A Philadelphia man who goes by the alias “YP SlumBoy” was arrested Thursday by U.S. Marshals and charged with killing the mother of his child, tampering with evidence and other crimes.
Quamir Jones, 25, is accused of fatally shooting 23-year-old Siani Smith early in the morning of Oct. 12, according to an affidavit of probable cause for his arrest.
Investigators say Smith was in the passenger seat of a vehicle with another man on the 7400 block of Dicks Avenue in the city’s Eastwick neighborhood when Jones pulled up in a car shortly after 5 a.m.
Jones approached the front driver side of the vehicle,the affidavit says. The other man, surprised at Jones’ presence, asked whether he was blocking the driveway.
After a short exchange between the two men, Jones drew a gun, stuck it inside the vehicle and fired once. As the vehicle sped off, Jones fired the weapon again, according to the affidavit.
Finding Smith had been struck, the man drove her to a nearby hospital, where she was pronounced dead around 5:30 a.m.
Meanwhile, Jones called Smith’s mother, police said. He told the woman that a group of men had been outside her home, and that she needed to go outside and pick up shell casings they left behind.
Jones told Smith’s mother that the casings would lead back to a gun registered in his name, but she did not find any casings outside, according to the affidavit.
Smith’s mother later told investigators she was asleep during the shooting but was awoken when she heard “five to six gunshots outside.”
The last time Smith’s mother had seen her daughter was earlier that evening, when Smith arrived home after a night out.
Smith’s mother said she had heard her daughter talking to the child she shared with Jones, according to the affidavit. Siani Smith and the child had moved back into the home two weeks prior.
The woman told police Jones was known to carry guns, and investigators later learned Jones had a valid permit to carry a concealed firearm, a Glock 9mm pistol that was registered in his name in Delaware County.
Jones had two prior arrests for gun crimes in 2022, according to the affidavit. One of those cases was dropped for reasons that were not immediately clear, and the other was dismissed for lack of evidence.
On Thursday, Marshals arrested Jones on the 200 block of E. Mermaid Lane in Chestnut Hill, nearly three months after Smith’s death. It was not immediately clear where Jones resided during that time.
In a post on X, the U.S. Marshals of Eastern Pennsylvania alleged Jones is a member of the city’s “Blumberg” gang.
@USMS_Philly@PhillyPolice@PAAttorneyGen agents, arrested Quamir Jones, 25, in the 200 block of E. Mermaid Lane. On Oct 12 Jones aka "YP Slumboy" allegedly shot and killed his child's mother in the 7300 block of Dicks Ave. Jones is a member of the "Blumberg" gang in North Phila. pic.twitter.com/fkcU9305A4
— U.S. Marshals Service Philadelphia (@USMS_Philly) January 7, 2026
In addition to murder, prosecutors charged Jones with possessing an instrument of crime, criminal solicitation, recklessly endangering another person, and tampering with evidence.
He is being held at the Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility and was denied bail, court records show. He is represented by a court-appointed defense attorney.
Philadelphia police confirmed Friday that Jones went by the alias “YP SlumBoy,” a rap name that has garnered a modest following on social media.
Documents released Friday offer new detail on how investigators assembled their striking case against Jonathan Christian Gerlach, who authorities say desecrated dozens of graves to steal human remains.
Gerlach, 34, who is charged with stealing more than 100 skulls, bones, and body parts from Mount Moriah Cemetery, also posted dozens of photos of human remains on social media, records show, and authorities are investigating whether he may have offered to sell them.
The investigation into Gerlach, who lives in Ephrata, spans multiple counties and law enforcement agencies. The historic cemetery stretches across Philadelphia and Yeadon, Delaware County, where officials charged Gerlach on Thursday.
Gerlach’s lawyer, Anna Hinchman, declined to comment Friday, citing the pending criminal case.
In all, Gerlach faces more than 500 counts of burglary, criminal trespassing, abuse of a corpse, theft, and related crimes.
“After 30 years, I can say this is probably the most horrific thing that I’ve seen,” said Yeadon Police Chief Henry Giammarco, whose department was involved in the investigation.
A few Mausoleum’s that Jonathan Gerlach broke into at Mount Moriah Cemetery in Philadelphia.
Grave sites damaged, remains stolen
Detectives were first dispatched to the burial ground on Nov. 7, according to the affidavit of probable cause for Gerlach’s arrest. There, a board member of the Friends of Mount Moriah Cemetery — the group that helps to maintain the burial ground — led the investigators to a mausoleum where a hole in protective cinder blocks revealed a damaged marble floor, 10 feet underground. A white rope, which detectives believe the thief used to rappel into the mausoleum, hung nearby.
They discovered other disturbed burial sites, both that afternoon and weeks later, according to the affidavit: a crypt with its marble entrance stone ripped off, whatever was inside stolen; a damaged, empty casket inside a mausoleum; a clear plastic tarp covering human remains discarded on the ground of the cemetery.
Investigators collected clues, including the rope, a “Monster” energy drink can, and a partially smoked Marlboro Menthol cigarette. Each will be sent for DNA testing, the affidavit said.
On Dec. 23, the document shows, police received a tip pointing to Gerlach. “Look into Jonathan Gerlach,” the tipster said, according to the affidavit. “I know someone who’s friends with his family, and they mentioned that they recently discovered a partially decomposed corpse hanging in his basement, but were afraid to tell police.”
The tipster also pointed investigators to Instagram. “You’ll see he follows accounts in taxidermy, skeleton collecting and sales,” the tipster said.
Delaware County District Attorney Tanner Rouse speaks to reporters on Thursday about Jonathan Gerlach, who is charged with burglary, abuse of corpse and desecration, and theft or sale of venerated objects for allegedly stealing from graves.
An Instagram trail
The last post on the Instagram account that Delaware County authorities have linked to Gerlach appeared on Tuesday, the day that detectives took him into custody, after they say they witnessed him carrying a burlap sack filled with human remains out of the cemetery.
A partial skull — its surface darkened and pitted with age, mounted upright like an artifact — appears in the post. Staged against a floral backdrop, the photo is paired with a caption that reads: “if you know, you know. skulls/bones available. dm to inquire.”
The post and dozens of others like it on the account suggest that Gerlach may have been part of a largely unregulated and little-known marketplace in which human bones and remains are bought and sold online and in specialty shops. It’s a trade that can be legal under certain circumstances in a number of states, including Pennsylvania, and one that records suggest Gerlach may have engaged with — though investigators have not confirmed he ever successfully made a sale.
Authorities say the investigation is continuing.
Gerlach is charged with crimes associated with how authorities say he acquired the bones: by breaking into the cemetery’s mausoleums and underground vaults and stealing the remains.
