Dusk has just settled on the streets of the Mission District, and rows of red and white pillar candles line the sidewalks on the four corners at the intersection of 24th and Harrison Streets. In their glow, neighbors stand and smile warmly at one another. Some are meeting for the first time and shake hands eagerly, while others are greeted with familiar hugs. The night air is relatively still, but when a breeze rolls through and extinguishes the flames, they are immediately rekindled.

Within a half-hour, the crowd has doubled, and the flicker of candlelight has spread further down Harrison. Some neighbors have lined the stairs leading to their doorways, while others have created more intricate tableaus that include flowers and offerings of holy water.

Through word of mouth—both online and on the streets—residents of the area have gathered for Streets of Candles for Peace, an effort organized by local neighborhood associations. SFPD officers in attendance offer to close off a portion of Harrison Street, but the group declines. The purpose of the gathering is not to march or to shout slogans and demands, but to see the neighborhood united in peace. The candles symbolize a silent protest from frustrated and concerned Mission District residents that have been terrorized by a surge in violence and homicides in the area, including eight murders in the last two months.

“People are up in arms and there is so much hostility in this neighborhood that’s not talked about,” says Gerry Jamin, a resident of the block who has lived in the Bay Area for 20 years. “I felt like I needed to do something.” Jamin holds a handwritten sign that calls for a stop to the violence and the criminalization of the homeless, guns, and racial profiling. “Just being treated like a criminal can be bad for a kid,” Jamin says.

In a vibrant, culture-rich neighborhood like the Mission, intense violence leaves residents with two options: let it lead to anger and finger-pointing, or use it as a catalyst for unity and reform. Roberto Ariel Vargas sits at a table outside of L’s Café on 24th and Bryant, where three of the recent homicides have happened within a few blocks of each other.

As the Program Director for UCSF’s Community Partnership Resource Center, Vargas works with hospitals, community groups and city programs to increase communication and awareness of neighborhood issues. “We’re teaching in middle and high schools. We connect the University with community organizations to work to improve health in South East San Francisco. The community requested that we address the violence,” Vargas says.

Vargas understands that the struggles with violence feel new because of the recent upsurge, but he insists that the issue is decades-old. He and the UCSF Department of Family and Community Medicine staff want to see violence treated as a mental and physical health epidemic, and the staff has been working on this challenge for years.

Their target group is young men ages fourteen to thirty that have been treated at San Francisco General Hospital for street violence-related wounds. The procedure is to nurse victims of stabbings, gunshot wounds and beatings with medical care and well-wishes. However, no mental health treatment is offered for the victim or their families.

“I was born and raised in this neighborhood so I have been impacted by this violence personally. When someone gets shot or stabbed, it’s very likely that I know the person or know someone close to them,” says Vargas. “It’s the same for a lot of us who do this work.”

Vargas sips from a cup of coffee and recognizes many of the people who walk by. Some are long-time friends of the Mission District native. One young man passes, and Vargas recognizes him as a friend of one of the men slain on 24th and Utah.

Suddenly, Vargas stands and shouts to someone across the street.
“Javier! Hey, Javier!” He whistles and waves him over. After waiting for a break in traffic, Javier Antezana crosses and greets Vargas with a handshake and a hug.

Antezana is a Case Manager and Community Liaison for San Francisco General Hospital’s Injury Center. Recently, he has helped the hospital provide opportunities for kids who have been overlooked by the system in the past.

“We had a kid come through the trauma recovery center who was a hardcore gangbanger and we guided him through the process,” Antezana says. “Even when they don’t think they want to, it’s therapy for these kids to have someone to talk to. They have to have access to some type of mental health facility. They’re still angry, out in the streets, living in fear. Those emotions can manifest into anything.”

Antezana also grew up in the Mission and is familiar with its nuances on levels other SFGH staff members have difficulty reaching.

“These community experts are not formally trained with graduate degrees, but they provide tremendous guidance. They are the ones who deal with these issues day in-day out,” says Vargas. “We see the potential for these kids to be good even when they commit violent crimes because so many of us have found ways to get out of it ourselves.”

In response to the violence, the SFPD has increased foot patrols and overall police presence in the Mission, but Vargas vehemently opposes an enforcement-only approach to stopping the bloodshed. “Out of fear and lack of understanding, people think that increased police presence decreases violence. New residents in the neighborhood are scared and they want the security of seeing more cops on the street,” Vargas says. “It’s only a short-term solution in which young men of color experience more hostility. It increases fear and mistrust for authority, which reduces the willingness to cooperate with police. I don’t advocate increased police presence unless it comes with improved performance.”

In addition to promising increased beat coverage, the SFPD has announced that freshly trained officers will be transferred to the Mission Station. The effort is earnest, but it may not be effective in the long-term.

Community members do not doubt the law enforcement skills of the police, but they do not think that they have the cultural knowledge or sensitivity to successfully work with the diverse neighborhood.

Police Chief Heather Fong plans to continue a dialogue with the council and the area’s Community Response Network. Prolonged communication and the implementation of creative programs would benefit the Bay Area and potentially raise the bar for the rest of the nation.

Vargas wants to see officers involved in the community, but in ways that will help repair the strained relationship between urban youth and the police. “We need creative ways for cops to interact with kids and get to know them. That would give kids the opportunity to see cops in a positive way and it would give cops an opportunity to develop a more humanized view of these kids,” Vargas says. ”We are not able to escape violence through slogans and billboard campaigns, like Alive and Free. We need to provide jobs and relevant education. People with jobs are much less likely to spend time in the streets feeling angry and frustrated. We have to be willing to provide radical change which requires that the city puts more decision-making power in the hands of residents.”

