‘These guys have nothing to lose’ is why Memphis Allies’ Tito Porter does what he does

A gun, Tito Porter says, is just a means to an end. In fact, at age 19, it enabled Porter to have his own place.

“My first apartment on my own was a jail cell,” he said.

Porter stayed more than four years. By the time he got out, he had learned money was worthless compared to freedom.

“I’m well-versed in the struggle,” said Porter, 38, who grew up in the Raleigh-Frayser area and works there for Memphis Allies. He is a life coach who is transitioning to outreach supervisor so he can have more informal contact with those at the highest risk for involvement in gun violence.

“Tito doesn’t want to sit in an office,” said Carl Davis, Memphis Allies’ managing director of operations. “He wants to be in the streets where the action is.”

‘It’s easy for them to shoot somebody’

Growing up, Porter’s father was either in prison or out of town. Porter recalls feeling directionless—just like his fellow gang members.

The adult SWITCH program participants Porter works with now are also mostly affiliated, lightly educated, and typically have no job or only a low-paying, part-time job. Almost all grew up without the steadying presence of an involved father.

Which is why, Porter says, a gun is often the chosen tool of trade. SWITCH stands for Support with Intention to Create Hope; at the point Porter meets participants/potential participants, most are suffering from chronic hope deficit.

“These guys have nothing to lose, so it’s easy for them to shoot somebody,” Porter said recently, as he showed off the Frayser garage where he brings participants to learn skills such as how to sand and paint a car, change oil, and work on alternators and radiators. “They have nothing to take pride in.”

Porter is trying to change that, as he remembers how he used to think when he was young and chasing fast money.

“You eliminate excuses,” he said. “Because I had a lot of them: ‘Nobody ever showed me nothing, nobody ever tried to help me …’ After they meet me, they’ll know: ‘Tito did try to help me without looking for reward. He did tell me when I was wrong. He did listen to me when I would vent.’ So that’s what I attempt to do, eliminate excuses.”

As time went on, he continued to pick up educational and vocational skills and put to good use the financial literacy course he studied in prison.

But in this work, he also knows he has to meet participants where they are. If he presents himself as too far removed from their experience, or as now living in a different world, his message won’t get through.

“You can unintentionally speak over their heads,” he said. “You can be too eloquent. Sometimes, you might have to just say, ‘Damn, that’s (messed) up.’ And it might connect.”

It took a state-provided one-room apartment for Porter to have a mindset change. Had a program such as Memphis Allies existed then, had his younger self met the man he is today, well, Porter might have avoided losing more than four years of his life.

He’s now trying to help others not to repeat his mistakes.

“You give them a skill, you give them a job, you give them something they can hold onto,” he said. “Skills like these you can’t take away from them. That’s enough to make a guy say, ‘That’s worth it. I got something going. That’s mine.’”

More Posts