I want young brown men to stop being a statistic.

My stomach does a flip every time I read of another shooting in Surrey on the news. 

I read the location, and the ages, my mind running to my own family members or family friends of a similar age–who in all seriousness could have been interchangeable with those who were shot and killed. 

What are the chances that this time it was someone I knew? Someone I met, someone I went to school with or lived near? 

Either way, it’s a loss that feels entirely preventable, and even if it’s a complete stranger, it still cuts deep.

The first thing that comes to mind, especially after becoming one myself, is thinking about the mother.

Last weekend, on Mother’s Day, a 16 and 18 year old were shot dead in Surrey, BC in yet another case of gang violence.

I read a post from a police officer, Kal Dosanjh, who talked about how the mom of one of the youth had previously reached out, seeking support for her son who was going down the wrong path. 

Unfortunately, the shiny lifestyle offered up by the streets prevailed, and a young person who should be alive today lost their life. 

A mother mourns.

The cycle repeats. 

I’ve wondered countless times in my journalism career why and how young men, specifically young South Asian men continue to slip through the cracks, or even more often than not, explicitly choose a lifestyle with a losing track record. 

Is it a lack of funding into programs for South Asian boys? 

Is it not enough exposure to legitimate career paths?

Is it lack of emotional support and intergenerational trauma within the family?

Is it about masculinity? Self worth?

Is it about seeking community?

The answers continue to escape me. 

I genuinely wonder when enough will be enough. 

It’s not that there aren’t enough warnings or interventions, or a lack of information about the dangers of gang life. 

Social media has only amplified the desire for a shiny lifestyle you can flex online–consequences to you or your family fading in the rear view while you advance towards the things a young man could only dream of having at the snap of his fingers. 

Our men and boys know what’s at stake, they know the pain and destruction this lifestyle has caused, but it doesn’t stop them from falling down the path and ending up another statistic. 

I can’t help but think about the moms somewhere with their hearts ripped from their chests, with people salivating at the mouth to blame them for a choice that wasn’t theirs to make. 

And while one mom sits up in bed at night, staring at the clock, listening to distant police sirens and wondering what time her son is coming home, there’s another mom on the other side of the city who saw her son walk out the door for the last time earlier that day. 

If our wins are collective, so is our grief. 

So while it feels like no one has the answers, I can say with certainty that the pain will continue to reverberate throughout our city and our community every single time.