Investigators tied Gerlach’s vehicle to license plate readers near Mount Moriah, they said, and his cell phone to the area. A search of his recent purchases revealed trips to a hardware store to buy items that matched those that detectives had also recovered at damaged grave sites, including a stake.
When detectives executed a search warrant at Gerlach’s home, in the 100 block of Washington Avenue, they said they found skulls arranged on shelves, and a collection of other bones, skeletons and mummified body parts, including feet and hands. They also found a torso hanging from the ceiling, said Delaware County District Attorney Tanner Rouse.
Potential sales, and a call for change
Rouse and Detective Christopher Karr said law enforcement officials are aware of social media accounts associated with Gerlach and are investigating what, if any, connection they may have to his alleged crimes.
Rouse said accounts linked to Gerlach “certainly seemed to indicate” that Gerlach had attempted to sell the remains. “But whether that was real or not — whether a sale had ever been consummated — we can’t say for sure,” he said.
The Instagram account, which dates back to 2023, includes images of human remains arranged on shelves and tables, or held in a man’s hands. Its posts raise questions about whether Gerlach’s alleged activity extended beyond what authorities have detailed so far.
Investigators are working to determine when and where the images were taken and whether any of the items pictured were stolen from Mount Moriah, Rouse said.
In addition to a curator and potential salesperson, the Instagram account presents Gerlach as a forensic practitioner and professional.
In a recent post that pictured Gerlach holding a skull fragment beneath his heavily tattooed neck, the account’s operator wrote that he was completing a certification in forensic and osteological analysis, and planned to offer analysis through a planned company — describing services that would assess human remains using academic and forensic standards.
Gerlach is being held in the Delaware County jail in lieu of $1 million bail.
The investigation into Gerlach remains ongoing, Yeadon Borough Mayor Rohan Hepkins said Friday. Gerlach is suspected of burglarizing additional cemeteries, including in Ephrata, said Hepkins, who also sits on the board of the Friends of Mount Moriah Cemetery and said he helped to bring the case to police.
In a written statement, the Friends of Mount Moriah Cemetery thanked law enforcement officials but declined to comment.
Hepkins expressed dismay that the legal trade of human remains is even possible, and called for reform. “People never conceived that people would be stealing bones from graves and selling them in the market,” he said. “Politicians need to understand there is a type of individual out there — or a market out there — where legislation has to catch up with what’s happening out there.
“It’s a bad situation but a lot of good, preventive maintenance could come out of it,” he added.
Robert Listenbee, the first assistant district attorney under Larry Krasner and a largely behind-the-scenes enforcer of the office’s progressive agenda, is retiring after nearly eight years as the office’s second-in-command.
Listenbee, 77, is expected to announce Friday that he is stepping down, marking the first shift in Krasner’s leadership team as the top prosecutor begins his third term.
A longtime public defender and juvenile justice advocate, Listenbee joined the administration at the outset of Krasner’s first term in 2018 — even as Krasner openly questioned whether the role of first assistant was necessary beyond its statutory requirement.
Robert Listenbee joined District Attorney Larry Krasner at the 2026 inaugural ceremony.
Over the course of Krasner’s tenure, Listenbee rarely served as the public face of the office on major cases, focusing instead on juvenile work, recruitment, and personnel matters.
Some prosecutors in the office said that often translated into a lack of visible management compared to previous first assistants, and that he served more as an internal messenger of Krasner’s often controversial agenda than the traditional day-to-day overseer of the office.
Listenbee has said his role was never set up to operate traditionally, and his goal was to carry out Krasner’s vision and reform the office.
Krasner declined to say who might replace him but he said he was evaluating candidates.
Robert Listenbee, first assistant district attorney, announced developments in the case against a West Philadelphia teen who was planning a terrorist attack.
Before joining the district attorney’s office, Listenbee spent decades as a public defender, including 16 years as chief of the juvenile unit at the Defender Association of Philadelphia. He later led the U.S. Department of Justice’s Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention during the Obama administration, and worked at Drexel University before returning to Philadelphia to join Krasner’s team.
We spoke with Listenbee about his unconventional path to the law, his years reshaping juvenile justice, internal tensions within the DA’s office, and his advice for Krasner’s third term.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Tell me about your life growing up.
I was raised in Mount Clemens, just north of Detroit. My father worked in the auto industry. We were poor and lived in the projects. I went to a public high school, and was the first in my family to go to college.
I came from a small African American community where people look out for one another. This community saw something in me very early. When I was only planning to go to Kalamazoo College, a mom at my school decided my life was going to be different. She contacted the recruiter at Harvard University, and they visited me out in my little home in the projects when I hadn’t even applied. I got a full ride to Harvard.
I was among the first large group of African Americans at Harvard. It was 1966. We were in the middle of the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War.
How was that?
There was total upheaval in this nation. Demonstrations everywhere, college campuses being taken over.
I worked on the committee that helped establish the African American Studies Department at Harvard, one of the first in the nation.
This was also at a time when African countries were becoming independent. I spent 16 months as a teacher in the rural area in western Kenya.
Robert Listenbee spent 16 months in Africa teaching English, and then traveled the continent before going to law school.
Instead of coming back from Africa, I decided to hitchhike around the world. I spent six months in Asia — Thailand, Laos, even as the war was going on. I rode a motorcycle into the Mekong Delta in Vietnam and had experiences that make me grateful to be alive. I hitchhiked across Africa and traveled 8,000 miles by train across India. I did all of this on about $600.
After a two-year gap year, I returned to Harvard and finished my degree.
I ended up getting a full-ride scholarship to Berkeley law school.
Where did you go after law school?
I had job offers but I had this crazy idea that I wanted to build a road across Africa, from Nairobi to Lagos, but I was broke and needed money to do it.
This was when the pipeline was being built across the North Slope of Alaska, and you could make gobs of money in a short period of time. So in 1976, I went to Anchorage without a job and lived in the YMCA. I shoveled snow, washed dishes, and worked at McDonald’s.
Robert Listenbee worked in the oil fields building the pipeline on the North Slope of Alaska for several years beginning in 1976.
Finally, I got a job on the pipeline.
I was there for a couple of years. I was a laborer in the oil fields. I worked trucks that rode across the Arctic Ocean in the middle of the winter. I worked on wildcat wells 50 miles from base camp. I had to relieve pressured gas to keep it from blowing up. It was 50 degrees below zero.
Robert Listenbee worked in the oil fields building the pipeline on the North Slope of Alaska for several years beginning in 1976.
I got into fights. People were trying to kill me at different points in time, and I was trying to kill other people, too. So I mean, the reason I know a little bit about criminal justice is because I was almost a criminal.
I never built the road in Africa. I eventually came back to Philadelphia, and worked construction until 1986.
So what about being a lawyer?
After my construction company failed, I was broke again. I ended up going back to legal work, and got a job working at the Defender Association.
