Breonna Taylor. Elijah McClain. Philando Castile. George Floyd. Eric Garner. Robert Fuller. Terence Crutcher. Sandra Bland. Stephon Clark. Amani Kildea. Maurice Gordon. Oluwatoyin Salau. Isaac Woodard Jr. Tamir Rice. Emmett Till. Merci Mack. Michael Brown. Trayvon Martin. Natasha McKenna. Michelle Cusseaux. Tanisha Anderson. Shantel Davis. Kendra James.

Say their names.

As I began writing this summer, I sat looking at the houses in my neighborhood preparing for July 4th. The celebration of American ideals. The celebration of “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness”. For so many of the people I see decorating their homes with red, white, and blue, the American Dream is alive and well. For them, this holiday represents a land of opportunity, equality, and new beginnings. That is my own mother’s perception of the United States. She is a White woman with a Black son. She has seen her son achieve his dreams of playing Division 1 college basketball and attending the best school in the nation. But what she does not know is that last week while protesting yet another killing of an innocent Black man, I was nearly hit by a truck and murdered in broad daylight. She does not know that last week someone said to me “Go home n*gger!” while I peacefully held a sign that said “Justice 4 Breonna”. She does not know that I get followed in the store. She does not know that when I go for my daily run around our neighborhood I intentionally wear a Princeton shirt because it makes me feel “less threatening” to our White neighbors.

The ideology of the American Dream is spoken of often. To be completely honest, I myself believed in it for the majority of my life. I used to watch the history channel and idolize the men who founded the country. I would recite, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” to impress my grandfather. I would draw American flags for my mom as a kid. I used to wear an American flag bandana on my head while I played games with my dad. We were proud to be American. I was proud to be American.

I never thought of myself as White or Black. I was American. Of course, I knew my parents looked nothing alike but I didn’t think about race then. I didn’t even realize what race really meant in this country until I was around eight or nine years old. It was at that age when kids started asking questions about why I didn't look like my mom: “Why aren’t you dark like your dad? Are you adopted?” ... I didn’t fit in. I never fit in. I feel like I still don’t. I was a nerdy athletic biracial kid. I never had a community. I was too White to hang out with the Black kids and was too Black to fit in with the White kids.

As I grew, I quickly realized that people would perceive me as Black regardless of who my mother was. I remember being the only Black kid in my classes for years. In fifth grade, we were learning about the U.S. and began learning about slavery. My White teacher stopped in the middle of talking about how slaves were beaten and turned and asked, “Elijah, how do you feel about slavery?”. I was 9 years old. The only Black person, the only Black child, in the room and in a moment was made to feel alienated by a grown woman who essentially asked how I felt knowing that my ancestors were brutalized. My classmates giggled. The plight of Black people was funny to them. Slavery was funny. Kids would make jokes and call me a slave. This did not happen in 1860. This did not happen in 1960. This was in 2008. The same year that a Black man became president. This did not happen in the South. This was in Freehold, New Jersey, just 35 minutes from Princeton’s campus.

I never forgot that day. I never forgot the things those kids said to me. For my White classmates it was just a joke. The fact that I didn’t know my ancestral background was funny to them. Making jokes about how they were surprised I had a father was funny to them.

Things people said to me before then were often subtle but suddenly nothing felt subtle anymore. As the years went by, racism went from being something that I learned about to something I experienced firsthand. Sadly, this is the life I live today. I can do everything right and never make a mistake. But if I get pulled over by the wrong officer, my life can be taken for no reason (Philando Castile). If I am walking at night with my hoodie up, I can be murdered and it would be justified (Trayvon Martin). I can be in my backyard on a cell phone and shot 20 times (Stephon Clark). I can be found lynched in front of a government building and it may or may not be investigated (Robert Fuller). I can work a full day helping others then go to sleep in my own bed and be shot by the police (Breonna Taylor).

These are just a few instances of what can happen to an innocent Black person in America. All of which have gone unpunished. The late Congressman John Lewis had Emmett Till to make him want to fight for change. I had Trayvon Martin. For many of you reading this it may have been Breonna Taylor or George Floyd. The common misconception is that these people died as martyrs, and died for change. This is NOT true. None of these people signed up to be Black and murdered. They were fathers, sons, daughters, sisters. They were people; people just like you and I. They should NOT have had to die, to be amongst more countless Black deaths, in order to drive the main stream acknowledgement of systematic racism with the United States.

Simply put, I do not want any more people to be murdered for the crime of living while Black. I do not want to be murdered for the crime of living while Black. So, I will continue to spread the message that Black Lives Matter. I will continue to urge you to register and vote in EVERY election to create change. I will continue to help my community. I will continue to educate myself and others. I might even take Congressman John Lewis’ past advice and get into some more “Good Trouble”.

As a nation, we were founded upon the concept that “All men are created equal” but that has never really been true has it? People believe that this is some sort of political argument. Not a thing I have spoken about thus far is political. This is not a Democrat versus Republican issue. There should be no sides to take. There should be no debate. This is about basic human rights. What myself and so many others are asking for is simple. It is something that is written in elementary school classrooms around the nation, “Treat others as you would want to be treated”.

Let me be clear, I am not saying the lives of others do not matter. I am simply saying that it must be acknowledged that Black people are disproportionately affected by police brutality. It must be acknowledged that Black people are disproportionately put in prison. There is a problem, but it is a problem that WE can fix. Together, we have the ability to change the systematic oppression that was born in 1619. It may be uncomfortable but it can be done.

Every person has the ability to change the world. USE YOUR VOICE because YOU matter. I matter. My sister’s life matters. My father’s life matters. And Black Lives Matter.

I love you. Let's keep fighting for equality together.