OPINION: There’s a teen violence tsunami. Or is there?

A frustrated Atlanta Police Department has something to say about this: Enough!

In an impassioned plea on Facebook, the department wondered where were all the sign-waving advocates after these incidents? And, of course, where are the parents?

That question is often muttered whenever a 15-year-old alleged carjacker shows up on the news.

“APD wants to know, where is the save-the-juveniles’ cavalry?” the APD wondered. “Where are all the voices who care so much about broken kids and community safety? Where are the concerned parents and family members while these kids are running the streets late into the night?”

But when a cop shoots or roughs up someone, the APD wrote, “the family will show an outpouring of love for the suspect, there will be heavy criticism of the police, and a demand for justice for misunderstood ‘Johnny.’ “

There were critics of that palpable expression of frustration. Cops and 16-year-old gun wavers don’t carry the same responsibility and should not be held to the same standard, they argued. And the public reaction ranged from calls for more outreach programs to getting tougher and locking up the little miscreants.

Credit: JOHN SPINK / AJC

Credit: JOHN SPINK / AJC

In an answer to the query, “Where are all the voices who care so much about broken kids?” KaCey Venning, a Vine City resident went on Facebook, raised her hand and said, “Here I am!”

“We’ve been crying for help,” she said in a video. “Very rarely are we asked to come to the table.”

I’ve spoken with Venning before. Two years ago, she and an Marc KD Boyd, who served in the U.S. Marine Corps, started a small org called “HEY!” (Helping Empower Youth.) It was the first summer of the pandemic when the “Waterboyz” were causing a stir and the two adults stepped up to try and give the teens some life focus. They’re still at it.

As to the question, where are the parents? Venning said some are there, trying, but are overwhelmed themselves by trying to make it financially. Their kids are out there on the streets without supervision or direction. Others barely see their parents. “They are basically raising themselves with undeveloped and immature minds,” she said.

That environment is an incubator for lousy decisions. She and Boyd mentor about 25 teens, often from their home. Relationships and bonds have been forged. Sometimes the kids will call at 2 a.m. when they’re overwhelmed by some crisis or are heading for trouble. Impulse control in teens is often iffy. With someone living without structure? It can be virtually nonexistent.

Their friends might want to go bowling or to see a movie. Next thing you know, they’re off doing something stupid for get a few bucks. “They can throw their lives away for $50,” Venning said.

Her goal is to meet with them with some frequency so that bad decision point doesn’t happen.

Credit: Bill Torpy

Credit: Bill Torpy

Tyrone Dennis is raising his hand, too. In 2020, Dennis, a gang-crimes cop with 18 years at APD, left the force saying the atmosphere was poisonous to be an officer. He returned to his native St. Louis to head up security at a school.

Now, he’d like to return to Atlanta to continue the kind of work he did with at-risk youth and community outreach. He said he has communicated with Mayor Andre Dickens trying to sell him on that idea.

“I told the mayor you have to give officers the power to do their jobs,” he said. “The public wants aggressive officers who fight crime but will treat people with respect.”

With the closure of school and athletic and community programs, older gang members have had an opportunity to sell the idea of kinship to teens.

“It’s easy to get in a gang; it’s hard to get out,” Dennis said. Still, persuading them to resist is often a tough sell, he said. “It’s hard to see a future when you don’t see anyone around you with a future.”

Tom Rawlings, a former juvenile judge who later headed DFCS, understands APD’s frustration. “They’re acknowledging they can’t solve it,” he said.

Rawlings said juvenile justice reforms in the late 1990s and early 2000s, with more services, counseling and intensive monitoring of troubled youth, did wonders.

I know, I know, you’re probably reading this and saying, ”Gawd, I’m tired of this soft-on-crime BS.”

Credit: Phil Skinner

Credit: Phil Skinner

Back in the early 1990s, as the crack epidemic raged, some “experts” worried that a generation of crack babies would have chemically stunted brains and would grow up to “Super Predators.” The future was to be a frightening place.

And then what happened? Crime dropped. Markedly.

According to federal crime stats, in 1991 there were 3,320 juveniles arrested for murder or manslaughter charges. Sixteen years later, in 2007, when crack kids were of driving age, there were 1,340 juveniles arrested on the same charges, a 60% drop. In 2019, that number went down to 860. Arrests for other violent crimes saw similar reductions.

So, no, it’s not worse than it’s ever been. You just see more stuff on your Nextdoor app.

Violent crimes by juveniles seem to be inching up. I asked APD for stats on juvenile arrests for the past three years. It turns out the number of youths arrested for all crimes — including violent offenses — in the first four months of this year are down compared to the last two.

Again, this goes against all we seem to know.

“Juvenile justice reform has been good,” said Rawlings. “But a spike like this, or the perception of a spike, can lead to legislation moving in the other direction.”

It’s like the tides of history.