About Time

Today, George Zimmerman has been charged with 2nd degree murder in the death of Trayvon Martin. Today, George Zimmerman has turned himself in. Today doesn't feel like a victory. A child is dead and the justice system may as well as killed him. It is a justice system that allows regular citizens to wield guns in their cars as if all people on Earth are certifiably sane. It is easier to get a gun than it is to (legally) get a driver's license. It is, also, a justice system that allows people to say they feel threatened even when they, themselves, are the threat; even when they, themselves, stalk a young man (too tall to be called a boy, I suppose) with a car; even when they, themselves, disobey the police; even when they, themselves, get out of their car with a gun; and I repeat, even when they, themselves, are the threat.

A man, slowly following you through a neighborhood, at night, gets out of his car with a gun. What would you do? Adrenaline tells us to fight or flight. Trayvon, a human being in the eyes of the law, of God, did what anyone might have thought to do-- defend himself. So even if Trayvon did reach for the gun, as Zimmerman says, that would mean it was visible and out in the open. Everyone knows that if you have a gun out in the open, you better know how to use it. Trayvon, from Miami, would know that rule. Trayvon, from Miami Gardens, would know the real danger a gun poses.

Given the grasping straws that we call facts in this case, it only made sense to, at least, arrest the guy. And, today, we finally have that arrest but the police didn't do it; Zimmerman did it himself. So, no, it doesn't feel like justice has been served. All I feel is that now I can stop holding my breath only to drag in oxygen before clamming up again because I don't think, given the shoddy work of the Sanford police, that Zimmerman will get that conviction-- not of 2nd degree murder.

And, should he get released, it's guaranteed that all hell is going to break loose.

QoMV

A (Un)Healthy Dose of Fear

Amandla aka Rue

I'm tired of talking about race. Tired of having it occupy my mind. Tired of having fear furrowed inside the fiber of my being. But I must admit, after recent news happenings regarding the Trayvon Martin case, an Iraqi woman's death filled by hate in California, and the world wide whine (click the link, it's an enlightening read) about the movie casting of a character found within the imaginings of a fictional book, I'm a little scared.

Growing up in the 80s/90s in a very decent neighborhood had allowed me a certain level of naivety. Oh, I knew racism existed but I thought it was just in pockets. Common sense would tell you that all Black people are not evil and all Middle-Eastern folks are not terrorists. Technology has given voice and, in some cases, anonymity, to those filled with ignorance and the ability to use a computer. And the ignorant follow blindly behind the ignorant. That doesn't bode well for our future.

Twitter Hate on the Hunger Games Casting of Rue

As I said on Facebook: You would think I would be used to this. But, strangely, I'm not. It still hurts. But it also makes me all the more determined. Hate over the Hunger Games. Smh...just leaves me to ask the question, what's a Black life worth? Surely it should be the same as a life. Period. What does color truly matter? It's less than a 1% difference in the DNA. 


But I've got to realize that racism is taught and tolerance isn't and, if it is, it's, sometimes, taught with a blithe sense of superiority: "This is our duty to help the poor starving Black children of Africa..." Sigh. I'm just so tired of it all but it doesn't seem to be going away. 

Black is not a disease. It is not an impairment. It is not a disability or a disadvantage. It is just another level of difference to the outer layer, the surface of a person. Not all that different than having blue or green eyes, red or blonde hair. It's a mutation that evolution saw as advantageous. Guess evolution didn't plan on some mammals obtaining and retaining a prehistoric-reptilian-sized barbaric brain. I bet these are the same people who profess a love of God, who ask to be accepted because of their sexuality, who plot on bursting through cafeteria doors, wielding high-powered rifles and laying waste to the lives of their peers. It must make them feel worth something to glare at a person with an obvious difference. I have pity for them. But I'm not stupid; I, also, have a healthy dose of fear.


QoMV

Source: tyrawm

Mental (Un)Rest

I wanted to find something else to talk about this weekend other than Trayvon Martin but, until today, the case consumed me-- the injustice, the ramifications, the likelihood that any of my children could be just as affected, the realization that I, as a Black mother, have to have a talk with my sons about what it means to be Black males in this society and that I, as a Black woman, wasn't aware that there was a difference between the two genders.

Unlike the President, I do have a son, two of them. My oldest son could be Trayvon; in fact, with a quick glance, he is. So I'm terrified scared shitless of what the future holds for my children until they cross the line of 25 years old, the year, it seems, when maturity catches up to physicality. My heart is arrested with the possibilities and the uncertainty. There is so much hatred in this world, as well as fear. And, sometimes, justifiably so because, sometimes, especially in certain neighborhoods/cities, the bogeyman is Black.

But I have to wonder if the knowledge of knowing you are guilty by pigmentation does not assist in creating the problem. It hurts to be judge by the content of my skin rather than the content of my character. But, with the news and the stories from Black men detailing similar situations in which they were unfairly regarded as something to fear, I'm realizing Black men have it far worse. It's hard not to have a chip on your shoulder, to not fulfill the prophecy because everyone already thinks they know how the story goes, so why not give it to them. And I'm going to have to somehow let my children know the rule of this game called Life without making them feel less than because of the circumstances of their birth.

How do you do that? How do you tell them to behave less than without making them feel less than? How do you tell them that their difference is dangerous and detrimental to their well-being because of some perceived notion that has nothing to do with them and everything to do with the scary nigger stories told around white/other campfires or the lies laid out in white/other living rooms? Not all, mind you, but enough of them, enough to make cases like the Trayvon Martin tragedy reverberate through Black households all across the nation, inspiring men to reveal the silent degradation they had to endure, inspiring mothers to reveal their fears for their children.

I wanted to talk about something else, to not allow my fear to take hold of my mind, to live as if that day never happened. But it did and I can't talk about much else-- not the GOP's War on Women, not the Miami Heat winning over Orlando or getting slaughtered by Oklahoma City, not even the fact that I'm not sure that I want to continue blogging under this page now that my students have stalked me and now read up on my thoughts (that'll be another post, maybe. I hate the thought of having to censor myself).

The Miami Heat showing support.

This case, well, not a case seeing as how dude has YET to be arrested and, apparently, his whereabouts are unknown (safe for him I suppose. No neighborhood watchman to be on the alert for). Anyway, this tragedy has given me a reason to not sleep at night. I am now a parent who worries about something I can't change:

My son could be Trayvon Martin.

Rest in Peace/Paradise, Trayvon. <3

QoMV