A Mother's Child is Dead: What If?

Trayvon Martin, an unarmed 17 year-old Black child, was spotted walking through a White neighborhood by George Zimmerman, a White neighborhood watch volunteer.  George called in this suspicious behavior, exited his car against the advice of the dispatcher; an altercation ensued, and George shot Trayvon dead.   And oh yes, Trayvon was wearing a hoody. And by the way, a jury set George free.

But what if? 

What if Trayvon had been White?  Would he have drawn attention walking through a White neighborhood at night?  Would George have stopped him?  And if he had, would the conversation have gone something like this?  “Son, it's kind of late for you to be out.  Why not let me drive you home; the streets can be dangerous at night.”

What if George had been Black?  Would he have slowed down his car and offered paternal advice? “Listen son, you’d best be gettin’ home.  You know how White folks are when they see a brother in their neighborhood at night.  You’ll be safer back in your mama’s house.”

And what about the hoody?  TV commercials show White, Black, and Hispanic kids frolicking in their hoodies. Shucks, I’m a grandmother and I wear a hoody in the cold weather.  Since when has a hoody become a fashion accessory to criminal behavior?

Oh, of course, the Black kid was hiding under his hoody as he was lurking in the streets after dark.  Why is it that after dark, White people walk, but Black people “lurk?”

The prosecution failed to prove reasonable doubt, so George is free and Trayvon is dead.  But did he have to die in the first place? 

I am reminded of an incident occurring in 1973.  My husband and I were driving in an unfamiliar neighborhood on Long Island, NY, headed to a party, but unable to find the address.  We asked directions of a woman who was out walking her dog. 

Oh, did I mention that we were driving at night in a wealthy White neighborhood?  In less than two minutes, a patrol car pulled us over to the side, inquiring as to what our business was in the neighborhood.  When we told him where we were headed, the officer (out of the kindness of his heart?) offered to escort us to our destination.  In fact he “escorted” us up the steps to the front door, and left, only after seeing that our friends greeted us with open arms.

We were middle class, well dressed, and driving a decent car.  Why would they stop us?  Oh, right, we were Black, and since we looked mighty good, we must have been drug dealers.

Why are so many White people still afraid of Black people in the dark? Those of you who have followed my blogs know that I fully recognize the progress that has been made in race relations in our country. The law no longer “condones” rampant killings of Blacks by racists, but sometimes the law gets perverted, and justice looks the other way.

But if a White man had not been so fearful of an unarmed Black boy in the dark, a mother’s child might not be dead.