Four years ago, Carlton Keely, then 13, was walking home from a family reunion with his eight-year-old brother and a cousin. Although the walk home was short, Keely and his brother found themselves face-down on the ground and in handcuffs before the end of it.
The incident started when a cop car passed them, and his cousin took off running. The police officer got out to question Keely and his little brother, who was angry that they were being stopped and expressed it. The officer didn’t stop to ask his age before throwing the eight-year-old on the ground, Keely said.
Keely’s brother still won’t get near police officers and vehemently refused to attend the “28 to Life Youth Leadership and Organizing Summit” on July 25, where youth ages 13 to 19 met law enforcement agents to discuss gun violence and police brutality.
“He hates them,” said Keely, now 17 and a Parkway South High School student. “That was his first impression of police, and it wasn’t a good one. He says he can’t depend on them and doesn’t trust them.”
Keely was far from the only teen with a story about police harassment or abuse at the four-hour summit, which drew about 30 youth to the 2720 Cherokee Performing Arts Center.
“A lot of them have never seen good cops,” said Bruce Franks Jr., founder of the “28 to Life” group that organized the event. “They can’t understand why there are some who want to abuse their power.”
Law enforcement representatives who participated included St. Louis City Police Chief Sam Dotson, Srgt. Todd Ross of the 3rd police district, and representatives from the offices of the local FBI and St. Louis circuit attorney.
“Today is about leadership,” Franks said at the start of the day. “You can do stuff now even before you are legally able to vote. I wish I had a summit when I was your age.”
Franks, 30, started the group in March, and his team includes 12 tight-knit, community activists – many who have been on the frontline of the Ferguson movement, he said.
“We believe in attacking gun violence from the root cause – be it lack of leadership, lack of jobs, lack of resources,” he said. “We figure we have to start with the youth because the youth will always be our future.”
When Sgt. Ross got in front of the group, which consisted largely of young African-American men, he pointed to a few of the smaller boys and said, “It’s like I’m looking into a mirror.”
Ross grew up on the South Side, he said, and he remembers when a police officer told him to run because he wanted to unleash his dog on him.
“I’m not going to sit here and act like it’s not in the department, because I’ve experienced it as a kid,” Ross said. “I just want to emphasize that we are here to help.”
Ross told stories about seeing Franks out on the South Side streets when he was younger.
“Everyone knows he raps,” Ross said. “He’s one of the coldest lyricists in the city. Back then, he was a little hot headed. I talked him down a lot.”
In 1991, when Franks was just 6, his brother was used as a human shield and killed by two drugs dealers, Franks said. His brother was only 9. Franks has spent his life addressing gun violence, but after Michael Brown Jr.’s death, he added police brutality to his cause.
“I got angry,” he said.
He attended a Generation Progress workshop in Washington, D.C. where he learned the importance of organizing and legislating change. That’s when he came up with the idea for 28 to Life, which is working to empower youth and the community through police/community relationships. Franks also owns two successful businesses with his wife on Cherokee Street, a tax office and an All-State Insurance agency.
He knows it’s “unpopular” among some protestors to work with people like Police Chief Dotson, but he believes sustainable change in their neighborhoods comes from working together.
Dotson told the teens about the first time Franks walked into his office for a meeting. Franks was wearing a hoodie and had tattoos all over his face.
“What do you think my perception of Bruce was?” Dotson asked the group.
“Uh, oh,” one of the girls chimed in.
From first glance, Dotson wouldn’t know that the tattoos around Franks’ eyes are not at all gang-related. They are the names of his children: Taj, 11; Lexi, 8; Brooke, 7; Lyric Melody, 4; and King, 2. And the reason he tattooed the downward-pointed triangles from his eyes down his cheeks is because he loves the movie “The Crow.” Those were inked after his fiancé died in a car accident while they were arguing on the phone.
In that first meeting, Dotson and Franks talked for two hours. Later, the police chief said he told his team, “That was the best two hours I’ve spend in a long time.”
At the end of the summit, Keely walked up to Srgt. Joseph Lankford, a white officer in the 3rd police district, and told him his story about police harassment. He wanted to know what Lankford would have done in that situation. Lankford said at one point in his life, he might have reacted the same, but he has been training himself over the years to “soften.”
However, Lankford didn’t apologize on behalf of the department or say he was sorry that happened to him and his family. He simply said some officers are more “adversarial” than others.
That kind of mentality, Franks said, is exactly what police criticize the community for.
“In the streets, we say, ‘No snitching,’” he said. “We have these people we grow up with and we don’t snitch. Police want us to kill that, but you all aren’t killing your own no-snitching policy.”
For more information, contact bruce@28tolife.org or visit www.28tolife.org.
Follow this reporter on Twitter @rebeccarivas.
