It’s 1:59 p.m. on Saturday, July 13 and I’ve been glued to the TV awaiting word as the 6-woman jury in Sanford, Fla. decides the fate of 29-year-old George Zimmerman, the pie-faced aspiring cop who gunned down 17-year-old Trayvon Martin in alleged self-defense.
The death of this chocolate-brown boy has come to symbolize whether or not a black life has value in this country. The jury’s decision could have reverberations that are felt from Sanford to San Diego and could confirm whether or not African Americans can trust justice to swing in their favor.
My fear is that if Zimmerman is found not-guilty it would be another kick in the gut of Black America and a reminder that a black life is not valuable in the eyes of the law.
I can’t help but feel sorry for Zimmerman, too. He screwed up bad. His overzealousness and assumptions led to a shot in the heart of a boy armed with Skittles and fruit-flavored tea. Although Zimmerman can still walk and talk and live and breathe, his life is over, too. And, whether or not the court makes him pay or not, God will see to it that justice is done.
So, as the jury consisting of an animal rescuer, a retiree and a wife-and-mommy-of-two, to name a few, examine the Zimmerman case and decide whether Zimmerman will spend the rest of his life in hiding or in a cell, I will be holding my breath and saying a prayer.