By Manny Arber
I remember the moment I first truly grasped the surge in knife crime among young people in London. I’d always known it was a problem, but understanding the severity felt like a genuine awakening, it went far beyond alarming headlines. It was a call to action. Recent data indicates that knife offenses in the city remain alarmingly high, with many victims and perpetrators still under 25. Behind every statistic is a teenager fearful of walking home, a parent terrified for their child’s safety, and entire neighbourhoods frustrated with the very institutions meant to protect them.
Local and national officials are taking measures to curb youth violence. Mayor Sadiq Khan’s Violence Reduction Unit (VRU) has introduced new initiatives, while some boroughs are experimenting with community-led programs to engage young people before they turn to violence. Yet, if you speak to youth workers, teachers, or the young people themselves, you quickly learn there’s a disconnect between policy and reality—a gap in trust and understanding that fuels the crisis.
As someone who lives in London—hoping to one day raise a family here—I felt compelled to learn more. I spoke with police officers, community organisers, teachers, and young people. I discovered that knife crime isn’t simply about weapons or policing; it’s deeply tied to fear, a lack of opportunities, and years of mistrust among those who feel overlooked. Despite high-profile crackdowns and well-intentioned strategies, many young individuals still carry knives for “protection,” certain that no one else will look out for them.
That’s why Make It Stop resonates so profoundly with me. The campaign isn’t just a buzzword; it’s a grassroots movement working to tackle the root causes of violence rather than merely treating its symptoms. The Make It Stop team goes beyond awareness campaigns by collaborating with after-school programs, faith groups, and local businesses to offer meaningful alternatives. We hold open forums where parents who’ve lost children share their stories alongside police officers who want to understand what went wrong. In these dialogues, we see trust start to rebuild—trust that is essential if we’re serious about ending the cycles of fear and retaliation.
My research has showed me that listening is often missing from top-down solutions. Community members repeatedly mention feeling “talked at” instead of truly heard. When someone close to you has been affected by knife violence, you don’t just want officials reciting statistics—you need empathy, tangible support, and a say in reshaping your neighbourhood. Make It Stop recognises this, putting young people and local voices at the heart of program design—from peer mentorship to safe spaces where youth can spend time instead of wandering streets that feel increasingly hostile.
But Make It Stop is about more than signing a petition or sharing a post online. It’s about standing with the communities on the front lines of this crisis. We organise workshops, host town halls, challenge biases, and celebrate stories of resilience—like young people who choose apprenticeships or creative outlets rather than carrying a blade. Overarchingly we want resources to be channelled to the difference makers in the community, enabling all young people to pursue something meaningful.
I’m moved by the sheer courage I see in these young people—individuals brimming with potential yet lacking the resources to unlock it. Far too many have endured the heartbreak of losing friends or family to violence, and many feel unheard by a system that, in their eyes, profiles them instead of protecting them. Still, some come forward to voice concerns, propose real-world solutions, and demand a future free from fear. We want every child to feel comfortable approaching a mentor or support service before crisis strikes.
Make It Stop is our collective response. It reminds us that if we truly want a safer future, we need more than extra patrols or harsher penalties. We must rebuild trust in every corner of the city—between young people and the police, parents and local institutions, and neighbours who no longer feel safe on their own streets. It’s also an urgent call for everyone—teachers, policymakers, business owners, artists, faith leaders, parents—to step up and do their part.
Getting involved means refusing to accept violence as inevitable. It means amplifying voices that are too often silenced. Ultimately, it means striving for a future whereby feeling safe is a right, not a privilege reserved for certain postcodes.
I believe we can make it stop. By truly listening to one another’s experiences, concerting our collective efforts, demanding accountability and fairness at every level, and by holding onto our shared humanity, we can replace fear with hope. We can foster a reality where a knife is no longer deemed as a medium of survival.
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