Trayvon Martin, and the Struggle to Remain Hopeful

Nothing will change if we accept Black Death as the norm

Welcome to Let’s Not Be Trash, this post is a part of a larger series titled, “Our Ancestor’s Hands Do Work” It’s a collection of essays and conversations that highlight leaders, ideas, movements, and moments from the rich history of Blackness. You can keep track of all of the essays here.

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On February 26, 2012, a confrontation between two people changed the lives of countless others. The confrontation brought on many things: for a 17-year-old boy, it cost him his life, his mother lost a son, Florida was put in the spotlight for their “Stand Your Ground” laws and an unhinged man with dreams of becoming a police officer became a murderer. Despite his actions, and the ramification of those actions, he is seen as a hero by many.

Trayvon was killed in cold blood because he was a Black boy, he died because as far as we have come as a society, we still live in a world where there is an irrational fear of Black people. That fear goes up a notch when dealing with Black men. There was never true justice for what happened to him because as far as we have come as a society, far too many people refuse to acknowledge the sins of the past, and would rather look for ways to cast the guilt and shame on to others. We are living in a world that is propelled by cycles of harm, and instead of trying to put a stop to it, we stick our heads in the sand and act like nothing is happening.

Many of us had no idea who Trayvon Martin was. I, for one, would of been clueless had it not been for a random Instagram post. Unfortunately, he become an ancestor. Another example of the ways this country sends Black people to their graves earlier than necessary, our deaths happening with little fanfare, almost as if it’s just another passing of the season. Since then we have lost Mike Brown, Eric Garner, Philando Castile, Ta'Kiya Young, Breonna Taylor, and many others. Their death hit a segment of folks like a ton of bricks, but eventually their stories get lost in the ever shifting folds of social media updates.

For those who are unfamiliar, here is a refresher; Travon was the unarmed teen who was shot dead in cold blood, not Tamil Rice, he was 13 and murdered on a playground, his sister was then handcuffed and forced to watch her brother die. You might have also confused him with John Crawford, he was murdered inside of a Walmart for holding a toy gun, or Freddie Gray, one of his killers just got a big promotion. Trayvon was walking home, his only weapon was a hoodie, a bag of skittles and ice tea. His killer is walking free, and sometimes tries to do celebrity boxing to make money, when that doesn’t work he files lawsuits against Trayvon’s mother, Sybrina Fulton.

The last person Trayvon spoke to was his girlfriend; she begged him to run after he told her that he was being followed.She heard him fight for his life and die, she wasn’t able to help him in those final moments. When she went to court to share her story, many of us bashed her for not being “articulate enough.” As if her presentation would resurrect him from the dead. I was 25 when this trial happened, I remember feeling like the entire world was watching. I also remember the shock and betrayal I felt when Zimmerman was found innocent of all charges, as well as my excitement when the entire country rose up against this injustice.

Things had been different in the past, but I felt sure in my heart that America was at a turning point. Since then, more Black and Brown people have been murdered in cold blood than I care to mention. Their families mourn, the public shares some shock, their killer walks free, a few of us march, a few others blame the victim, and cry about “White Lives” or “Blue Lives” and after a while I start to feel like I’m in a loop.

So today, I would like to remember Trayvon, he was not the first person who’s life was stolen, but his death represents a turning point in my life, a moment in time I can never get back, and while that is true, its important for me to feel. it’s important to remember the outrage,  to remember the frustration, confusion, dejection, and the soul crushing disappointment I felt in this country.

It’s important to remember those things, because the minute you stop feeling, any chance that things will change disappear as well. It may sound strange, but as long as I can feel, even when the pain feels unbearable, that means there is hope for change, it means that I haven’t accepted what is, as the way it should be. And in a world where Black and Brown bodies receive less dignity than a dog, you need people who know this is not and should not be the norm, as well as those able to dream and hope for a better future. As ugly as the world has been, and as ugly as it can be, there can be light at the end of the tunnel, we can’t get too accustomed to the dark.