a breakdown in how to handle conflict,” Will said. “At the root of ‘gang violence’ are people reacting to other people in violent ways. And we can give people the tools to navigate that. We know what drives violence and how to break its cycle.” 

We expanded people’s idea of safety from an absence of bodily violence to the presence of well-being for all. And we looked at the drivers of violence – things like poverty, shame, and racism – because we can never reduce violence without addressing what causes violence. Racism is especially important, since we often classify it as a social ill, which it is, rather than it also being a heresy that attempts to overthrow the supremacy of Christ with whiteness.  

The first session looked at violence and our criminal legal system – from policing all the way to capital punishment. Session two, in January, focused on healing and how the Bible expands our idea of safety and healing. The third and final session, in February, got practical with steps for a way forward. 

Trauma is real and often more so than we suppose. We speak about the three E’s of how trauma is an Event, an Experience of that event through a certain lens, and an individualized Effect of that event over time. Healing begins when we see the Bible itself as a trauma-informed book. Trauma is a modern word and yet an ancient reality.  

Consider the trauma of Jesus – a criminal, from Rome’s perspective – who was arrested, tortured, falsely tried, and executed by the state. The Bible’s proximity to the state and its arsenal of evil is as close as the God-man that Christians call “Savior.”

Consider Jesus’ answer to the question, “Who is my neighbor?” The answer is the parable of the Good Samaritan, which defines neighbor as anyone who has need. In our sessions we saw how the Bible calls us to both stumble onto people and seek out people in need.  

We do this by living through a lens of restoration, always asking, in each sphere we are in, How can I live restoratively here? Micah 6:8 is the founding verse for the Evangelical Network, and it gives a blueprint of the themes that should describe how Christians live and love in the world: acting justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly.

The people in the room felt stretched by all of this. Those in the room had lots of questions, heart-warming and heart-breaking stories, and had not fully considered the ramifications of Jesus himself being incarcerated and how Christian churches do not have to use the government’s tools of punishment, police, and prisons as our only response to harm. 

Our time in these Safety & Healing Sessions concluded by defining and calling the group to build community-centered public safety ecosystems. What this looks like is a community, a neighborhood, or a city centering healing after harm; people working in complex ways to address the drivers of violence; groups that are interconnected and centering those most affected by violence; and creating and maintaining sustainable funding streams to local groups.

This is indeed happening in places like Newark, NJ and Baton Rouge, LA. And groups in Virginia, and in Richmond specifically, are beginning that work. We pointed this church to these groups. Groups like the Virginia Community Violence Coalition, the Virginia Coalition on Solitary Confinement, and Richmonders Involved to Strengthen Our Communities. 

East End Fellowship is part of a growing movement of churches engaging resources like the Evangelical Network’s Church & Justice tool and considering how to bring true safety, healing, and accountability that repairs to their communities. They are asking the hard questions and willing to not assume that the way things are is the way they should be. They’re reimagining public safety, and churches are one of the many partners it will take to build communities where violence is rare and well-being is present for all.

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A Pillar of Newark

Ms. Sharon Redding

Meet our friend and activist Ms. Sharon Redding. I’m not alone in seeing her as a pillar of her city. She’s worked for the Newark Community Street Team since 2016 as a community advocate. Ms. Sharon is a vital voice connecting her community and its concerns with city and state leaders to build community safety and change the world. She is a consistent voice in Public Safety Roundtables, where she holds officials at every level of government, from the mayor and the chief of police, accountable for their responsibilities. Just as important, she brings information back to her neighbors to help them thrive, such as what NCST’s trauma recovery center offers or how to access other healing supports. Here are her own words on Newark and the future of public safety: 

“I see a future of neighbors, community leaders, law enforcement, and the empathy we have for each other, all of us working together to keep everyone safe. I want my grandchildren and the children of our communities to go to school and play outside and to be safe as a Community — without being subject to gun violence, being assaulted, or hit by a stolen car. I see our Community getting stronger as the next generation understands the effects of trauma and knows what public safety in public hands means. As an elder in the Community, this is not a “Dream.” I see it as Reality for my neighborhood. Amen!!”

We’re so grateful for Ms. Sharon for her caring spirit, tenacity in holding leaders accountable, and willingness to support those in need of healing. Ms. Sharon is the TRUTH!

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One Part of Transformation

legislative building with blue sky

After the dust settled on the 2022 elections, we spent the dark weeks of winter getting grips on the balance of political power across the country. And here we are. February. The plunge into legislative sessions is squarely upon us. Some states are already nearly done for the year, but the buzz is still loud and exciting. Coalitions are organizing and advocating in our statehouses, lobbyists continue to work behind the scenes, and legislators are dropping bills in virtual hoppers in capital cities across the country.

