This weekend, our communities were forced to carry another grief we should never have had to bear.

Across the Watts and Compton communities, families were shattered, lives were taken, and a familiar pain returned to our streets. Among those lost were Eric Washington, known by many as a beacon of hope, and Meah Jenkins, a 19-year-old college student whose life was only beginning.

Eric was a son, a brother, a friend, a public servant, and a man whose work and presence touched people across neighborhoods that too often know the weight of violence. Meah was a young woman with a future, a family, dreams, and a life ahead of her that should never have been cut short. Their names now sit beside too many others — lives interrupted by senseless violence, families left to grieve, and communities forced once again to ask why.

I attended the candlelight vigil held in Eric’s memory, and what I witnessed was both heartbreaking and powerful. More than 100 people came out to stand with Eric’s mother, his sisters, his brother, and all those who loved him. Assemblymember Mike Gipson was there. Los Angeles City Councilmember Tim McOsker of the 15th District was there. Pastor K.W. Tulloss helped lead the community in prayer, comfort, and reflection.

But more than any title or position, what stood out most was the humanity in that space.

A mother grieving her child.

Siblings standing together in disbelief.

Friends trying to make sense of a loss that does not make sense.

And somewhere, another family is grieving Meah — a young woman whose name deserves to be spoken with the same care, tenderness, and outrage. Because no 19-year-old should lose her life while simply existing in community. No young woman should have her story reduced to a shooting. No parent should have to bury a child whose future was still unfolding.

As a mother, I cannot stop thinking about the unbearable thought of losing my own child to gun violence. No parent sends their child into the world believing they will not return home. No mother should have to identify her child. No family should have to plan a funeral because someone chose a gun over restraint, rage over reason, violence over life.

And yet, too many of our mothers already know this pain.

Too many families in our inner-city communities have become familiar with candlelight vigils, makeshift memorials, balloons released into the sky, and the sound of people saying, “Gone too soon.” We say it so often that we risk forgetting how unnatural it is. Our sons and daughters were not born to become hashtags. They were not raised to become crime statistics. They were not loved so deeply just to be taken so suddenly.

Eric Washington should still be here.

Meah Jenkins should still be here.

Every person lost to violence should still be here.

We have to say enough — and mean it.

This is not just a law enforcement issue. This is a heart issue. A community issue. A family issue. A spiritual issue. It is about what we allow to become normal. It is about how quickly anger turns into bloodshed. It is about how many people suffer in silence until pain spills over into the streets.

At the vigil, Assemblymember Gipson urged the community to remember: if you see something, say something. That message matters. Silence cannot protect us. Looking the other way cannot save us. We cannot heal what we refuse to confront. If we know something, we must care enough about the next life, the next family, the next child, to speak up.

But speaking up is only one part of the work.

We must also make room for healing. We must check on our young people. We must create safe spaces for grief, frustration, trauma, and conflict before they become violence. We must invest in prevention, mentorship, mental health, jobs, faith-based support, family intervention, and community programs that reach people before a gun does.

We must stop treating peace as a slogan and start treating it as a responsibility.

Peace requires courage.

It requires men to step in before retaliation begins. It requires mothers, fathers, pastors, educators, organizers, elected officials, neighbors, and friends to work together before tragedy strikes. It requires us to love our communities enough to correct them, protect them, and fight for them at the same time.

Eric’s life deserves more than our tears. Meah’s life deserves more than our sorrow. Their families deserve more than our condolences. Our communities deserve more than another news cycle of violence and grief.

We owe them action.

We owe them compassion.

We owe them a renewed commitment to one another.

To the families grieving this weekend: we see you, we mourn with you, and we stand with you. To our young people: your life is valuable. Your future is worth protecting. Your pain deserves to be heard before it becomes permanent. To our communities: we cannot afford to become numb.

Let this moment call us higher.

Let it move us from mourning to healing.

Let it remind us that every life taken leaves a hole in a family, in a neighborhood, and in the future of our people.

We cannot bring back Eric. We cannot bring back Meah. But we can honor them by choosing peace, demanding accountability, and building communities where our children can live, grow, dream, and come home safely.

No more mothers should have to bury their children.

No more families should have to gather under candlelight because violence stole another life.

May we find the strength to heal, the courage to speak, and the love to choose peace — before another name is added to the list.

With a mother’s heart and a community’s grief,

Ta Lese Morrow
Publisher & CEO
Inland Valley News / The Carson Compass