A group of teenagers crowded around a console inside a weathered community center on North Street, thumbs fiddling with joysticks that sent football players charging across a screen as they waited for Malik Evans.

This day promised an unusual matchup: Rochester’s mayor sought a formidable opponent to kick off the inaugural Mayor’s Madden Invitational. A year-long membership to the Strong National Museum of Play, a $50 gift card, a Buffalo Bills hat and bragging rights were on the line.

Evans had organized the event to give the city’s young people something fun to do, but it doubled as a highlight of local opportunities in the multi-billion-dollar e-sports industry. And, of course, the mayor wanted some time behind the controller, too.

Where these teens are tech-savvy, Evans is practiced.

He’s been playing Madden since before many of them were born. As a kid, Evans woke up at dawn to get a few rounds in before school and ran cash tournaments in the South Wedge home where he grew up. Today, video games play a big part in how he bonds with his sons.

“You any good?” he called out as soon as he entered the room. “You think you can beat me?”

The mayor had traded a polished suit and tie for a gray Buffalo Bills hoodie and sleek red and white Jordans, and in his new uniform, he wasn’t afraid of a little trash talk. This down-to-earth attitude appealed to voters who elected Evans to the city’s top position in 2021.

He played a slow and steady game in local politics, rising from the school board to City Hall. By the time he made his pitch for mayor, Rochester was crying for transparency from its leadership.

Daniel Prude had just died at the hands of police; his death was kept a secret for nearly six months. Rochester’s incumbent mayor, Lovely Warren, was surrounded by scandals, including charges of campaign finance fraud and a drug bust that implicated her estranged husband.

Malik Evans had built enough credibility to convince Rochester voters to take a chance on someone new. With a new face comes some unfamiliarity, and many aspects of Evans remain mysterious.

Behind podiums, Evans is a stern orator, able to spitfire data on some of the city’s most significant issues with infallible confidence. He towers over microphones and accentuates the most important of his talking points with one finger outstretched, proclaiming authority as he speaks. The mayor weaves in metaphors, movie references, and hip-hop lyrics wherever possible to drive that point home. He figures this is how he stays relatable to the regular people in the room.

“You have to know what’s going on with the times,” Evans said in a recent interview. “… If I was not mayor, I would have my own radio show. I grew up in the era of hip-hop, admiring my older brother’s record collection. I can talk to you about Sam Cooke all the way up to SZA.”

At the video game competition, he ended an opening speech by quoting NFL legend John Madden: Self-praise is for losers, the football coach once said. Be humble.

While crafting this narrative, a reporter from the Democrat and Chronicle visited a downtown photography gallery. There, a middle-aged man inquired if there were any upcoming developments. Upon learning that a profile on the mayor was underway, the man paused, perused a few photos, and responded, “Oh… I don’t know much about Malik.”

Does this politician worry about how people relate to him personally? Maybe. Or maybe it’s the clear results that matter more. As Evans told teens during the gaming session chat about Madden — “Let the butt-kicking speak for itself.”

That’s easier said than done for a mayor, whose role is inherently met with criticism of different proportions. Everyone thinks they know what a mayor can or should do. Everyone has an idea of how they would lead. Only a few get to test that vision and confront the realities of the position.

Halfway through his first term, Evans has spent the last two years establishing his footing as mayor. He will spend the next two years justifying it. Will it be enough to convince Rochester he was the right choice?

What’s fair to expect from your mayor?

The phone rang in Malik Evans’ new Church Street office. It was his first week as mayor and one of his first chances to help whoever was on the other line. The person calling had recently broken their hand and couldn’t shave their cat. Did the mayor know any nearby groomers?

“People call the president, and they call the mayor,” Evans, 44, said.

His office fields questions about child support, roommate conflicts, passports and school lunches ― all issues outside the mayor’s control. The result is always the same: Whoever calls expects him to have the answers they need.

“When you’re in your darkest day, and you didn’t get your social security check, or you have a question about immigration, you don’t know who to call,” Evans said. “So, you call the guy that you see on the TV the most, and the mayor is probably one of the most visible people that you have in the community.”

Evans said he views officials at City Hall as community navigators more than anything, pointing people toward help. But, often, a mayor is judged by how quickly or efficiently they can solve those issues, even if they don’t have the power to fix them alone.

Lesser-known constraints of the role make it hard to develop a solid rubric by which to grade your mayor, said Paul Helmke, who served as mayor of Fort Wayne, Indiana, for three terms in the 1990s and now heads the Civic Leaders Center at Indiana University.

In many cases, he said, city projects require approval or support from higher levels of government.

