Activists are rushing to raise money as gun violence surges. They can’t wait for City Hall anymore. | Helen Ubiñas

By the time you read this, three community activists will have probably spent more than 100 hours on a street corner in Hunting Park doing their best to keep some of the city’s most vulnerable young people safe.

The trio — Ryan Harris of the nonprofit group As I Plant This Seed, Eugene “Buddha” Thomas of Powercircle Mentors, and Ant Brown of A Bro Inc. — have stationed themselves since Friday at the intersection where Broad Street crosses Roosevelt Boulevard.

There, bearing white plastic wastebaskets that they’ve decorated with magic markers, they’ve been collecting money from drivers and other passersby to fund a series of anti-violence programs for young people this summer.

They want to do something — anything — to help keep the city’s youth out of the line of fire during what already promises to be another bloody summer in Philadelphia.

Their goal? $90,000.

When I texted Harris late Monday to see how much they’d raised, he wrote back, “I’m actually embarrassed to tell you.”

Shortly after the men started their effort, Harris told me that he wouldn’t eat until they met their goal. On Monday, he said, they’re still short $70,000.

Still, Harris said, they were nowhere near close to giving up. They had hoped to raise more money by this time after they called on the community for donations through a GoFundMe campaign, a Cash App for money transfers ($Thetreehousaipts), and wastebaskets that they’d turned into makeshift collection buckets.

But they were encouraged by what they had received so far, and also by the help from people like Theo Gifford, of KG3 Mobile Advertising, whose mobile billboard encouraged people to donate.

“We appreciate you! We appreciate you!” Harris called out after a woman stopped her car to throw a few bucks into one of the buckets.

By Tuesday morning, Harris was in much better spirits, even after strong rain and wind knocked down their tents and blew all their supplies around the street.

A supporter donated a new tent, and others were on their way with more food and supplies.

When I brought up his fleeting frustration from the night before, Harris said even at his lowest moments, his faith in his community remains unshakable.

“I believe,” he said simply.

You have to love that kind of resolve. But here’s the thing: Even if the group had called it quits, even if they — bite my tongue — don’t meet their goal (and just suggesting that is sacrilege among this group), what these three men have so far accomplished is a victory, plain and simple.

It’s also an example of the kind of whatever-it-takes urgency that is still lacking from officials in a city buckling under the unrelenting strain of gun violence.

To be clear, Harris told me, the men have no “beef” with the city. Both Harris and Thomas are part of the city’s Next Gen Task Force, which includes young people working on anti-violence efforts on the neighborhood level. Thomas and Brown have received funding in the past; Thomas is awaiting more funding. That wait has been too much for some community groups — activists have reported having to use their own money to fund projects because they have not yet received money promised by the city.

But the city has its way of doing things (which usually involves too much red tape and bureaucracy) and these on-the-ground youth activists have theirs.

The need is urgent, and so are their calls for help.

“We all have the same problem, lack of funding or having to rely on grants, and sometimes that takes too long while we out here doing the work with our kids,” said Brown, who added that they also hope their collaboration sparks more partnerships among organizations doing similar work in the city.

This wasn’t the first time that Harris had this problem with funding. In 2018, he mounted a similar effort when he camped out at Hunting Park and Broad to raise $30,000 for his nonprofit. He raised the money in three days. That support allowed him to expand the mentoring program he had started six years earlier with a book bag giveaway, and create its very own home base on North Ninth Street.

In a few short years, his community center, known as The Tree House, has become a beloved neighborhood resource, offering young people an ever-evolving roster of programs, from mentoring and chess to boxing and design classes.

Saniyah McDaniel-Pitt, 13, lives just a couple of blocks away. But until Harris opened up his center, she and her brother mostly stayed home to keep away from any potential violence that erupted in their neighborhood.

“It was just safer,” she said. Now they spend a lot of their time at Harris’ place.

Harris is clearly committed to the kids in his program; even after they graduate or move away, they return for visits. But he’s also committed to those who linger just outside the doorway, straddling a perilous line between the dangers on the streets and the potential opportunities to stay away from them.

“They want to come inside, I know they do,” Harris said, “But we need more resources and more opportunities for them to want to come inside.”

And that is what drives the urgency. Because Harris knows firsthand that these life-and-death needs aren’t abstracts; sometimes they’re young people standing at a very literal crossroads right outside his door.