Too often, street violence is met with a single response: containment. Young people—most often youth of color—are locked away, only to return home more vulnerable, burdened by stigma, and with fewer opportunities. The cycle repeats itself, generation after generation, at a staggering human and financial cost. In Massachusetts, the Department of Correction’s 2021 budget of $720 million for roughly 6,600 inmates puts the average annual cost at $107,000 per person—rising to $131,000 when healthcare, education, and reentry services are included.  

It’s an investment that drains resources but fails to deliver lasting change. That’s why organizations like InnerCity Weightlifting (ICW) are reimagining what public safety and community well-being can look like—focusing not on containment, but on connection, opportunity, and hope. 

As one of United Way’s 124 New Way Forward partners, ICW helps break cycles of violence and incarceration across Boston neighborhoods—including Dorchester, East Boston, Mattapan, Roxbury, and Hyde Park—by building community, creating economic opportunity, and redefining strength. It is shifting the narrative from blaming individuals to recognizing the systemic forces—poverty, racism, incarceration—that shape participants’ daily lives. 

When ICW first opened in 2010, the idea was straightforward: a gym, a place to build physical strength. But staff quickly realized that weightlifting alone couldn’t address the deeper challenges participants faced—systemic racism, cycles of incarceration, and daily threats of gun violence. 

“Weightlifting isn’t putting food on the table,” said Jonathan Feinman, Founder & CEO. “With people going in and out of jail, with people worried about their physical safety day in and day out, weightlifting isn’t changing any of that. What it does, though, is it gives us a community and a common identity just to connect with each other as equals, to understand each other’s shared humanity.” 

By 2012, ICW had evolved into a social justice organization, leveraging a social enterprise model to create pathways for economic mobility through careers in fitness and beyond. Through its four-stage model—Trust, Hope, Bridging Social Capital, and Economic Mobility—participants’ recidivism rates drop dramatically, from 88% in the first stage to just 8.2% in the final stage, far outpacing traditional outcomes. 

By comparison, Massachusetts' three-year recidivism rate was 26% for the total male population and 23% for females in 2019 . This stark contrast underscores the effectiveness of ICW's holistic model in breaking cycles of incarceration. 

The win–win is clear: when we invest in people—through connection, opportunity, and support—we not only reduce returns to prison but also build stronger, safer communities. 

ICW began certifying members as trainers, helping them turn their skills into careers and connecting them with clients—including young professionals, CEOs, and corporate clients. These clients weren’t showing up to “help someone out”—they were coming because they valued the expertise of the trainers. 

“It flipped all the traditional power dynamics. Our trainers gained access to networks and resources they wouldn’t have had otherwise,” Jon said. Clients’ engagement extended beyond fitness, influencing conversations and perspectives at home and in their communities. 

The impact stretched beyond careers. “Clients go home, and they start talking differently to their families,” Jon said. “When you connect with each other’s shared humanity, you stop blaming an individual. Instead, you start to label the environmental factors they have to navigate—factors we all play a role in creating or dismantling.” 

The foundation of ICW’s success is trust. “Before anything else—before career pathways—we focus on earning someone’s trust and creating a place where someone can belong,” Jon said. “We provide oxygen so people can breathe. And from that, everything else starts to come into picture.” 

For people who’ve lived under constant stress—whether from incarceration, violence, or systemic barriers—that space to simply “breathe easier” can change everything. “If being in here does nothing else but ease the stress someone carries into their most important relationships, that might be the most important thing we do,” said Jon.  

ICW’s approach is rooted in personal relationships. Through what they call individual advancement plans (IAPs), staff and trainers have real conversations—whether during a workout, a game, or casual hangouts. “When you do that, you end up finding out what someone likes, what they need,” Jon said. “We’re super structured around community and belonging, less structured around a set curriculum. But that’s exactly what works for the people we serve.” IAPs address barriers such as homelessness, food insecurity, or legal requirements, as well as practical needs like IDs or bank accounts.  

