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I grew up on the west side of Indianapolis, at 16th Street and Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, a place full of grit, pride and people doing the best they could with what they had. The west side raised me. It taught me resilience and resourcefulness, but it also revealed how easy it is to mistake surviving for living.
Today, I’m a husband, a father, a proud graduate of Indiana University Indianapolis with a sociology degree and a law degree from the IU Robert H. McKinney School of Law. And I had the profound privilege of serving as the inaugural chief violence prevention officer for the city of Indianapolis. That role gave me a front-row seat to both the pain and the promise of our city, and more important, it gave me perspective.
My year in that position wasn’t just about leading. It was about learning. Observing. Listening. Understanding the systems—and the silences—that shape human behavior long before violence ever erupts. What I learned is simple yet profound: Violence is not the disease. It is the symptom, the echo of deeper cultural and environmental fractures that we too often ignore or misdiagnose. And treating violence as something to simply stop blinds us to what started it.
Here’s a truth that’s uncomfortable but necessary: Too many well-intentioned programs have unintentionally disempowered the very communities they aim to help. Instead of cultivating capacity, America has built systems that create dependency. Nonprofits, schools and local organizations, often filled with passionate people, are forced to compete for limited resources. They fight for survival rather than uniting for systemic impact. The community, in turn, grows accustomed to waiting for programs, for subsidies, for someone else to fix what only collective ownership can heal.
What happens when the funding stops? When staff burn out? Or when political leaders take harmful community stances? If progress depends on money, progress dies when the money dries up.
But when prevention is culture-based, not program-based, it endures. Culture doesn’t expire; it evolves.
Violence is not born in a vacuum. It grows in environments of disconnection. Where relationships are frayed, understanding is low and culture has lost its moral center. Violence is the language of pain that has no words. We cannot arrest our way out of this reality. We cannot program our way out of it, either. Violence is a mirror reflecting the fractures within homes, social structures and systems that have lost touch with empathy and understanding.
If we want to prevent violence, we must treat the environment. We must cultivate spaces where people feel seen, safe and valued. Where they can think critically, articulate emotions and participate in their own healing. A city becomes safer when its culture becomes stronger. When households, schools, institutions and neighborhoods align around shared principles of competence, dignity and responsibility.
Safety isn’t just the absence of crime; it’s the presence of understanding.
We must rebuild a culture rooted in principle, virtue and responsibility. One where people are empowered to be the prevention and not its collateral. The true strength of a city lies not in the number of programs it has but in the number of people who understand their power to create change. And empowerment begins when institutions see themselves not as saviors, but as seeders planting capacity rather than providing crutches.
True empathy isn’t born from observation; it’s born from proximity. It’s forged in shared struggle, not distant sympathy or pity. To understand a person’s choices, you must understand their conditions, the history, the environment, the survival instincts shaping every decision. We cannot serve communities solely through tools of philanthropy. We must stand with people, not over them, by removing the Band-Aid of charity and investing in dignity instead.
When I walk through this city, I see the faces of people fighting silent battles against poverty, disinvestment, broken systems and forgotten promises. Their stories remind me that this work isn’t about saving anyone; it’s about seeing everyone. And when people are seen, they begin to heal. And when they heal, they begin tobelieve again.
We are fighting a war not of bullets but of belonging, dignity and understanding. And the best way to win that war is not through dominance but through service. The path to peace is paved by presence: showing up, listening deeply and standing shoulder to shoulder with the people we claim to serve.
That’s where transformation begins. Not solely through programs or policy, but through culture, comprehension and human connection.•
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Durrett is an attorney who was appointed by Mayor Joe Hogsett in June 2024 to serve as the city’s first chief violence prevention officer.
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