We're all carrying a deadly weapon...

That is cement....That is a sidewalk and that is not an unarmed teenager with nothing but Skittles trying to get home....And the suggestion by the state that that’s not a weapon, that that can’t hurt somebody, is disgusting.   --George Zimmerman Lead Defense Attorney Mark O' Mara in closing arguments to the jury.

In the end the Party would announce that two and two made five, and you would have to believe it. It was inevitable that they should make that claim sooner or later: the logic of their position demanded it. Not merely the validity of experience, but the very existence of external reality, was tacitly denied by their philosophy. The heresy of heresies was common sense. And what was terrifying was not that they would kill you for thinking otherwise, but that they might be right. For, after all, how do we know that two and two make four? Or that the force of gravity works? Or that the past is unchangeable? If both the past and the external world exist only in the mind, and if the mind itself is controllable—what then?  George Orwell, 1984

I call it cruel, and maybe the root of all cruelty,

to know what occurs but not recognize the fact. "A Ritual to Read to Each Other", William Stafford

This entry is heavy on the quotes. I realize that, and I came quite close to clipping pretty well the Orwell quote, but I just felt like it was all so relevant, that it all had to stay.

And such it is.  As you've probably guessed, this post is about the case of Trayvon Martin.  I certainly realize that many people know a lot about this case and most have formed some sort of opinion about it.  I also know that I probably won't be changing any minds.  There are some other things I won't do, or at least I won't do to the point that one can discuss the case without doing so: 

     --I will not discuss gun control or "Stand Your Ground"
     --I will not discuss race.

Now, it is impossible to really discuss this case without those two aspects, but I'm going to attempt to minimize them.  For I am going to make the radical suggestion that even if everything George Zimmerman has said is the absolute truth, he should be in jail.

I think that this case has struck a chord with so many people for a number of reasons.  Now, of course, the fact that Trayvon Martin was black and thus more likely to be deemed "suspicious" by Mr. Zimmerman is one of them.  So is the fact that he had "no duty to retreat even if possible".  People far more dedicated to these causes than me are rallying to them and I applaud them.  But I see this case, and I suspect many others do as well, as a moral test for our society.

It is a simple moral test: Can we call a spade a spade? When something is wrong, can we say it's wrong? Or do we equivocate? Do we try to find a way to make 2 + 2 = 5?  We haven't been doing so well in such situations during my adult life.  When our country's leaders swore that Iraq had "Weapons of Mass Demonstration" I supported sending troops, my friends, to that country.  We were clearly snowballed. George W. Bush joked at a fundraiser "Where were those darned WMD's again?" We failed to get angry. 

There is clear economic evidence that while our country's economy is producing more than any other time during history.  Yet the bottom 90% of the population has seen no real gain in economic power since the late 1970's.  Quite literally, the rich are getting richer and everyone else has to swim harder against the current.  Wall Street absolutely massacred the country in 2008, but somehow, no one did anything wrong.  Yet families working two jobs are booted daily out of their houses, houses they were told were guaranteed investments, that were the key to their middle class status.  We're not angry.

Maybe what needed, I thought with no pun intended, was a black and white case.  Somewhere where the facts were so obvious and the case so down to Earth that no one could be swayed by propaganda.  In February of 2012, a seventeen year old boy was walking home when a man ten years his senior began to follow him in his truck.  The man was so suspicious of this young man that he got out of his truck to look for him.  He had a gun.  Would he had even had the courage to get out of his truck without a gun, seeing as the youth looked so "suspicious?"

What happened next only two people have ever known.  One is George Zimmerman.  He claims that the youth, Trayvon Martin, "jumped" him, was beating him, was pounding his head into the sidewalk, that he thought he was in "great bodily harm", and therefore had no choice but to shoot Mr. Martin.  Mr. Martin died within a few seconds of being shot through the heart.  Mr. Zimmerman went to the doctor the next day, not because he was so wounded, but because he wanted to get back to work!

The other person who knew what happened is Trayvon Martin.  He has never told his story.

