How Does 'Dear Justyce' Address Racial Injustice In The Legal System?

As someone who reads a ton of YA fiction, 'Dear Justyce' hits hard with its raw portrayal of racial bias in the legal system. The book follows Quan, a Black teen caught in a cycle of systemic oppression from school suspensions to wrongful incarceration. Nic Stone doesn’t sugarcoat—she shows how minoritized kids get labeled 'problem students' early, funneling them into the school-to-prison pipeline. The courtroom scenes are brutal; Quan’s public defender barely fights for him, while white kids with similar charges get plea deals. The letters between Quan and Justyce reveal how even 'good' Black boys like Justyce are one misstep away from Quan’s fate. What stuck with me was the detail about Quan’s handwriting—deemed 'too neat' for a 'thug,' exposing how stereotypes dictate credibility.

'Dear Justyce' dissects racial injustice through intersecting narratives that mirror real-world disparities. The legal system here isn’t just flawed—it’s weaponized. Quan’s story begins with a school resource officer treating him like a suspect during a routine locker check, planting seeds for future police interactions. Stone contrasts this with Justyce’s Yale-bound trajectory, showing how class and respectability politics create false divisions among Black youth.

The courtroom chapters are methodical in their horror. Prosecutors use Quan’s rap lyrics as 'evidence,' a practice that’s actually happened in trials. His overworked defender misses critical details, while the judge dismisses racial bias claims with a wave. Stone also highlights the psychological toll—Quan’s letters describe how incarceration scrambles your sense of time and self-worth. The most devastating thread is how the system manipulates plea bargains: Quan’s cousin takes a deal for a crime he didn’t commit because public defenders push Black clients toward quick 'solutions' that seal their records.

What makes this novel groundbreaking is its use of multimedia. Newspaper clippings about real police shootings appear between chapters, anchoring Quan’s fiction in our reality. The ending isn’t neatly hopeful—it shows how exoneration doesn’t erase trauma, and how the legal system never truly releases its grip on marginalized bodies.

Reading 'Dear Justyce' felt like watching a documentary spliced with poetry. Nic Stone frames racial injustice through intimate details—like Quan being tried as an adult at 14 because the system sees Black boys as inherently older and more dangerous. The book exposes how 'objectivity' in courtrooms is a myth: forensic analysts misinterpret data, eyewitnesses misremember Black faces, and jurors equate hoodies with criminal intent.

Stone also tackles the myth of meritocracy. Justyce, despite his Ivy League acceptance, still gets harassed by cops. Their parallel stories prove that education and diction won’t save you from racial profiling. The novel’s structure amplifies this—Quan’s handwritten letters show his intelligence, but the legal system only accepts this proof post-conviction. It’s a gut-punch commentary on who gets believed and when.

The most innovative element is how Stone writes systemic bias into the prose itself. Legal documents use cold, dehumanizing language ('the defendant exhibited aggressive tendencies'), while Quan’s letters burst with vivid humanity. This stylistic clash makes you feel how the law erases personhood. Unlike many issue-driven YA books, this one refuses redemption arcs—the system stays broken, leaving readers sit with that discomfort.