Slice of Life

Syracuse man works to motivate community against violence

Ashley McBride | Contributing Writer

At the intersection of Midland Avenue and West Colvin Street, Clifford Ryan encourages kids to take a picture with his “O.G.’s Against Violence” poster.

The way people stop him in the street, asking to take pictures with him, Clifford Ryan is like a celebrity in the South Side community. Families call out to him from their porch, drivers honk as they roll by and students on school buses yell out the windows at him, “O.G.’s Against Violence!”

At the intersection of Midland Avenue and West Colvin Street, he encourages kids to take a picture with his “O.G.’s Against Violence” poster and repeat his trademark phrase as they walk home from school.

“Let me hear you say it,” he told them. “Don’t you ever, ever, ever, ever touch a gun. Do you understand me? Tell all your friends.”

Taking a picture with the sign is a pledge to never inflict violence upon others. Ryan started the O.G.’s Against Violence movement this summer after a violent Fourth of July weekend in Syracuse ended with 11 shooting victims, including two deaths.

July was the deadliest month for shootings in Syracuse, with four deaths in 2015, according to the New York State Division of Criminal Justice Services. Up until September, there were 86 shootings, compared to 94 total in 2014. In those incidents, 114 people were injured and 13 killed, compared with 107 injured and 14 killed in 2014.



O.G., which stands for Original Gangster, is a homage to Ryan’s previous involvement in a gang. Today, he spends up to 10 hours a day walking the streets of Syracuse, signs in hand, encouraging youth to put down their guns — or to never pick one up.

Because of his own gang experiences, Ryan understands why kids are attracted to them. But he knows that often, gang members end up with one of two ultimatums: prison or death.

Ryan’s turning point came when he was 16 years old, attending Eastwood Junior High School. One Friday night, Ryan and his friends decided to go to the high school football game because members of a rival group, Brick City, would be there. When they got to the football game, the Brick City members approached Ryan and they got into a fight, but all of Ryan’s friends had left him.

From that incident, right there, I stepped away from the (gang) life. They let me know, right then and there, there’s no friends.
Clifford Ryan

While the Syracuse community knows him as “O.G.,” Ryan is a family man at home. He often steps in when his daughter Tamara Ryans, a mother of five, needs someone to watch her children, or when he just wants to give her a break and cook a meal for the family. With his two other sons in prison, Ryans returns the support when he isn’t working.

“He plays every role there is,” Tamara Ryans said. “From the big brother to the uncle to the father, he’s like the main motivator in our family.”

Tamara Ryans said her dad has always been an empathetic advocate and would try to change the whole world if he could.

Ryan’s family love shines through in everything he does, said Wayne Gooden, his friend of more than 20 years. Gooden referred to him as the patriarch of the family, and his compassionate ways also extended to Gooden’s family, particularly when his mother died two months ago. Because Gooden lives in Georgia, Ryan was only able to console him over the phone, but that did not diminish his message.

“It was encouraging, it was inspirational, it was supportive and it was from love and concern,” Gooden said. “He’s a man that comes from love, concern and empathy.”

Ryan knows the immense pain that can come from losing a loved one and uses that grief to motivate himself, he said. Ryan’s oldest son Duriel died at age 17 in a shooting on the South Side in 1999. Before his son died, Ryan was concerned about the well-being of his community, but after, he wanted to take action.

But this line of work does take its mental toll, Ryan said.

Sometimes when a young man is killed, the only thing I can do is go home and just curl up in the bed and cry like a baby, because I felt that pain. I know that pain from my son.
Clifford Ryan

Ryan enlists the help of friends and former gang members to canvass the area, but he still feels like a one-man band. He differentiates himself from other anti-violence groups in Syracuse because he physically intervenes in street altercations he thinks might get violent.

Ryan recalled a time when he saw two young men arguing with each other, and then they began fighting. One of the men started to go back to his house to get a weapon, and Ryan intercepted him to explain why he was overreacting. He said he told the young man that he would not only be ruining the life of the man that he harms, but also his own life, with a prison sentence.

Ryan’s daughter expressed her fear of something happening to her father while he makes his rounds, but said that he has assured her he is willing to make that sacrifice if he can save lives.

All I can do is support him and pray that no one puts their hands on my father. He doesn’t know how much he means to people, that if something happens to him, it’d probably be chaos.
Tamara Ryans

“All I can do is support him and pray that no one puts their hands on my father,” she said. “He doesn’t know how much he means to people, that if something happens to him, it’d probably be chaos.”

Ryan realizes that his own past is not perfect, but he is, today, trying to make up for it.

“I forgive my son’s killer. If I were to see him out here on the street, I wouldn’t harm him,” Ryan said. “I would give him a sign and tell him, ‘Redeem yourself.’”





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