According to the police report of his fatal shooting on the night of February 26, Trayvon Martin stood exactly six feet tall. In death, he has become a hundred times larger.
I believe that’s because crass opportunists are using his corpse as a political Macy’s Parade balloon.
I could be wrong, you know. Unlike a lot of mouths spouting off about the events leading to Trayvon’s death at the hands of George Zimmerman on that rainy Sunday night in the seedy little gator-hunting town of Sanford, FL, I don’t claim to know what happened. That’s because I wasn’t there. More importantly, I don’t claim to know WHY it happened. That’s because I wasn’t inside the killer’s mind.
Sorry if that may strike you as an impudently objective approach. I realize that many people find even the feeblest attempt at non-partisan fairness to be off-putting at the very least. These days, any public display of open-mindedness makes a lot of people dizzy and has been known to induce agita in readers with sensitive metabolisms.
Although modern journalism suffers no shortage of liars, most of the false impressions it creates are more due to a careful omission of facts. And in the Trayvon Martin case, I’ve seen a whole lotta cherry-pickin’ goin’ on. Due to the way the saga is being framed, as well as the fact that it’s swollen into the top news story in America, a rancid little tug in the pit of my stomach tells me this could all get a lot more dangerous, and quickly.
The flames are being fanned by paid scribes and well-compensated activists who’ve been salivating for a good old-fashioned white-on-black hate crime, even though this isn’t technically one of those.
But the torches are being carried by those who are acting like they know exactly what happened—even though, like me, they weren’t there, either. They are gathering in mobs, donning hoods, and demanding blood vengeance just like people gathered in mobs, donned hoods, and demanded blood vengeance a hundred years ago. And just like the mobs from a hundred years ago, they seem to have the sympathy of the media and the president on their side.
Maybe that sounds a little hyperbolic. Well, then, let’s go hyperbowling:
“White boys who wear hoodies and eat Skittles don’t routinely get shot to death,” hyperbolized a black writer for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Black boys do.” (Martin was returning to his father’s house with an iced tea and some Skittles when he was killed. To my knowledge, he is the only black male ever to be killed while simultaneously wearing a hoodie and carrying Skittles on his person.)
“It appears that Trayvon Martin was stalked and murdered…the nation must ensure that this pattern and practice of people attacking and killing black men with impunity is ended,” says NAACP president Benjamin Todd Jealous, who, if anything, seems jealous that his skin isn’t darker.
Marc Morial, president of the National Urban League, reminded us all that “the murder of innocent black men in the American South is nothing new. Fifty-seven years ago, the White murderers of 14-year-old Emmett Till in the Mississippi Delta were acquitted of the crime in a clear case of racial injustice.”
“I am tired of burying young black boys,” Rep. Frederica Wilson (D-FL), said in Congress regarding Martin’s killing. “I am tired of watching them suffer at the hands of those who fear and despise them.”
“After a while one gets tired of the same old script being played out again and again,” said Bishop Donald Hilliard, a black church leader who recently met with US Attorney General Eric Holder to discuss the possibility of bringing federal hate-crime charges against George Zimmerman.
You know what? I’m getting tired of all this, too. I think a lot of people are.
Half-retarded “racial arsonist” Al Sharpton, apparently unashamed of showing his face in public after supporting the dubious causes of Tawana Brawley, Crystal Mangum, and the Jena 6, naturally fled down to Sanford, FL and led a mostly black crowd in a series of primitive chants and possibly subliminal voodoo incantations. The Reverend Jesse Jackson, still unscathed by last year’s charges of gay harassment, reared his porpoise-shaped head to claim that if Zimmerman is not arrested, “the protests will intensify and spill over into other dimensions,” which sounds vaguely threatening.
Taking it up a notch, three-foot-tall one-time filmmaker Spike Lee Tweeted George Zimmerman’s home address and asked for his followers to spread it far and wide.
Upping Spike’s ante, the New Black Panthers—sort of the New Coke of hate groups—have offered a million-dollar reward for Zimmerman’s capture. At a rally in Sanford, a New Black Panther who calls himself Mikhail Muhammad—somehow I suspect that’s not what his mommy named him—led a group in chants of “Justice for Trayvon!” and “Black Power!”
