Race, Truth, and History: Reflections on the Zimmerman Trial
by Dr. Darin J. Waters
In the aftermath of the George Zimmerman trial, African Americans are again expressing great frustration with the American justice system.
In light of the historical experiences of African Americans in the United States, this frustration is understandable. The African American experience has been marked by struggle: Through the eras of slavery and Jim Crow segregation, African Americans have been forced to fight for recognition as full citizens and for access to the mainstream of American life.
Yet from the time Trayvon Martin’s death became public knowledge, and continuing through Zimmerman’s trial, some commentators have tried to deny the significance of race in the case. To hold such a position is to ignore history.
African Americans have been among the most ardent supporters of freedom, justice, and equality, yet that mainstream remains elusive to many. The ongoing struggle becomes all the more troubling in the wake of Zimmerman’s acquittal and leads many to believe that a society that places equal value on the lives of blacks and whites may be an unreachable dream.
To understand the death of Trayvon Martin and the frustrations that African Americans feel, one has to know and appreciate the centuries-long struggle that African Americans have endured, knowledge that Zimmerman’s prosecutors and his jurors seemed to lack. One member of the jury suggested that on the night that Trayvon was killed, he could have simply walked away; as logical as that may seem to some, a history of enduring false assumptions about one’s character and intentions suggest otherwise.
African Americans, men in particular, have long had to endure humiliating assumptions and suspicions. It was the prosecutor’s responsibility to ensure that the jury was aware of this experience by, first of all, acknowledging that the African American experience is different from that of other groups in this country. The jury needed to understand that being considered “under suspicion” has a long history among African Americans in the United States.
Before emancipation, blacks, even free blacks, were watched out of suspicion that they might be plotting to overthrow their masters. In the Jim Crow era that followed, African Americans were kept under casual but constant surveillance: white supremacists argued that black men freed from the constraints of slavery would succumb to their more “base natures,” leading to an increase in crime. This period in our history—about 1890-1940—witnessed the brutal murder and incarceration of thousands of African American men, many of them innocent of any wrongdoing.
While some may wish to forget this history, the memory of it remains fresh in the minds of African Americans; the pain of the past makes it difficult not to respond when someone assumes that your mere presence is reason for suspicion: a reason that Zimmerman acknowledged in his recorded 911 call on the night he killed Trayvon.
Many of us, white and black, were told when we were young that if we ever felt that we were in danger, or came upon a person who seemed suspicious, we should seek the help of someone who could investigate the matter and defuse the situation if necessary. “Find an adult [teacher, policeman, etc.] who can help.” This is a lesson that Zimmerman should have learned, advice he should have followed; so any rational person must wonder why, according to reports and testimony, Zimmerman ignored the instructions of emergency operators and pursued someone he believed to be suspicious enough to warrant a call to authorities in the first place.
Carrying a gun (legal under Florida’s concealed weapons law) clearly played a role in Zimmerman’s decision. No matter what position one takes on the issue of guns, possession of a weapon can offer a person not only a sense of security, but it can also embolden its owner to take unnecessary risks. And as President Obama indicated in his initial and subsequent statements about this tragic case, the nation needs to have a rational discussion about our attitudes and laws concerning guns—including “Stand Your Ground” laws.
But we also need a serious conversation about the history and continuing impact of race and racism in America. Although the president has been subjected to much criticism—some of it quite insulting—his candid statements after the Zimmerman trial spoke to the experiences of many African Americans, especially his comment that he, too, had been subjected to the indignity of being watched suspiciously by whites. This is a very real experience for black citizens: the only difference between Trayvon and many others is that we have refrained from responding—although deep inside we have wanted to.
The discipline to not respond in such situations is something that many of us learn early on, and we try to instill the same discipline in our own children. We encourage them to avoid generating further suspicion by advising them not to wear certain clothes. For those who value individuality, this message is conflicting, because it encourages conformity in an area where there should be a degree of freedom. Nevertheless, our conformist message is given in the hope that it might help our children avoid the fate that befell Trayvon.
Yet deep down we still fear that a time may come when our advice may prove difficult to follow. Turning the other cheek can become tiresome, and often the age-old instinct to defend one’s honor becomes paramount. Unfortunately, this is the burden that America’s racial history has placed on African Americans, and it is, as President Obama said, “a history that will not go away.”
While no one denies that the nation has made significant progress in the area of race and race relations, there remain issues to address. In 1963, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. stood before the nation and said that he dreamed of a day when his children would be judged “[not] by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” But inescapably, George Zimmerman knew nothing about the content of Trayvon’s character. Rather, he assumed, by the color of Trayvon’s skin and his choice of attire, that he was up to no good and intent on criminal behavior.
Some pundits have pointed to statistical data that shows that there are high rates of crime among African American youth. While this data merits our attention, its use in the context of this case is irresponsible, punishing an innocent youth for the crimes of the guilty. The abuse of such data also increases the disenchantment that many African Americans feel toward their country—especially when systemic racism plays a role in their plight.
Perhaps if George Zimmerman had had a better appreciation of the historical context in which African Americans live their lives, he might have listened to the instructions he was given not to follow Trayvon. If the jurors had possessed such an understanding, it is unlikely that one of them would have suggested that Trayvon could have walked away.
As Americans, we love to herald our progress toward our nation’s founding ideals, yet we often do so by either dismissing or diminishing the fact that this progress has rarely come without a struggle. Frederick Douglass said in 1857, “power concedes nothing without a demand,” and African Americans have had to make significant demands to achieve the progress that the country so readily promotes. As a historian, I believe we have a duty to ensure that our society does not succumb to historical amnesia: to do so would delegitimize the reality of the past and present experience of African Americans.
In 1974, Dr. John Hope Franklin pointed out that historians have a responsibility to keep before a nation both the glories and deficiencies of its past. A true and accurate recounting of a nation’s history, he noted, shows that in many places its various positions and “postures have been mixed and exist on several levels of morality … At times, in the case of the United States, its public policy has been human, healthy, and worthy; at other times, it has been bereft of many or any praiseworthy objectives.”
If our goal is to fashion a more equitable society, we need to recognize that while our country was founded on the ideals of freedom and liberty for all, we’ve often found it difficult to live up to those ideals. No other group has suffered more from this failure than African Americans.
Taken together, Trayvon Martin’s tragic death and President Obama’s forthright expressions of empathy offer us the unique opportunity to try and truly comprehend the historical and persistent significance of race in our society.
Darin J. Waters, PhD, is a Professor of History at the University of North Carolina, Asheville.
