It feels almost as if you’ve heard the plot of a made-for-TV movie about a plucky underachiever with outsized dreams. Old George, eyes sparkling with a desire to improve his community and help people, filled with regret at unrequited teenage dreams of being a Marine. His heart firmly in the right place at all times, desiring nothing more than to become a police officer despite his academic shortcomings.
It is a fascinating exercise, peeling back the layers of a man to get at the intricacies of his personality, warts and all. The public illusions he may project wittingly or otherwise, or the sides aggressively tailored for public consumption and projected by a prosecutor and defense counsel.
Reverend George W. Hall, who knew Zimmerman and his family when George was a child, was asked by the latter to write a letter of recommendation when he applied for admission to the Prince William County, Virginia Police Academy in 2007. “It was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I wouldn’t doubt George for a second,” Hall said, in an interview with The Guardian. And why would he? On frequent trips to his hometown in Manassas, the young Zimmerman excitedly shared tales with the Reverend of a desire to join the police force — to help people.
As a child he had diligently, almost maniacally, shined his boots before bed. He was an altar boy at the Roman Catholic Church in Manassas for 10 years, and at the age of 14 joined the Young Marines, an afterschool club. Even the now infamous Juror B37, appearing on CNN’s AC360, felt that “he had good in his heart.”
Zimmerman, however, did not share stories with the Reverend of his legal troubles in Florida. In 2005, he was charged with resisting arrest and battery of a police officer (the charges were dropped when he agreed to take part in a pre-trial diversion program). A month later he was accused of domestic battery, stalking and harassment by a former girlfriend. Zimmerman was rejected by the Police Academy in 2007. During an eight year stretch, he made 46 calls to 911 to report suspicious activity in his neighborhood. One hundred percent of the calls were about African-Americans, in a community that is 20 per cent African-American.
It is impossible and highly presumptive to enter any man’s head, Zimmerman included. Accusations of obsessive behavior and blanket racism are difficult to substantiate, but impossible to ignore. Yet, the Judge presiding over the case explicitly barred the phrase ‘racial profiling’ from opening remarks by both teams of lawyers. This is a decision that, on an emotional level, is difficult to understand.
Race, and all the ugly implications contained within, is part of an indentured system within the western world, especially America. It makes for squeamish stomachs and clouded minds, touchy and prickly and difficult to analyze all at once. It is the elephant in the room, plain as day, but one that is impossible to be prodded without setting off an absolute firestorm of self-righteousness and accusations of bigotry. But the legal system is founded on cool rationale and clear thinking divorced of emotion. So in that sense, it justifies the Judge’s decision.
The sad part about the murder of Trayvon Martin is that racism, and all that casually applies, had an absolute impact in the young man’s death. We would prefer, as prosecutor John Guy suggested to the jury in his closing remarks, that this case not be about race. We would prefer that justice was indeed colourblind, and this trial was simply seeking justice for a young man carelessly and wastefully swept away by an act of extreme idiocy and cowardice.
Such an assertion is, however, purely a fairy tale. Profiling — whether it be racial, sectarial or based on gender — is a potent and incisive agent of discord and enemy of harmony; and it is alive and well.
Pure bipartisanship and co-operation is usually reserved for moments of unbelievable national tragedy that bridges us all beyond the barriers of racial and religious divides. Snide potshots and name calling, that exhaustive and disquieting aspect of politics that never dies despite an abundance of public disgust, is an area of life one comes to accept and expect regardless of the matter at hand.
That’s what raised eyebrows when Republicans immediately fell in defense of the Obama administration’s global metadata collection of e-mails, Skype calls and other private social media interactions. Such tactics, despite being disingenuous and the first true hailing of an actual Western Big Brother system, were heeded as a necessity towards the maintenance of public safety.
The government’s handling of the situation strained credibility; initially they assured Americans that they didn’t actually read the content of their emails, then that they only tapped accounts of foreign nationals outside the US (but who cares about foreigners, right?), then that the work they were doing was, like, totally necessary and had thwarted an unknown number of attempted terrorist attacks, you guys. In an article for Forbes, Loren Thompson insisted that, at worst, “PRISM presents . . . only modest danger to [American] civil liberties. Its main purpose is to protect those liberties, not to subvert them.”
