"Trayvon Martin and the fatal history of American racism" by Kevin Powell

Last month Mr. Kevin Powell was the keynote speaker the NAACP Gala, hosted by our university chapter.  It was a privilege to meet him and hear him speak.  Recently, he wrote this piece about Trayvon Martin.  I wanted to share his thoughts and feelings.  Although, I believe people are entitled to their opinions, I also believe that I am entitled to not read those opinions.  So, I ask that if you have negative thoughts to keep them to yourself.  I am a biracial person --white & Latina-- and work with people of different races and cultures.  

"Trayvon Martin and the fatal history of American racism"

by Kevin Powell

I am Trayvon Martin.

So are you. And so is any human being who has ever felt cornered, in a dark and desolate alley, between life and death. Add the grim reality of skin color in America, and you have the disastrous spectacle of 250lb George Zimmerman, 28, pursuing 140lb Trayvon, 17, until that man-child is screaming "Help!" – and then gasping for air after a bullet from Zimmerman's 9mm handgun had punctured his chest. A majority-white, gated community became, on 26 February, the makeshift mortuary for a black boy who will not get a chance to live, to go to college with his exceptional high school grades, to make something of his life. Trayvon's fatal act: a mundane walk to the nearby convenience store to buy a can of iced tea and a bag of Skittles.

This is what racism, the American version of it, means to black boys like Trayvon, to black men like me. That we often don't stand a chance when it has been determined, oftentimes by a single individual acting as judge and jury, that we are criminals to be pursued, confronted, tackled, and, yes, subdued. To be shocked and awed into submission.

The police authorities in Sanford, Florida, where the shooting occurred, are apparently so mired in racial prejudice and denial that George Zimmerman, at this writing, still has not been arrested nearly a month after Trayvon was killed – in spite of Zimmerman being told, on 911 police dispatch audio, not to follow Trayvon Martin.

A Few Thoughts on Trayvon Martin

Like many people in the U.S., I have been following the Trayvon Martin story as it unfolds.  Many have started to make something of the fact that the shooter, Zimmerman, may be half Latino.  Being half white and half Latino I feel that I can speak on this. 

Much is being made of the color of the perpatrator's skin color when in truth it has little bearing on the issue.  Our focus should be completely on the skin color of the victim, Trayvon.  I've learned that people who hate on the bases of color can be any race.  As I understand it, a hate crime is defined as a crime committed against a victim of a different race from the attacker.  I've known white, brown and black racists.  So, it doesn't really matter what color Zimmerman is because the witnesses who heard Trayvon's pleas for help were white and Latino.  And these same people stood next to Trayvon's parents during a press conference and told their story.  They want justice just like everyone else who knows that what happened is a crime.     

New Plain of Adulthood

Last night two things happened.  First, I learned that you should never be afraid to be who you are, share your thoughts and opinions because there are like minded people who are willing to help you achieve your goals.  Second, I came to a realization about where and who I am today. 

Last night I went to my friend's birthday dinner.  The guests included several professors from the English department, which makes sense considering she is an adjunct in the department.  But for some reason I hadn't really thought about the guest list.  I was going to celebrate her birthday with her.  So, when we got there and I saw some of the other guests I felt fairly intimidated.  There were no less than three of my former professors there.  These are people that I respect and want to be but have no idea how to even do that.

So, there I am watching and listening for a while until I finally decided I needed to just dive in and once I did it was pretty awesome.  We talked about recent articles on NPR and in the New York Times online edition, students at the college, and thoughts on education.  Everyone I talked to listened and shared their thoughts with me as an equal and not as a student getting ready to write a paper for them. 

Davy Jones & The Monkees

I know it's been a week since Davy Jones passed but it's taken me that long to decide what I wanted to really say about him.  I read this thing online about a month ago that said that the music you listen to during your adolescences dictates what type of music you'll like when you're an adult. 

