You ever write a blog & know there’s no way it will sound good? Those are the ones you usually save in draft form, look at it the next day, then realize “there’s no freakin’ way!”
Well, I hate saving things in draft form…
Trayvon Martin ~ another name that has become a part of social consciousness for the most unfortunate of reasons. A 17-year old high school student, shot and killed by a neighborhood watch “enthusiast.” Wrong place, wrong time. Tragic. George Zimmerman, the other player in this scenario, is now a lightning bolt for rage, hate, and a vengeful public.
The event has also created an opportunity for celebridiots (yeah, I just made that up) to show their “support” for Trayvon, a person who they know by name only. Spike Lee and Roseanne Barr, perhaps reeling from years of insignificance, posted the Zimmerman family’s home address on their Twitter accounts. The Miami Heat basketball team publicized photos of the team wearing hoodies, looming in a dark background. The PRESIDENT of the United States exclaimed that IF he had a son, “he would have looked like Trayvon Martin.”
The kid was killed, violently, and there seems to be no one who can explain exactly what happened. A kid is dead, another man’s life is certainly ruined. The families of both men will both go through Hell on Earth before any kind of justice is realized by anyone involved, but that doesn’t dismiss the incredible self-promotion opportunity embraced by so many people.
We all know this is not about the actual chain of events that transpired. This is about race. This is about suspicion. This is about ratings, sound bytes, votes, and photo op’s. Gawd, it’s sickening.
In 1987, Tom Wolfe published a masterful novel (which spawned a horrible movie) titled “Bonfire of the Vanities.” The storyline revolves around the hit & run near fatality of a black teen caused by the careless actions of a white elitist who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. The event becomes a political football and media event that would seem absurd if it weren’t so accurately described.
A kid is dead. It’s tragic. Another man stands accused. He’s cooked, no matter the facts, no matter the verdict. Meanwhile, the hyenas circle the scene, each nibbling a piece of flesh in their own special way.
RIP Trayvon, I’m fairly certain you deserved better than this.