Every victim in Baltimore has a story

To celebrate his 20th birthday in April, Diamonte Howard planned to show his mother, Tamica, his acceptance letter to Wilberforce University. He would be the first in his family to attend college. He would attain his degree and then come back to Baltimore and start a business. He would lift his family out of poverty. He would make sure everyone in the O’Donnell Heights Housing Project could get a good-paying job. He would make sure all of the children in the neighborhood had safe places to play and enough food to eat.

Instead, Diamonte was shot and killed outside of his home, a week before his birthday.

I met Diamonte during my City Council campaign in 2016. On one of the hottest days of the summer, he sat on his mother’s stoop, watching me haplessly knock on doors. “You’re sweating through that suit.” He smirked. I asked if he wanted to join me. Impressed by my commitment to education (or just bored out of his mind), he grabbed a handful of election literature and window signs. Out of nowhere, a small army of neighborhood kids appeared and started knocking on doors with us. The children imitated Diamonte’s salesmanlike swagger and charisma. “Zeke Cohen for City Council” signs started popping up in people’s windows. Whenone of the little boys fell and bloodied his knee, Diamonte wrapped him up in his arms. “Don’t worry, little man. I’ve got you.” The boy stopped crying.

Everyone I spoke to told me that Diamonte was a protector. His high school advisor Tamara Jolly said that he could intuit how she was feeling by her facial expressions, and if she was having a bad day, he would do everything in his power to make it better. “Who made Ms. T mad?” He would grill the class. Ms. Jolly believes that Diamonte directly contributed to the success of his peers. She recounts stories of him pulling classmates out of bed, or off corners and dragging them to school. Even some of the least-motivated students straightened up around Diamonte.

“Despite his own struggles, he managed to find the good in everyone. People just felt seen by him,” she said.

The day after Diamonte’s death, a student with physical and intellectual disabilities burst into Ms. Jolly’s classroom weeping. Ms. Jolly tried to console the girl, but couldn’t.

“He was the only person who would stand up to the bullies,” the young woman said between sobs. “Now who will protect me?”

Diamonte was always close with his mother. Throughout his short life, he took on responsibility for helping Tamica man- age the household finances and take care of his siblings. “I think he felt like he had to do the things that his father had failed to do.” She told me.

She was incredibly proud of her eldest son. “He did more in his 19 years on this earth than most people will ever do. He was [an extra] in the Henrietta Lacks movie, he traveled all over the world. Everyone that knew him, loved him.”

In my role as a city councilman, I bear witness to moments of improbable hope: mothers of murder victims joining together to start a scholarship foundation, small businesses hiring teenagers over the summer because they believe in a brighter future, children marching peacefully for a Youth Fund. I also see the unrelenting suffering that so many families endure. In a city beset by bloodshed, it is easy to become callous and lose sight of our shared humanity.

Yet if Baltimore is going to heal, we need to know each other’s stories. We need to realize the greatness lost every time a bullet enters a body.

So know this: In his short time on earth, Diamonte Howard overcame tremendous obstacles. He protected those around him. He made other people’s lives better. He made my life better.

Councilman