I grew up in Mattapan. I still live there, right off of the 30 bus line, a short walk from the hub of Mattapan Square. There used to be Brigham’s Ice Cream Shop here, old school with striped walls and shiny metal seats. It closed down and was resurrected a few times — once as an Ashley Stewart, now as a Dunkin’ Donuts. Mattapan Square is lined with stores mostly owned by locals, many of whom are immigrants or first-generation Americans. I love my neighborhood. It’s where I grew up and it’s where I’m now unearthing myself. I love the bodega across the street from my house and the Jamaican restaurant on River Street, even though they’re mean as hell while serving you. The Super Dollar has pretty much anything you need, including goldfish and bamboo. And who could hate having two hair stores in such close proximity? For all I love about home, though, there’s a historic relationship between Mattapan and violence that is leaving its inhabitants feeling battered and weary. This month, 74-year-old Eleanor Maloney was killed outside her home on Mattapan Street, nearby to the bustle of Blue Hill Avenue. Police found Maloney suffering from a gunshot wound and she was pronounced dead at the scene. Maloney, originally from Barbados, was a grandmother and a recent retiree from Boston Medical Center. She was an innocent bystander, a victim of pure chance.

I love my neighborhood. It’s where I grew up and it’s where I’m now unearthing myself.

Often times after a shooting in the ‘hood, the issue of "black-on-black crime" resurfaces. It’s been unearthed recently in the tragic death of rapper and activist Nipsey Hussle, who was gunned down in his neighborhood. I won’t go too much into it here, because it portrays black people as being disproportionately violent and prone to “killing one another.” In reality, all races are statistically more likely to perpetrate crimes against a member of the same race. Factors like proximity and population demographics all play into violence. Despite my personal take on "black-on-black crime,” there is a very real gun violence problem in Boston. Maloney’s death jumpstarted a rallying cry across Mattapan and other neighborhoods. Anyone who has taken the trolley to Ashmont or the 28 bus up Blue Hill has seen ads, featuring boldly printed quotes from mothers who’ve lost their children to gun violence in the area. None of us are strangers to gunfire. There’s an immensely popular meme that all people from the neighborhood can relate to. It says “Fireworks or Gunshots? The Hood will never know.” We all solemnly joke about this when Fourth of July comes around. Reports show promising decreases in crime and homicides in areas like Mattapan and Dorchester, but that doesn’t mean residents feel any safer. There are a number of systemic reasons why violence is higher in neighborhoods like mine. A history of redlining in Mattapan, along with higher rates of poverty and unemployment, all influence incidence of violence. These things are caused by a purposeful denial of access to resources. As gentrification sweeps throughout Dorchester and Roxbury, trickling from Forest Hills and slowly down Cummins Highway and Blue Hill Ave., people are being pushed out or forced to use more and more of their income just to secure housing. It’s easy and convenient to point at a shooting and call it the problem, instead of addressing the rooted systems that feed the fruit of violence. After Maloney was shot, Mayor Marty Walsh and Boston Police Commissioner William Gross made statements. Gross said, “Our neighborhoods are better than this. Let's give this family some justice. Let's give her some justice." Gross is absolutely right. Our communities are better than this. Community organizers and activists have been saying this for years: before the new construction and completion of the bike path connecting Mattapan and Milton; before the Stop & Shop on Cummins had an organics section; and before a farmer’s market started in Mattapan Square.

In order to eradicate violence, we have to transform the environments where it breeds.