Four minutes is more time than it took Omar Sharif to approach the water hole in Lawrence of Arabia, more than Roger Banister took to run the first 4 minute mile, exactly the time it takes to broadcast eight successive Depends commercials during the television evening news. I hear so much about how Zimmerman must’ve been alarmed, concerned, frightened, and despite these feelings how he set out to intercept the interloper and protect the neighborhood. I haven’t heard much about how Martin must’ve felt being tracked, trailed; shadowed by a stranger in the night. Maybe thoughts of Emmett Till or James Byrd or the Sharpsboro boys flashed through his mind, maybe he also thought he was in danger and that he might need to protect himself from a stranger in the night. A stranger with a gun, who had already called for backup and been expressly told NOT to do what he was now doing, which was precipitating a confrontation. A stranger who’s application to join the police force had been rejected on grounds of unsuitability, and who had wrangled a job where he would allowed to carry a personal weapon and stand sentinel in the night watching out for people he determined were suspicious. People wearing hoodies and carrying candy. (It’s a well known fact that most predators reinforce themselves with candy and an iced tea drink before swinging into action). Four minutes later Martin was shot in the heart. Life over. Candy uneaten. Mission un-accomplished. The definition of manslaughter is ‘putting oneself into a circumstance that causes the death of another person’. I don’t see how this trial could have ended in any other way. But it did.
Posted on: Sun, 14 Jul 2013 12:08:43 +0000