Amid Calls for Independent Investigation on Discrimination Claims, Former HCMC Violence Intervention Leader Breaks Silence

Editor’s note: This story has been updated to reflect additional input by Hennepin Healthcare after the story published.

For more than two decades, Farji Shaheer dedicated his life to serving Minneapolis communities from within the walls of Hennepin County Medical Center (HCMC). Rising from the hospital's dietary department to become a founding architect of Minnesota’s first hospital-based violence intervention program. But what began as a career rooted in healing and hope ended in heartbreak and, ultimately, erasure.

"Imagine being asked to create something, and then being placed into a room where you're asked to sign a document stating you didn't create it," Farji said. "It was disheartening. I felt devalued for all the experience and knowledge I brought into Hennepin County."

So after 23 years of service, Farji left HCMC in 2023. He says the Next Step Program he helped build — designed to support victims of gun violence and disrupt cycles of retaliation — was gradually taken from him under the guise of institutional restructuring and buried under unsubstantiated claims. The work continued, but Farji said without the vision, relationships, or authenticity that made it effective.

"The individuals placed into the seats after me didn’t learn what it takes to build genuine bonds with people in the community to help them refrain from violence," Farji said. "Sending someone to the hospital doesn’t solve the problem, it plays into a larger plan for our population."

Broader Claims of Systemic Racism

Farji’s story echoes the themes brought by other HCMC employees, alleging racism and retaliation at HCMC. Civil rights attorneys and health care advocates are demanded a full, independent investigation into the claims, which Hennepin Healthcare says it will be doing.

"It can be traumatizing on top of degrading and devaluing," he said. "You pour your heart into being a catalyst for change, and instead of support, you're broken down by the very system you’re trying to fix."  

Farji feels the deeper issue is systemic exploitation. He points to a disturbing financial dynamic: every time a gunshot victim is admitted, the hospital may receive upwards of $400,000 in reimbursement. "If violence prevention works, the system loses money," he said.

Hennepin Healthcare calls that assertion harmful and said, "We are reimbursed based on the care we provide but it has always been the core of our mission to serve all, regardless of their insurance or ability to pay."

Beyond his personal experience, Farji sees a broader pattern of Black professionals being marginalized within systems they were brought in to reform. Despite his credentials, including more than 4,000 hours of direct psychiatric patient care and a mental health professional designation, he says he was ultimately pushed aside when it mattered most.

"As a Black man, sometimes you're afraid to tell your truth because you're scared it won’t be accepted. You're scared it might ruin your life. But right now, I have no fear. I have no financial gain from telling my story. I just want the community to understand exactly what's happening."

That truth, Farji says, includes the hospital’s alleged attempt to repurpose violence prevention funding to support diversity and equity initiatives. Instead of expanding community-rooted services, Farji says individuals unfamiliar with the affected communities were brought in.

"It was the money," he said. "Not my behavior. Not my leadership. The moment DEI became a funding opportunity, they wanted me out. Not to build with me but to replace me."

Hennepin Healthcare would not comment on Farji's experience, calling it a personnel matter, but did defend its management of the Next Step Program, saying it works closely with a community advisory board composed of survivors, health care providers, local organizations and violence prevention experts.