Nic Stone Reminds Us That All Young Black Boys Need is to be Seen and Supported.

In the sequel to her New York Times bestselling novel, Dear Martin, Nic Stone reminds us of something that I felt was missed in the initial novel: that sometimes we are not any better than the people who treat us bad. Just as Justyce was profiled and treated badly by Officer Castillo, he did the same thing to Montrey and the Black Jihad, and more so Quan, whose story it is we are made aware of in the sequel, Dear Justyce.

In her Author's Notes, Nic Stone writes that the hardest thing about telling this story was knowing that the most fictional part is the support Quan receives. She writes, re: the liberties she took to bring this story to life, that "It is [unlikely] that Quan would have such a solid team of people - friend, caseworker, therapist, teacher and attorney - rallying around him." And that was the part that made the book all the more gutting for me, the fact that in writing a book that highlights how differently things turn out when a young Black teenager is given a chance and treated like a human despite his environment, the author had to rely on fiction even though the book is rooted heavily on real stories and testimonies.

The reason I joined the Black Jihad: I needed backup. Support without judgment. People who hadn’t—and wouldn’t—give up on me. I needed a family.

The original novel, Dear Martin, tells the story of Justyce McAllister who, after a harrowing incident of racial profiling from a racist cop, starts to examine his position in life as a Black person and writes letters to Martin Luther King Jr. to see if he has it in him to think like the iconic social justice activist. In Dear Justyce, however, we meet a young man named LaQuan Vernell Banks Jr., whom we had previously met in Dear Martin where he was arrested for having murdered a cop: the same cop who had profiled Justyce. Quan reaches out to Justyce because while they grew up in the same neighbourhood and were friends for a little while, Justyce was able to "escape" the clutches that their environment traps other young men in, and Quan believes that Justyce understands him and what he's going through after having dealt with Castillo's blatant racism.

Through these letters and a story that begins in childhood, we are able to see the man in Quan that many people do not: a young man whose childhood gets stolen from him when he witnesses his Father being arrested and manhandled by cops, an event that triggers not just the PTSD and anxiety he fails to pin, but his yearning for a family that once was when in the midst of all that happens, his Mother unravels and forces Quan even deeper into the abyss of terrible decisions.

There's so much I wish I could touch on, like how the parallels between Justyce and Quan's stories are blatant and are causes for a deep unpacking, but limitations, limitations.

I have shared Nic Stone's Author's Note because it sums up everything I wish I could about this book; how it is so different from DEAR MARTIN, and how visceral one feels getting to know Quan: a person who, had he received help and support at a young age, would have turned out to be an individual capable to rival even Justyce and his Prep School friends. All he needed was for someone to see him, to protect and guide him. Unfortunately, not that many kids in the hoods get that.

Nic Stone's Author's Note reads...

This is the hardest book I’ve ever written. From the research to the content to the painful pieces of my own past I found myself unintentionally mining, Quan’s story took more out of me than I knew possible to pour into a piece of “fiction.”

I put fiction in quotes because despite this being the most fictionalized book I’ve done thus far, it felt the most non-fictional as I was working on it. In truth, I know more Quans than I know Justyces. More boys—and girls—doing their best to just stay out of trouble in a world that seems bent on shoving them into it. Kids, mostly poor, African American, and living in less than ideal circumstances (euphemistically speaking), who experience their first suspension from school and are said to have “behavioral problems” before they reach double digits in age. Classic school-to-prison pipeline. Look that up.

I spent time in juvenile detention facilities interacting with the kids who are being held there, and hearing their tales of downward slide. Many of them had stories like Quan’s: an incarcerated parent, deeply traumatic home lives, and limited resources for survival, let alone situational improvement. Most of the decisions they made—especially the ones that landed them in detention—were rooted in desperation: A seventeen-year-old who joined a gang after his dad left and his mom slowly unraveled; he got tangled up in drug use to numb the hurt he didn’t know how to deal with, and eventually committed a gang-related murder. A fifteen-year-old who was being bullied and eventually got fed up and shot the bully in the head. A kid whose parents would boost him through the windows of houses so he could let them in for the robbery. And the one who keeps winding up back in detention because she takes her ankle monitor off whenever she gets out and is placed on house arrest.

Many of the kids I’ve met know they’re going to be locked up for a long time. Most of the girls have been sexually abused or trafficked (and they are all under eighteen). I’ve met a couple of boys who have pregnant girlfriends awaiting their release.

All this to say: the stuff in this book is very real.

I did take a few fictional liberties. For instance, Justyce likely wouldn’t have been able to visit Quan in the facility. In the state of Georgia, visitation is limited to immediate family, significant others, and attorneys. Were he truly incarcerated here in Georgia, he would’ve been permitted to send two postcards per week unless his family provided additional stamps. It is also unlikely (unfortunately) that Quan would have such a solid team of people—friend, caseworker, therapist, teacher, and attorney—rallying around him. Which was the hardest thing of all about telling this story: knowing the most fictional part is the support Quan receives.

But I think we can change that, dear reader. No matter how young or old you are, we all have the power to positively impact the people around us before they get to the point Quan did. Sometimes all it takes to bring about a shift in direction is knowing there’s someone out there who believes you’re valuable. That you have something positive to offer the world.

If you’re a reader who hasn’t had a person like that in your life—someone who looks at you and sees good things—please, please, please know that I do. I don’t have to meet you to know that you are infinitely valuable and that you have something no one else on earth has to offer the world. Because you are the only you.

If you’re a person fortunate enough to have people who believe in you, pay it forward. The majority of the people you interact with are fighting some kind of battle. Sometimes a smile or a genuine “Hey, how are you?” has the power to move an emotional mountain. A listening ear can make a day, and an “I believe in you” could completely change a trajectory.

Anyway. I’ll stop there. Thank you for reading, and please don’t forget: you are wildly important and have a lot to offer no matter how you feel. Resist when the world tries to convince you otherwise.

This letter broke my heart, but it also made me realise that we, as readers and people who make up a community, are very much capable of doing and being better people so that we do not aid in the creation of people like Montrey, like Quan, and all the kids who've lost their future trying to belong in places that make them feel safe because their environment did not.

Read this book. Tell people to read this book.