Moving from Asia to the West has signaled an enormous change in my perspective. In countries where individual freedoms were paid only lip service in the service of religious-based law or governmental autocracy, the idea of actual freedom and protection from persecution is intoxicating. Absolute, complete, and beautiful, freedom is a powerful concept whose reality inspires countless immigrants to dream of transplanting themselves to these shores.
But it is as much a fairy tale in the US and, to an extent, Canada, as it is anywhere else.
People, en masse, are easily motivated or cowed by fear. We are terrified by the idea of a boogeyman popping out of the dark to terrorize us, our loved ones and everything we value and cherish. It is why we so quickly sign up to relieve ourselves of our individuality, anonymity and true freedom. We yield a vital piece of ourselves to buy a little peace of mind, and we do so with open hearts and complete faith in a government we presume to be entirely benevolent.
Edward Snowden, a man who believed in freedom as the inalienable and untarnishable right it is purported to be, was chased out and labeled a traitor to his country. But how do we label a man a traitor to his nation despite his keen desire to uphold the principles that the nation was founded and prides itself on? His self-assuredness and belief in justice and true freedom are characteristics to be celebrated and lauded; yet the rest of us sit back passively, embracing a system and culture of fear, mistrust, and deep divisiveness that has chased a true patriot across the globe.
This over-reliance on governmental oversight and protection fuels placidity and deepens our isolationist tendencies and suspicion of anything different. It becomes impossible to distinguish friend from foe when you suspect everybody, and it is this inability to tell one from the other that drove Zimmerman to kill Martin on a dark night in their Sanford neighbourhood.
Consider Trayvon Martin. A young man, full of life and ebullience, aggression and antagonism, deeply flawed and inherently contradictory, painted by the same divine brush as the equally flawed and inherently contradictory Zimmerman. It is impossible and ludicrous to believe that racial profiling did not play a part in his identification, either to Zimmerman or the public post mortem.
Pictures of ‘Martin’ were circulated on the internet shortly after his murder, mostly tagged to news stories. Shockingly, the pictures were of an African American man in his thirties and covered in tattoos. Not at all the image of Martin — all of 17 years old, a slight build and unmarked. But this was the public’s desired perception of him. People were inclined to believe he was a wannabe thug and criminal-in-training, based on little more than his race, gender, and choice of apparel.
The defense harped on this mental landmark, proclaiming that Martin had a violent streak in him based on little more than text messages they alleged he sent to others, where he discussed (vaguely) about getting into fights and how to fight. In far more explosive allegations, they claimed that Martin had inquired into purchasing firearms, as if this in and of itself was a contravention of the law (especially odd given that the gun at the center of this case belonged to the defendant).
In their infinite wisdom, Fox News invited Harry Houck, a retired NYPD detective, on-air to discuss the prosecution’s case. When asked about the fact that “this little kid” was unarmed saved for the now notorious Skittles and Arizona iced-tea in his pockets, Houck winded up his best tough-guy impression: “Listen, Trayvon Martin would be alive today, okay, if he didn’t, alright, have a street attitude . . . that’s the bottom line.”
Even Rachel Jeantal, who was actually on the phone with Martin moments before his death, was coloured as a person incapable of basic English skills by the prosecution, as if that somehow invalidated her testimony. Such a moronic line of questioning should have brought down an avalanche of criticism, but was predictably shunned by national coverage. Why? Because Jeantal’s heritage is Haitian, and her usage of English falls outside the idea of ‘normal’ and ‘correct’ use.
This is beyond laughable and, quite simply, mind-boggling. The rush to profile Martin, despite the Judge and the prosecution’s best efforts to avoid the issue, is and was the driving factor at the heart of this case. Despite being tailed by a strange man after dark, who confronted him despite no criminal conduct on his part, Martin was quickly fingered as the aggressor.
The Stand Your Ground law in Florida construing rights and responsibilities as to self-defense was apparently prescribed solely to Zimmerman. A man who ignored police dispatchers advice when he got out of his car to confront Martin (with a cockamamie excuse of simply checking street signs), who was driving around with a loaded handgun and chambered bullet, a man who confronted Martin on the street and reached into his pocket to (unknown to Martin) retrieve his cellphone. A man whose story had so many logical holes that are not substantiated by physical evidence that it seems at least partially concocted.