Well, from about twelve to fifteen I listened to nothing but The Monkees.  I knew the lyrics to all their songs, I bought every cassette (I grew-up in a time before CD's and Ipods) and watched and recorded ever rerun of their show I could.  Nothing made me happier than a Friday/Saturday night Monkees's Marathon on Nick at Nite.  It didn't matter if I'd seen the episode a thousand times before I had to watch it again.  I loved The Monkees.  I wanted to meet them.  

When I think about the music that I love the most I realize it's very folk orientated that --thanks to Nesmith-- was a big part of The Monkees's music.  Yes, they had hits like "Daydream Believer" and "I'm a Believer" but "Last Train to Clarksville" was one of their more folksy type songs.  I was especially drawn to songs sung by Micheal Nesmith or Mickey Dolenz.  However, it didn't matter who was singing or what they were singing because I just loved them.

Last week when I found out Davy Jones had died I was sad.  He was so much a part of my awkward years.  In school I was the weird, ugly duckling but when I got home and turned on the television there was Davy along with the other Monkees to distract me from reality and when the show was over I went into my room, pushed play on my tape player and they were there to sing to me while I typed up stories on my typewriter.  They were inspiration for me and I thank them for that.  I thank Davy Jones for his lovely voice, his humor and for his inspiration. 

"I Won't Give Up"

Have you heard this song? More importantly have you seen the official lyric video version of the song? I've seen both and the later pisses me off the most.

It doesn't piss me off because I hate the song or Mraz, in fact, I love him and the song is beautiful.  It's just that "I Won't Give Up" is one of those songs that makes you wonder if you've made the right decisions, done enough or given up to early on a relationship/person. 

Perhaps, the lyric video version affects me more because they words are scattered across envelopes, slips of paper and boxes.  There's this worn, travelled feeling to the video and as Mraz sings and the music plays, I feel like I'm looking back at someone's relationship journey.  It makes me think about my own relationship with someone. 

I've gone back and forth with the same person for fifteen long years, nearly half my life.  He's left and come back countless times and every time I've forgiven him and taken him back.  I know in my head that I've done everything I could do.  So, when the lyrics, "I don't want to be someone who walks away so easily/ I'm here to stay to make the difference I can make" I can't help but feel in my heart that maybe I gave up too soon.  Did I walk away too easily?  Did I give up on us?  Him?  When is it time to give up and move on?  And how does someone really do that?  I've been trying for fifteen years and if he called this moment --much to my wonderful friends' dismays--I'd forgive him.  When there are songs like this one --singing about not giving up-- how do you give up, walk away, stop loving someone?  

Jerry

Jerry is my mentor.  He's been my mentor since Fall 2010.  When I met him I was immediately intimidated.  He wasn't trying to be scary but Jerry exudes this gruff confidence.  He knows who he is, what he writes and is uncompromising.  I knew the moment I shook his hand that he wasn't the type of person to mince words or candy coat his criticism.  It's one of the things I really love about him, even if it bugs me from time to time.

I have to do some extraordinary writing to get, "I like this" from him.  I get a lot of honest and fair comment, a list of writers to read but mostly I get a lot of questions.  "What makes this important?" "Why are you writing this?" "What's the heart of the essay?"  "Everyone goes through this to one degree or another, so what makes it unique to you?"  As much as I dread the questions once he asks them, I'm always glad because it makes me think about the purpose of each essay I'm writing and pushes me to find myself.

As far as writing goes, Jerry is one of the few people who not only believes in me but actually pushes me to keep writing.  Over the winter he took the time to send me a post card from the South Pole that simply said, "Hello from the South Pole!  Get to writing!!!"  Who does that other than someone who really gives a shit about your writing and believes your good?   

A mentor's support comes from seeing the potential in you because they know what makes someone good in their field.  They see your potential even when you doubt yourself which is what Jerry does.  He's a writer.  He's been published numerous times and knows what is needed to be successful. 

Whenever I start to doubt myself, I think of Jerry and remember that he'd never push me if he didn't think I had the talent.