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"Where is Abel thy brother?"

"I know not. Am I my Brother's Keeper?"

—God and Cain (Genesis 4:9)

  
The fighters were twelve or so, and about the same size.
One wore a bright red shirt, and the other a white T-shirt,
stained with dirt and blood.

  
The crowd of boys cheered on their chosen fighter. They
stayed close together, locking arms, to keep the ring intact.

  
Lost in the crowd, among the bigger bodies, was a skinny,
white kid with red hair styled in a buzz cut. He was out of
place in the all-black crowd but held his own, jostling and
shoving with the others.

  
The fighters battled on a dead-end street with a play
ground adjacent to it. Beyond the dead end was an aban
doned field, filled with trash and old, junked cars. It was
midday, and the sun washed the area in hot light.

  
A fierce pickup basketball game was going on at the
playground across the street from the fight. The basketball
players played their game, oblivious to the battle in the
street. These were bigger boys, sixteen to twenty years old,
and basketball was serious business to them. The sweaty
men elbowed and shoved one another as the game drew to
an end.

  
The fighters were in a clinch and punched at each other, 
trying not to let go. The boy in white wiped at his nose,
which was bleeding.

  
"You fucked up this time, boy," said the boy in red to his
opponent.

  
"You stole my bike, you punk ass," said the boy in white.

  
The boy in red pushed his enemy away from him, and
landed a blow on the side of his head. The boy in the white
shirt swung wildly and missed, almost losing his balance.
The boy in red moved in closer and tried to hit the other, but
missed. His opponent punched him in the belly and heard
him yell loudly.

  
"Kick his ass, Moses!" yelled a fat kid to the boy in the
red shirt.

  
"Move, move, Marshall!" yelled the white kid to the boy
in the white T-shirt.

  
The two fighters circled each other, looking for an open
ing. Moses faked a jab, and Marshall jumped back defen
sively. Moses smiled.

  
"How many times do I gotta beat you before you leave me
alone?" asked Moses.

  
"Not this time," said Marshall. He lunged at Moses and
caught him in the chest, knocking him on his ass. Moses
quickly got up and ran at Marshall, kicking. Marshall side
stepped, and the kick missed. Moses moved in closer, throw
ing blows at the other boy.

  
Across the street, a tall skinny boy slam-dunked a missed
shot, and the pickup basketball game ended. Players cursed
and talked trash as money changed hands.

  
One of the players saw the commotion in the street, and
ran over to watch the fight. Soon, the others followed.

  
"I got five on my man in red," said one of the bigger boys.

  
"Shit, I'll take that," said another of the big boys. "What
they fighting about this time?" he asked the white kid.

  
"Moses stole Marshall's bike and sold it to Steve Collins
and them," said the white kid.

  
"Damn," said one of the big boys. "Gimme five on Mar
shall. Whip his ass, Marsh. You can't steal a man's ride."

  
The big boys made bets and laughed as the fight contin
ued. Marshall landed a solid blow on Moses' chin, and the
crowd cheered. Moses dropped to one knee holding his jaw.
He tasted coppery blood.

  
"Give?" asked Marshall.

  
"Fuck naw," said Moses who stood up. "You ain't never
beat me."

  
Moses waded back into the fight and grabbed Marshall in
a headlock. Marshall fell to the ground, taking Moses with
him. The two boys rolled for a moment, then Moses pushed
away and got to his feet. Marshall stood up only to be hit in
the stomach by Moses. Marshall doubled over and Moses
kicked out his leg, knocking the other boy over. Marshall fell
hard to the ground with a loud groan.

  
"Yeah!" yelled Moses as he punched the air.

  
In the crowd, the big boys cursed and exchanged money.

  
"Marsh, your mama's comin'!" yelled the white kid.

  
The smaller boys ran away as a big woman approached
the fight scene. The skinny white kid stayed behind, helping
Marshall to his feet. The woman looked angry as she
stomped her way toward them. Moses didn't move. Mar
shall held his stomach. He was covered in dirt and still
bloody.

  
"He started it, Mama," said Moses. The words were
hardly out of his mouth when the woman smacked him hard
in the face.

  
"You forgot who you was talkin' to, boy. I know you."
The other boys laughed. "Y'all want some too?" asked the
woman.

  
The boys were all silent. Some snickered, but made sure
the woman didn't hear it.

  
The woman went to Marshall. "Both of you get your asses
home right now, before I beat you all over this street!" She
looked at the white kid and said: "And you, Danny, you get
your narrow ass home before I call your mother."

  
The white kid looked at the woman with fear, then ran off
without a word.

  
"Come on," said the big woman. She walked off, and the
two boys followed her. "I swear," the woman continued, "all
the boys in the neighborhood, and you fight your own
damned twin brother."

  
The brothers walked toward their house as the big boys
laughed and high-fived behind them. Some of the boys
called out to the brothers, teasing them about being picked
up by their mother.

  
The brothers walked along barely hearing their mother
yelling at them. They just glared at each other with hatred.

  The crowd chanted loudly outside of Masonic Temple in Detroit. A few snowflakes fell from the winter sky, adding to the white blanket that covered the area. It was January, and the cruel Michigan winter was in full swing. People held their signs and placards high as TV cameras panned the crowd.

  The protestors had come out for Farrel Douglas, associate justice of the United States Supreme Court. Douglas had won his seat on the Court by a narrow margin in a politically charged congressional confirmation.

  Douglas was a black conservative, a badge that he wore with pride, but many in the black community hated him for it. Groups from all around the country had bitterly opposed his appointment. And since he'd been sworn into office, Douglas had consistently voted against affirmative action, minority districting, anti-discrimination laws, and every other liberal measure. He'd also voted for just about every conservative cause that came up to the court. He even wrote the majority opinion in a case that stopped black medical schools from using race in its admission policy.

  The signs in the crowd illustrated a singular dislike of Douglas. Some showed Douglas as a lawn jockey, others showed him with a "mammy rag" tied around his head, still another pictured him in a KKK hood. BLACK RACIST, TRAITOR, UNCLE TOM,  the signs spelled out the hatred and disgust of the crowd.

  Douglas was set to speak at the winter commencement of Wayne State University Law School in Detroit. It was a controversial choice that had brought national attention to the city as well as to the law school. Many other schools and institutions had turned Douglas down for speaking engagements, but WSU's dean had not relented to the pressure. She booked Douglas for the event and had not backed off, despite tremendous opposition.

  Police patrolled the area, keeping the protestors at a legal distance. Secret Service and FBI agents were strategically posted, holding their earpieces and talking into hand microphones.

  On the street, beyond the auditorium, a TV news team interviewed a tall man with a thick black beard. He was dressed in a big overcoat and wore a hat made of African kente cloth.

  ". . . So, we are here to protest this Uncle Tom in black robes!" said the tall man. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth in a snarl, and white smoke puffed out at his every word. "Farrel Douglas is nothing short of a race traitor, a modernday Judas. We are appalled that anyone would bring Farrel Douglas here to Detroit, where we have a black majority."

  "Why is there so much hatred for Douglas in the African American community?" asked the reporter, a pretty Asian woman. "Doesn't he have a right to his opinions as a judge?"

  "Farrel Douglas is not a judge, he is a plague, a vile sickness on our race. He has helped our enemies destroy us, and for what? He wants to be accepted by the white race. But they will never accept him. They are just using him to destroy us."