In a sun-drenched office above Valencia Street, Emily Claassen works as director of the Mission Community Council. The eight-year-old council serves as a hub for over 55 Mission District community organizations. In the wake of the recent violence, Claassen is working to facilitate communication between the agencies and foster peace.

Claassen held a neighborhood meeting on September 10th where about 200 members of the community gathered to express their concerns. “The meeting was an opportune time to engage the community and address the issue of safety and emotional stability,” Claassen says. “There was a lot of support from city officials and a big turnout from city hall. Their presence was overwhelming, but they were there to express support.”

While the police try to control crime on the street, local artists are helping the Mission express its frustration and fears with paint and pictures. Ricardo Lazo is a muralist for the Precita Eyes Mural Arts Association (PEMAA), a community-based mural arts organization. PEMAA connects with the community and uses art to give a voice to concerns and triumphs in people’s lives. Lazo is apprehensive about the financial changes taking place in the Mission and their effect on youth.

“Instead of wealthy people buying out empty lots and old mom and pop shops to turn into nightclubs and things like that, they should use that money to build community centers for the youth, so they have access to resources instead of them out there doing bad things,” Lazo says.

Lazo takes issue with police tactics like gang injunctions, which target known gang members in particular areas and force them out. The injunction law is another approach that sounds solid, but has the potential for explosive failure. “The gang injunction law is ridiculous to me because it doesn’t solve anything. If anything, it spreads the disease because gang activity is pushed out to other neighborhoods. The city should really help these kids find somewhere to go, to find an alternative instead of this. It won’t work,”
says Lazo.

Simply being Latino and living in a neighborhood that’s broken up into territories makes young men targets from both sides of the law.

N.E.H. (name withheld for personal safety) lights a cigarette and the flame of the lighter illuminates his face in an orange flush. The contours of a deep scar above his right eye become more obvious under the flicker of the light. A bottle thrown from a moving car on 22nd street left the permanent mark on his face that serves as a constant reminder of what he faces every time he steps out his front door.

The twenty-five-year-old has lived in the Mission since he was four, when his family moved here from Nicaragua. “Growing up in the Mission I remember waking up to the sound of choppers at age nine and looking out the window and seeing cars burning,” he says. “Things are crazy here. The projects are always hot. There’s a lot of problems over drugs, turf, and the color you wear.”

The numbered blocks along Mission Street are divided. The invisible line runs down 21st Street, and N.E.H. makes a point not to cross it.

“You can walk down those streets, and into another turf, but not on a civilized level. No matter what there’s always someone watching you and if they don’t know you, it could be a problem,” he says.

Over the years, N.E.H. has noticed a shift in power on the streets of the Mission and the outlets pursued by youth.

“Fifteen years ago, kids would sit around the neighborhood, bored, and be like, ‘Let’s go box.’ Now the heat has been turned up. The old guys are all locked up and the youth are trying to earn their stripes on the street,” he says.

Despite the problems that course through its streets, N.E.H. pledges affection and respect for his neighborhood. “The Mission is full of diversity, culture and great food,” he says. His voice is more animated than it was moments ago and he smiles as he says, “There are people here who really want to do positive things and want to hear that other people are feeling positive.”

“You can’t ever solve violence. Cops and political figures are always talking about spending money on the youth but the youth don’t feel like they see the money coming. It’s tough to be a youngster and grow up in the Mission. I’ve felt that,” he says. “I’ve got a little nine year old brother and I don’t like him hanging outside the house. It’s hard, but to keep out of trouble you have to find something that keeps you busy. Violence is just a circle and the people in charge want to target certain groups but the way I see it—you pop one tire, and there’s still three other tires keeping that shit moving.”

While it is almost universally accepted that violence will persist in metropolitan areas, there are people who are optimistic that positive change is possible. Luis and Norma Marquez count themselves among those people. The Marquez’s son, Brian, was shot and killed on September 3rd, 2005, and his family has sought justice for the unsolved murder every day since. In an attempt to make his family an example for others experiencing loss, Luis remains active in the community by attending council meetings and posting flyers in the Mission and Excelsior neighborhoods.

The nature of the Marquez family’s struggle makes it difficult for them to point fingers, but they still try to find solutions to bloodshed. “Sometimes police are to blame because of their lack of support and trust in the community, but most of the time the community is really at fault because they don’t speak out until it happens to them,” Norma says.

Luis says that there are three outlets that youth should channel to avoid violence. “Family is important because they are the foundation that instills good morals and values. School is important because when a person pursues higher education, there’s a greater chance that they will not be involved with gangs and drugs. And community is important because interacting with one another creates communication,” he says. “When something happens, we look out for one another. If these things can improve in this district, surely crime could go down. But it’s hard. You can’t make people do things. I was so involved with Brian’s life; I would spend the time with my son. I made sure we had that communication because I believe that’s a step to avoid youth committing acts of violence, to interact with their parents. So why did this happen to me? I don’t know.”

Norma stresses that the media’s portrayal of Latinos does little to support positive advances. “People unfortunately automatically assume that when a Latino gets shot in the Mission District, they were in a gang, so he or she deserved to get shot,” she says. “This is constantly in the media, but what they fail to portray is that 75 percent of these deaths aren’t even gang-related. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s kind of funny to me that when a Hispanic man has a high-status career the media fails to mention that. So what does the public do when they read about it? They say, ‘Oh, he was probably part of a gang.”

Luis will continue to fight for his son and all of the families that have and will lose children due to violence in the Mission. “We have to show San Francisco that there’s a serious issue at hand, that this is something not to be brushed off. We have a responsibility as individuals to let our voices be heard.”