From the name of the organization down to the color of the bright green doors at its headquarters, everything TRUCE does revolves around the group of teens and young adults it aims to serve.
Last year, the privately funded nonprofit replaced the Baton Rouge Area Violence Elimination program, also known as BRAVE. It works closely with at-risk youth ages 14-24 to help them find education and employment opportunities and keep them off the streets.
“We wanted to make sure that the community felt like they were a part of this program—that this wasn’t really a program, but somewhere where they want to come and hang out, look for jobs and just escape the neighborhood,” says TRUCE executive director Aishala Burgess.
Burgess often refers to the youth the nonprofit works with as her “babies.” With a staff of only three working with around 20 young people at a time, it’s not hard to see how they’ve all become a family.
TRUCE’s full-time social worker, Candace O’Brien, is a walking example. When a kid or young adult arrives at TRUCE’s office off Government Street, she’ll talk with them and assess their needs. Upon their next visit, O’Brien works with them to develop a case plan, including a list of goals that may involve working toward a GED or finding a job.
But much of what O’Brien does isn’t listed in her job description. She’s texting them to see how their new job is going. She’s listening to them rant. She’s driving them to job interviews.
“I told Candace coming in that I didn’t want it to just be a numbers game,” Burgess says. “I wanted to make sure that the service we deliver is still personal, intimate and very tailored to that child’s needs, versus ‘We need to hurry up and move 60 kids here’ and then what they are receiving is declining.”
TRUCE’s predecessor BRAVE started in 2012 and was funded through federal grants to reduce violence in high-crime neighborhoods. With federal money came regulations: BRAVE could only focus on youth who were members of groups or gangs in certain ZIP codes.
Combining the efforts of policy analysts and the Baton Rouge Police Department, BRAVE identified those at-risk youth, often offering them social services to work toward their betterment through the program while cracking down on those who refused.
The first year of BRAVE was dubbed a success by its supporters. But after a series of incidents of mismanagement—failing to meet federal reporting requirements and not spending all the grant money it was allocated—the program ended last year.
Law enforcement officials and Mayor President Sharon Weston Broome suggested that starting a privately funded nonprofit would give them the leeway they needed to reach a wider variety of at-risk youth. The Baton Rouge Area Foundation, the Baton Rouge Area Chamber and business leaders Mike Wampold and Jim Bernhard helped raise the money needed to bring that idea to life.
As a result, TRUCE aims to learn from the mistakes of BRAVE and broaden its reach. The bright green office doors are open to youth living in any ZIP code in the city, whether they belong to a gang or not.
For Burgess, one of TRUCE’s most important missions is helping build confidence in youth—something many of them don’t have initially. She says that when she first started asking her clients to tell her something good about themselves, many of them looked at her like she was crazy because nobody had asked them that before.
“Now, my regulars, they know, ‘She’s going to ask me something good about myself. What was good in my life this week?’” Burgess says. “They come in ready.”
TRUCE made its target age demographic 14-24, an increase from BRAVE’s demographic of 12-21, because many young adults older than 21 needed assistance, particularly with finding employment. But that age range is not a hard and fast rule either. “If we have someone that may come in at the age of 26, we’re not turning anyone away from the help they need,” Burgess says.
The organization is also partnering with businesses, including several construction companies, to help its clients obtain steady jobs.
One of the biggest changes is the role of law enforcement in the program. Like BRAVE, TRUCE still partners with law enforcement, but Burgess says officers are now focusing on more rehabilitative measures rather than punitive ones—a change she’s welcomed.
“We’re not trying to arrest our way out of an issue,” Burgess says. “[Law enforcement officers] are now stopping to think, ‘Is this a person that we can help and serve?’” She says that police officers will often call TRUCE asking if they can refer a young person to them who may benefit from their services.
Law enforcement played a friendly role at TRUCE’s inaugural event this August, Hoop Fest, where kids ages 8-18 played a single-elimination basketball competition. East Baton Rouge Sheriff’s deputies and Baton Rouge Police officers acted as referees, coaches and scorekeepers. “It gave the kids an opportunity to talk with our officers without feeling like it was something forced,” Burgess says.
As an assistant district attorney, Burgess is all too familiar with navigating the delicate relationship with law enforcement and the community. She started her career in juvenile court, where she saw the role gangs and groups were playing in crime. Eventually, she left the courtroom to focus on initiatives to reduce community violence and end mass policing.
Burgess says her career shift to a nonprofit wasn’t a big transition. Her goal is still the same: advocating for the success of young people. “I always had a good relationship with them, even as a prosecutor,” she says. “One thing I said going in is that no matter what, I would always treat them with respect, and that went such a long way.”
“We’re just trying to keep them very confident about themselves and very motivated,” she adds. “That means a lot to them—when they know there’s somebody who’s believing in them, that there’s somebody pushing them to do better. I think that’s what’s keeping our kids coming here.” callatrucebr.org
This article was originally published in the October 2018 issue of 225 Magazine.
