Everyone has been following the Trayvon Martin story, right? If you haven't, get caught up on it here and here. (Or, go to cnn.com and it's likely you'll see the latest updates.) The case of Trayvon Martin and the issues of racial profiling, age discrimination, and gun laws are important to me primarily because of the students I teach - my students can relate to all of this and they have opinions about it. I love my kiddos and I want to protect them. But, I also care about this because I care about justice for Trayvon and for his family. And I care about justice for Zimmerman. (What does justice for Zimmerman look like? What about mercy? Is there room for forgiveness, room for racial reconciliation here?)
The quick version is this: Trayvon Martin was a 17-year-old black teenager from Sanford, Florida. He was shot and killed by a Latino man, George Zimmerman, who served on the neighborhood watch patrol. One of the controversies surrounding this case is Zimmerman's claim that he shot Trayvon out of self-defense, but in the investigation that followed, Trayvon was found to be unarmed - he was wearing a hoodie and carrying only a bag of skittles and iced tea. Did Zimmerman feel afraid because Trayvon was a black young man wearing a hoodie and walking around at night, carrying the heavy burden of all the stereotypes that come with being born an African-American male? I don't know, and honestly, I don't want to explore the details of the case or make a presumption as to what exactly happened. That's for a jury to decide (on April 10th). I just pray for the people in that court room, for the families, and for racial reconciliation and peace in our country.
I want to talk instead about something that happened a couple days ago in an affluent neighborhood in Washington, D.C. I was sitting at a table at a coffee shop in Capitol Hill near Union Station with a friend, just chatting away and enjoying the afternoon. I happened to glance to my left at some point, and I noticed a young African-American male with a hoodie over his head. I remember him, I think, because it seemed a little warm outside to be wearing a hoodie. Perhaps his image stuck in my head just because he just reminded me of the hundreds of images of Trayvon that had been flashed across screens in the past few days. For a split second, I felt my guard go up, like I was somehow 5% less safe with him walking a few feet from me. He looked a little out of place for 'this part' of the city. After that split second, ... "Damn, Kelley. That's exactly what this whole conversation about the Trayvon case is about - you're judging this kid because he's black and you're white and he's a guy and you're a girl and you're afraid because he's got a hoodie on and that looks scary. Who are you to feel unsafe? Who are you to judge him and what he's about?" A wave of self-loathing came crashing down in a matter of seconds. I thought three years in a social work program (i.e. all my classes were about diversity appreciation and self-awareness and tolerance and empowerment) and another couple years living as a minority in my neighborhood and place of work - I thought that after all that, surely I wouldn't haphazardly judge some random kid who wandered into a coffee shop. Besides, I don't feel unsafe when I see black or Latino teenagers and young adults walking along the streets of my neighborhood. Why did I feel a little unsafe in the coffee shop?
Then it happened. The scream. She screamed loudly and I heard a bang. I didn't see it - my chair was facing the wall. But my friend was facing the windows and the street and he saw it all. It couldn't have been more than a minute after I had racked my brain for an explanation for my judgment towards the kid that he lunged at the woman sitting at a table near the exit of the coffee shop and snatched her laptop and bolted out the door. The bang was from him slamming his fists down on the table to grab it. The scream was from her shock-- from her fear and her anger. I think I stopped breathing for a moment. While my brain was trying to make sense of it all, the coffee shop employee jumped over the counter and sprinted after the hoodied-kid. From our table, we saw the chase progress up F Streeet (right next to Union Station and the Capitol). I don't know if the barista actually caught the kid, or if the kid thought it probably wasn't looking too good for him to be getting chased at full speed in this particular area of town and just gave it up. Regardless, the barista walked humbly back in the coffee shop with the woman's laptop not more than 4 minutes later.
The woman tried to catch her breath as she cried rushed, confused, scared tears.
The police arrived 2 minutes later.
The hoodie-kid got away, I think.
The barista was quiet. Humble. And he went back to work.
Trayvon was wearing a hoodie.
So was this kid.
What am I supposed to think? Feel?
The quick version is this: Trayvon Martin was a 17-year-old black teenager from Sanford, Florida. He was shot and killed by a Latino man, George Zimmerman, who served on the neighborhood watch patrol. One of the controversies surrounding this case is Zimmerman's claim that he shot Trayvon out of self-defense, but in the investigation that followed, Trayvon was found to be unarmed - he was wearing a hoodie and carrying only a bag of skittles and iced tea. Did Zimmerman feel afraid because Trayvon was a black young man wearing a hoodie and walking around at night, carrying the heavy burden of all the stereotypes that come with being born an African-American male? I don't know, and honestly, I don't want to explore the details of the case or make a presumption as to what exactly happened. That's for a jury to decide (on April 10th). I just pray for the people in that court room, for the families, and for racial reconciliation and peace in our country.
I want to talk instead about something that happened a couple days ago in an affluent neighborhood in Washington, D.C. I was sitting at a table at a coffee shop in Capitol Hill near Union Station with a friend, just chatting away and enjoying the afternoon. I happened to glance to my left at some point, and I noticed a young African-American male with a hoodie over his head. I remember him, I think, because it seemed a little warm outside to be wearing a hoodie. Perhaps his image stuck in my head just because he just reminded me of the hundreds of images of Trayvon that had been flashed across screens in the past few days. For a split second, I felt my guard go up, like I was somehow 5% less safe with him walking a few feet from me. He looked a little out of place for 'this part' of the city. After that split second, ... "Damn, Kelley. That's exactly what this whole conversation about the Trayvon case is about - you're judging this kid because he's black and you're white and he's a guy and you're a girl and you're afraid because he's got a hoodie on and that looks scary. Who are you to feel unsafe? Who are you to judge him and what he's about?" A wave of self-loathing came crashing down in a matter of seconds. I thought three years in a social work program (i.e. all my classes were about diversity appreciation and self-awareness and tolerance and empowerment) and another couple years living as a minority in my neighborhood and place of work - I thought that after all that, surely I wouldn't haphazardly judge some random kid who wandered into a coffee shop. Besides, I don't feel unsafe when I see black or Latino teenagers and young adults walking along the streets of my neighborhood. Why did I feel a little unsafe in the coffee shop?
Then it happened. The scream. She screamed loudly and I heard a bang. I didn't see it - my chair was facing the wall. But my friend was facing the windows and the street and he saw it all. It couldn't have been more than a minute after I had racked my brain for an explanation for my judgment towards the kid that he lunged at the woman sitting at a table near the exit of the coffee shop and snatched her laptop and bolted out the door. The bang was from him slamming his fists down on the table to grab it. The scream was from her shock-- from her fear and her anger. I think I stopped breathing for a moment. While my brain was trying to make sense of it all, the coffee shop employee jumped over the counter and sprinted after the hoodied-kid. From our table, we saw the chase progress up F Streeet (right next to Union Station and the Capitol). I don't know if the barista actually caught the kid, or if the kid thought it probably wasn't looking too good for him to be getting chased at full speed in this particular area of town and just gave it up. Regardless, the barista walked humbly back in the coffee shop with the woman's laptop not more than 4 minutes later.
The woman tried to catch her breath as she cried rushed, confused, scared tears.
The police arrived 2 minutes later.
The hoodie-kid got away, I think.
The barista was quiet. Humble. And he went back to work.
Trayvon was wearing a hoodie.
So was this kid.
What am I supposed to think? Feel?
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