Dear Martin (A.K.A., Dr. King)
First and foremost, please know I mean you no disrespect with the whole “Martin” thing. I studied you and your teachings for a project in tenth grade, so it feels most natural to interact with you as a homie. Hope you don't mind that.
Quick intro: My name is Justyce McAllister. I'm a 17-year-old high school senior and full-scholarship student at Braselton Preparatory Academy in Atlanta, Georgia. I'm ranked fourth in my graduating class of 83, I'm the captain of the debate team, I scored a 1560 and a 34 on my SATs and ACTs respectively, and despite growing up in a “bad” area (not too far from your old stomping grounds), I have a future ahead of me that will likely include an Ivy League education. [...]
Sadly, during the wee hours of this morning, literally none of that mattered.
Long story short, I tried to do a good deed and wound up on the ground in handcuffs. [...]
Last night changed me. I don't wanna walk around all pissed off and looking for problems, but I know I can't continue to pretend nothing's wrong. Yeah, there are no more “colored” water fountains, and it's supposed to be illegal to discriminate, but if I can be forced to sit on the concrete in too-tight cuffs when I've done nothing wrong, it's clear there's an issue. That things aren't as equal as folks say they are.
I need to pay more attention, Martin. Start really seeing stuff and writing it down. Figure out what to do with it. That's why I'm writing to you. [...]
I wanna try to live like you. Do what you would do. See where it gets me. [...]
Sincerely,
Justyce McAllister [...]
Manny: Dawg, what is it with you today?
Jared: I'm just sick of people suggesting African Americans still have it so hard these days. I don't care what SJ says, Manny. Your parents are totally proof that things are equal now.
Blake: They really are.
Jared: Right here, right now, on these red hills of Georgia, a son of former slaves and sons of former slave owners are sitting down at the table of brotherhood, dude. The Dream has been realized!
Tyler: Damn, bro. That was really poetic.
Manny: That's from the I Have a Dream speech, T.
Jared: Remember, bro? I had to memorize that shit for our eighth-grade Heritage Play.
Blake: That's right! Token black guy over here got sick or something, right?
Jared: Exactly.
Kyle: You had one job, Manny.
Manny: Shut up, fool.
Jared: I still remember the whole speech.
Manny: That wasn't the whole speech, J.
Jared: Whatever. It was the most important part, and I remember all of it. They put brown makeup on me and everything.
Blake: I remember that, dude! You totally got a standing ovation!
Kyle: See, things really are equal nowadays, bro. A white kid can play a famous black dude in a play, and it's no big deal.
Jared: Exactly! This is a color-blind society, my brethren… people are judged by the content of their character instead of the color of their skin.
Kyle: Right, dude. Like I totally don't even see you as black, Manny!
[Manny laughs at this, but Justyce can tell his heart isn't in it. The statement makes Justyce think about those handcuffs… these fools might not “see” Manny “as black,” but Justyce knows damn well the police would.]
Jared: My brothers, let us raise our Perrier bottles to EQUALITY!
Blake: Equality!
Tyler: Equality!
Kyle: Hell yeah, dude! Equality!
Jared: Manny? You with us, bro?
Everyone: …
Manny: Course I am, bro. Equality!
**CLINK!**