Slain teen’s family demands justice

I want justice for my son”

Shampagne Christian

On the evening of Feb. 18, chants of “no justice, no peace” rang through a busy strip of Kingsbridge, just steps away from where 16-year-old Christopher Redding, known as CJ, was killed days earlier.

The teen was fatally shot on the corner of West 238th Street and Broadway in broad daylight, and a 15-year-old boy and a 13-year-old girl were also struck and hospitalized in stable condition. According to the New York Police Department, the gunfire erupted after a dispute from a nearby McDonald’s spilled out onto the street. One 17-year-old has been arrested, and police said they are still searching for three additional suspects in connection with the killing.

Redding was the second teenager to die from gun violence in New York City this year, according to Gothamist. In the Bronx, which accounted for more than a third of citywide shootings last year, his death deepened fears that youth violence remains a destabilizing force despite repeated pledges by elected officials to reduce it.

Bishop Dr. Boyde Y. Singeltary, senior pastor and founder of Alpha & Omega Church of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Inc., opened the vigil with prayer, acknowledging the family lost “one of the most best parts of their life that they can never get back because of senseless gun violence.” He described the grief as immeasurable and urged the community to remain united around the family in the days ahead.

For Redding’s family, the loss and unanswered questions have become unbearable. Around them, the crowd pulsed with anger rather than quiet mourning. Drivers slowed to watch. Teenagers stood shoulder to shoulder near the memorial.

“Y’all took everything, y’all broke my family apart,” his mother, Shampagne Christian, yelled, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t get my son to see him have kids. I don’t see him get married. I don’t see my son walking across the stage. I want justice for my son.”

Her words hung in the cold air as neighbors formed a tight ring around the memorial, some wiping tears, others joining the chant that rolled down Broadway.

The vigil drew clergy, activists and elected officials, each framing the killing as part of a broader crisis. Dr. Cheryl Singeltary, Alpha & Omega Church executive pastor, expanded that message into a demand for systemic change, arguing youth shootings have moved beyond isolated tragedy.

“When is someone going to do something?” she asked, her voice rising over the crowd. “This should not have happened again. It’s happening every day. We have the whole world out here, but we killing each other, and we’re tired of it.”

She called on leaders at every level of government to treat youth violence as a public safety emergency rather than a recurring headline.

Before he became the focus of speeches and slogans, Redding was an ambitious teenager who, family members said, had grown increasingly serious about football, aiming to play in the National Football League. His father described recent weeks filled with workouts and friendly competition. He said he’s now trying to hold on to that memory.

“He was saying, ‘Look at me. I’m getting big,’” his father, Brian Corley, said, recalling his last conversation with his son. “He was about to get into the gym, start working out more serious. And then we finally had our last one-on-one basketball game.”

Redding’s death also raised questions about whether the city’s policies are deterring violence among teenagers or merely responding after lives have already been lost.

“He was focused,” Corley said. “He was the greatest kid you could ever have, and y’all took him away from us.”

City officials in recent years have emphasized strategies aimed at intervention and prevention, like expanding youth employment programs, mental health services and community-based anti-violence initiatives. They have also pointed to Raise the Age, a 2017 New York State law that changed how 16- and 17-year-olds are treated in the justice system.

Rather than automatically being charged as adults, their cases are generally handled in Family Court, with an emphasis on rehabilitation rather than incarceration.

But Tyreek Goodman, a community activist, connected Redding’s death to his own experience growing up in the Bronx and questioned whether reforms alone are enough.

“I was 16 when I got shot in the shoulder,” Goodman said. “Now let’s fast forward almost 20 years later — kids are still getting shot. The only difference between then and now is that we have a lot more cameras. So why is it that these kids are still getting hurt?”

He pointed to Raise the Age as part of a larger conversation about consequences and prevention, arguing that families who lose children to violence often feel removed from the policy debates unfolding in Albany and City Hall.

“No longer can we sit back and mind our business,” Goodman said. “We are the tax-paying citizens. We need support from our elected officials and those who claim this city is supposed to be protected and safe.”

For Redding’s family, justice means the remaining suspects in custody and a clear signal that what happened on that corner in broad daylight will not fade without consequence. Christian’s voice, hoarse but unwavering, rose again above the traffic.

“I want justice for my son,” she said.