You were the head of the juvenile unit for 16 years, and then you finished your career here on the other side — going from defending young people to prosecuting them. How was that transition for you?
Working for the U.S. Department of Justice’s Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention under President Obama helped prepare me for prosecutorial work.
I was adamant I would never work for this office. I thought it was corrupt. Krasner called me three times before I agreed to join as first assistant.
We were engaging in culture change. Some of the behavior of the people who were here was absolutely outrageous, especially in the homicide unit. They had a sense that this office belonged to them. It didn’t belong to the people. They were willing to cheat and do it and hide evidence in the process of doing it. That’s the feeling that I had when I first got here, and that’s what we found.
Robert Listenbee, first assistant district attorney, takes questions from the media after announcing developments in the case against a West Philadelphia teen who investigators say purchased materials including chemicals, wiring, and tactical equipment associated to become a terrorist.
There has been criticism of your juvenile work — some have said that it was too lenient during the period of intense gun violence and that kids went on to commit worse crimes. Others say the office hasn’t gone far enough to treat kids as kids. How do you assess your record?
We’ve reduced the number of kids in out of home placements. We’ve expanded juvenile diversion programs. In 2024, we created a juvenile homicide unit to review all cases of juveniles charged with murder.
I’m satisfied that we’re being as fair as we can and taking the time to carefully evaluate every issue in a case.
The first assistant is typically the person who manages the office day-to-day. Some prosecutors have said that, in this administration, that role functioned differently — that much of the management flowed directly from Krasner. Do you think that perception is fair, and how did you approach leadership in that environment?
The DA did not want the imperial first assistant that had been here before. He would prefer a flat structure to a hierarchical structure, which means you get assigned a lot of odd jobs depending on what he wants you to do.
If I were running the office, I would have run it completely differently. But I have to tell you that, having been here as long as I have, we never would have gotten this far without the DA’s serious concerns about what people around here were doing, whether they were implementing his policy or not. His skepticism, his oversight, is what’s kept this place moving in the direction that he wanted to go in. I wasn’t tuned in enough to the office to understand that from the very beginning, but I listened to him.
We hire people, we fire people, we move people around. That’s happened a lot. We sometimes end up with younger and inexperienced supervisors, because we haven’t really developed a program for training supervisors really well. We’re working on that.
I wish I had worked on juvenile issues earlier than I did.
District Larry Krasner speaks with the media after casting his vote in the 2025 primary.
What’s your advice for the next first assistant?
You have to understand the DA’s goals and purposes and how he operates.
So, listen to Larry?
Not that. The DA is not a micromanager. But there’s no written directives on most of the things he wants, and there’s no organizational chart or hierarchy. If we have issues, we often go to him.
Do you have a piece of advice for Krasner in his third term?
This is a city that has a chip on its shoulder. The DA is a person who has a chip on his shoulder. They respect him for that when he speaks out. A lot of the things he says may not be politically astute, but they’re things he believes in. They like that about him.
He is the Donald Trump of the progressive era.
He needs to continue surrounding himself with people who can understand him and help him implement his policies.
A lot of people don’t like him, and I understand that. A lot of people don’t like me because I work for him. A lot of people don’t like what we do. That never mattered to me. I know that the people we have seen in court, the victims and the defendants and the witnesses, I know that we’re doing right by them. That’s my North Star.
Robert Listenbee, the first assistant to District Attorney Larry Krasner, retired on Friday.
He stored them in the basement, authorities said — the human bones and headless torsos, the skulls and mummified feet, a skeleton with a pacemaker still attached. More than 100 pieces and parts, in all.
There were so many remains, they said, that the police officers who discovered them stopped short, stunned by what they were seeing.
Jonathan Christian Gerlach, 34, of Ephrata, is charged in what Delaware County law enforcement officials described as the most sweeping and unsettling case of its kind they have encountered: the systematic theft of human remains from Mount Moriah Cemetery, the sprawling 160-acre burial ground that straddles Philadelphia and Yeadon Borough, and the place where Betsy Ross was once interred and Civil War soldiers still lie.
“After 30 years, I can say this is probably the most horrific thing that I’ve seen,” said Yeadon Police Chief Henry Giammarco.
Authorities announced Gerlach’s arrest Thursday on charges of burglary, abuse of corpse and desecration and theft or sale of venerated objects. He is being held in jail in lieu of $1 million bail.
Inside the Delaware County District Attorney’s Office, law enforcement officials projected Gerlach’s photo — his neck covered in tattoos, a gold ring through his nose, green eyes rimmed red — onto a television screen as they outlined crimes whose scale and depravity District Attorney Tanner Rouse said were difficult to comprehend.
Prosecutors said Gerlach repeatedly broke into mausoleums and underground vaults, prying them open with tools and carrying away bodies, bones, and body parts, leaving behind desecrated graves and questions.
The thefts began last fall, authorities said, and ended after dark on Jan. 6, when Yeadon Borough detectives caught Gerlach as he was leaving the cemetery.
For weeks, the detectives had been tracking reports of vandalism and theft from at least 26 mausoleums and underground vaults inside Mount Moriah Cemetery, said Yeadon Mayor Rohan Hepkins, who sits on the cemetery’s board and who brought the case to police.
Investigators tied Gerlach to the crimes, investigators said, after his brown Toyota RAV4 began appearing on nearby license plate readers around the times the burglaries were believed to have occurred. The vehicle had never shown up on the readers before the thefts began, according to the affidavit of probable cause for Gerlach’s arrest. Records also showed his cell phone in the area.
“This was good, old-fashioned police work,” Rouse said.
On Jan. 6, detectives said they watched Gerlach walk out of the cemetery carrying a burlap sack and a crowbar. He was arrested beside his SUV, its back seat strewn with human remains. Inside the sack, detectives said, were the mummified remains of two children, three skulls, and several loose bones.
According to the affidavit, Gerlach told detectives he had used the crowbar to pry open a grave that night to steal the remains. He also admitted to taking at least 30 sets of human remains from across the cemetery, investigators said.
The next day, Jan. 7, a search of Gerlach’s home on the 100 block of Washington Avenue in Ephrata uncovered what Rouse described as the grim collection he had been amassing: remains scattered on shelves and suspended from the ceiling, some in fragments, others stitched back together.
Despite what authorities called overwhelming evidence that Gerlach committed the crimes, much remains unknown, Rouse said Thursday.
“We don’t know what he was doing with them,” he said.
Investigators have not identified a motive, and they cannot say whether Mount Moriah was the only cemetery targeted.
“There are other reports out there that we have not been able to corroborate,” Rouse said, declining to name specific locations. “And frankly, I don’t know that we ever will.”