In 2023 Republicans control the house, senate, and governorship (aka the trifecta) in 22 states, Democrats hold a trifecta in 17 states, leaving 11 states with divided government. The landscape of possibility is vast and fraught with partisan divide and opportunities to cross the aisle. Even the trifectas open the door to collaboration with any willing legislator — thin majorities often still rely on moderate votes or bipartisan collaboration to pass bills.

As I look across the landscape again this year, I still spend, maybe too much, time obsessing about how policy can tear down what is harming communities while also expanding access to safety for all, especially those that need it most. I still question if and how statutory change can be transformational, when the job of statute(s) is to express the intent of the majority power. These things still keep me awake at night but I’m inspired and influenced by the work of M4BL, Project Nia, and the Movement Strategy Center, organizations that are feeding the collective imagination with deliciousness about what it means to transform out of our current system into a form that centers our communities. (Learn about those organizations below.)

At EJUSA we struggle together around the concepts of reform vs transformation in our policy work every day because we know that people who are criminalized are harmed every day and reforms that make specific fixes matter. At the same time, to get to the transformation we want, we must attack the root causes of violence, create authentic pathways to repair and heal from violence. That requires —- that’s more than just tinkering with the existing system —- we’re talking big, transformational shifts in how our governments and communities operate from day to day. I don’t have the answer or even think there is one right answer but what I do know is that it is more important than ever to interrogate the details and make sure our communities are at the decision-making tables.

Our work is in our streets and in the statutes. Our statutory battlefield was grown from slavery and weaved into our criminal legal system — from executions to mass incarcerations to police killings, and everything in between. But I want to be loud and clear here: policy work is only a small part of making change. It’s not a substitute for relationship-based community organizing, public protest, and community-based efforts. It’s a tactic borne of our organizing together, acting in service to the needs of our communities, responding to harm, and advancing successful strategies from the ground.

Let’s turn to 2023. What’s happening in our legislative chambers? With some major exceptions (looking at you California), state budgets appear to be robust. This is potentially good news for the continued evolution in how legislators and policymakers are understanding violence intervention and the drivers of violence. We’re seeing more and more states consider legislation to support financially, frontline intervention work through grant programs, federal dollars, and leveraging medicaid to pay for hospital based violence intervention work.

State legislative campaigns to abolish extreme sentencing in California and Ohio continue to gain traction. At the same time, states are considering a slew of regressive bills to increase punishment and shield police from accountability in states like New Jersey, Kentucky.

A glance at what we’re working on and watching:
Arizona: SB1475, a bill to abolish the death penalty. We don’t expect Arizona to repeal its death penalty this year, but the introduction and strong hearing in January are great stepping stones to moving the bill further in future sessions.

California budget: Continue the grant funding for indigent defense, and allocate funding for implementation of the California Racial Justice Act, including the necessary funding for defense counsel.

Ohio: (bill number tbd) a bill to abolish the death penalty in Ohio.

New Jersey budget: Continue and increase investments to fund community-based violence intervention strategies. This year, there is $15 million in the governor’s budget, a $5 million increase from previous years.

New Jersey: S2007, a bill to allow federal medicaid dollars to be used for community violence prevention services, such as those provided by hospital-based violence intervention programs.

New Jersey: S3086/A4978, a bill to establish the Violence Intervention and Victim Assistance (VIVA) office and appropriates $5.5 million for the office and its work.

New York: S214/A2105, a bill to expand access to victims compensation.

Federal Government: S40, a bill to establish a task force to explore reparations.

Learn more about:

M4BL — Project Nia — Movement Strategy Center

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The Movement Has Lost a Legend

Lawrence Hayes, activist for justice

“There is no reason to kill. No reason for me to kill, no reason for you to kill, and no reason for the state to kill.” 

These are the words of Lawrence Hayes as he spoke at the “Live from Death Row Tour,” a national speaking tour with a focus on building opposition to the death penalty. Like most of his advocacy, Lawrence used his voice to share his story for change. He died this week after a lifetime of making that change.

Lawrence spent 20 years in prison for a crime he did not commit. Upon his freedom, he dedicated his commitment to advocate against state-sanctioned murder. Sharing his story to highlight the injustices in the system that caused him harm at every corner of the process —  from the treatment by police, the failure in the courts, and the treatment from the media regarding his case. A former Black Panther who knew what it meant to stand up for his rights and others. A leader that became a target even as he was a free man trying to point to the failures. He will always be a champion for the movement as he helped to shed the light on a system that doesn’t create safety, that harms, that needs to be abolished. 

We thank him for his commitment and his contribution to the movement. May you rest in peace, Lawrence.

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