You are a student in Germantown High School. On a recent Thursday morning, you arrive in class and are told not to take your seat, because the class is going to an assembly. You're ushered into the stairwell, where the black-ink territorial markings of gangs like the Brickyard Mafia (BYM) adorn the walls, and on into the auditorium. There are a lot of other students here. Your friends. Your enemies. Your crush.

At the front of the room, a motley assortment of adults sits panel-style at a table. These folks want to hear from you, says the radio talk-show host who controls the microphone, but first, some of them are going to say a few words—which always seem to begin with them telling you where they're from and what sort of trouble they've been in. "If I can change, you can change," a couple say, and you roll your eyes. One tells you he lived for a few years in Germantown. You don't see what the big deal with that is. Everyone you know is from Germantown.

Eventually, students are invited to speak. The cocky and the crazy from your class approach the podium, but before the first girl finishes, the radio host confronts her about snitching—and everything goes to pieces. Students are tired of being told to talk to police, and they hoot and boo. When a kid named Isaiah says "silence is a part of our unity, that's the only option they give us," you applaud; maybe you even get a little mad. Yeah! Why does everyone always blame you? But as you start to hear familiar refrains—people don't listen when we talk, the war in Iraq sets a bad example, they put too many guns on the streets—your thoughts drift off. Is your crush looking at you?

The end of the assembly cuts off your reverie. As you wait for your section to be called, a reporter asks you if you'd gotten anything out of this session. You shrug.

Early last month, state Rep. Dwight Evans (D-Phila.) announced a 10-year plan to eliminate youth homicide—an ambitious goal in Philadelphia, where almost 15 percent of this year's 346 homicide victims were 18 or younger, according to the Daily News. Evans' plan will have several components, but one of the most visible will be a social-marketing campaign, similar to anti-smoking campaigns like "the truth," aimed at educating juveniles against violence.

"Whenever we've fundamentally wanted to make changes, we've used a form of social marketing," Evans says of his decision to commit about $500,000 over the course of a year to public relations. But, as demonstrated by the recent forum at Germantown High School (which was not under the umbrella of the 10-year plan), communicating public-health messages to teens can be terribly difficult. Kids reject almost anything that strikes them as "corny"—which most public-health messages are—and many are too caught up in the day-to-day business of adolescence to worry about big-picture problems anyway.

The group charged with getting these teens' attention is Motivational Educational Entertainment (MEE) Productions, a company that specializes in designing marketing campaigns for urban and low-income populations. MEE was founded in 1990 by a Wharton grad named Ivan Juzang and now has offices in four cities. Last week, Vice President Alicia Jackson sat amidst the awards, old campaign materials and Martin Lawrence movie posters in the company's Philadelphia office, at 12th and Callowhill streets, and explained her approach to the youth-violence issue.

MEE prides itself on designing "research-based" campaigns: Rather than begin with preconceived notions about how to reach its audience—say, trying to come up with an "uncorny" ad campaign—the company begins with the audience and works backwards. So, Jackson says, MEE conducted focus groups at recreation centers in North, South and Southwest Philadelphia to see what young minorities talk about when they talk about violence. Their results suggest that, more than drugs or poverty, the ability and willingness to employ violence is tied in with respect and self-esteem.

"Half of [the violence] is about nothing. The other half is about pride," said one young man in a focus group. "You want to be the next person that everybody knows and fears."

"It's mostly for the audience," said another, "because two people by themselves are not going to fight."

Jackson explains that her target population—low-income minority youth—responds best to oral (as opposed to written) communications, which means it best absorbs information in the form of arguments and counterarguments. So if the prevalent argument on the street is "violence is the only way to earn respect," MEE either needs to convince teens to forfeit the respect of their peers—a nearly impossible proposition—or identify alternative ways of earning admiration.

To that end, Jackson has been thinking of co-opting the image of the street "soldier," a term currently used to describe someone willing to be vigilantly violent.

"We want to take that to another level and talk about it from a warrior's perspective," she says. MEE is testing the slogan, "A warrior knows when to put his weapon down."

But Jackson emphasizes that catchphrases will only constitute a portion of MEE's effort. The company also plans to identify "peer educators" to train and send out into their communities, and to reach out to adults, who were repeatedly criticized in focus groups for being insufficiently engaged with youths.

"This is not a kid issue," Jackson says.

She pulls out a draft of a poster with the slogan, "The Power of One," accompanied by pictures of different adult "types" offering excuses for why they don't get involved with troubled youth. This idea, too, is still being tested, but the idea is to encourage all adults in Philadelphia to think of youth violence as their problem, and start mentoring, getting involved with schools and setting a better example.

If it's hard to get public-health messages directly to kids, MEE reasons, maybe they can change adult behavior, and influence kids that way.

MEE's campaign will roll out in February with radio and hip-hop magazine ads, and then MEE will try to gauge reaction and reiterate its message through community forums and more focus groups. Jackson takes pains to say that this is not a cut-and-dry ad campaign, and that changing any learned behavior, be it smoking or violence, is a complicated process. In the end, though, the campaign will come down to a simple question: Will the kids from Germantown High School buy it?

Would you?