My cousin Rob was 25 years old. He’d recently gotten out of prison. He was working and supporting his wife and two little daughters. He worked the night shift and would stop at a fast-food drive-through to get a bite on his way home every night. The last time, there were “skinheads” (that’s what we used to call white supremacists) there. They were in the car ahead of him, and they robbed the cashier. Rob tried to back up, but there was a car behind him. He tried to turn left, there was a wall, and on the right was a curb and a heavily landscaped area framed with bricks. He had no escape. The skinheads were getting away but stopped to kill my cousin. Rob was unarmed. They shot him three times in the chest. He bled out before help could arrive. Rob was black. He left behind two baby girls, his mom and family who loved him. His life mattered.