Once participants complete their first certification, they can train clients at ICW, earning $20–60 per hour. Trainers with the national certification can lead corporate clients, earning up to $100 per hour. In 2022, ICW facilitated 35 new personal training certifications, grew internal job placements by 58%, and external placements by 12%. Their work has been nationally recognized, including in Raj Chetty’s research on social capital and economic mobility, featured on NPR’s Planet Money, with one trainer, Bobby, appearing on NPR’s Radio Boston. 

ICW also connects members with additional support— mental health support, financial education, social workers, community partners, and careers beyond fitness. “If we can’t provide it ourselves, we find a partner who can,” Jon said. “No one organization can do it all—success comes from surrounding people with multiple networks and resources.” 

Partnerships are both formal and informal.  “If we’re the only organization working with someone, we’ve already let them down,” Jon explained. “Because if you only have access to one network, the second that network can’t solve something, you’re out of luck.” 

Not everyone at ICW comes directly from incarceration. Some join through family ties—brothers bringing brothers, sons following older siblings. For example, Jakai, started young, drawn in through family ties before facing their own barriers. 

“They were coming here, and I used to tag along,” Jakai remembers. “I’d play football or do a little workout with Reggie. As I got older, I just kept coming back.” Reggie Talbert, now ICW’s Vice President of Community, was one of the mentors who made that environment feel welcoming. 

That was ten years ago. Today, Jakai calls InnerCity Weightlifting “a place for work, a place for help, a place for family.” Over the years, he’s leaned on the community here for everything from finishing school to finding housing. “Whether you’re having a tough day or going through something big, if you need help, you’re gonna get it—without a doubt.”   

Jakai is grateful to the people who make that possible. “They’re like positive role models and helping hands to everybody that walks in and out the doors,” Jakai explains. “If you ever have a problem or need help with something, they’re good people to go to.” 

For anyone new or unsure about what this place is all about, Jakai’s advice is simple: “Stick around and just feel it out. If it’s not for you, that’s okay. But most of the time, it feels more like family here—more than friends—because people really look out for each other.” 

“And for the people that support this organization, I just want to say thank you, because from behind closed doors, they wouldn't know how much of an impact they're making on certain people's lives,” said Jakai. 

Trey shares a similar story. Like Jakai, it was his older brother who first brought him to the gym. “He wanted to get me out of the neighborhood and focused on the good parts of life,” Trey recalls. At 18, he joined InnerCity’s Youth program, and four years later, he’s still here, still growing. 

“They help me with healthy habits, exercise, and connecting with people who can better my life,” Trey says. “I’m going to be a dad in December, and I want to make sure my kid has the right future—physically, spiritually, and mentally.” 

But Trey’s vision extends far beyond his own family. “For me, I either want to be a chef or help the youth. Really, I want to do both,” he says. “But I’m going to try to help the youth first because I see how this neighborhood is, and I’m tired of people saying ‘black-on-black crime’ or ‘we killed each other.’ I’m trying to make sure the community is better for itself. Not just to help me improve myself, but to help the community—because a long life isn’t guaranteed.” 

That’s why Trey is determined to learn how to lead. “I want to try my best to get myself into a youth program so I can learn how to talk to youth and guide them out of the streets,” he says. “Just because somebody else does it doesn’t mean you have to. Some people lose a loved one and think revenge is the best way. But no—it’s peace and love and going about your day.” 

Through programs like this, Trey is gaining the tools to put those dreams into action—learning job readiness skills, finding his voice as a leader, and preparing to guide other young people toward a different future. 

“My advice to anyone who doesn’t know about this place? Take the chance,” Trey says. “It’s going to be hard and stressful, but if you keep striving for what you want, you’re going to achieve it. Not just for yourself, but for the kids and loved ones you care about.” 

For Jakai, Trey, and so many others, InnerCity Weightlifting isn’t just about lifting weights—it’s about lifting people—out of isolation, into networks, and toward brighter futures. It’s a place where community, support, and belonging come together every day, and where everyone is welcome to find their place. 

ICW doesn’t fit neatly into the box of “weightlifting program” or “workforce development initiative.” Yes, it trains personal trainers, connects people to careers, and partners with organizations to fill gaps in mental health, trauma support, and financial education. But at its heart, ICW offers belonging.