*****

Both Mr. Martin and Mr. Zimmerman became cause celebres for certain pockets of the population.  So many people rallied for Mr. Martin that the State of Florida was forced to act.  So many people rallied for Mr. Zimmerman (but not publically, for the most part), that he found himself able to hire the best defense attorney in the state and also pay a not insignificant bond.  Without Mr. O'Mara, would Mr. Zimmerman have even had a chance? Hard to say. That bit about a "sidewalk becoming a deadly weapon" was a stroke of genius.  I guess all of us are, and have been for quite some time, unknowingly in possession of a deadly weapon. Who knew?

*****

The state of Florida did not do a real good job with this case.  Whether that was human error or just the facts at hand is debatable, but the prosecutors did get one good shot in there (I swear I am not trying to make puns).  After Mr. O'Mara had cross-examined a physician to try to emphasize the severity of Mr. Zimmerman's wounds, the prosecutor asked on redirect "Would you describe Mr. Zimmerman's wounds as more or less severe than a bullet wound to the heart?"

Mr. O'Mara objected, successfully, but the point was made.  For I believe all of us were, as Nate Silver might say it, losing the signal for the noise.  For after all the courtroom legalese, the truth looms.  The truth does not go away. The truth is this: An armed man thought a young boy looked suspicious.  He followed him. They scuffled. Mr. Zimmerman killed Mr. Martin.

All of the rest should not matter. It is just noise. It might matter if, say, Mr. Zimmerman had been in his home and Mr. Martin had entered.  It might have mattered if Mr. Zimmerman just been walking home, or if Mr. Zimmerman had been carjacked by Mr. Martin.  But none of that is true.  Mr. Zimmerman either provoked, or set the table for, a fight that night. (Incidentally, it is the height of irony that the defense wanted the jury to believe Mr. Zimmerman was defending himself, while completely ignoring the fact that, even if Mr. Martin started the fight as attested to by Mr. Zimmerman, doesn't he have the right to proactively defend himself against an armed, older man stalking him?). As he began to lose the fight, he shot Mr. Martin.

He killed him.  The boy was walking home and he was killed.  The boy was walking home and he was killed.  The boy was walking home and he was killed....

*****

But Mr. Zimmerman is "not guilty".  Apparently Mr. Martin deserved to die for having defended himself (and this is if you believe everything Mr. Zimmerman says).  I have trouble accepting that.  We are, as a society, failing to call a spade a spade yet again.  A man provoked a fight with a teenager, shot him, and is somehow not guilty.  I will admit, I've lost sleep over it.  My son will someday be seventeen, and who knows who might think he'll look suspicious? Why do the Mr. Zimmermans out there get to decide, without punishment, who lives or dies? And most important, who decides who are the Mr. Zimmermans of the world, and who are the Trayvon Martins?

***** 

Some folks have called this "a tragedy that should never have happened".  Such platitudes are nice but ignore the fact that we know who MADE it happen and refuse to judge him. One website I saw went so far as to proclaim Mark O'Mara the "Atticus Finch of 2013".  This person was not joking.  I'm not sure if he was intentionally being ironic or just didn't get it.

Dr. King said that the arc of moral justice is long but bends toward justice.  I believe he's right.  I believe that in fifty years, we'll look back on this acquittal and say "What were we thinking?"  If we're not thinking that in fifty years, I'll feel like this was all for nothing.  I suppose it's human nature, to want Trayvon Martin's death to result in some sort of good.

Until then, be careful with all those concealed concrete carriers.

Peace, Mark



　

 

 

Mi cumpleaños -- Número 36 (¡Muchas Gracias a todos!)

¿Cómo se agradece a 95 personas? Según mi cuenta (conste que mi cuenta pueda estar equivocada; mis habilidades matemáticas son muy básicas), ese es el número de personas que aparecieron ayer, de una forma u otra, en mi vida ayer para brindarme un buen cumpleaños.  En el mundo ideal, por supuesto, yo escribiría una nota a cada persona agradeciéndole, explicándole lo que ha significado para mí, etc. etc.  Pero este mundo, lamentablemente, no es perfecto, y yo mucho menos.  Puedo apenitas escribir una pequeña nota con los pensamientos que se me ocurrieron en este, el cumpleaños número 36.  Esta vez he hecho un poco de trampa: mi escrito no se ha hecho hasta el día posterior a mi cumpleaños--siento decirles que nunca sabrán cuando pensé qué, que si es un pensamiento del cumpleaños verdadero o no.

