I shot the sheriff
But I didn't shoot no deputy, oh no!
I shot the sheriff
But I didn't shoot no deputy.
Yeah!
All around in my home town,
They're tryin' to track me down;
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the killing of a deputy,
For the life of a deputy. -Bob Marley
It occurs to me that Bob Marley has much to say concerning the murder of Trayvon Martin. I am deeply concerned how the media rushes to determine that a dead young man was really only a scoundrel, and therefore, no great loss to society. If you believe some media outlets, Zimmerman did the world a favor. Trayvon had an empty bag that contained weed at some point, and had been suspended. He must have been the scourge of the earth.
When I heard this information on the news, I immediately went to youtube and listened to the some Bob Marley. He has a way of saying things most people are content to only think about. "I Shot the Sheriff" is a powerhouse of a song, quickly enveloping its listener in a syrupy sweet, honey-thick web of harmony and rhythm that welcomes everyone to dance like they really can. The song is hypnotic, mesmerizing. One almost doesn't hear the lyrics the first time. It's only after one is sweaty and out of breath that we realize the song has said something profound in the midst of its melodic genius. Listen with ears for justice, and a very poignant and relevant voice arises.
Bob is singing, ever so coolly, about the plight of the Black man-- any Black man-- who kills in self-defense. He shot the sheriff. He kills, not because he is a genetic criminal, or because killing is what Black folk do. Bob makes it clear that he shoots the sheriff because he is forced to do so. The sheriff is dead because the sheriff was stalking and hunting him--to this charge, he readily admits his guilt. But, Bob didn't kill no deputy.
The parallels are haunting. The song goes on to say that Marley knows he is hated by the sheriff, and he doesn't know why. He had encountered this hatred (and probably this kind of hatred) long enough that he is attempting to get away from it. Minding his own business, he is on the way out of town. Out of no where, he looks to find the sheriff is aiming at him. What is one to do, in the words of my friend Howard Thurman, when one's back is against the wall? "Reflexes got the better of me," he details, and he responds in self-defense.
Me thinks Marley is a prophet, and I know that he knew full-well the delicate and intricate dynamics of a racist society. He says, "I may have done some things, but I didn't do this." Only here can one being stalked and followed, end of being vilified for responding to being hunted. How is it Trayvon, the victim, the one now dead, is revolving into the one who was the aggressor, the one who beat poor little George Zimmerman?
Trayvon did something wrong. He was prey, and prey is not supposed to fight back. If in fact he did approach Zimmerman (which seems improbable and impossible at this point), still--the hunted is supposed to participate in their own death without struggle. So whether this is true or not, the unsettled conversation of race and racism was struggling to produce this dialog since this story broke.
Through a short song, Marley does something very nuanced that one might miss without it being highlighted. He tells a simple story and his is innocence is the constant thread. He says, "If I am guilty I will pay," not as much as an admission, but as if he knows the fluid nature of law in the hands of powerful people who don't look like him. This reality is the most frustrating and crazy-making. Then, as if adding insult to injury, someone has accused him of killing the deputy, too!
Have mercy.
This song raises the issue of compounded guilt. In the minds of limited folk, and embedded in the history of this country, Black folk are guilty from birth. If we haven't committed a crime, it's only a matter of time. If we have committed a crime, then the door is open to pin everything and anything that happened in the vicinity on us. In writing this blog, I remembered a distasteful joke I happened upon. With nausea, I repeat, "How do you know a n*gger is guilty? He's alive."
Trayvon was in the midst of a storm of history and hatred, and didn't know it. His only sin is that he walked easily with treats in hand, through the rain, just trying to make it home.
With great urgency, many of us donned hoodies, wanting to lift up the fact that a young man was stalked and hunted, and killed in cold blood. We want justice. We want that humans are not considered dangerous because they are breathing. We want peace for all the young men and women who wear their hoodies, who lift their hoods not in subversive criminality, but for fashion, anonymity and safety.
I pray that one day a murdered young man's family doesn't have to hear on the news that their son was just a weed-smoking thug who was suspended from school. They shouldn't be told that he was the attacker, as if to say let it go. No one should have to deal with this while they mourn. I pray a child's life doesn't get distilled to a few instances of less-than-favorable behavior. I pray no parent has to experience the loud inference, "He deserved what he got." If he were alive, perhaps Trayvon would admit that he wasn't perfect, but perfection is not the measure to determine who deserves to live. Perhaps Trayvon as prey tried to defend himself from the predator, but he didn't kill no deputy. Let us stay the course and look for justice and make peace, and remember the lessons of prophet Marley:
Every time I plant a seed,
He said kill it before it grow -
He said kill them before they grow.
Reconciling Act: Every person deserves to cultivate seeds and watch them grow. Our streets should not be a hunting ground for young black men due to the residue of a Jim Crow society. Every facet of our lives in America should be steeped in the dismantling of racism. Let us refuse to victimize those who are the victims just to ease the discomfort of those who have been comfortable for too long.