Frances Ola Walker, 86, of Philadelphia, cofounder of Parents Against Drugs and Dunlap Community Citizens Concerned, onetime president of the Mill Creek Coalition and director of the West Philadelphia Empowerment Zone, former aide to U.S. Rep. William H. Gray III, college instructor, mentor, and volunteer, died Tuesday, Dec. 30, of respiratory illness at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania-Cedar Avenue.
A lifelong champion of education, civil rights, comprehensive healthcare, environmental responsibility, employment and housing equity, and community partnerships, Ms. Walker spent more than 70 years, from age 13 to 86, protesting injustice, improving life for her neighbors, and caring for historic residential swaths of West Philadelphia.
In the 1960s, she marched with fellow activist Cecil B. Moore and others to protest segregation at Girard College. Most recently, she advocated for alternative SEPTA transit routes to support Black-owned businesses.
“I just stayed involved,” she said in a video interview for the West Philadelphia Landscape Project. “If there was a protest, I was leading it. … I’m glad I made a contribution people can respect.”
Ms. Walker (center) spoke often at awards ceremonies and civic events.
She cofounded Dunlap Community Citizens Concerned in the early 1980s to address housing and infrastructure concerns, and Parents Against Drugs in the late ‘80s. She led the local Healthy Start federal initiative to reduce infant mortality in the 1990s and served on the advisory board of Bridging the Gaps, a healthcare partnership of academic health institutions and community groups.
She developed programs that connected University of Pennsylvania students and faculty with neighborhood residents through what is now Penn’s Netter Center for Community Partnerships. She acquired federal funds to revitalize communities in the West Philadelphia Empowerment Zone, partnered with Penn to pioneer urban ecology projects, and supervised the West Philadelphia Landscape Project in the Mill Creek neighborhood.
Her family said she was “fearless in her pursuit of justice.”
Anne Whiston Spirn, professor of landscape architecture and planning at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, invited Ms. Walker to lecture virtually in her ecological urbanism course. “She bridged the worlds of university, politics, and neighborhood, and called the powerful to account,” Spirn said.
Ms. Walker (left) presents an award to U.S. Rep. Dwight Evans (center) as a Philadelphia police officer looks on.
She served on then-Mayor Ed Rendell’s search committee for a new health commissioner in 1993 and briefly considered her own run for City Council. She worked with then-Vice President Al Gore on his community empowerment programs and managed Gray’s West Philadelphia office for 10 years in the 1980s.
Former U.S. Rep. Chaka Fattah noted her “extraordinary legacy of helping others” and said: “She always chartered her own path and spoke her truth.” Former City Council member at large Blondell Reynolds Brown said: “Her unwavering grassroots work brought care, dignity, and possibility to families facing hardships.”
She studied community engagement in MIT’s Mel King Community Fellows Program in 2000 and 2001, and earned more than 100 awards, citations, and commendations, including from the White House for her leadership in a children’s immunization campaign.
Regarding drugs and crime in West Philadelphia, Ms. Walker said in 1987: “People in this community have to take a stand.”
“My grandmother didn’t leave us directions,” said her grandson, Abdul-Malik Walker, “but she left us a compass. Her voice is in our habits, and her strength is in how we handle the miles ahead.”
Frances Ola Walker was born Jan. 20, 1939, in South Philadelphia. Her father was a preacher, and the family is related to the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. So it surprised no one when she began leading academic tutoring for her siblings and teen neighborhood friends on her front stoop.
She was one of 11 children, and her family moved to the Dunlap section of West Philadelphia in 1945. She attended West Philadelphia High School and worked at first as a personal shopper for neighborhood seniors.
She was always interested in civic affairs and social justice, and she became the first Black woman to work at an Acme markets warehouse, her family said, and one of the first female postal carriers.
Ms. Walker stands with her grandson Abdul-Malik Walker.
She had sons Gregory and James, and daughters Michelle, Roslyn, Wala, and Patricia. She married John Ponnie. Her husband, sons Gregory and James, and daughters Michelle and Patricia died earlier.
Ms. Walker enjoyed traveling and playing cards with her family. She knew the detailed history of Dunlap and Mill Creek, and delighted in sharing it with others she encountered on her frequent walks.
“She was an encourager to people of all ages,” said her niece Sibrena Stowe. “She was truly a force to be reckoned with.”
Ms. Walker told her family: “It is through love that all things are possible. For me, it is when people call on you that lets you know you make a difference.”
Ms. Walker appeared in this documentary video for the West Philadelphia Landscape Project.
In addition to her daughters, niece, and grandson, Ms. Walker is survived by 16 other grandchildren, nine great-grandchildren, two sisters, and other relatives. Six sisters and two brothers died earlier.
Visitation with the family is to be from 9 to 10 a.m. Friday, Jan. 9, at Ezekiel Baptist Church, 5701 Grays Ave., Philadelphia, Pa. 19143. A service is to follow, and a repast at 2 p.m. Livestream is at repastai.com/frances.
President Donald Trump and top White House officials offered a starkly different view, saying Good tried to run over the officer with her car.
Department of Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem said the officer,identified Thursday as Jonathan Ross, was justified in shooting the woman because he feared for his life. She said Good, a mother of three, had committed an act of domestic terrorism.
But Krasner, flanked by a group of Philadelphia City Council members and the sheriff, called the actions criminal.
The top prosecutor said that he has family ties to Minneapolis, and that he had reviewed the videos of the shooting, about a mile from where George Floyd was killed by police in 2020. He held a moment of silence for Good and displayed her photo before leading the group in a chant of her name.
“We have to use our voices to call out people who commit terrible crimes,” Krasner said. “Or who justify them.”
That last part was aimed at Trump, whom Krasner has sharply and repeatedly criticized.
The progressive prosecutor often uses his platform to openly decry the president and his policies, most recently when he urged Philadelphians to film ICE agents who have ramped up immigration enforcement since Trump’s return to office.
He said that tactic had been a success in Minneapolis because the video brought widespread attention to the incident.
After Good’s killing, Krasner said, “The first thing out of Trump’s mouth was a lasagna of lies.”
“She behaved horribly,” Trump told reporters. “And then she ran him over.”
Krasner said he could not even be certain that Good was blocking officers from the roadway, as some officials have suggested. Had Good done so, Krasner said, she would have been engaging in an act that “protesters have done forever.”
And that behavior, he said, does not justify a fatal shooting.
Any law enforcement agent inclined to behave similarly in Philadelphia should “get the eff out of here,” Krasner said. And should such an incident happen in the city, the DA said, he would charge the offending officer in state court, where presidential pardons have no effect.
“There are honest decent moral law enforcement officers by the bushel — this is not for you,” Krasner said of his warning. “This is for any one of your colleagues who thinks they are above the law.”
