In Dear Martin, a novel about racial profiling in the United States, Nic Stone demonstrates that skin color has no bearing on an individual’s personality or moral character. The fact that Justyce, the novel’s protagonist, faces police brutality despite his credentials as a model student and upstanding citizen suggests that young black people are in danger of discrimination regardless of who they are. When Officer Castillo violently arrests Justyce without cause, readers see that he’s jumping to unfair conclusions. If he were to take stock of the situation, he would learn that Justyce is only trying to keep his drunk ex-girlfriend, Melo, from driving. Instead, though, Castillo judges Justyce for being a young black man in a hooded sweatshirt, using these insignificant aesthetic details to justify a violent response. According to Castillo, Justyce’s looks overshadow his character or accomplishments, and it is because of this unjust outlook that Stone calls attention to the ways in which racists make superficial generalizations about black people. These are the kind of unfair generalizations, Stone argues, that enable bigots to weaponize unimportant characteristics that have no true bearing on who a person truly is.
In the novel’s opening scene, seventeen-year-old Justyce McAllister becomes the target of racial profiling. A white police officer named Tommy Castillo sees him walking at night and follows him simply because he’s a young black man wearing a “hoodie.” When Justyce comes upon his ex-girlfriend Melo and tries to stop her from driving because she’s been drinking, Castillo descends upon him, assuming that Justyce is antagonizing Melo. “Don’t you say shit to me, you son of a bitch,” Castillo says, punching Justyce in the face when he tries to explain what’s going on. “I knew your punk ass was up to no good when I saw you walking down the road with that goddamn hood on.” It’s worth stopping to consider this sentiment, since Castillo has just admitted that he formed an unfavorable assessment of Justyce’s entire moral character based on his clothing. According to Castillo, any black person walking at night in a hooded sweatshirt is a dangerous “punk” who’s “up to no good.” And if it’s not already obvious that Justyce’s race is a factor in this moment, Castillo makes this clear when he says, “I know your kind: punks like you wander the streets of nice neighborhoods searching for prey. Just couldn’t resist the pretty white girl who’d locked her keys in her car, could ya?” If Justyce were white himself, Castillo wouldn’t reference Melo’s light skin. But because he is black, Castillo casts judgment on his clothing, assuming the worst of him without bothering to accurately evaluate the situation.
Justyce’s encounter with Castillo takes him by surprise, since it’s the first time he’s experienced such blatant discrimination. Considering his respectable personality and values, he finds it bewildering that someone would see him as a threat. After all, he has worked hard to avoid a life of crime and violence, dedicating himself to securing a solid education at a prestigious prep school, which has protected him from having to associate with gangs. Now, though, nothing about him seems to matter except the color of his skin and his choice of clothing. “I apparently looked so menacing in my prep school hoodie, the cop who cuffed me called for backup,” Justyce writes in his diary. In response to this unanticipated encounter, Justyce finds himself reexamining the way other people see him. Before coming into contact with Castillo’s unfair assumptions, he didn’t feel the need to scrutinize his appearance. Now, though, he realizes the only thing that “matter[s]” to bigoted people like Officer Castillo is what he looks like.
The most upsetting consequence of Justyce’s encounter with Officer Castillo is that it destabilizes his own sense of self. Reflecting upon the incident, he thinks about Shemar Carson, a young black man whose name has made the national news because he was recently gunned down by a white police officer. Shemar was 17, unarmed, and a good student, but the officer claims to have caught him stealing a car. “I dunno,” Justyce writes in his diary. “I’ve seen some pictures of Shemar Carson, and he did have kind of a thuggish appearance. In a way, I guess I thought I didn’t really need to concern myself with this type of thing because compared to him, I don’t come across as ‘threatening,’ you know?” In this moment, Justyce considers what it means to be “threatening.” He goes on to note that he doesn’t “sag [his] pants” or “wear [his] clothes super big.” As he makes these observations about himself, readers see that his experience with racial profiling has forced him to turn a critical eye on himself. What’s more, he has evidently internalized the racist stereotypes that people like Castillo use to mistreat African Americans, referencing “thuggish appearance[s]” as if the way people dress has anything to do with their morality and character. Of course, this isn’t the case, but Justyce’s encounter with Castillo shows him that appearances are the only thing that racists take into account—a depressing fact that devalues Justyce’s accomplishments and admirable qualities. By spotlighting the superficial aspects of racism, then, Stone urges readers to consider how unfair it is to reduce a person to nothing more than clothing and skin color, neither of which indicate anything substantial about a person’s character.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Appearances and Assumptions ThemeTracker
Appearances and Assumptions Quotes in Dear Martin
Justyce can hear the approaching footsteps, but he stays focused on getting Melo strapped in. He wants it to be clear to the cop that she wasn’t gonna drive so she won’t be in even worse trouble.
Before he can get his head out of the car, he feels a tug on his shirt and is yanked backward. His head smacks the doorframe just before a hand clamps down on the back of his neck. His upper body slams onto the trunk with so much force, he bites the inside of his cheek, and his mouth fills with blood.
“Officer, this is a big misundersta—’’ he starts to say, but he doesn’t get to finish because the officer hits him in the face.
“Don’t you say shit to me, you son of a bitch. I knew your punk ass was up to no good when I saw you walking down the road with that goddamn hood on.”
So the hood was a bad idea. Earbuds too. Probably would’ve noticed he was being trailed without them. “But, Officer, I—”
“You keep your mouth shut.” The cop squats and gets right in Justyce’s face. “I know your kind; punks like you wander the streets of nice neighborhoods searching for prey. Just couldn’t resist the pretty white girl who’d locked her keys in her car, could ya?”
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, an eventual law degree, and a career in public policy.
Sadly, during the wee hours of this morning, literally none of that mattered.
