Feared and hunted: early reflections on the Zimmerman trial aftermath

If you are of a certain age, you probably got “The Talk” from your parents – or even your grandparents.

While my white friends had the luxury of just squirming through an awkward discussion about the mechanics of sex, I, and others who share my skin color, often received a different kind of lecture on the facts of life.

The Talk centered on how to behave in stores. How to act around police. How to respond in the streets.

One wrong slip, we were warned, could cost you dearly. Being at the wrong place, at the wrong time and always the wrong color, could be deadly.

Many of my friends, now parents themselves, wanted to free their children of the burdens and fears that come with The Talk. They sought to let it lapse, mothballing it as a part of a shameful history. 

After all, this is the “flattened” era, powered by digital know-how and technology. This is supposed to be a time when King’s “Dream” has finally come into view. This is the Age of Obama.

A sentiment born by many. Photo courtesy of Roberto Gonzalez/AP

With all of that, many reasoned and rationalized that The Talk is not only outmoded, but also inhibiting at a time when our children have to embrace their full power in order to compete effectively. We resented The Talk, this notion of having to act differently than our peers. After all, that’s what the marching and lobbying of the past was supposed to resolve, and in many of our minds, had resolved.

Except for those glaring reminders that still emerge, those mind-numbing, soul-crushing incidents whose steady presence belies the usual title of “aberrations.”  This time it was Trayvon Martin. Before him there was Oscar Grant. Before him, it was Amadou Diallo. And before him, Yusef Hawkins. You can go back as far as Emmett Till. The circumstances vary, but the theme remains the same – unarmed young black man seen as a threat to a jittery, if not angry, one who isn’t black. Slaying ensues.

And those are just the high-profile cases, where names are known. Countless others remain unknown, just words on a police blotter, a brief in a local paper – if they were lucky.

The verdict in the George Zimmerman murder trial means many things to many people, but a distinct message sent is that it is open season on those deemed “threatening.” That the definition of self-defense now extends to tracking and killing said “threats.” For the record, that group historically has been darker in hue. Brown like me and mine and condemned to assumptions of criminality because of it.

Some have long advocated for such exterminations of “undesirables,” and still do, proven by perusing the web. This trial seems to have codified those notions.What played out in the national spotlight is the continuation of a meme that black male lives have little value and their presence always is suspect. 

Yet the mirror image of that assessment is the mounting body count in urban centers across the country, from Oakland to Chicago to New Orleans to Philadelphia, where black men gun down themselves with as much regard as George Zimmerman has. Beyond any chicken-egg, cause-effect debate, the result of the attitude prevails: maimed or dead black males. And justice in these cases frequently remains at an impasse, be it due to prosecutorial incompetence or a “no snitching” intransigence.

Human extermination, in Dachau, in Bosnia, in Sudan, in Sanford, Florida, in Philly, is morally bankrupt, no matter the color or gender bearing the weapon. But cheapened life makes that weight of conscience remarkably light. And social acceptance renders it lighter still. Those reminders keep repeating.

Yes, in Florida, there is a devastated mother and father whose 17-year-old son was slain for being black, and making someone who was not, afraid, just by his mere being. But in Philadelphia, there are scores of equally devastated parents grieving sons who are killed, when you boil it down, also for being black in the wrong space and time.

There are those willing to parse and qualify how one murder is totally illegitimate whereas others, though tragic, are somewhat expected, even accepted. Yet tolerance of the latter allows room for the former. They are all value judgments on the worth of black – and in many cases, brown – males. Anger at one outrageous incident does not negate the many others that are still happening, most of which occurring without the benefit of 24/7 cameras or pundits, markers of merit in this media-fed era.

In this nation of wealth and laws, most Americans find it difficult to wrap their minds around a reality that holds that a boy returning home from the store with snacks could be killed because he made someone “nervous.” Just as they don’t condone one boy killing another, before either of them sees 21.