PROVIDENCE, R.I. — When a gunman began firing inside an academic building on the Brown University campus, students didn’t wait for official alerts warning of trouble. They got information almost instantly, in bits and bursts — through phones vibrating in pockets, messages from strangers, rumors that felt urgent because they might keep someone alive.
On Dec. 13 as the attack at the Ivy League institution played out during finals week, students took to Sidechat, an anonymous, campus-specific message board used widely at U.S. colleges, for fast-flowing information in real time.
An Associated Press analysis of nearly 8,000 posts from the 36 hours after the shooting shows how social media has become central to how students navigate campus emergencies.
Fifteen minutes before the university’s first alert of an active shooter, students were already documenting the chaos. Their posts — raw, fragmented, and sometimes panicked — formed a digital time capsule of how a college campus experienced a mass shooting.
As students sheltered in place, they posted while hiding under library tables, crouching in classrooms and hallways. Some comments even came from wounded students, like one posting a selfie from a hospital bed with the simple caption: #finalsweek.
Others asked urgent questions: Was there a lockdown? Where was the shooter? Was it safe to move?
Described by Harvard Magazine as “the College’s stream of collective consciousness,” Sidechat allows anyone with a verified university email to post to a campus feed. On most days, the Brown feed is filled with complaints about dining hall food, jokes about professors, and stress about exams — fleeting posts running the gamut of student life.
On the Saturday afternoon just before the shooting, a student posted about how they wished they could “play Minecraft for 60 hours straight.” Then, the posts abruptly shifted.
Crowds began pouring out of Brown’s Barus and Holley building, and someone posted at 4:06 p.m.: “Why are people running away from B&H?”
Others quickly followed. “EVERYONE TAKE COVER,” one wrote. “STAY AWAY FROM THAYER STREET NEAR MACMILLAN 2 PEOPLE JUST GOT SHOT IM BEING DEAD SERIOUS,” another user wrote at 4:10 p.m.
Dozens of frantic messages followed as students tried to fill the information gap themselves.
“so r we on lockdown or what,” one student asked.
By the time the university alert was sent at 4:21 p.m., the shooter was no longer on campus — a fact Brown officials did not yet know.
“Where would we be without Sidechat?” one student wrote.
A university spokesperson said Brown’s alert reached 20,000 people minutes after the school’s public safety officials were notified shots had been fired. Officials deliberately didn’t use sirens to avoid sending people rushing to seek shelter into harm’s way, said the spokesperson, Brian E. Clark, who added Brown commissioned two external reviews of the response with the aim of enhancing public safety and security.
Long hours of hiding
Long after the sun had set, students sheltered in dark dorm rooms and study halls. Blinds were closed. Doors were barricaded with dressers, beds, and mini fridges.
“Door is locked windows are locked I’ve balanced a metal pipe thing on the handle so if anyone even tries the handle from the outside it’ll make a loud noise,” one student wrote.
Students reacted to every sound — footsteps in hallways, distant sirens, helicopters overhead. When alerts came, the vibrations and ringtones were jarring. Some feared that names of the dead would be released — and that they would recognize someone they knew.
Law enforcement moved through campus buildings, clearing them floor by floor.
A student who fled Barus and Holley asked whether anyone could text his parents to let them know he had made it out safely. Others said they had left phones behind in classrooms when they fled, unable to reach frantic loved ones. Ironically, those closest to the shooting often had the least information.
Many American students expressed emotions hovering between numbness and heartbreak.
“Just got a text from a friend I haven’t spoken to in nearly three years,” one student wrote. “Our last messages? Me checking in on her after the shooting at Michigan State.” Multiple students replied, saying they’d had similar experiences.
International students posted about parents unable to sleep on the other side of the world.
“I just want a hug from my mom,” one student wrote.
Anxiety sets in
As the hours dragged on, students struggled with basic needs. Some described urinating in trash cans or empty laundry detergent bottles because they were too afraid to leave their rooms. Others spoke of drinking to cope.
“I was on the street when it happened & suddenly I felt so scared,” one student wrote. “I ran and didn’t calm down for a while. I feel numb, tired, & about to throw up.”
Another wrote: “I’m locked inside! Haven’t eaten anything today! I’m so scared i don’t even know if I get out of this alive or dead.”
Some students posted into the early morning, more than 10 hours into the lockdown, saying they couldn’t sleep. Sidechat also documented acts of kindness, including a student going door to door with macaroni and cheese cups in a dark dorm.
Information, and its limits
Students repeatedly asked the same questions — news? sources? — and challenged one another to verify what they saw before reposting it.
“Frankly I’d rather hear misinformation than people not report stuff they’ve heard,” one student wrote.
Others pushed back, sharing a Google Doc that would grow to 28 pages where students could find the most updated, verified information. Some posted police scanner transcriptions or warned against relying on artificial intelligence summaries of the developing situation. Professors — who rarely post on the app — joined the feed, urging caution and offering reassurance.
“If you’re talking about the active situation please add a source!!!” one student wrote.
But “reliable information,” students noted, often arrived with a delay.
Within about 30 minutes of the shooting, posts incorrectly claimed the shooter had been caught. Reports of more gunshots — later proven false — continued into the night and the next day, fueling fear and frustration. Asked one student, what are police doing “RIGHT NOW”?
Replies came quickly.
“They are trying their best,” one person responded. “Be grateful,” another added. “They are putting their lives in danger at this moment for us to be safe.”
A campus changed
Students awoke Sunday to a campus they no longer recognized. It had snowed overnight — the first snowfall of the academic year.
In post after post, students called the sight unsettling. What was usually a celebration felt instead like confirmation something had irrevocably shifted.
“It truly hurt seeing the flakes fall this morning, beautiful and tragic,” one student wrote.
Even as the lockdown lifted, many said they were unsure what to do — where they could go, whether dining halls were open, whether it was safe to move.
“What do I do rn?” one student posted. “I’m losing my mind.”
Students walked through fresh snow in a daze, heading to blood donation centers. Others noticed flowers being placed at the campus gates and outside Barus and Holley.
Many mourned not only the two students killed, but the innocence they felt had been stripped from their campus.
“Will never see the first snow of the season and not think about those two,” one student wrote.
With the lockdown ended, students returned to their dorms as Sidechat continued to fill with grief and reflection. Many said Brown no longer felt the same.
“Snow will always be bloody for me,” one person posted.
For the first time in more than half a century, Marie Scott is free.
Scott, 72, who served more than 52 years in prison for felony murder, was released from custody on Wednesday after Gov. Josh Shapiro commuted her life sentence in June. Despite opposition from the victim’s family, community advocates had pushed for her freedom for years, saying she had served enough time, was a model inmate, and no longer posed a threat to society.
