Kyra Decker

Black and White

When I look at my nephew, I see a young boy who gives hugs that are a bit too tight. It

feels as though his arms are suffocating me, stealing the breath right out of my lungs, but I do not

mind because I know that his embrace is overflowing with love. He is too energetic, the product

of undiagnosed and untreated ADHD, but he channels his energy into soccer and basketball.

When I look at my nephew, I see a twinkle in his eyes that shines with the hopefulness that

accompanies childhood. He does not quite understand the intricacies of this divisive world, and

he is not old enough to understand the importance of politics and the role they will undoubtedly

play throughout his entire life. Sports and the latest TikTok trends are the only things that he

seems to pay attention to. When I look at my nephew, I am fearful. Despite being only twelve, he

stands at nearly six feet tall, creating an illusion that could easily allow for a stranger to mistake

him for an adult. When I drive him home from family gatherings in the dead of night, I watch

how I navigate the roads even more carefully than I would if I were by myself. When he asks me

if he can roll down the windows to feel the crisp wind against his skin, I carefully select the

music that flows out of the booming speakers. I find myself wondering if a simple trip to the

park will become a warzone, and I wonder if the thought ever crosses my brother’s mind. When I

look at my nephew, I see Tamir Rice. I see Trayvon Martin. I see Antwon Rose Junior. I see all

of the black men whose lives have been unfairly taken away from them by people who have

taken an oath to protect their communities. I am scared that he will be perceived as a threat

because of his brown skin. The disproportionate amount of African-American men that have

been wrongfully killed as a result of police brutality fills me with dread from my head to my
toes. Though some refuse to acknowledge it, the racism that courses through the veins of the

justice system is blatantly obvious, liking a glaring neon sign standing out against an ink black

sky. The force of this racism is too powerful, a force that causes little black children to fear for

their lives whenever they have an interaction with a police officer. It is an unspoken reality

among the black community, a mere thought that tickles the back of our brains when we see

police cars pull up beside us in busy intersections. There are people hard at work who wish to

uncover the true injustices of this system, injustices that permeate through every aspect of being

black in America. No matter how much progress is made, no matter how many police are

apprehended for the atrocities that they commit, I will always have that dreadful thought

swimming in the recesses of my mind: will he be next?