El día empezó mal; me desperté tosiendo debido, supongo, a mis mucho años de haber fumado.  Mi Orlandito estuvo igualito, los dos enfermos y Niko el único saludable entre los tres.  Me tiré unos ibuprofenes y me eché en el sofá, diciéndoles a los niños (se lo juro por la primera vez, se lo juro) que por esta vez nomás podían ver tanta tele como querían y hasta hacer juegos videos.  Cuando más o menos me desperté a las once, mis dos hijos estaban pelados gritando para sus equipos de fútbol Americano en la Playstation.  Niko era Minnesota y Orlando Purdue (le dice "los trenes").  Como el superbuen papá que soy, me puse a comer un cambur (venezolano para "banana") y volví a dormir.  Era la una cuando mi suegro salió del cuarto dónde dormía y dijo "Pero por qué no están vestidos?"  Decidí justo en ese momento, por pura coincidencia, que ya mis hijos debían vestirse y almorzar.  Preparé un almuerzo muy sufrido de perro caliente y aguacate y les serví. Orlandito seguía con temperatura, así que lo mandé a la cama y le dije a Niko, como Orlando y yo estuvimos enfermos, que podía ver tele, sólo por esta vez, se lo juro.  Luego puse las noticias y me dormí rapidísimo.  A las cinco me esposa llegó del trabajo y me preguntó si habían comido los niños.  En ese mismito momento decidí que los niños debieron comer, pero no tuve ganas de cocinar como era mi cumpleaños y todo esa vaina, así que salimos a Pizza Ranch.  Rompí una promesa que había hecho a mí mismo no comer más en Pizza Ranch, ya que se han vuelto súper conservadores y donan plata a Focus on the Family y esas mierdas de organizaciones, pero coño, ese pollo es SABROSÍSIMO y la pizza no está tan mala tampoco. Además me moría por una Coca-Cola.  Sonia quiso invitar a mucha gente y la verdad es que no pude, estaba demasiado mal por mi día tan harto, y como soy muy popular no quise invitar uno sin invitar el otro, así que fuimos los cuatro nomás.  Al pobre de Orlandito le dieron escalofríos de nuevo y me regañó por no haber traído ibuprofén.  Le pedí disculpas.  Llegando a la casa le dije a Sonia que estuve retecansado por mi día tan sufrido y como ella es muy buena esposa se encargó de los niños.  Quise leer pero opté por la opción más difícil de ver una película.  Vi "Zero Dark Thirty".  Estuvo retebuena.  Luego Sonia dijo que estaba ya un poco cansada y yo le dije que yo estuve súper cansado.  Pero quedaba en espera aún la mejor sorpresa de mi día especial.  A las once y media sonó el teléfono y yo muy entusiasmado dije "¿Quién carajo llama a estas horas?" y contesté.  No era nadie menos que un polícía, ¡diciendo que habían encontrado nuestro carro robado!  Con muchísimo esfuerzo debido a mi situación delicada, fuimos con él y ya tenemos de nuevo a nuestro Malibu.  ¡Fue el mejor regalo en la historia del mundo mundial!

Wow.  Hasta me cansé nomás describiendo el Día de mi Cumpleaños.  Hoy fui a trabajar.  Fue mucho más suave, no como la jornada de ayer.  Dios trabaja en maneras misteriosas.

Besos, Mark

P.D. En serio, MUCHÍSIMAS GRACIAS a todos que me saludaron ayer.  Cada uno de Uds. es querido para mí y les espero lo mismo que me brindaron a mí--salúd, amor, y felicidad. (OJO: noten que no dije dinero.  A estas alturas ni sé que es esa cosa que se llama "dinero").  Los amo a todos, todos, con todo mi corazoncito. 