Scott, known as “Mechie,” has been incarcerated since 1973, after she and her then-16-year-old boyfriend, Leroy Saxton, robbed a Germantown gas station. She was 19 and addicted to heroin when she helped Saxton restrain the cashier, Michael Kerrigan, and then rummage through the store’s cash register and safe. Her attorneys say she was acting as a lookout when — to her surprise, she says — Saxton shot Kerrigan, 35, in the back of the head.
Philadelphia firefighter Michael Kerrigan, left, was killed in 1973. His family, shown in a 1973 photograph, was never the same. In the photo, from right to left, is Kerrigan’s son Kevin, wife Florence, and daughter Erin holding 8-month-old Angela.
Saxton was later convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison. Scott was convicted of felony murder and handed the same fate.
But Saxton was released on time served in 2020 after the U.S. Supreme Court overturned mandatory life sentences for juveniles.
Scott had remained behind bars ever since.
Until Wednesday, when hours before dawn, she walked out of her cell in State Correctional Institutional Muncy for the final time, stepped into the back of a van, and was driven three hours toward her new life in Philadelphia.
There, for the first time in her life, she hugged her daughter, Hope Segers, outside the prison walls.
“I just covered my face and lost it,” Scott said of seeing her Wednesday. “That was the first time I have seen my daughter and grandson in the real world. … To feel them, to smell them in the free air.”
Marie Scott had her life sentence commuted after 52 years in prison.
Segers was born in SCI Muncy 45 years ago. During one of the three times Scott escaped from prison between 1975 and 1980, she reunited with a man who worked in the prison kitchen and with whom she had fallen in love, and she got pregnant.
Segers has known her mother only through prison visits often years apart, and short calls via phone and Zoom. Now, she said, she is eager to begin building a true relationship with her.
“It’s still not real,” she said of sitting next to her mother. “I’m still in shock.”
Scott, who will be on parole for the rest of her life, will move into her daughter’s home in Northeast Philadelphia after living in a halfway house for a year, as is required by the prisons.
Scott’s health has deteriorated in recent years. She uses a wheelchair, suffered from Stage 2 breast cancer, and had a double mastectomy last year. She was not ill enough to qualify for compassionate release, her attorneys said.
But she has since learned she is cancer free, she said.
Marie Scott, 72, survived Stage 2 breast cancer while in prison.
Scott had been serving a mandatory life sentence under Pennsylvania’s felony murder law, which allows people to be convicted of second-degree murder if a death occurs during the commission of a felony such as robbery — even if they did not kill the victim or intend for anyone to die. Pennsylvania is one of only two states where a felony murder conviction automatically carries a life sentence, a punishment Shapiro has called unjust and unconstitutional. (Pennsylvania’s Supreme Court is currently weighing the issue.)
Other than the decades-old escapes, her attorneys said, she has been a model inmate. She is deeply remorseful for her actions, and has written books about healing, directed plays, and led drug and alcohol treatment courses for inmates, they said. She became a mentor and mother figure to dozens of women at Muncy.
Rupalee Rashatwar (from left, Hope Segers, Bret Grote, and Sam Lew worked to free Marie Scott through their work at the Abolitionist Law Center.
For years, Scott and her attorneys at the Abolitionist Law Center applied for a commutation from the Pennsylvania Board of Pardons, asking that her life sentence be reduced. Her applications were repeatedly denied without explanation, lawyer Bret Grote said.
She applied last year with renewed hope after the leadership at SCI Muncy said they would support her petition.
Still, Grote said, Laurel Harry, secretary of the state Department of Corrections, told officials she would not support Scott’s petition because of the prison escapes decades ago. Harry’s support was typically a requirement of the board’s approval for release, he said.
Grote, his colleagues, and a collection of volunteers drafted a social media, phone, and letter writing campaign to persuade Shapiro and prison officials to support her commutation. Members of Philadelphia City Council, alongside state senators and representatives, called for her release, as did Philadelphia rapper Meek Mill.
It worked. In May, the Board of Pardons voted to recommend a commutation of her sentence, and the following month, Shapiro formally approved her release. The board then required that Scott spend six additional months in prison for the prison escapes.
Her release comes amid opposition from the victim’s family.
Michael Kerrigan holding his granddaughter, Angela Kerrigan Hightower. His wife later adopted Angela to be one of her seven children.
Initially, two of Kerrigan’s daughters said they supported Scott’s release and could forgive her, but later changed their minds and asked the board of pardons and parole not to release her. They said they do not believe she has taken enough responsibility for the crime.
Angela Kerrigan Hightower, a grandchild of Kerrigan’s who was later adopted by his wife and would have been his seventh child, said Wednesday that “the system failed the victims in this case.” She said she does not believe Scott has shown sufficient remorse, and that she and Saxton should have had to serve a life sentence for the suffering they brought her family.
“I want to know,” she said, “where is the justice for the victims in this case.”
Scott has said she deeply regrets what happened. She said Wednesday that she hopes to use her time outside of prison to tell the story of the cycle of drug and sexual abuse and codependency that she has said contributed to her actions.
She also wants to push for the release of other women who she said have been reformed in prison and don’t deserve to die there.
Marie Scott, 72, joined a Zoom call with the Coalition to Abolish Death by Incarceration alongside her daughter, Hope Segers, and grandson Dashawn Green.
Scott’s grandson, Dashawn Green, 28, said he wants to get his grandmother’s health and diet back on track, introduce her to his girlfriend and miniature schnauzer, and maybe even plan a road trip.
Scott said her first order of business is to find a church.
Seated on the couches in the Abolitionist Law Center in North Philadelphia Wednesday night, she recalled gathering for her final Sunday service inside the prison last week and saying goodbye to the women in the facility who raised her.
“You’re my family,” she said she told them. “I don’t make promises because they’re made to be broken, but if you don’t have your word, then you don’t have anything. And I give you my word, I am going to die trying to get all of my women out.”
“It feels like I’m on another planet,” Marie Scott, 72, said of her newfound freedom.
Two former Philadelphia homicide detectives were sentenced Wednesday to a combined three years of probation for lying about their knowledge of DNA evidence during the retrial of a man they helped convict of murder 35 years ago.
Common Pleas Court Judge Lucretia Clemons imposed a two-year probation sentence for Manuel Santiago, 76, and one-year sentence for Frank Jastrzembski, 78. The retired detectives will not be required to meet with probation officers.
The sentencing punctuates an unusual case in which prosecutors accused three retired Philadelphia police officers of fabricating evidence in a decades-old homicide case, and later perjuring themselves when testifying about that evidence under oath. A grueling eight-day trial in March revisited the 1991 murder of 77-year-old Louis Talley in Nicetown and the 2016 retrial of Anthony Wright, the man police helped send to prison for the crime.
