How Dare the Sun Rise: Memoirs of a War Child

by Sandra Uwiringiyimana

I learned how black parents would warn their kids to be careful around the officers, because a black kid could get shot for simply running down the street. I learned how black parents would advise their kids to keep their driver’s license somewhere accessible, so they wouldn’t have to dig deep for it, lest the cops think they were reaching for a gun.

But in America, my skin color did define me, at least in other people’s eyes. I was black. I was black first, and then I was Sandra.

The people who shot the bullets were part of a cycle of hate that they had been taught since they were born. Hate killed my sister, and I didn’t want to be part of that cycle.