Santa Cruz veterinarian David Shuman witnessed severe cases of animal abuse when, fresh out of vet school, he worked at a veterinary hospital in Oakland. He remembers cases where people set cats on fire or threw dogs as if they were baseballs. He recalls one man who wounded a litter of puppies with a machete. But it wasn’t until later in Shuman’s career that he realized pet abuse could be a red flag for a larger pattern of violence, and that people who harm animals often don’t stop at animals.
Coach Gina Castañeda stands in a player box at the edge of the indoor soccer arena, yelling above the cheers of the crowd to the teenage boys in purple jerseys darting across the playing field. A player in mis-matched soccer cleats makes a swift pass to a team mate, who shoots the ball past the goalkeeper and into the net. Castañeda claps wildly, shouting “Good job you guys! ¡Sí se puede!”
Writer, performing artist and human rights activist Brooke Axtel stands on a stage constructed on the 50-yard line of Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, speaking to 1,500 rapt audience members—some whose eyes tear up as she recounts her experience as a survivor of sex trafficking at age 7.
As the volunteer director for the Bay Area Youth Dance Team, Vanessa Scott was shocked when one of her 15-year-old students became ensnared in the web of human trafficking and was forced into prostitution. Like many Bay Area residents, Scott was unaware that the San Francisco area ranks as one of the nation’s main hubs for human trafficking, a crime that includes sex trafficking, child labor, forced labor and domestic servitude.
Bryan Hirayama, an assistant professor at Bakersfield Community College, made a little bit of history this year. He became one of the first community college professors to teach inside a California state prison in roughly the last 20 years.
Garen Wintemute has dedicated his career to preventing firearm deaths—a problem that has held steady at epidemic proportions in the United States for more than a decade and accounts for an average of 30,000 deaths each year.
About 25 moms greet Captain Jeff Bert of the Los Angeles Police Department’s Northeast Division, maybe grab a bite, and then start walking. About a dozen of these ladies—deputized as “mamma captains”—are Captain Bert’s entrée to neighboring businesses and homes where residents are eager to talk about the gangs and violent crime that are crushing their sense of peace.
Jessica Corral, an education coordinator with Peace Over Violence, a Los Angeles-based advocacy group, stands in front of a rowdy class of teenagers at San Gabriel High School and draws a “Cycle of Violence” on a white board, a circle that represents a sort of relationship weather map. It goes from sunny honeymoon phase, to tension-filled and cloudy, then thunder and lightening, and finally an explosive storm, indicating abuse.
LaVerne Vaughn made a decision after she served prison time in her late 30s: She’d live the rest of her life a free woman. Vaughn, now in her early 40s, with a platinum pixie cut and a steady, empathetic gaze, kept her promise to herself. Several years after her release, she started working in violence prevention and helping ex-cons in Richmond, Calif., find their footing after prison.
Dwayne Taylor went to a party at the Ida B. Wells housing project one mid-May night as the Chicago weather was warming to the promise of spring. Once there, according to court documents, Taylor met up with three friends and made a disastrous decision: to rob someone. They left the party and drove around until they found a victim, 21-year-old Tedrin West. Taylor carjacked, abducted and robbed West before shooting him in the back of the head. As her son lay dead in a parking lot, West’s mother called his stolen phone. A man answered.