I dunno. I’ve seen some pictures of Shemar Carson, and he did have kind of a thuggish appearance. In a way, I guess I thought I didn’t really need to concern myself with this type of thing because compared to him, I don’t come across as “threatening,” you know? I don’t sag my pants or wear my clothes super big. I go to a good school, and have goals and vision and “a great head on my shoulders,” as Mama likes to say.
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.
SJ: Sorry. It’s just—you’re completely oblivious to the struggles of anyone outside your little social group.
Jared: Whatever, SJ.
SJ: I’m serious. What about the economic disparities? What about the fact that proportionally speaking, there are more people of color living in poverty than white people? Have you even thought about that?
Jared: Dude, Manny drives a Range Rover.
Manny: What does that have to do with anything?
Jared: No beef, dude. I’m just saying your folks make way more money than mine.
Manny: Okay. They worked really hard to get to where they are, so—
Jared: I’m not saying they didn’t, dude. You just proved my point. Black people have the same opportunities as white people in this country if they’re willing to work hard enough. Manny’s parents are a perfect example.
SJ: My point is I’ve seen you commit the same crime Shemar Carson had on the “criminal record’’ you mentioned.
Jared: Whatever, SJ.
SJ: I know you’d prefer to ignore this stuff because you benefit from it, but walking around pretending inequality doesn’t exist won’t make it disappear, Jared. You and Manny, who are equal in pretty much every way apart from race, could commit the same crime, but it’s almost guaranteed that he would receive a harsher punishment than you.
Me: Well, either way it went, I was sayin somethin’, you know? Staying woulda been a statement of solidarity with these guys I grew up with—and who look like me. Leaving was a different statement, and the fact that I chose to do it with a white guy who was dressed as a Klansman…well…
Let’s observe, shall we? I’m ranked number two in our class, I’m captain of the baseball team, I do community service on weekends, and I got higher test scores than Justyce . . . yet he got into Yale early action, and I didn’t. I know for a fact it’s because I’m white and he’s black.
Now say you have a black guy—not Justyce, but someone else—whose single parent’s income falls beneath the poverty line. He lives in a really crummy area and goes to a public school that has fifteen-year-old textbooks and no computers. Most of the teachers are fresh out of college and leave after a year. Some psychological testing has been done at this school, and the majority of students there, this guy included, are found to suffer from low self-esteem and struggle with standardized testing because of stereotype threat—basically, the guy knows people expect him to underperform, which triggers severe test anxiety that causes him to underperform.
[…]
Now erase the two backgrounds. We’ll keep it simple and say GPA-wise, you have a four-point-oh and he has a three-point-six. Test scores, you got a fifteen-eighty, right? Well, this guy got an eleven-twenty. Based on GPA and scores only, which one of you is more likely to get into a good college?
It’s like I’m trying to climb a mountain, but I’ve got one fool trying to shove me down so I won’t be on his level, and another fool tugging at my leg, trying to pull me to the ground he refuses to leave. Jared and Trey are only two people, but after today, I know that when I head to Yale next fall (because I AM going there), I’m gonna be paranoid about people looking at me and wondering if I’m qualified to be there.
“So check this out,” she said, rotating the screen so he could see it. “The Myth of the Superpredator” was the title of the article. “The gist of this: back in the nineties, some big-shot researchers predicted that the number of violent crimes committed by African American teen males would skyrocket in the years to follow. The ‘leading authority’ on the matter dubbed these potential criminals superpredators.”
[…]
“Fortunately, the prediction was incorrect,” she went on. “Crime rates among youth plummeted.”
He smiled. “Okay . . .”
“Unfortunately, it seems the fear of young black guys created by this research is alive and well.”
“You coming over here asking us to help you use a black girl IS a big deal, Blake. That’s not to mention you tossin’ the n-word around like you own it.”
Blake: You don’t own it any more than I do, bro. Nobody owns words. I’d think you’d know that as someone “smart enough” to get into Yale.
Manny: All right, y’all, let’s calm down before this gets outta hand.
Justyce: It’s already outta hand, Manny. Your boy Blake is a racist.
Blake: What is it with you people and the goddamn race card, huh?
Justyce: We people. You realize Manny is one of us people too, right?
Blake: Except Manny’s got some sense and doesn’t make everything about race. Why don’t you loosen the hell up?
“That’s what it was like for me at the new school. Everybody saw me as black, even with the light skin and green eyes. The black kids expected me to know all the cultural references and slang, and the white kids expected me to ‘act’ black. It was a rude awakening for me. When you spend your whole life being ‘accepted’ by white people, it’s easy to ignore history and hard to face stuff that’s still problematic, you feel me?”
“I guess.”
“And as for you, the only way you’re gonna thrive is if you’re okay with yourself, man. People are gonna disrespect you, but so what? Guys like Jared don’t have any bearing on how far you get in life. If you know the stuff they’re saying isn’t true, why let it bother you?”
“[…] My point is the world is full of guys like Jared and that employee, and most of them will never change. So it’s up to you fellas to push through it. Probably best not to talk with your fists in the future…” He nudged Manny. “But at least you have an idea of what you’re up against. Try not to let it stop you from doing your best, all right?”
He rubbed both of our heads and got up to leave.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, Martin. Frankly, it’s pretty discouraging. To think Mr. Julian has all that authority and still gets disrespected? Hearing it made me realize I still had hope that once I really achieve some things, I won’t have to deal with racist BS anymore.
That’s obviously not the case, though, is it?
“[…] Look, Jus, people need the craziness in the world to make some sort of sense to them. That idiot ‘pundit’ would rather believe you and Manny were thugs than believe a twenty-year veteran cop made a snap judgment based on skin color. He identifies with the cop. If the cop is capable of murder, it means he’s capable of the same. He can’t accept that.”
