13th of July

It is no wonder
So many brown-skinned young men
are angry as hell

(c) Chandra Montgomery 2013

"Despicable Me": Race, Resentment, & Trayvon or Open Letter to Some of My White Friends

I have been feeling and saying for a while now that the least sympathetic figures on the face of the planet are black men (read also ‘boys’). It is a sobering, heart-wrenching reality that I have watched play out for many years; from the Rodney King beating and resonant betrayal of its ‘not guilty’ verdict to the criminalization of six young men in Jena, Louisiana -- and now, a verdict that has exonerated George Zimmerman of any criminal wrongdoing in the murder of 17 year old Trayvon Benjamin Martin. The verdict has rocked many of us to the core, not because we didn’t see it coming – but because it reaffirmed an anguish and despair that reaches far and wide. It rests silent and still among skeletal remains on the floor of the Atlantic and hangs in a collective racial memory that is refreshed every February with the remembrance of Emmett Till.

You see – black folks are tired. In fact, we are downright weary at the relentless siege on our boys and men.

I am not a criminal jurisprudence expert, but what seems clear to me – beyond the malfeasance of law enforcement in Sanford, FL and the piss poor performance of the prosecution team in this case – is that perhaps - tragically, ‘not guilty’ is the only verdict at which those unenviable white female jurors could have arrived. What we now know is that the laws and statutes of Florida will undoubtedly always favor the aggressor in the use of deadly force (except you know, when it doesn’t - like the case of Marissa Alexander). Notwithstanding the absurdity of Alexander’s sentence – Florida’s pro-gun, pro-deadly force, Stand-Your-Ground posture is a legal, moral, and cultural issue with which the people and legislature of the Sunshine State must contend. And so, the injury – pain – outrage – horror – atrocity of Trayvon Martin’s fate and George Zimmerman’s subsequent delayed arrest and criminal trial is the pervasive, repugnant impulse on the part of so many to not only give Zimmerman the benefit of the doubt, but to actually demonize an unarmed teenager who was senselessly and needlessly approached, provoked, and murdered. This is not conjecture – there is audio to support this position. Just as there was damning video in the case of Rodney King.

What is so distressing to me is the glaring unwillingness, on the part of some, to acknowledge and address the substance of the racial dimensions of what happened 16 months ago. What aches is the certain knowledge that so many white Americans, with whom my demographic has grown up, studied, worked and in many instances grown close to - appear to default to a position of convenient amnesia. There have been expressions of contempt and a dismissive devaluation of Trayvon Martin’s life that is hard to wrap my head and heart around. I have seen more compassion bestowed upon shelter dogs than this poor dead child. He has been labeled a “thug” and painted as a threatening menace who essentially asked for the fate he was dealt. The impulse to identify and sympathize with an aggressor who at the very least suspected, followed, approached, and incited an innocent teen (innocent – you know - as in, he was just walking in the rain, minding his business, not committing a crime or carrying a weapon) before he drew his firearm and shot him dead seems to me unconscionable. The shameful suggestion that race did not factor into the equation. The fervor and swiftness with which folks jumped at the opportunity to malign a kid; to hint or outright assert that he got what he deserved. The need to transform Trayvon in death from a slain teenager into the quintessential, negative black male archetype (read also ‘stereotype’) – brooding, threatening, violent, and angry…well, it’s enough to turn my stomach. And I am truly tired of it. I am tired and at this point outraged at the lack of humanity and injustice shown to this college-bound pup of a man and his grieving family.

As the mother of a recent high school graduate, it’s safe and quite appropriate to refer to him as a kid or child. That is exactly how I view the young men with whom my daughter has grown up and matriculated through school. They are teetering on a tightrope between childhood and manhood – making their way, but none of them strike me as men. Not one. They are white, black, Asian, Hispanic and despite their height and deepened voices, in so many ways they are still boys. And did I forget to mention - there is facial hair, for goodness sake? It actually makes me giggle… and yet – they are babies, still. Experimenting with all manner of adult intrigues: sex, alcohol, drugs – you know, the kind of shit that virtually everyone experiences to some extent during their ascent through adolescence. Surely we must all remember.