In Rochester, the city could not act on a community petition for a new crosswalk after a 6-year-old was killed on Thurston Road last summer until it got county approval. After installing the traffic safety changes, the mayor arranged a private meeting with the family to offer his condolences.

Last year, a community push to make RG&E a public utility sputtered out after the Monroe County Legislature rejected a funding request. The city agreed to contribute to a feasibility study, but its commitment was contingent on county support. Without it, the project is in limbo.

Then there is the challenge of time. A mayor might be taking steps to address climate change, Helmke said, but the impact may not be seen for years ― and voters want results they can see today.

Still, residents deserve to know their mayor is working for them. To craft the most fair evaluation, Helmke suggests asking three questions:

• Have they defined a goal?

• Have they talked publicly about that goal?

• Have they taken steps to move the goal forward? Put money or personnel behind it?

“Oftentimes, (the mayor’s job) is becoming the cheerleader, becoming the convener ― being the one that gets all the groups together that need to be in the room to deal with the problem,” Helmke said.

“Basically, giving the community hope and showing that there is a way forward. I think if a mayor does that, then they’re going to be re-elected, and they’re going to be successful.”

A report card for Malik Evans: Rochester mayor

Evans ran on a promise that his administration would be the one to bridge gaps between city departments and the community.

It was a natural follow to the legacy of service his preacher father had built before him. The Rev. Lawrance Lee Evans Sr. challenged a culture of racism, sexism and classism in Rochester, utilizing everything from intimate sermons and lectures to community programs and rallies in his push for change. The elder Evans wanted his family to do good.

“I was raised hearing, ‘To whom much is given, much is expected,'” Mayor Evans said.

The mayor helped start a youth advisory council and a restorative teen court program as a student.

At 23, he launched his political career, becoming the youngest member ever elected to the city school board. While there, Evans started considering how students’ issues stem from their neighborhoods. He ran for a seat on City Council in 2017.

It wasn’t enough. Evans yearned for more. His final pitch to voters in the mayoral race? “We can do better.”

Doing better in 2021 meant gaining control over gun violence.

“I think in Rochester, we have got so many different silos, and it’s hard to get the coordination,” Evans said at a meeting with violence intervention specialists that year, a month before he was sworn in as mayor. “One of our goals is collaboration.”

Evans landed quick wins among some supporters by following through on those early conversations.

He quickly acted to expand the city’s Office of Violence Prevention and invest in community-led initiatives targeting victims and perpetrators of shootings. Gun violence reached an all-time high just before he took office; last year firearm-related deaths fell by 29 percent, and total homicides are down by 32 percent.

Evans rubber-stamped a pilot program paying a small group of residents $500 a month, no-strings-attached, to examine how the payments might combat poverty, and offered free financial education to hundreds of others who applied but didn’t make the cut.

The city is selling new homes at affordable rates to reverse decades of redlining. Last summer, the mayor expanded hours and introduced mental health programming at recreation centers while funding several programs for youth.

He said his team is focused on innovation. “This is what I seek to do,” Evans said. “Provide opportunity so that we can have hope.”

Evans isn’t receiving unanimous praise. Critics find his silence on other issues a source of the division he promised to mend. When the credibility of a still-new Police Accountability Board wavered because of publicized staff conflicts two years ago, the mayor passed the buck to City Council instead of advocating for order in an agency he fought for.

Amidst Rochester’s affordable housing crisis, Evans has wholeheartedly endorsed the establishment of a prospective Business Improvement District in the downtown area. Critics argue it will lead to rent spikes in an already costly market and contribute to gentrification.

Some residents question whether the mayor is just another politician in a city full of politicians or if he is willing to listen and act on their concerns.

We asked, you answered: Malik Evans

Two weeks after Thanksgiving, the shelves at Sweet Ida Mae’s Food Pantry were left with slim offerings.

“We’re still getting caught up,” Devon Reynolds said as he walked into the Dewey Avenue storefront, the room toasty from a space heater murmuring near the doorway.

In the last few weeks, Reynolds had fed hundreds. The pantry gave away Thanksgiving baskets and hosted a hot, day-of meal with all the fixings ― while still maintaining its regular work supplying Rochester families with the boxes of pasta and cans of formula they need to keep their bellies full.

It’s fitting that when asked about the mayor, Reynolds is standing amongst evidence of the city’s rampant despair. He calls politics a wicked game in that way.

The Rochester barber and community advocate can’t help but believe the stereotype: Elected officials feel beholden to their financial backers while forgetting about the regular people who make the city hum.

