I have been trying my hardest to hold back comments, wait for more information, surrounding the tragic and beyond-description sadness killing of Trayvon Martin, the 17-year-old black male who on February 26 experienced what so many black men experience but with a different outcome. Martin, a tall, skinny teen of 140lbs, was visiting his father and stepmother in the Orlando, Fla. suburb of Sanford, and on that February night, he was watching a basketball game and decided to take a break. During the game’s halftime, Martin walked a few blocks to the local 7-Eleven where he purchased Skittles and Arizona Ice Tea, supposedly for his younger sibling. On his walk back, he was on his phone’s headset talking to a female friend, when he told her he was being followed. “Run,” she told Martin, as she restated in her interview with ABC News. (She did not want to be identified.) Martin didn’t run, but rather decided to walk fast. He then pulled his jacket hood over his head. Martin continued to be followed. He then decided to run, but he was cornered by 28-year- old George Zimmerman, a neighborhood crime-watch volunteer.
Up to this point is where my Trayvon Martin experience is eerily similar. I was a second-semester, 19-year-old freshman at The University of South Carolina in Columbia with an off-campus job. I worked at Revco Drug Store, which was located on the opposite side of a very nice neighborhood that separated the school and an area of the city called Five-Points. Getting to and from work required walking across campus, through this neighborhood, at night. It was often between 9:30 and 10 pm I found myself trekking back to my dorm. Multiple nights a week and on weekends, I made that trip without thinking my presence would be a problem. Then, one night, on my way back to the dorm with a small bag of items purchased at work, I experienced the fear – the same kind that probably sent Martin running.
I remember it being a warm night. I was a bit tired from having had classes earlier, and work entailed lots of standing, customer interaction and stocking shelves. My walk back was a casual stroll from the shopping center, across the railroad track, up a hill, then through this nice neighborhood before getting back on campus. I got to the top of the hill, a block or two in the neighborhood, when all of a sudden I was blinded by the brightest of lights. Then I heard a loud voice demand “freeze.” My heart raced. My mind became chaotic, and I was scared. I could not see where the voice was coming from. I could not see a face. I could barely make out a vehicle. I remember being asked some questions. I do not think my responses were coherent, but I do remember having to pull out my student identification. That is when a white police officer walked toward me, took my ID, and told me about break-ins and suspicious people in the neighborhood. I did not believe him, but I was so scared and angry I told no one. I could not believe what had happened. I could not make sense of it all.
I do not recall, but I am almost positive the police officer apologized, but I do known it did not calm the anger and fear that had swelled up in me. I could only think, here I was, a student who had been active in building racial relations on campus, but experienced what felt like a humiliating racial experience. So, 20 years later, the experience is still with me, and although there have been many Martin-like occurrences, for some reason, I am deeply sadden, hurt, and troubled about Martin’s. Perhaps because, I could have been shot and killed for casually walking back to where I slept. I have read many stories, listened to all the 911 recordings, and followed threads online, but I still feel sad. I have so many questions. People are commenting it was racially motivated; others are commenting it was not racial; and everyone is talking about the Sanford police department. I want to talk about how young black men want to be treated like everyone else, and not with suspicion. Young black men get scared, too. Young black men experience fear. I have yet to read anything or hear a news report about Martin’s fear. The only things known are that his female friend heard Martin ask, who we know was Zimmerman, “why are you following me,” and a 911 caller pleading for the police as she heard screams for help, which likely came from Martin.
Thankfully, my experience did not end with my death. I was able to move on, get educated, and be a voice for racial and social change. It is my hope that we, Americans, see real leadership, the likeness of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., come forth, and address real racial and social issues – leadership that abhors the killing of any teen. We do not have that. We do not have authentic leadership from African American, white, Hispanic, Asian or religious communities. We do not have transformational leaders who can step up, say what needs to be said, and do what needs to be done. Instead we have pseudo- managers without vision. With that, we have a uniquely-American situation in which young black men are more likely to be shot when walking than they are likely to receive a PhD.
