The Sadness Lingers
By CHARLES M. BLOW
Published: July 12, 2013 22 Comments
One thing still hanging in the air when the lawyers in the George Zimmerman trial finished their closing arguments was sadness — heavy and thick, the choking kind, like acrid smoke.
Some questions will never be answered. And some facts will never be altered — chief among them, that there is a dead teenager with a hole in his heart sleeping in a Florida grave, a fact that never had to be.
Zimmerman told Sean Hannity last year that his shooting of Trayvon Martin was “God’s plan” and that if he could do it all over he would do nothing different. (Later in the interview, Zimmerman equivocated a bit on the topic without identifying what specifically he would change.)
I don’t pretend to know the heart of God or the details of his “plans,” but I hasten to hope that he — or she — would value life over death, that free will is part of a faithful walk, that our mistakes are not automatically postscripted as part of a divine destiny.
I would also hope that Zimmerman, having sat through his murder trial in the presence of the dead teen’s grieving parents, might answer Hannity differently. Maybe the answer he gave last year was part of a legal defense. Maybe now he would have more empathy.
Somewhere, behind the breastbone, where the conscience can speak freely without fear of legal implications or social condemnation, surely there can be an admission that, if he’d done some things differently — like staying in his vehicle and not following the young man — Martin would still be alive today.
That’s why the sadness lingers. Martin will never be free from the grave, and Zimmerman will never be free from his role in assigning Martin that fate. The two are forever linked, across life and death, across bad decisions and by opposite ends of a gun barrel. A life you take latches onto you.
For the rest of us, the questions are:
What happens when the legal verdict is rendered and the social cause continues?
Is this case a springboard to high-level discussions about police procedures and the presumptions of guilt and innocence, or will it be a moment in which cultural constructs of biases and presumptions are calcified?
Do we need a clean, binary narrative of good guys and bad guys to draw moral conclusions about right and wrong?
Should your past or what you wear or how you look subtract from your humanity and add to the suspicion you draw?
Can we think of bias in the sophisticated way in which it operates — not always conscious and not always constant, but rising and then falling like rancid water at the bottom of a sour well?
And this, too, is why the sadness lingers. There is a mother who will never again see her son’s impish smile or feel his warm body collapsing into her open arms. There is a father who won’t be able to straighten his son’s tie or tell him “You missed a spot” after a shave. There is a brother who will never be able to trade jokes and dreams and what-ifs with him well into the night, long after both should be asleep. The death of a child blasts a hole into the fabric of a family, one that can never truly be mended. I refuse to believe that was God’s plan for Martin’s family.
The sadness also lingers because so many parents and siblings and friends and sympathizers look on in horror at the prospect of a scary precedent — that some may walk away from this trial believing that they should do nothing different from what Zimmerman did, and that the law may either endorse or allow inadvisable actions that could lead to such an end.
Unarmed teenagers should not end up dead. I believe that most people would agree. This case, however, is about whether an unarmed teenager can engage an armed person — one who admits to having pursued him — in such a way that the teenager become responsible for his own death.
The jury has to ponder and decide that. Only Zimmerman and Martin truly know the answer; one refused to testify, the other couldn’t.
Whatever the verdict in this case is, it must be respected. The lawyers presented the cases they had, presumably to the best of their abilities, and the jurors will presumably do their best to be fair.
But no one can ease the sadness.
As Mahatma Gandhi once said: “There is a higher court than courts of justice and that is the court of conscience. It supersedes all other courts.”
In that court, it is hard to avoid righteous conviction. Maybe that’s part of God’s plan.