Celebrities and even Philadelphia’s District Attorney posed for pictures of themselves defiantly wearing hoodies in honor of Trayvon. On and on and on, from NBA teams posing in hoodies to surly protesters wearing boxes of Skittles around their necks in his memory, the meme sprouted like a hundred million nasty little mushrooms—Trayvon Martin was murdered in cold blood for no other reason than walking the streets of racist America while black. That was the script, and there was to be no deviating from it.
The reason they know this is because Trayvon was black. That, and because George Zimmerman is white. OK, not really—he reportedly self-identifies as Hispanic, and to look at him, he seems to have picked up his mother’s Mesoamerican genes—but he’s white enough.
And that’s all the evidence they need.
Well, that and the fact that Zimmerman identified Martin as black to a 911 dispatcher only minutes before the shooting. Then again, that’s only because the dispatcher asked him to specify whether the person walking through his gated community in a hoodie was white, black, or Hispanic.
Well, there’s the fact that Zimmerman muttered “fucking coons” on the 911 call. Or at least it sounds like he did. Or at least CNN went to absurd lengths to isolate and sound-sweeten a segment of his 911 call before suggesting to listeners that he said “coons” and then played it ten times in a row in a dogged attempt to find hate where it might not actually have existed.
“You know, if I had a son, he’d look like Trayvon,” Barack Obama said from the Rose Garden last week.
Yeah, we know, Mister President. We know exactly what you mean.
This country is racially psychotic. We’re at the point where the focus is what was in the killer’s mind rather than the fact that he killed someone, and that’s psychotic.
For days now we’ve been shown old pictures of a cherubic Trayvon and a brooding Zimmerman rather than much newer pictures of a gold-toothed Trayvon and a smiling Zimmerman.
We’ve been told that Trayvon weighed a hundred or so pounds less than Zimmerman—which is possibly untrue—but not that he was at least three inches taller than Zimmerman.
We’ve been told that Zimmerman was arrested in 2005 for an altercation with an undercover police officer, but not that Trayvon was visiting his father hundreds of miles from school on the night of his death because he had been suspended—possibly for trespassing on unauthorized school grounds. (His parents were able to have his high-school records sealed.)
We’ve witnessed surreal scenes where sound technicians try to determine whether Zimmerman said “coons,” but very little about a Facebook photo where someone reputed to be Trayvon Martin calls himself a MADE NIGGA.
We’ve heard very little about George Zimmerman’s statement to police that Martin had jumped him from behind, nor that the police report said Zimmerman was bleeding from his nose and from the back of his head, nor that a neighbor told reporters he saw Martin standing over Zimmerman and beating him.
After all, why should we hear any of these things? They don’t fit the script.
As I write this, the name “Trayvon Martin” yields over 15 million results on Google, up from about 11 million yesterday. In contrast, the name “Allen Coon” coughs up fewer than 8,000 hits. The unfortunately named Coon was the 13-year-old white kid in Kansas City who was doused in gasoline and set ablaze by two black teenagers as they told him, “You get what you deserve, white boy.”
This gruesome attack happened more than a week after the Trayvon Martin killing. Why haven’t you heard about it? Because it doesn’t fit the script. You’ve probably never heard of the Knoxville Five or the Wichita Massacre. Don’t blame yourself—they aren’t in the script, either.
When the media allow the usual race pimps to blow their rusty horns about how black males are under siege in America, they’ll never tell you that statistically, the biggest danger to black males isn’t the police or white males or even chubby Florida neighborhood-watch volunteers of vaguely Peruvian ancestry—it’s other black males. But you won’t find that in the script. It’s actually a very small and tidy script.
When a story becomes this huge, it’s being exploited for political reasons. If the media were really all that concerned with verifiable racially motivated murders, three white males pled guilty to “hate crimes” only last week regarding the death of a black man in Mississippi who was targeted for his skin color.
Problem is, Mississippi only counts for six electoral votes and always swings Republican. Florida boasts 27 electoral votes and is considered a crucial swing state in the upcoming presidential election. That could be a huge reason why Obama made loud noises about Trayvon Martin but apparently not a peep about Mississippi murder victim James Craig Anderson.
With all this talk about hatred I must confess that at the moment, I feel filled with hatred—at least up to my gills and possibly up to my sinuses. But I am willing to take a polygraph test to determine which group I hate more—American blacks, American politicians, or mainstream American journalists. The boys in the hoodies wouldn’t register a blip.
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