A Nation of Trayvons

I don’t often write about my son. I’ve only mentioned him a few times on this blog. I consciously refrain from referring to my son on public forums for several reasons, but for the most part, I’m fiercely protective of him. As any committed and involved parent will attest, my focus as a mother is ensuring my son’s safety and happiness. I’d hate for any harm to inadvertently come his way as a result of my written words. It might sound a tad paranoid and unwarranted, but it’s hard enough keeping him out of harm’s way in the real world without adding the cyber world to my long list of worries. I realize this might be a futile or difficult task as he gets older and becomes more actively engaged with the cyber world and starts to communicate with his peers and friends more often on social media sites. I’m hoping my deliberate attempts to keep some things “private” on public forums sets an example for him and influences his online behavior. But I must write about my son today, especially in light of what happened to Trayvon Martin. I echo every parent’s sentiment when I say that could be my son.

Vic is a striking presence of skin and bones. Literally. I affectionately call him “flaco,” or “flaquito,” which is apt considering some of my closest friends also call me “flaca.” Flaco/a means thin or skinny in Spanish. He has a sinewy frame with refined and delicate features. Vic inherited my lush lips, warm smile, piercing eyes, and elegant bone structure. He has his father’s lanky build, stubborn nose, dark coloring and long, thick lashes. Almost 11, Vic stands to my ears and promises to surpass my height some time this year. Every summer, his smooth, unblemished skin darkens to a deep, caramel shade. No matter how much sunscreen I apply to his tawny flesh, it inevitably changes color. I jokingly call him “moreno” when his skin adopts this chocolate-brown hue. He doesn’t take after me in this regard. At best, I burn and then tan lightly. I’m a camel tone or sandy brown to his bronzed richness. I become acutely aware of his darker skin when he plays basketball at the courtyard in our neighborhood park. Boys and young men of all ages and shades congregate to shoot some hoops and play “21.” Some are pale. Others are as dark or darker than Vic. Most of them are in their teens or late teenage years. They are the ones the cops slow down to observe after they’ve finished a game and headed for the streets. Children run around on the playlot and squeal in delight during their games of tag. They are the ones the cops pull over and pat down more frequently than their lighter-skinned counterparts. You can see the anger and frustration on their deep-hued faces as the officers frisk them and question them with unabashed authority and roughness. As Vic and I were leaving the basketball court a couple of days ago, we witnessed a similar incident. I tried not to stare at the tall, young Latino in baggy jeans, with his arms splayed out over the hood of a squad car. Vic, on the other hand, gawked and swiveled his head from side to side to get a better view. He wanted to know what was happening. I looked at my tanned, athletic, long-legged, flaco and told him the young man was being interrogated. A group of boys headed out, their light hair glistening with sweat in the early evening light. Vic raised his eyebrows and appeared to understand without understanding how the young man’s color triggered suspicion and an immediate pat down. I swung my arm over his bony shoulders and gently steered him home. He glanced back at the young Latino who shared his coloring and basketball skills.

As my son gets older and stretches out past my slight stature, I realize he is going to come across confrontational and potentially violent situations. This weighs on my mind heavily. We live in a big city. We share our space with people from all walks of life. Danger is alive and present for a young boy in Chicago- a place where teen violence leads to children dying or being wounded on the streets in senseless numbers every year. Gun and gang violence are just two visible examples of the physical threats children must contend with from other peers determined to injure them by any means possible. The threats are boundless and especially insidious for minority youths.   

Most of us know by now that Trayvon Martin was killed more than a month ago in a Florida suburb by a self-appointed neighborhood watch captain, George Zimmerman. Trayvon was unarmed and heading home after buying snacks at a convenience store when Zimmerman pursued, confronted and fatally shot him. The shooting has generated nationwide outrage due to the racial elements of the case and Florida’s controversial 'Stand Your Ground' law, which enables those in Florida “to meet force with force, including deadly force” when attacked. Trayvon was an unarmed, 17-year-old black, high school student. Zimmerman is a Latino described as “White” in the police report of the incident. Zimmerman told the police he acted in self-defense. There are too many issues and questions to bring up in such a short entry, but there are three topics that stand out: skin color, clothing and Florida’s misguided law.