Until you add race. Then somehow it all seems to make sense. Even when it doesn’t.

So for as much as my generation may want to put The Talk to rest, until something real changes, we’d be remiss not to offer that well-worn lecture, at least for a while longer. To do otherwise may just further endanger those we hold most dear, even today. In 2013.

Real change began after Emmett Till was slain. It must continue, beginning with us, if the slayings of Trayvon, Oscar, Amadou, Yusef and all the rest are ever to make sense. Not just to black people, but to the entire nation -- and world.

Perils of driving while black, when gender does not matter

The phrase "driving while black" rose from an internal joke to quite the indictment on police behaviors in modern America, particularly urban centers. To be seen in an expensive car in a low-rent neighborhood meant you were a felony waiting to happen -- or flaunting the spoils of one that already took place.

It's a known and, for the most part, accepted terror among people of color with any sense of history and no sense of privilege. And the continued reality of this level of racial profiling stood clearly in reading Marc Lamont Hill's op-ed in today's Philadelphia Daily News.

In the past 20 years, there has been plenty of hand-wringing, political outcries and stabs at policy shifts. Those actions were sparked by high-profile incidents involving celebrities ranging from actors such as Jamie Foxx and Blair Underwood to athletes like NFL Hall of Famer Marcus Allen and Olympian Edwin Moses. Even the late über lawyer Johnnie Cochran had a story.

While lessened due to more enlightenment and greater sensitivities, racial profiling continues, as do the raw feelings associated with both sides.

It's about the indignity and injustice of implicit guilt-by-complexion, one side yells. It's about policing streets where criminals too often are black and male, the other side screams back.

As with many things, the truth lies in a gray area between the two. But that doesn't erase the embarrassment or shame of feeling accused while just trying to live your life as a regular citizen -- or worse still, the worry and fear about a stop "gone wrong," like the tragedy that was the case of Jonny Gammage.

Once, after coming home from Harrisburg, having spent days in near captivity awaiting passage of the state budget, I finally made it back home. Having picked up my mom, I was going to treat her to some ice cream, a quick, casual outing -- and celebration.

After a week of being stuffed in suits and stockings in the summer heat, I was dressed down -- completely in-cog-negro in basketball shorts, a T-shirt and a baseball cap. Total chill mode, feeling good to be home.

We were pulling into my block when the sirens flashed and I was instructed to pull over. What I recall most was that sense of deep dread.

No speeding. No broken tail lights. No erratic driving. No reason to suddenly be pulled over on a warm, July evening. Except that it was an expensive car. And from behind, I looked like a dude from the 'hood driving it.

My hands gripped the steering wheel when the officer came toward the window, and I could see the slight panic rising in my mom.

The officer was taken aback to find that I was a female. And to beat that, I was a state employee, having just gone through an epic budget battle, a tale I recounted to him.

After looking at my state ID, driver's license and insurance, he seemed satisfied that I was, in fact, the law-abiding citizen I claimed to be. In fact, I was one working to retain funding the city needed. That he needed.

"You should be careful in a neighborhood like this," he cautioned, "With a car like that."

Had he read the license address more closely, he would have realized my house was just across the street.

I remember briefly biting my lip. Then, as politely as possible, I thanked him for "looking out for the citizens of Philadelphia," assuring him that "I felt safer knowing he and his partner were patrolling my neighborhood."

Several moments earlier, though, nothing was further from the truth.

So I understand the anger and frustration that marked Hill's piece, emotions that simmer among more than just African Americans. Ask tan-complected folks who "look Muslim" and travel across state or national borders and they will offer a whole other series of stories. Some are more than outrageous actions in the land of the free and home of the brave; they are revolting and frightening.

Sure, there are white folks who have a shared experience, but let's face it. The sheer volume by comparison simply pales.

Even if I don't agree with Hill's every assertion, I can say, even as a woman, at least once, I've been there. And it's not a comfortable place to be.