This belief in fantasy storytelling was so deep that the defense even preposterously alleged Martin had “weaponized the sidewalk” and was not, in fact, unarmed at all. Never mind that Martin’s body was found on a grass embankment some distance away from the sidewalk, or that there was no DNA evidence on Zimmerman’s mouth where he claimed Martin had pressed his hands.
Never mind that Zimmerman’s gun, which he claimed that Martin was reaching for, was actually tucked into his waistband on his back, completely out of Martin’s reach given the way he had ‘mounted’ Zimmerman. Never mind that pictures of Zimmerman after the fight indicated that there was no mud or dirt on the back of his jacket, or bruising on his hands.
I’m not a legal expert (nor do I play one on TV), so I am inherently unqualified to make any conclusions about Zimmerman’s guilt in the case or the effectiveness of the legal system. My initial reaction, in heated discussions with friends, was that Zimmerman was “stone cold guilty.” It was an emotional reaction borne out of frustration with a system that, to all the world, appeared to be absolutely broken. A more rational and calm-headed analysis allowed me to step back from this overheated critique, and assay the case based on its own terms. The results were equally unsatisfying.
We tend to correlate true justice with emotional closure. The justice system is based on, in an ideal sense, bringing that catharsis to victims of a crime by punishing perpetrators for gross misconduct. The principle of innocence until proven otherwise and a trial by a jury of peers is vital to the functionality of the justice system and it is, while flawed, more often than not effective. But a case such as this one becomes immediately more complicated and highlights the logical fallacies within the system. This was not, as many sources repeatedly stated, a ‘who-dunnit?’
Reasonable doubt, when evaluating murder as a function of self-defense, is an extremely thorny and murky subject, especially when the only eyewitness dissection of the occurrences belongs to the defendant. If you would allow me to play fantasy-lawyer for a few moments, the case hinged on whether or not the prosecution could conclusively prove that Zimmerman did not take deadly action out of fear for his well-being. But, given the beating Martin allegedly administered (partially backed up by photographs of Zimmerman’s battered face), the fear appeared well-founded.
Zimmerman was unable to escape, as he was pinned on his back, and, rationally, had the right to defend himself. However, as I stated before, the same courtesy was not afforded to Martin. Pursued by an unknown and potentially dangerous assailant, Martin reacted (if we believe Zimmerman’s portrait of the events) violently. We do not know, and never will know, what his endgame was. Did he intend to kill Zimmerman? Did he simply intend to subdue Zimmerman until he could call for help? The only thing that is apparent is that the law is stacked against Martin, and it is extraordinarily difficult to defend yourself in court when you are dead.
It is this rationale that played into the defense’s portrayal of Martin as an aggressive, violent sociopath. To believe in Zimmerman’s innocence, we are required to believe in Martin’s criminality. We are required to believe that Zimmerman and Martin both had equitable levels of morality and maturity despite their large age-gap. We are inclined to believe that Martin was an out of control ticking time bomb and not simply a young man acting out of a mix of fear and teenage bravado. In this case, we are required to believe in Martin’s absolute guilt to yield any reasonable doubt that would clear Zimmerman.
The saddest part is that, despite the generally preposterous nature of his story, we are inclined to believe the defendant, simply because the profile fits. A rash of break-ins in the area indicated a history of crime that obviously had poor old George on edge. One of the break-ins was known to be conducted by two African-American men. So, of course, Martin fit the bill, despite zero physical evidence equating the two robbers, observed by a terrified home owner who was hiding in a closet with her child, to Martin based on size, age, physical stature, or any other descriptor outside of skin pigmentation.
And, given the prosecution’s shoddy case and unwillingness to discuss race, we had insufficient evidence to doubt Zimmerman’s account despite its innumerable holes. Despite an expletive and slur-laced 9-1-1 call that Zimmerman placed, during which he was advised not to pursue Martin. Despite levels of a temazepam (a powerful sedative and anti-depressant) found in his system shortly after the incident. Instead we are presented with the portrait of Zimmerman as the brave, foolhardy victim trying desperately to defend his neighbourhood from no-goodniks. His judgment and decision-making, sketchy at best, validated to the fullest extent of the law.
