Those in the smaller pro-Zimmerman camp held small signs, saying things like “We love you George” and “George got hit you must acquit.”
Joseph Uy of Longwood was among an even smaller group: the few who said they had no opinion on whether Zimmerman was guilty. He said he came because he was “just curious.”
“I’m neutral,” he said, while cradling his three tiny Chihuahuas in his arms.
And yet there you are, in case there’s some fun to be had. God, I feel about these people the way I felt about everybody outside Terri Schiavo’s hospital room taping their mouths shut and praying in mumbles. Go the fuck HOME. Go find something to DO. Spend some time with your own family. The family that has not been shot dead. Mr. Neutral with your three dogs, go to the fucking dog park. Go buy your mini-pets some mini-food. Right now you’re just gawking at a traffic accident on the justice freeway and it’s gross.
There’s nothing about the Free George Zimmerman Theater that doesn’t make me nauseous in its narcissism. Unless you are his family, his friends, unless you are directly affected by this, why the fuck are you even there? What does this have to do with you, that you’re so invested in his acquittal for killing a young unarmed man? Are you that small, that threatened, that scared? Are you that lonely, that purposeless? Do none of your friends want to go see a movie or drink beer with you? Do you sincerely think yelling slogans at the courtroom walls will make the fact that your Neighborhood Watch hero killed a guy go away? Do you think it’ll make you feel less empty today? How did your identity come to be so tied up with this dickhead you barely know?
I get that a lot of my fellow white people think this entire country has gone to hell and the colored hordes are coming to get us all. They tell me about it all the time because I am paler than most of them are. Even the ones who consider themselves open-minded will say things like how strange it is that white people are no longer a majority. It’s unsettling, the feeling of the ground moving beneath your feet for the first time. It’s weird to not be on top automatically and I can, to a certain degree, at least sympathize with the need to remark on the fact that a change is occurring.
But I can’t sympathize with anybody who doesn’t want to earn his self-worth, who wants it validated by every incident that ends up on the evening news. I can’t sympathize with anybody who sees this as a game of two teams, and if Trayvon Martin was murdered somehow my kind loses points. We are not racking up box scores for future statisticians to study. We do not tick one in our box if George Zimmerman is convicted, and one in yours if he is acquitted.That is not what this is about.
This is what the real dispute is: do you believe that a 17-year-old black person counts the same as any other human being? The local cops did not, which is why the case turned into a national scandal to begin with. George Zimmerman did not. Trayvon Martin was walking along, heading home from the store, and that was not enough.
And it’s not about YOU, Mr. Standing Outside the Courthouse Waving a George Zimmerman sign. These trials — like the Casey Anthony case, like the Scott Peterson case — in which all of America seems to feel obligated to participate, are not a way to give meaning to your days. Find some other way to do that. Learn to crochet. I am happy to teach you if you don’t know how. I have made several ugly scarves. It’s not the most productive hobby but it keeps me away from Nancy Grace just fine.