The jury ultimately rejected the larger conspiracy built by prosecutors that the detectives had framed Wright, but found both Santiago and Jastrzembski guilty of misdemeanor false swearing and found Santiago guilty on an additional count of perjury, a felony. A third detective who worked on the case, Martin Devlin, was acquitted of all charges.
Santiago’s attorney, Fortunado Perri Jr., thanked Clemons for the “appropriate” sentence on Wednesday. Steve Patton, an attorney for Jastrzembski, reiterated that the jury had acquitted his client of planting evidence and described the conviction as a matter of “technical knowledge.”
“We’re pleased with that outcome and thankful for the judge’s careful consideration of the facts of this case,” Patton said.
In an interview Wednesday, Krasner blasted what he described as lenient sentencing guidelines for lying under oath in Pennsylvania. Probation is the recommended sentence for a false swearing conviction, while the maximum recommended penalty for perjury is nine months.
“Those sentencing guidelines are disgraceful,” Krasner said, while also acknowledging the two defendants are both now in their 70s and have health issues.
Former Philadelphia Police Detective Frank Jastrzembski leaves the Criminal Justice Center in Philadelphia on March 17, 2025.
At trial, Krasner’s top prosecutors contended that the three detectives had conspired to frame Wright for Talley’s murder, extracted a false confession from him, and planted evidence in his home.
Santiago was acquitted of perjury in connection with his testimony about Wright’s murder confession, while Jastrzembski was acquitted of perjury and related charges for his testimony about a search warrant he executed at Wright’s home — charges that hinged on prosecutors’ ability to prove the detectives had wholly fabricated evidence.
Instead, the convictions centered on what Santiago and Jastrzembski knew about the evidence against Wright when they testified at his 2016 retrial. The two detectives were instrumental in building the original case against Wright in 1991, and later sought to send him back to prison — even after DNA evidence implicated another man in Talley’s murder. Wright’s conviction was overturned in 2014 based on the strength of that forensic science.
When prosecutors under former District Attorney Seth Williams charged Wright a second time — under suspicion that he had acted with an accomplice — Santiago and Jastrzembski were briefed on the new DNA information. The results pointed to a known crack user who lived near Talley in Nicetown, a man who had since died in a prison.
Under oath at Wright’s retrial, however, Santiago and Jastrzembski denied knowing the DNA evidence implicated another suspect.
Wright was acquitted and later filed a federal civil rights lawsuit against the city and won a $9.85 million settlement. During sworn depositions in that case, Santiago and Jastrzembski were questioned about the DNA evidence and gave answers that prosecutors said contradicted their earlier trial testimony.
The perjury trial in March at times resembled a second retrial for Wright, with defense attorneys accusing him of getting away with Talley’s murder. Wright proclaimed his innocence.
Following the jury’s verdict, Krasner insisted that the detectives had framed Wright, and he criticized his predecessor’s decision to retry the man after his conviction was overturned.
In Kensington, a program to mitigate street violence was hitting its stride.
After joining the New Kensington Community Development Corporation in 2023, outreach coordinators with Cure Violence began responding to shootings in the neighborhood, connecting folks with mental health services and other wellness resources.
They hosted men’s therapy groups, safe spaces to open up about the experience of poverty and trauma, and organized a recreational basketball league at residents’ request. Their team of violence interrupters even intervened in an argument that they said could have led to a shooting.
Cure Violence Kensington was funded by a $1.5 million federal grant from the Department of Justice, part of a Biden-era initiative to combat the nation’s gun violence epidemic by awarding funds to community-based anti-violence programs rather than law enforcement agencies.
One year after a political shift in Washington, however, federal grants that Philadelphia’s anti-violence nonprofits say allowed them to flourish are disappearing.
In the spring, New Kensington CDC received a letter from the Justice Department, saying that under the leadership of Attorney General Pam Bondi it had terminated the grant that would have funded Cure Violence for the next three years.
The work, the letter said, “no longer effectuates the program goals or agency priorities.” In the future, it said, the department would offer such grants exclusively to local law enforcement efforts.
“It was a heavy hit,” said Bill McKinney, the nonprofit’s executive director.
The cuts come amid a Trump administration crackdown on nonprofits and other organizations it views as either wasteful or focused on diversity and DEI.
It spent 2025 slashing funds for programs that supplied aid abroad, conducted scientific research, and monitored climate change. At the Justice Department, cuts came for groups like McKinney’s, which aim to target the root causes of violence by offeringmental health services, job programs, conflict mediation, and other alternatives to traditional policing.
In Philadelphia, organizations like the Antiviolence Partnership of Philadelphia and the E.M.I.R. Healing Center say they, too, lost federal funding last yearand expect to see further reductions in 2026 as they scramble to cover shortfalls.
A Justice Department spokesperson said changes to the grant program reflect the office’s commitment to law enforcement and victims of crime, and that they would ensure an “efficient use of taxpayer dollars.”
“The Department has full faith that local law enforcement can effectively utilize these resources to restore public safety in cities across America,” the spokesperson said in an email.
Nonprofits may appeal the decisions, the spokesperson said, and New Kensington CDC has done so.
Attorney General Pam Bondi takes part in an event at the White House on Oct. 23.
Philadelphia city officials, for their part, say they remain committed to anti-violence programs, in which they have invested tens of millions of dollars in recent years.
“There are always going to be things that happen externally that we have no control over as a city,” said Adam Geer, director of the Office of Public Safety.
The reversal in federal support comes at a time when officials like Geer say the efforts of anti-violence programs are beginning to show results.
Violent crime in Philadelphia fell to historic lows in 2025, a welcome relief after the sharp upturn in shootings and homicides that befell the city at the height of the pandemic.
In 2021, the city announced a large-scale campaign to combat gun violence that,in the past year, included nearly $24 million for anti-violence programs.
That was on top of the Biden administration’s Community Based Violence Intervention and Prevention Initiative. Since launching in 2022, the DOJ program awarded more than $300 million to more than 120 anti-violence organizations nationwide.
In April, many of those groups, including New Kensington CDC, lost funds. And in September, a larger swath learned they were now barred from applying for other Justice Department grants that would have arrived this spring.
“We’ve seen enormous dividends” from the work of such groups, said Adam Garber, executive director of CeaseFirePA, a leading gun violence prevention group in the state. “Pulling back now puts that progress at risk — and puts lives on the line.”
Philadelphia feels the squeeze
Federal grants helped Natasha McGlynn’s nonprofit thrive.
McGlynn, executive director of the Antiviolence Partnership of Philadelphia, said a DOJ grant called STOP School Violence allowed her organization to launch a counseling program for young people who had been victims of violence or otherwise exposed to it in some of the city’s most violent neighborhoods.
The nonprofit used the grant to hire therapists to help students develop healthier attitudes around conflict and trauma, she said.