When I was younger I loved running. Given that I would work all day and come home late, my only recourse was to go on evening runs through my parent’s neighborhood, usually after 10:00 p.m. I wore a reflective vest and white shorts to ensure that I could be seen to traffic, and took extreme care to avoid putting myself in a position where I could get hurt.
One night, as I jogged on a quiet back road, a police cruiser pulled up alongside me. The officer motioned me to stop and proceeded to interrogate me on the side of the road, asking me where I was from, where I lived and, to my disbelief, why I was running. Standing there in a reflective vest, wearing a t-shirt and shorts, I was at a loss to answer him beyond the obvious.
“What do you think?” was on the tip of my tongue on more than one occasion, before I swallowed the bile billowing in my throat and gave him the placid, excessively respectful answers that I figured he wanted to hear. My blood pounded as he slowly drove away, his eyes staring at me in his side view mirror suspiciously as I continued on my run, seething with indignation. What had I done to be treated with such suspicion other than purely existing?
It angered me that I raised suspicion solely and presumably due to the colour of my skin. I felt a gamut of emotions as I continued running: disbelief, anger, impotent rage and embarrassment. And all it took to incite those feelings was a simple and random act of stereotypical profiling on the part of one police officer. How much of the same resulted in Martin getting shot?
I cannot even pretend to appreciate nor understand the enormous and weighty history of experiences that define what it is like to be black in America. But, the creeping suspicions harboured by a divided population, torn asunder by fear and prejudice and profiling, will forever act as a divisive stake at the heart of unity.
In a piece for Slate, William Saletan indicted both men for their hasty reactions rooted in prejudice and mistrust, and then turned the finger on Americans for demanding action with disregard for consequence, a mentality that he claims drove Zimmerman to kill Martin. “The problem at the core of this case wasn’t race or guns” he stated, instead, “the problem was misperception and overreaction.”
I’m obliged to indulge Saletan in his verdict of the case, its media coverage and global reaction; but it is absolutely impossible to separate racial profiling from the tragic case of Trayvon Martin’s death on the night of February 26, 2012. It is impossible to divorce the driving factor of race from the apparent misperceptions and overreactions. Even now, defenders of Zimmerman’s acquittal point to the fact that Martin was no angel, but did he have to be to deserve actual justice? Of course not — he was an American citizen and a human being, and despite the outsized level of attention paid to the case, he deserved as much justice as a law-abiding honour roll student of any race, age or gender.
Maybe we cannot definitely describe George Zimmerman as a racist. But he did racially profile an innocent young man, who in turn racially profiled him as a “creepy-ass cracker.” Whether Martin was simply invoking an epithet to describe Zimmerman, or as his friend Jeantal explained, assuming that he was a sex predator, will remain unknown. Likewise, Zimmerman’s assertion that “these assholes always get away,” a quote that will now live in infamy, is similarly inconclusive.
We will feel obliged to lionize Martin as a martyr to the cause of continual Black American oppression, in the same cadre as Medgar Evers and Emmett Till. We will feel inclined to list this absurd case and its circus-like trappings in that history of Black American distrust of the entrenched justice system that rewards a man with his freedom despite his intellectual failings and moral culpability in the death of an innocent.
There are many others who may say that the case further illustrates that the law simply does not protect black people. But the most damning aspect of the law, this case and its verdict, is that freedom, true freedom — to exist in a world where we all are free from persecution based on the flimsiest levels of xenophobic profiling — does not exist.
The saddest part about the case is that the law, imbecilic as it is, got it right. Based on the arguments made by either side, Zimmerman deserved to get off. The vigilante in me says that he doesn’t deserve a normal life, and deserves to be hounded to his grave for his actions. The religious man says God will sort things out. The pragmatist says that he was tried fairly, in a court of equals. And the revolutionary in me will forever be inclined to disbelieve that the right against self-incrimination in criminal trials allowed him to avoid testifying. But most fervently, the moral person in me aches for the parents of a 17 year-old boy who went out on a junk food run like I did while writing this article, and never came home.
Social media exploded the night that Zimmerman was acquitted, with a myriad of voices expressing reactions ranging from relief to repulsion, but perhaps the definitive tweet for me belonged to Nick Surkamp, an NC State soccer player. “How cool would it be to live in a world where George Zimmerman offered Trayvon Martin a ride home to get him out of the rain that night?”
I guess we will never know.