The median household income in the Dewey Avenue neighborhood where he works is $32,360. Reynolds said people there don’t have the extra cash to curry favor with politicians. Instead, their power comes through voting blocs, so he hosts political forums each election season to try and encourage people to cast an informed vote.

Evans’ ties to local unions and corporations left Reynolds hesitant on Election Day 2021. He was ready for a change in leadership, but the mayor and other local officials were scrutinized by activists the year prior for accepting money from Rochester’s police union.

Could he put aside his political relationships to work for the people? Reynolds wondered.

(Evans later donated the money to a fund set up by Black Lives Matter organizers.)

“It’s really hard to criticize (the mayor) because you know his roots,” Reynolds said, referring to the elder Evans’ legacy. “You know that deep down, he cares because he was taught to care. But politics is politics, and I just don’t want to see him fall victim to that.”

When shootings dipped last year, Reynolds saw a brighter future.

He credits the mayor for listening to and investing in community led prevention efforts. He wants to see the same energy applied toward fighting hunger and rising housing costs, particularly for renters. “As a product of the city, it’s his role and his job to advocate for us,” Reynolds said. “I know that he has to play both sides of the aisle ― but we really need advocacy on our end.”

Rachel Crawford took a chance on Malik Evans.

Crawford says the independent bookstore she owns on University Avenue, Akimbo Bookshop, is political ― all bookstores are because what people read shapes their politics, she says. Akimbo is small in square footage, but through its literary selections, the mind can travel worldwide through a social activism lens rooted in revolution.

Hailing from South Jersey, Crawford relocated to Rochester 13 years ago, driven by the prospect of enhanced education and a more inclusive, welcoming environment for her son. Since her arrival, she’s become part of a community where art and activism blend.

Crawford was a familiar face in the aftermath of the Daniel Prude saga; she stood on Jefferson Avenue while activists demanded justice for Prude from City Hall. Many people beside her would also find themselves inside Akimbo Bookshop’s original location on East Avenue.

On Jan. 4, 2023, a fire broke out in a neighboring restaurant, causing severe damage to Akimbo and forcing Crawford to close the location permanently. “I had just got my sign up,” she said.

Crawford’s insurance didn’t cover the fire, but a crowdfunding campaign comprised of customers and supporters raised over $30,000 to put Akimbo back in business. That’s the kind of relationship Crawford has with her patrons, and it’s why she feels comfortable saying that a majority of them were ready to dump former Mayor Lovely Warren after Prude’s death and give Malik Evans a shot.

Fast forward to 2024, and that group of voters, Crawford included, feels slightly disappointed by Evans’ rhetoric or lack thereof.

“The most important thing a person has is a platform and a voice,” Crawford said while sorting through a new shipment of books inside Akimbo.

She reinforces her commitment to the community by regularly showing up and speaking at City Council meetings. “I do not feel like anyone is listening to their constituents,” she said.

Crawford is disheartened by Evans’ apparent lack of public support for the Police Accountability Board and Good Cause legislation drafted to shield tenants from unjustified rent increases and retaliatory or discriminatory evictions.

To secure her vote for a second term, she’s looking for Evans to advocate for affordable housing, engage with small businesses’ concerns, and tackle food insecurity.

The bookstore owner understands that the mayor can’t do it all alone, but she wants Evans to speak up.

“Malik has a respected position of power,” Crawford said. “When Malik endorses something, whether he can pass it or not himself … him endorsing something immediately changes the landscape of that issue.”

The mayor’s voice was loud and clear in early January when he called an impromptu press conference at City Hall to denounce the actions of the city’s contracted ambulance service, AMR.

Evans came across a video revealing AMR paramedics forcing a city resident, who was experiencing difficulty breathing, to leave one of its ambulances Nov. 30 during transport to the hospital. The press conference and the prompt call for an investigation into the incident adhered to Evans’ commitment to transparency, a principle he emphasizes as a cornerstone of his administration.

“City residents are people, and they deserve to be treated humanely and with the same attention as anyone else,” he said.

When it’s time for Malik Evans’ next campaign, how will the city treat him?

— Kayla Canne reports on community justice and safety efforts for the Democrat and Chronicle. Get in touch at kcanne@gannett.com or on Twitter @kaylacanne.

— Robert Bell is a multimedia journalist and reporter at The Democrat & Chronicle. He was born in Rochester, grew up in Philadelphia and studied film in Los Angeles. Follow him at @byrobbell on X and @byrobbell on IG. Contact him at rlbell@gannett.com.

This article originally appeared on Rochester Democrat and Chronicle: Mayor’s job is to speak up for people. Is Malik Evans loud enough?