Trayvon was black. Zimmerman is half Latino. A minority killed another minority. Born and raised on the north side of Chicago, I witnessed Latinos and other minorities ruthlessly attacking each other with their fists or weapons. It happened frequently in my own home, where men seemed to delight in brutalizing women and children. Fights were a common sight on the streets between enemies, so-called friends and the cops tasked with apprehending these "savage animals." Melees even erupted in school between classmates and bitter rivals. You could not escape the violence, as it was a part of your everyday existence. What struck me even at such a young age was the undeniable issue of color. The few white residents in my neighborhood didn’t seem to have the same problems with violence that we (the “minorities”) were battling. The police never appeared at their front doors due to domestic disturbances. The white and Asian kids rarely got pulled over by the cops while walking to and from school (unless they were walking with a group of Latinos or Blacks). I lost track the number of times a squad car would shadow my brother (whom Vic resembles in frame and coloring) and his friends as they walked down Lawrence avenue. My brother was a skinny, tough teen who despised all vestiges of authority. The cops regarded him with equal feelings of hostility. They stopped and frisked him with impunity and if the situation called for it, they’d resort to necessary or gratuitous violence. I remember one time my mom and I had to pick up my brother at the Belmont station when he was 16-years-old because he had been arrested for trespassing. I didn’t recognize his bloody and swollen face. It wouldn’t be the last time he was brutalized by the police. Worst of all, the gang violence was out of control in our part of Ravenswood (near Uptown) with young Latino and Black boys shooting or brawling other Latino and Black boys. It dawned on me that as teenagers, we didn’t have to worry about our relatives or the white cops killing us. We were successfully destroying and killing each other on the streets. When will the continuing trend of minorities killing each other end? Zimmerman is a minority. Why did he shoot a black boy? Why did the color of Trayvon’s skin arouse suspicion? Had Zimmerman never been in a situation where the color of his own skin provoked suspicion from others? Perhaps Zimmerman never encountered racism and prejudice in his entire life. Good for him. But now we have another dead black boy.

When Trayvon was shot, he was wearing a hoodie. Zimmerman stated Trayvon looked like he was up to “no good.” Hoodies, or hooded sweatshirts, have been around since the 1930’s. They are a popular clothing item with young kids. Hell, they are a popular clothing item with people in general. Vic owns several hoodies and wears them when the weather is cool enough. I used to wear oversized hoodies all the time when I was a teenager because they were fashionable. But what is it about a minority youth wearing a hooded sweatshirt that automatically generates a negative reaction? A young minority decked out in “hoodlum” gear WILL inevitably inspire feelings of scorn or fear. This is an undeniable and unfair reality for minority youths, whether they’re walking around in their hood or outside of it. Again, I recall all the times my male friends would get stopped and searched by the police. I lived in a Latino barrio. Our parents emigrated from different Latin American countries. Therefore, no two Latinos looked the same in our neighborhood. However, most of the boys singled out and interrogated by the cops were dark-skinned and wore loose, baggy jeans with hoodies. Unless you have been stopped and frisked by the police for no other reason than being “dark” and “looking suspicious” for wearing certain clothing items, then you probably won’t be able to fully understand the outrage sparked by Trayvon’s shooting. Your choice of clothing somehow influences how you’re going to be treated by others. Trayvon was wearing a hoodie in a gated community, so of course he was up to "no good." Your choice of clothing coupled with the color of your skin determines how suspicious you’re going to come across to a stranger. Why do we need another dead black boy to show us how these two factors combined are nothing more than a recipe for tragedy?                                 

What role did Florida's controversial 'Stand Your Ground' law play in Trayvon’s death? It’s hard to say when so much information is still missing. Plus, it’s easy to debate the matter when your key witness is dead. Stand Your Ground laws empower citizens to defend themselves–using deadly force–if they reasonably believe their life or the lives of others are in danger, or to prevent a forcible felony. Zimmerman called 911 to report Trayvon looked suspicious as he walked down the street of a gated community. Against the dispatcher's instruction, Zimmerman pursued him. The two of them apparently got into some kind of fight–Zimmerman had grass stains on his back, a bloody nose and blood on the back of his head. At some point Zimmerman shot Trayvon, killing him. Zimmerman may have muttered "fucking coons" into the phone to a 911 dispatcher while pursuing Trayvon. What does stand your ground mean in the ‘Stand Your Ground Law’? As former Florida Governor Jeb Bush said: “Stand your ground means stand your ground. It doesn’t mean chase after somebody who’s turned their back.” The Sanford police accepted Zimmerman’s assertions that he shot Trayvon in self-defense, which is why no murder charges were filed against him. But the 911 tapes reveal that when Zimmerman decided to pursue Trayvon, it was based only on the fact that he looked "suspicious" and had something in his hand (a can of iced tea). So did Zimmerman stand his own ground when he pursued and shot Trayvon (a fucking coon if those tapes are accurate) for looking suspicious? Only a jury in a courtroom can decide. But one thing is crystal clear: giving citizens unregulated power and prudence to use deadly physical force when they fear for their lives with little or zero accountability is more than just deadly: it's tragic. And heartbreaking.

My uncle glanced over at Vic a couple of days ago as we were eating dinner and remarked how dark his skin looked. I replied it was perfectly natural due to the unexpected hot weather in late March. We’ve been spending most of our free time outdoors in the sun. Later on, I sat down on my futon to read but could only think of Trayvon. Did he play basketball before he was killed? If he did, what was his favorite position? He was 6-foot-3 and weighed 140 pounds. Vic wants to try out for his school’s basketball team this fall. I told him to work on his jump shot and ball handling skills over the summer. We’ll spend many afternoons at the basketball court with the other boys who look like him. I cried for Trayvon instead of reading. And I also cried because I live in a world where the color of my child’s skin can kill him.