Four shootings in two weeks: The crime crisis surrounding the University of Cincinnati

Four shootings near the University of Cincinnati in the first two weeks of the semester finally got City Hall’s attention.

Mayor Aftab Pureval (D) announced increased police patrols, street closures, additional lighting, and other emergency measures around campus. “This is not OK,” the mayor said.

Meanwhile, parents are left watching a multimillion-dollar administrative machine move with all the urgency of a DMV line at 4:55 p.m.

No kidding.

Whose jurisdiction?

Every semester, thousands of parents hand over tuition checks to the University of Cincinnati under the naive assumption that municipal leaders and campus officials hold a basic interest in keeping their children safe.

Off campus, along Clifton and Short Vine, students have instead encountered shootings and persistent violence. Cincinnati has long carried the unflattering nickname “Cincinasty.” These days, the joke is getting a little too close to reality.

The problem is not that nobody knows violence exists. It’s that responsibility becomes considerably murkier once students step beyond the campus boundary.

UC itself notes that the Cincinnati Police Department “maintains primary jurisdiction and responsibility” for off-campus incidents, even though university police patrol some surrounding neighborhoods and the two departments work together. UC also describes safety as a “shared responsibility” and reminds students that “living in a vibrant urban city also requires personal accountability.”

Fair enough. But parents might reasonably ask how much accountability belongs to the institutions collecting their tuition and taxes.

‘People need to wake up’

Frustrated by the persistent violence near campus housing, Lisa Klancher, a communications veteran whose daughter attends UC, launched a petition demanding direct accountability from both local officials and university leadership.

“People need to wake up, but more importantly, this pressure has to be sustained,” Klancher tells me. “I know leaders are all sitting there saying, ‘Let them vent; parents will soon have a new distraction, and this will go away.’”

But Klancher remains focused on the public safety crisis surrounding the campus. For her, this is less a political debate than a quite literal matter of life and death.

Cincinnati hardly lacks anti-violence programs. In 2023, the city convened representatives from more than 20 organizations running youth violence-reduction programs, and its current ACT for Cincy strategy encompasses everything from mental health services and youth programs to gun access initiatives and policing reforms. The paperwork is impressive; the results less so.

As readers well beyond Cincinnati know, bureaucratic institutions possess an infinite capacity to substitute process for action.

Klancher agrees: “Institutional programs spend so much time and money, they feel they need to roll out one big solution. Those rarely satisfy everyone who has to approve it, and the program never gets launched.”

In other words, process has entirely replaced progress. Meanwhile, parents are left watching a multimillion-dollar administrative machine move with all the urgency of a DMV line at 4:55 p.m.

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Municipal neglect

The decay surrounding the campus is undeniable, yet entirely avoidable. It’s the predictable outcome of years of municipal neglect. In 2023, neighborhood leaders even proposed clearing homeless encampments from nearby Burnet Woods after residents complained they no longer felt safe there. Meanwhile, commercial real estate booms along the nearby I-71 corridor while the district surrounding the state’s flagship university continues to struggle.

Klancher points to nearby Columbus as an example of a different approach. Its Non-Fatal Shooting Team assigns an entire group of investigators to non-fatal shootings rather than just two detectives. According to Columbus Mayor Andrew Ginther (D), the program’s pilot ended in 2025 with a 94% solve rate, compared with 53% citywide.

“Columbus is using existing laws strategically to remove violent offenders without disrupting the broader community,” Klancher explains. “The city created a nimble, private-sector model that allows for quick assessment and pivoting. Bureaucracy must learn that it is OK to start small, analyze the data, and adapt quickly to what works.”

Beyond barricades

Cincinnati’s response has been more episodic. After a major shooting, barricades go up, cruiser lights flash, and additional patrols arrive. The question is whether that urgency will survive after the headlines fade.

For Klancher, families shouldn’t have to wait for the next shooting to find out.

“No one cares that you worked hard, sacrificed, took on debt,” Klancher says. “You only matter when you get hurt in the crossfire; then leadership and lawyers can create a law in your name.”

City officials and university leaders should step out of their offices and walk Short Vine at midnight on Friday — or on Monday or Tuesday. Frankly, any night of the week works. True public safety requires an honest acknowledgment of reality. It also requires administrative accountability.

As Klancher notes, “We teach young people to respect leadership and their community, but respect is earned through preparation, presence, and action. Students should want to love the community they chose, not count the days until they can leave it.”