Except that is not the judgment and compassion that I see exacted on the memory of this slain boy. No – instead, there is the quick presumption of culpability and a piercing vitriolic indictment of this crime’s victim that hums with racially charged undertones. Pulitzer-prize winning columnist, Eugene Robinson, spoke to the perilous tightrope that black boys must traverse in a recent Washington Post editorial. Young black men who are still evolving and growing seem somehow denied the latitude that their white friends so easily enjoy. Trayvon: the menacing, despicable “thug” because his fight/flight instinct engaged exactly as it was supposed to at the sign of threat and hostility that was demonstrated by Zimmerman (this too, audio recorded). Funny though, the last time I checked, thugs don’t pose for pictures while their dads kiss them on the cheek.

I am not the mother of a black boy, but I am an auntie to three and a godmommy to five (two officially – three unofficially). It is a devastating blow to know in real-time HD the kind of world these beautiful, smart, funny, imperfect little boys will face…if they make it. That they will encounter hostility and preconceived notions about their character and intentions. That they will almost always be perceived as a threat. That they will never get the benefit of the doubt. That their accomplishments will be tarnished by the speculation of unmerited favor. That their stumbles will be enlarged by the pronouncement of inevitability. This is what despair feels like. And for the majority in the U.S. – you will never know this kind of pain; these cycles of hopelessness and helplessness. You don’t have to wonder what it’s like to occupy any other subject position than your own. And quite frankly it seems as if you could not care less. It’s not necessarily an indictment; I recognize that your position of superiority wasn’t achieved by fault or merit. It simply is what it is.

Understand this: black people in particular are angry, hurt, and disgusted at the response to the verdict more than the actual verdict because we are tired of being told that our children’s lives don’t matter. We are tired of the excuses. We are tired of being written off. We are tired of the betrayal of this country’s promise. The very country that was built on our [ancestors'] free labor backs. We are tired of being told to get over it. We are tired, friends. Tired. Tired. Tired. We are tired of being fed the bullshit narrative about how easy it is to be us and about who we are and what we hold dear. We are tired of the notion that somehow at the core we are somehow “less than”. You know… “black people…, smh”. We are tired of everyone talking about how much we need to have an honest, open conversation about race and the racial disparities that persist -- and yet the conversation remains perpetually paused. We are tired of being accused of playing the race card while the defense team asserts that if George Zimmerman had been black, there would not have been a trial. Really??? That’s the bullshit we get? Here’s a little smack of reality. Watch just ONE episode of “First 48” on A&E and then get back to me on whether or not there would have been a trial. And then, imagine if you can the parallel universe wherein a George “Jenkins” could have killed an unarmed “Tyler” Martin with a similar outcome. Imagine calling a 17 year old, unarmed white boy a “thug” and saying with smug arrogance that he got what he deserved. If right now, you find yourself making excuses or adjusting the hypothetical dynamics because certain aspects would have most certainly had to be different. Well, then… that is exactly the point.

Black folks are not a monolith, but on this I am fairly certain: We. Are. Tired. And we are tired of that damned invisible knapsack that so many pretend doesn’t even exist.

But this is not about white guilt or black rage. This is about understanding. Our combined legacies are fraught with so much tension and angst; it is hard to imagine how we get through this. It’s hard to imagine how we grow from this. How do we heal? How can we? I do not have any answers but for once, I wish that folks I have come to like and respect would stop disappointing me with this narrow, fictional view of the world. That you would seek to understand where I come from and how I feel. Please, do not default to divisive theories and suppositions of conspiracy, race-baiting and a defensive stance that works to negate the truths of my experience. In the end, we may not agree, but for once – just stop and listen. The criminal absolution of George Zimmerman is over. It’s done. It doesn’t mean he isn’t responsible or that he was truly justified in his actions to take the life of another. But the chapter – unlike the wound it left raw and gaping – is closed.

My sister and her husband had a conversation with their sons (8 and 11), my precious nephews, in the immediate aftermath of the verdict:


“So, Dad – it’s kinda like that scene in The Dark Knight, right? When Alfred tells Bruce Wayne that he has to endure, even though it’s really tough?”

“Yes – you have to endure, and have the mental strength of a superhero – because if you don’t…”

“Someone might kill me?”

“Yes”


That is a pain many of you will never know. And I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But it’s reality is something upon which all of us should reflect and consider. Perhaps that is the first step toward healing.

(c) Chandra Montgomery, 2013