I’m From East Orange NJ. We call it “The Trenches.” A place where playing sports is the only way of making it out. The Trenches is a place where leadership and guidance are lacking. It’s a place where a bullet can crush pathways to success. Many of our youth won’t live to be old in The Trenches. It’s why it’s so important to say “Be Safe” when parting ways with our peers. “Be safe,” because anything can happen as we go our separate ways —and there’s always a possibility it will be the last time we see each other.

I was born in Newark and grew up in East Orange. It’s where I learned to play basketball, the sport that led me to Ramapo College of New Jersey where I’m about to graduate. After that? My goal is to get out of here. The Trenches is not built to help us succeed. So many of our elders are lost. How can they lead us when they don’t have answers themselves? Living in the dark means no accountability, no structure, no discipline, no remorse. Generation after generation adapts to the darkness. Before you know it, you’re stuck in The Trenches where you either grow up lost or lose your life before you’ve ever had the chance to grow up. It’s a life sentence.

How many 23-year-olds do you know who have already lost 40 friends to violence –most of it gun violence? That’s me. Forty friends and my brother. He was 22.

Last week it happened again. Letrell Duncan — an East Orange Campus High School sophomore who excelled at basketball and had hoped to use his skill to escape from these mean streets —was walking home from school when he and his friends exchanged words with a pair of young men who walked their way. The groups went their separate ways, but moments later two armed people wearing ski masks approached Letrell on a busy sidewalk. He was shot four times. Forty-five minutes later, at just before 4 p.m., young Letrell was pronounced dead at University Hospital in Newark. How many will it take for someone to care?

Friends described Letrell to the media as “a team leader and a loving cousin and brother.” I remembered him as “a great kid, always smiling and laughing.” My relationship with Letrell was always love. Ours was sort of a big brother-younger brother vibe. I looked out for him and the other young kids on the block. I took Letrell to the park a couple of times and home when I’d see him walking. My social media handle is popular around the city. I know neighborhood kids look up to me so no matter what, I always try to look out for them. Helping them in all the little ways I can matters to me.

My environment inspires me to try to be role model for my younger brothers. So many of us need help, but don’t know where to turn to find it. We try to find ways to cope but it’s usually struggle that fuels us to success – the wrong kind of success.

The murder rate in East Orange is up from last year. Most are grudge murders of young, black men. Letrell’s was Murder No. 8.

Letrell’s grandmother spoke the truth when she told a reporter, “These babies are killing each other.”

Our elders don’t seem to understand that in this day and age, people will kill you for your sneakers, or your phone, or your jewelry. Or because they perceived that you disrespected them at some point in the past; or because you’re hanging with someone they don’t like so they make an example of you because they can’t get to them. No one has taught them the value of life. Their own life, and the lives of others. Because life in The Trenches so often seems so bleak.

When – and who – will care enough to take steps to make things better in The Trenches? Who will do more than just hire grief counselors when it’s too late? Can you imagine getting a call after school that something happened to your child? Mothers are getting this call. We are all getting numb to it. And even after this – the tragedy of Letrell and all of the publicity surrounding it — somebody is next. Because if history is any indication, reporters will leave, politicians will forget, nothing will change. Not now. Not in my lifetime. It’s hard to say that.