Shaka McKinney didn't know how to react to the people clapping for him Saturday in Newark.

He told them he had been shot four times last year, that his friend was killed last week and that he did a lot of wrong things hanging out in Newark's streets. No one in the auditorium judged the 23-year-old city resident as he stood on the stage at Belmont Runyon School. Members of the New Jersey Crime Survivors -- a nonprofit organization that supports crime victims -- don't do that. Neither do its allies: the Newark Anti-Violence Coalition, My Brother's Keeper, the Newark Community Street Team, FP Outcry for Youth and the Safer Newark Council.

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This day had been set aside for crime victims like McKinney to come forward and heal.

"I feel the love," he said. "I appreciate y'all. I don't know what to say."

Panelists discussing victimization and trauma embraced him. The audience stood and greeted him with an ovation for his willingness to share his hurt.

It came in the final minutes of a five-hour gathering that was emotional, spiritual and substantive. There was a healing prayer circle with African drum beats for those who lost loved ones to violence. There was information on legislation to remove barriers to receive funds from the state's Victims of Crime Compensation Office for treatment and services.

The pain from rejection and death was visible Saturday.

Tracey Gardner of Newark held on to Sharon Redding, her cousin, who was the inspiration behind the event. Gardner, wiping away tears, thought about her 26-year-old son, Malcolm, who was shot and killed in June. She's angry no arrests have been made, and saddened that young people are seemingly callous toward life.

"This is not normal," she said.

Neither is the violence that has visited Gardner's family. Redding's son was shot and injured a week before this event, a victim of random gunfire on Hawthorne Avenue. In 2007, Gardner's nephew, 18-year-old Brandon Gardner, was shot and killed. No arrests have been made in his death, either.

When the people made their way into the school, the conversation shifted to a broken victim crime compensation system. Sen. Joseph Vitale promised to fix it with legislation he says he plans to introduce in January.

"I want to unequivocally say I am sorry for what you've been through and that you haven't been treated with the compassion and humanity that you deserve," said Vitale, D-Middlesex.

He was speaking about people such as Shakerra Jackson of Newark.

Early this year, she and her fiance, Isaac Brown, became the parents of a daughter. Three weeks later, in February, Brown was shot and killed.

The compensation board denied benefits to Jackson, however, even though under its guidelines her 9-month-old daughter should be eligible because she is a surviving child of Brown, a crime victim who was murdered.

"I explained to them that he's not here because somebody tragically took his life," Jackson said. "They still said no."

Vitale's bill expands the definition of a crime victim, and that should help Jackson. The couple were in a legitimate relationship in which Brown was living with Jackson and supporting her financially to care for their child. He said he would make sure legislation includes an example like hers so similar couples would be eligible for assistance.

Among its many new features, the bill requires funds to be dispensed immediately after a crime to pay for funerals, mental health counseling and the loss of financial support, unexpectedly adding to Jackson's hardship.

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The senator said he got involved to update the compensation law after Elizabeth Ruebman, an organizer with New Jersey Crime Survivors, told him that residents, particularly people of color in urban communities, were denied funding and it's not being used.

"Last year, they (the board) had a surplus of almost $10 million that they didn't pay out,'' she said.

In this fight to help crime victims, Aqeela Sherrills, director of the Newark Community Street Team, said grassroots organizations must hold government accountable to release money that belongs to residents in need.

"Government deploys law enforcement to apprehend the perpetrator, but we don't deploy therapists and healers and counselors to deal with the after-effects of violence," said Sherrills, who was responsible for brokering a truce between the Bloods and Crips gangs in Los Angeles in 1992.

The lack of treatment can be devastating, especially for men who don't seek help when their world is collapsing. LaKeesha Eure, a counselor and chair of the Newark Anti-Violence Coalition, said male crime victims view professional help as a sign of weakness. They bury pain with drugs and alcohol, making their situation worse.

"All they've got is their ego and pride, and their reputation in the community," she said. "They can't be seen as anything other than the big brother in the neighborhood."

But Eure was able to reach McKinney. Before the event started with a march to the school, McKinney told me that he's trying to get past the shooting. His heart drops, he said, whenever a car drives over a bottle. The sound reminds him of gunfire.

"Anybody can get it," he said of the shooting.

His 19-year-old brother, Justin Clark, keeps his eyes and ears open, too. They were together when the gunman targeted McKinney over a dispute.

Clark fell to the ground, shot once in the back. McKinney dove on top to shield Clark from further injury, and was shot three times in the chest. A fourth bullet struck his hand. He was in a coma for a month.

"I know I'm here for a reason," McKinney said. "I just don't know what it is yet."

Barry Carter: (973) 836-4925 or bcarter@starledger.com or

nj.com/carter or follow him on Twitter @BarryCarterSL