Reasonable Doubt

I realized what kind of hurt I've been feeling this afternoon when a White client of mine asked casually, “How was your weekend?” I paused. “Fucking terrible,” came to mind, but that's not exactly acceptable client-caseworker decorum. Finally, I replied with “Busy.” He continued to make small talk as we walked to my cubicle, but I wasn't listening. My mind was occupied with how heavy that question was. This stranger simply asked me how my weekend was. That's it. And not a single response was enough to encompass this past Saturday.

I didn't watch the Zimmerman trial. It was on while I was at work, so I couldn't catch the livestream. I hate the news, so I refused to watch it there. And I'm painfully empathetic, so watching it really would've just been another way for me to treat myself unkindly. When a friend text me to let me know the jury had reached a verdict, I rushed to the television.

The fact that George Zimmerman's acquittal didn't surprise me may be due to my pessimism. I knew he wouldn't be found guilty of his crime. Maybe that's part of why I didn't watch the trial. All was for naught, and I knew it. In my heart where I know my parents love me, I knew he would walk away from that courthouse a free man. I just didn't believe it.

I didn't want to believe that I still live in a country that doesn't place value on my life. I didn't want to believe that my brother lives in a country that has no regard for him as a human. I didn't want to believe that all my great uncles and aunts protested for in their youth was never realized. I didn't want to believe that at an institutional level, we as Black people are not judged by the content of our character. I couldn't afford to think that way. It would have broken my heart much long ago and I wouldn't have recovered. I would have been hopeless and remained that way.

But I don't have to just believe it now. I know it. I know that no matter how educated or attractive or charming or respectful or submissive or affluent or pious I will ever be, it will never be enough to supersede the deep-seated racism and prejudice of these United States. The first time my parents told me that because of my Black skin and kinky hair, I would have to work twice as hard to be half as good as my fairer peers, it pushed me and I excelled. This verdict took me back to that night in seventh grade I cried to my mother because I knew I'd done all I could, but my teacher never rewarded me like she did my classmates. I left that conversation empowered.

The melodramatic, ugly cry that followed the announcement of George Zimmerman's freedom is unlike any I have ever experienced. I sobbed in my living room because I didn't know what else to do. My tears came from somewhere I didn't know was there. They were earth-shattering, heart-wrenching, painful tears for the life a boy that meant everything to a few and absolutely nothing to the powers that be. Those tears were for the lives of the little boys just like him that are still here to face this utter disregard for their existence as anything other than prisoners and corpses. Those tears were for the women that birthed them and raised them and love them as they love themselves. Those tears were for the people so apathetic to the gargantuan role that race plays today that they don't care to even attempt to understand the implications of this verdict. Those tears were for those too uninterested to concern themselves with working to change things. Those tears were for those that weren't moved to act by that verdict.

In my eyes, the way my generation responds to this will forever define us. This cohort of lazy geniuses and self-centered activists has got to do something. We have to fight for something. We have to build something. There are no other options.

My question is and will remain, “What did you do?” When a jury of six mothers decided unanimously that a White man who profiled, stalked and murdered a teenager on his way to from the store with nothing but Skittles and Arizona tea was not guilty of murder, what did you do? When the man that walked free forty-four days after hunting and slaughtering someone's baby and was only charged because of the hell we raised was found to have done no wrong, what did you do? When you found out that George Zimmerman was free to go home to his wife and parents with the gun he used to end the life of a high school kid that had just gotten off the phone with his girlfriend, what did you do?

I hope you protested. I hope you organized. I hope you made your self aware of the legal way to arm yourself. I hope you worked on strengthening your community.

What did you do the day they reminded you that your Black life is worth nothing?