I can’t seem to find the words to make people understand – really understand – that the accepted fear of a man, not in particular clothing but in particular skin, is how we got to a bullet in the chest.
Listening to NPR today, a panel began a meandering discussion which at one point had a young black man stating that he understood that he might scare people. He continued to explain that he didn’t think it meant it was ok, but everything in his explanation made me cringe for him. Made me think of all the ways he could try not to be what he wanted to believe the fear was based on. He could dress in a suit and not a hoodie. He could sing country music lyrics and not Lil Wayne. He could be meek and mumbling to a stranger who felt justified in following him for no reason and not assert his right to not be harassed.
And he would still be black.
And if he were in the wrong place at just the wrong moment, in a state with seeming “get out of murder law” on the books, he would be dead. Dead like 17-year-old Trayvon.
The thing is, his clothes aren’t really the problem. One of the strongest memories I have of my father is almost 20 years old. Lost in the jumble of his face at my volleyball games and teaching me about nature on walks through creeks, an elevator ride sticks out. We were in his office building, where he was the manager of the child support division, and he was dressed in a three-piece-suit. It was a bright day and I was chatting away. A white woman appeared at the elevator door, child in tow and my father, smiling, held the door for her.
She clutched her daughter to her chest and refused to get on the elevator with us in broad daylight, in a state office building, with my father clad in his three-piece-suit and me, his teenaged daughter, by his side. It is still a fresh wound for me all of these years later – seeing my dad through the eyes of a stranger.
It wasn’t his hoodie that inspired her fear, he wasn’t wearing one.
I wish I could get people to understand that although Trayvon was a good kid with no record, that isn’t the point. Would it be ok for Zimmerman to have shot an unarmed teen in the chest if he had been carrying a bag of skittles and an ice tea as long as he had a record? The problem isn’t that he shot a good kid- the problem is that he shot a kid at all. That he shot unprovoked. The he shot against the instructions of the police. That he shot a “they” that was really only a him…a man-child who will never get to be a man.
The problem is that he shot a young black man and it appears to be of no legal consequence.
This tragedy is finally receiving some attention. The questionable response of the Sanford police department has been brought to the attention of the state of Florida and the FBI. Finally, this heartbreak has reached the attention of the masses.
Enter the debates.
Amid all of the talking and outrage, I want to make sure we are tackling the issue. Trayvon is a victim of the issue – not the issue itself.
The conflation of blackness and danger is at least part of that issue and so pervasive “that driving while black”, and now “walking while black”, are valid concerns for people of color. By simply occupying black skin a person must navigate a world hostile to danger (real or perceived) and therefore hostile to them.
This notion can’t be fixed with blogs or pleas to see the humanity of six and a half million black men. It doesn’t mean we should stop talking, but more than words have to change. Systems have to change if there is hope of changing minds.
A friend’s FB thread began an argument that the fed’s should jump into local jurisdiction and “fix” this case. My desire to work through the system was met with derision.
No one cares so why wait for justice?
I’m not naïve. I don’t want to wait idly by for justice, I want a unified us to point out the cracks in an ailing system as it is dealing with this tragedy. I want us to be vocal and mindful and vocal some more so that errors and shortcomings can be corrected. Because sometimes we have a short attention span, and sometimes there isn’t an electronic trail that tells the story so compellingly…and in the absence of sweet kid with a spotless record we might not be as motivated to unite and cry and demand justice.
But if we watch the system now… Watch it while we are collectively outraged. Watch it while it creaks and moans and shows us its broken parts (like an apathetic police force and an alibi-law), justice might happen be served, now and in the uncertain future.
And while nothing can make the death of Trayvon ok, a legacy of justice in the lack of the injustice done to him, might be the closest thing.
Trayvon 2012: where good intentions collide
I don’t believe America has to be perfect before we can reach out to help other nations any more than i believe i must be perfect before i can reach out to help another person. Hinging help on perfection will leave us all lost. Still, the reaction to Trayvon Martin’s murder reminds me of how important it is to understand situations. Not simply the broad strokes…but the details that make it beautiful and gruesome and sometimes, maybe too often, deadly.