The $997,000 grant was cut in April, and when McGlynn went to apply for another round of funding in the fall, she learned that nonprofits were no longer eligible. The lost funding means some services, like counseling, could now be eliminated, she said.
“I would say several positions are in question,” McGlynn said. “I would say the program is in question.”
Chantay Love, the director of Every Murder is Real, said her Germantown-based victim services nonprofit also lost Justice Department funding in 2025.
Federal grants are not the nonprofit’s only source of income, Love said, but she along with other nonprofit leaders in the city are considering whether they’ll need to cut back on programs this year.
Record-setting investment
The decade before the pandemic saw gun-related deaths in the state climb steadily, spiking during the lockdown as social isolation, school closures, shuttered community services, and higher levels of stress contributed to a spate of gun homicides and shootings that began to ease only in 2024.
Two years earlier, the state began dispersing more than $100 million to community-based anti-violence programs, much of the money coming from the American Rescue Plan, a sweeping Biden administration pandemic recovery package that also sought to reduce rising gun violence. And when those funds expired, state lawmakers continued to invest millions each year, as did Philadelphia city officials.
Garber, of CeaseFirePA, said those efforts “get a lot of heavy-lifting credit” for Philadelphia’s historic decrease in violence.
A report compiled by CeaseFirePA cites studies that found outreach programs like Cure Violence helped reduce shootings around Temple University, as well as in cities like New York and Baltimore, where homicides and shootings in some parts of the city fell by more than 20%.
While it’s too early for data to provide a full picture on how such funding has contributed to overall violence reduction, officials like Geer, the Philadelphia public safety director, agreed that programs like Cure Violence have helped crime reach record lows.
Philadelphia acting chief public safety director Adam Geer attends a news conference on Jan. 30, 2024, about a shooting that left an officer wounded and a suspect dead.
Outreach workers with the city-supported Group Violence Intervention program made more than 300 contacts with at-risk residents in 2025, according to data provided by Geer’s office, either offering support or intervening in conflicts.
And they offered support to members of more than 140 street groups — small, neighborhood-oriented collectives of young people that lack the larger organization of criminal gangs — while more than doubling the amount of service referrals made the previous year.
In practice, a program’s success looks like an incident in Kensington in which Cure Violence workers intervened in a likely shooting, according to members of New Kensington CDC.
In April, a business owner called on the nonprofit after seeing a group of men fighting outside his Frankford Avenue store and leaving to return with guns. Members of the outreach team spoke with both parties, de-escalating the conflict before it potentially turned deadly.
“Each dollar cut is ultimately a potential missed opportunity to stop a shooting,” Garber said.
Cutting off the ‘spigot’
Even as community-based anti-violence programs have risen in popularity, they are not without their critics.
While some officials champion them as innovative solutions to lowering crime, others say the programs can lack oversight and that success is difficult to measure.
In 2023, an Inquirer investigation found that nonprofits with ambitious plans to mitigate gun violence received millions in city funds, but in some cases had no paid staff, no boards of directors, and no offices.
A subsequent review by the Office of the Controller found some programs had not targeted violent areas or had little financial oversight. But by the next round of funding, the city had made improvements to the grant program, the controller’s office found, adding funding benchmarks and enhanced reporting requirements.
Meanwhile, as Philadelphia continued its support these programs, President Donald Trump’s Justice Department began a review of more than 5,800 grants awarded through its Office of Justice Programs. It ultimately made cuts of more than $800 million that spring.
Among programs that lost funding, 93% were “non-governmental agencies,” including nonprofits, according to a letter DOJ officials sent to the Senate explaining the decision.
The balance of remaining funds in the violence prevention grant program — an estimated $34 million — will be available for law enforcement efforts, according to a DOJ grant report. In addition to fighting crime, the money will help agencies improve “police-community relations,” hire officers, and purchase equipment, the document says.
Agencies conducting immigration enforcement are also eligible for grants, the report says, while groups that violate immigration law, provide legal services to people who entered the country illegally, or “unlawfully favor” people based on race are barred.
One group lauding the cuts is the National Rifle Association, which commended the Trump administration in November for cutting off the “spigot” to anti-violence nonprofits.
‘[T]he changes hopefully mean that nonprofits and community groups associated with advocating gun control will be less likely to do it at the expense of the American taxpayer and that real progress can occur on policing violent criminals,” the NRA’s legislative arm wrote in a blog post that month.
Nate Riley disagrees.
Riley, an outreach worker with Cure Violence Kensington, said the cuts threaten to reverse the progress New Kensington CDC has made since he joined the program early last year.
Nate Riley (from left), Tyree Batties, Dante Singleton, Tyreek Counts, Ivan Rodriguez, and Jamall Green-Holmes, outreach workers with New Kensington Community Development Corporation, making their rounds on Wednesday.
Cure Violence’s six-person outreach team is made up of people like Riley, who grew up in North Philadelphia and says he is well-versed in the relationship between poverty, trauma, and violence and brings that experience to Kensington.
“This is a community that’s been neglected for decades,” Riley said. “For lack of a better term, you’ve got to help them come in outside of the rain.”
In a recent month, Cure Violence outreach workers responded to 75% of shootings in the Kensington area within three days, a feat Riley is particularly proud of.
He said the program is not meant to supplant the role of police.
Instead, Riley sees street outreach as another outlet for those whose negative experiences with authorities have led them to distrust law enforcement.
Those people may alter their behavior if they know police are present, he added, giving outreach workers embedded in the community a better chance at picking up on cues that someone is struggling.
From Kensington to Washington
McKinney, with New Kensington CDC, said the group was still expecting about $600,000 from the Justice Department when the grant was cut short.
The nonprofit has since secured a patchwork of private donations and state grants that will keep Cure Violence running through much of 2026, he said.
After that, the program’s future is uncertain.
In the wake of the cuts, national organizations like the Community Justice Action Fund are advocating for federal officials to preserve funding for community-based anti-violence programs in future budgets. Adzi Vokhiwa, a federal policy advocate with the fund, said the group has formed a network of anti-violence nonprofits dubbed the “Invest in Us Coalition” to do so.
The group petitioned congressional leadership in December to appropriate $55 million for anti-violence organizations in the next budget — a figure that both Democrats and Republicans in the Senate have previously agreed on and that Vokhiwa views as a sign of bipartisan support for such programs.
McKinney, with New Kensington CDC, said it was impossible to ignore that the nonprofit and others like it provide services to neighborhoods where residents are overwhelmingly Black and brown. In his view, the cuts also reflect the administration’s “war on cities.”
He was bothered that the Justice Department did not seem to evaluate whether New Kensington CDC’s program had made an impact on the neighborhood before making cuts.
“We’re in a situation where the violence isn’t going away,” he said. “Even if there’s been decreases, the reality is that Kensington still leads the way. As those cuts get deeper, we are going to see increases in violence.”