Back in the Big City (Translation)

Note: All translations are via Google Translate. Google Translate is an amazing but imperfect tool. If at all possible please read the original. I am not liable, nor ethically nor morally nor legally, for the products of Google Translate.
Ojo: Todas las traducciones son por Google Translate. Esta es una herramienta asombrosa pero imperfecta.  Si es posible es mejor leer la original.  No tengo responsiblidad, ni por ética, ni por moralidad, ni por ley, por los productos de Google Translate.


Today I am in my second home, the beautiful city of West Liberty, Iowa, where the first ten years of my professional life I worked and where now I'll continue after I graduate with a master's degree in Spanish Linguistics. I'll be giving fourth grade for this coming year, in a lounge bililingue, similar to what he did before.


It is always good to see you with people that you haven't seen in a long time. When you enter the Office today I heard the voice of my great friend Leticia Escobedo cantadora and saw other acquaintances who had not seen in a long time, in some cases for two years since I went through the corridors. It is a singular sensation - the coming week will not feel this to see them, but now yes sorry. The concierges have taught me a closet which had kept several things mine, although he had left them in the living room two years ago. I do not know whether it is a signal of respect or nuisance which failed to throw...


Maybe since I've seen the room, seized my computer and deleted all the blessed emails that had accumulated during two years (was activated my account!), I feel a desire to eat and not get a cone. When I went to the beans that I brought, grabbed a spoon and surprise saw that the spoon is my home calendar.


And we all go and say 'Hello, how are you?, how you been gone?' and I respond in the same way. My children play in the Hall to swords with the son of a friend who is also armando salon and the background music is 'Comfortably Numb' Pink Floyd.


And we all go and say ' I'm glad you're here again, but the truth didn't think you were going to return. Why have you gone?' And I don't know to say, but who have returned and point. Maybe I feel a little something different, rare or pleasant or unpleasant, but not so. I simply am and point. I am the spoon that was never to leave.

 

De vuelta en La Ciudad Grande

Hoy me encuentro en mi segundo hogar, la ciudad bella de West Liberty, Iowa, donde trabajé los primeros diez años de mi vida professional y donde ahora voy a seguirla después de haberme graduado con una maestría en la Lingüística española.  Estaré dando el cuarto grado para este año que viene, en un salón bililingüe, parecido a lo que hacía en antes.

Siempre es bueno verte con las personas que no has visto en mucho rato.  Al entrar la oficina hoy oí la voz cantadora de mi gran amiga Leticia Escobedo y a pasar por los pasillos veía a otros conocidos que no había visto en mucho tiempo, en algunos casos por dos años desde que me fui.  Es una sensación singular--la semana que viene no sentiré esto a verlas, pero ahora sí lo siento.  Los concierges me han enseñado a un clóset dónde habían guardado varias cosas mías, aunque las había dejado en el salón hace dos años.  No sé si sea señal de respeto o fastidio que no las llegaron a botar....

Pues ya que he visto el salón, agarrado mi computadora y borrado todos los benditos emails que se habían acumulado durante dos años (¡quedó activado mi cuenta!), me siento con unas ganas de comer y no hacer un coño.  Cuando fui a calendar los frijoles que me traje, agarré una cucharita y con sorpresa vi que la cucharita es de mi casa. 

Y todos pasan y me dicen "Hola, ¿cómo estás?, ¿cómo te ha ido?" y yo respondo de igual manera.  Mis hijos juegan en el pasillo a espadas con el hijo de una amiga que también está armando el salón y la música del fondo es "Comfortably Numb" de Pink Floyd. 

Y todos pasan y me dicen "Me alegra que estés aqui de nuevo, pero la verdad no pensé que ibas a regresar.  ¿Por qué has vuelto?" Y no sé que decirles, sino que he regresado y punto.  Tal vez debo de sentir alguito diferente o raro o agradable o desagradable, pero no es así.  Simplemente estoy y punto.  Soy la cucharita que nunca llegó a irse.