Survivors of police violence need help

Passing Senate Bill 299 would go a long way

I have been familiar with violence all of my life. In fact, nearly all the people I know — folks with brown skin, or who are Black like me — are survivors of some kind of violence or crime. We are, however, also afflicted by a criminal justice system that has long viewed us with indifference at best. At worst, it meets us with hostility — and that creates a problem. Because a criminal justice system is supposed to resolve conflict, not perpetuate it.

Senate Bill 299, recently proposed legislation to make victims of police violence eligible for the same supports that California now offers victims of other types of violence, would help fix this problem.

During the past decade, our state has implemented reforms that emphasize prevention and healing over-incarceration, its default response for generations. This trend, slow though it may be, has strengthened my faith that real progress may be possible. But my neighbors, accustomed to being viewed as criminals simply for the color of their skin, are not so sure. And I don’t blame them. A lot more change is needed before we have a system that effectively provides safety for everyone — rather than security for a few.

SB299 will address a key part of this problem by correcting some fundamental inequities in California’s approach to supporting all victims of violence. To begin with, it recognizes people who are seriously injured or family members of those who are killed by police as victims and allows them to apply for state victims compensation to access services like counseling to address their trauma and financial assistance to cover unplanned burial expenses. It also eliminates the obligation to file a police report to qualify — a right already extended to victims of family violence. These are important differences for people who may not trust law enforcement and for an institution that is reluctant to be held accountable for its mistakes.

I don’t endorse this legislation casually. I lost my brother Terri to a double homicide eight years ago. Ever since I discovered a network of like-minded survivors in 2013, I have been an active advocate for crime victims in my hometown of Stockton, as well as across California and, more recently, throughout our nation. In the course of this work I have participated in honest and difficult conversations about how our city could transition to a new model of shared

safety, and I have come to regard our local police chief as an individual of good intentions and integrity. But I also was on the streets demanding justice following the murder of George Floyd last summer. And a few weeks later, after my cousin, Antwane Burrise, was shot and killed by members of the Stockton Police Department, I wept with my

aunt. She lost her son to gunfire but was ineligible for the support California provides to others because the deadly bullets came from a policeman’s weapon.

There is a lot of suspicion of law enforcement in my community. But beneath that suspicion there is anger and sadness. This sadness comes, in part, from a too-common assumption that somehow we are responsible for and deserve our victimization. What could be sadder than telling a mother in pain

that her suffering does not count? Much is said these days about building trust between police and communities of color. But what kind of trust is possible when one side is immune to accountability and the other feels entirely expendable?

If you have not been immersed in these issues as I have been, or lived these experiences like my friends, neighbors and family, you may be tempted to think that I am exaggerating. Please do not make that mistake.

The instability caused by COVID-19 has increased violence and homicides over the past year, and a recent survey found that fewer than three in 10 victims of violent crime in Los Angeles receive victim support they are entitled to. Most are not even aware that such services existed.

In rejecting California’s old incarceration-first model of criminal justice in favor of new strategies based on prevention and healing, Californians have shown that they understand

that only responding to crime after the fact fails to end cycles of violence and feeds a network of prisons that siphons money from investments that do work — like mental health services, substance use counseling, reentry programming and stable housing. They should also understand that our collective safety depends on more people engaging with the system. But this cannot happen until folks believe the system is meeting their needs and willing to name them as victims