When news surrounding the death of Travyon first began circulating, the public outcry was deafening. Thousands of people wearing black hoodies flooded the streets. Facebook became an online battle ground. For every "Justice for Trayvon" post that appeared, several others quickly followed expressing their satisfaction that another black gang banger had gotten what he deserved. Public figures came forward pleading for people to keep calm and wait as justice was served. And so we did.
For over a year I've avoided discussing the death of Trayvon Martin on social media. I've watched as the media chipped away at Trayvons character. I've watched as his image transformed from one of an innocent young boy who was racially profiled, to a black thug who was a known troublemaker.
To many, the events of February 26th were quickly forgotten. They continued on with their lives, completely unaware of the trembling effects felt throughout the entire African American community. We were shaken to our core--again. We once again had to sit our young sons down and remind them that the same rules did not apply to them. We had to remind them to be vigilant and to not draw unnecessary attention to themselves. We had to remind them how to act when approached by the cops--keep their hands in the open, remain calm, and above all else, do not resist.
But now we were faced with a different problem. How could we explain to our sons that walking through the streets of their own neighborhood was now considered punishable by death?
The only two people on this earth who know the events that unfolded on the night of February 26, 2012 are George Zimmerman and Trayvon Martin. Today, only one of those voices can be heard. The other voice is muffled by 6 feet of dirt and a tombstone that reads "Rest my son. Job well done."
In my eyes, justice will never be served. No amount of weeping and protesting will bring back Trayvon Martin. He was someone's baby.
He could have been mine.
He could have been your's.