On a quiet Sunday in Potters, a routine gathering turned into a senseless tragedy that cut short a young life. Twenty-nine-year-old Leyandrew Hubbard was killed when a gunman opened fire on a group of people playing cards under a simple roadside shed. A second man survived the attack but remains in hospital, fighting to recover from serious gunshot wounds, a stark reminder of how random violence leaves lasting scars on communities.
As is all too common after such events, the wheels of official response have begun to turn: local police have launched an investigation into the shooting, elected officials have released formal statements of condolence to Hubbard’s family, and grieving friends have taken to social media to share old photos of the young man, paired with tearful broken-heart emojis. For most of the community, life will gradually return to its normal rhythm, the memory of this latest violence fading until the next tragedy makes headlines.
But for one small group of young men who gather regularly at that same roadside shed, the routine is already set to resume. By tomorrow, they will pull up worn wooden chairs, reshuffle a well-worn deck of cards, light cigarettes, pass around cold drinks, and laugh as if the fatal gunfire that echoed through the area just days earlier never happened. This open letter is written specifically for them.
Across too many marginalized communities, countless young men have grown so deeply anchored to life on “the block” that they no longer recognize how the street has become their prison. They wake each morning with no clear plans, no tangible goals to work toward, and no sense of urgency to build a safer, more fulfilling future. The street corner replaces a professional office; the informal gambling table becomes their daily “workplace.” The conversations stay the same, year after year, and their lives stagnate along with them.
Then, without warning, a burst of gunfire shatters that hollow routine. Many of these young men cling to the false belief that they are safe because they are “not involved” in local gang or criminal activity. But bullets do not stop to check identification or ask whether a person is innocent. Random violence does not care if you only stopped by for an hour to socialize, or if you were just passing through the neighborhood on an errand. It only takes being in the wrong place at the wrong wrong time for a life to be destroyed.
Every funeral held for a victim of community gun violence reinforces the same brutal, unchanging truth: life is precious, but it is also incredibly fragile. Even so, far too many young people continue to live as if they are guaranteed an unlimited number of tomorrows. This letter asks them to answer one simple, honest question: What has the street ever given you?
Has life on the block helped you save for a home of your own? Has it taught you a marketable trade that can support you for a lifetime? Has it given you the tools to care for aging parents, raise your own children, or build the stable future you once dreamed of as a kid? Or has it simply eaten away your most precious years, convincing you that doing nothing with your potential is normal and acceptable?
Idle hours turn into empty days, empty days stretch into unfulfilled years, and before you realize what has happened, the big dreams you once held have been pushed aside by lazy excuses. You become known not for the goals you achieved or the good you brought to the world, but for where you spent every idle afternoon.
But there is always another choice. You can learn a skilled trade that will open new doors. You can start a small business that builds wealth for you and your family. You can go back to school to finish your degree or learn new skills. You can find a mentor who has built the life you want and learn from their example. You can volunteer in your community to build connections and gain experience. You can get a steady job that gives you purpose and stability. Most importantly, you can walk away from people who celebrate wasting time, and surround yourself with people who push you to demand more from yourself and your future.
The most heartbreaking part of tragedies like the shooting in Potters is that they become routine. We scan the headlines, shake our heads in disappointment, and move on with our lives, waiting for the next shooting to shock us for a day or two. But it does not have to stay this way.
If even one young man reads this and decides today that he has wasted enough time on the corner, and chooses to invest that time in himself instead, then Hubbard’s death will not be entirely for nothing – it may yet save another life from being cut tragically short. Do not wait until your family is forced to plan your funeral. Do not wait until your face is printed on a memorial T-shirt worn by grieving friends. Walk away from the corner while you still have the chance. The future you deserve is waiting somewhere else.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Citizen