A week or two ago Kony 2012 dominated the headlines and I, like millions of others, engaged in discussions on the merits and missteps of that campaign. It hit me close to home not only because i remember hearing and reading about the LRA and the kidnapped children of Uganda back when it was first being reported, but because my work –until recently- was international public health; I lived and worked in Uganda for a year (and in Liberia and South Africa before that).
I never intended to disparage the campaign’s creators personally, or even the organization, my concern with the campaign was far more general. I worry about the approach we take as nations and NGOs and well-meaning citizens of the world, without fully understanding that even the best intentions can have unintended consequences that do harm.
There has been a murmur of – if not support for, then- defense of Zimmerman, the man who fatally shot the unarmed 17-year-old in the chest. The he was simply watchful of his neighborhood. He cared. I don’t share that view, but it almost doesn’t matter (almost). It almost doesn’t matter because vigilant or vigilante, Trayvon is still dead, his young gaze peering out from the shadow of a hoodie locked forever in a photo. Even if you can muster belief in Zimmerman’s “good intentions” it doesn’t negate the horror those intentions wrought.
A friend posted an article discussing the unwritten rules of blackness, things black children are taught by their parents to help them successfully navigate…at the very least uninjured…through life in America. The resulting thread – a multicultural hodgepodge of people – included surprise and shock that this separate “life curriculum” exists. But the rules rang familiar in my ears.
Although Americans (mostly) speak English and are exposed to the same media, whole portions of the population have different understandings of what it means to live in America. And yes, of course there will always be diversity and difference. Noone can know all things – understand all things…but in the scope of our global village fellow US residents are local, and Trayvon’s murder illustrates how differently Americans experience our home.
Another friend was disgruntled by my critical reaction to Kony 2012. He explained how he and colleagues spent a morning looking for Uganda on a map and discussing child soldiers (he admitted he didn’t watch the entire video). I am puzzled how we feel, not only qualified but justified, in deciding what happens in East Africa when what most people know of fits inside a 30 minute commercial for an NGO.
It is that understanding – or lack of- that I trace back to Trayvon. His murder has many moving parts, outrage at the tragedy is well placed, but fixing it…(I’m sure his grieving family would scoff at the notion)? Fixing not just this one case, but creating sustainable change in the future so there aren’t any more Trayvon’s – immortalized only in photos because they were taken too soon. Fixing it requires understanding beyond emotion.
It requires us to understand context, the where and laws and history. It requires us to understand local/state/federal boundaries and the chain of command. And beyond our borders it requires us to be obsessively inquisitive, to acknowledge cultural differences, to accept our answers may not be best.
While I am thrilled to see more people engaged in discussions about the world we live in, my hope is that we are able to move through our gut reactions, our tears, our rage. My hope is that we learn to channel those feelings indo deeper understanding of our world and the nuances that make it vivid and interesting. I hope the measure of success for social campaigns – both international and domestic- is more than how viral a video goes, how many westerners can do geography, and how many people sign a petition.
If it were as easy to “save” others as watching a video or signing a name in electronic ink, people would have saved themselves.
Don’t misunderstand me, symbols are powerful. One million hoodied people (or hundreds) marching through New York City is a symbol of unity in grief and determination just as 70 million views is a symbol of piqued interest. But life and atrocities are more than fashion and geography.
It is essential to entwine symbolic gestures with knowledgeable action. It is about working in tandem, in teams. It is about respecting people’s agency…be they Ugandan grassroots advocates and survivors or black man-child(ren).
That doesn’t mean there is not space for anyone else in the fight for freedom from tyranny and injustice; on the contrary, it is about ensuring there is space for the aggrieved and ensuring that good intentions lead to good and sustainable solutions, that our dread and disappointment are able to make a discernible difference that doesn’t divide.
In the meantime, what can Americans do: