After the Verdict: Anger and Defiance in Sanford
July 15, 2013 | Revolution Newspaper | revcom.us
July 13-14—Hundreds of people gathered in front of the Seminole County Criminal Justice Center on Saturday as the jury deliberated the verdict. The crowd was multinational and consisted of many, many people from other parts of Florida and many people from various states who were vacationing in Florida but felt compelled to change their plans and be a part of the demonstration. Many people had their children with them. A white woman from Orlando spoke with me outside of the courthouse—she had her two young children with her. "I'm white and my son's father is Black, but to America—my sons are Black and that means they will live in danger. I fear for their lives."
In front of the courthouse in Sanford, waiting for the verdict on July 13, 2013. Special to Revolution
Around 9 o'clock the police closed off the entrance to the courthouse to cars and pedestrians. People came from around Sanford and outside the city, many of whom drove miles after watching the news and seeing the possibility of the jury delivering the verdict. Many people, including many white people, felt the need to come to the courthouse and demand justice for Trayvon Martin, but the police turned them away. As the sun faded, the lights from the court building engulfed the crowd, and green We Are All Trayvon—the Whole Damn System is Guilty stickers glowed in the remaining light. It was late, and we had distributed all of the Revolution newspapers. We joined the crowds at the front of the protest pen, standing on the fountain with huge Revolution—Nothing Less posters. The crowd stared up at the fifth floor of the courthouse with its tall glass windows, lawyers, police, and maybe George Zimmerman looked out at the crowd. People chattered about the happenings inside the court, cell phones glowed in the night as people checked for updates, and families and friends called giving people updates from what they were watching on TV.
Suddenly, the police began to move around the crowd, and a group of armed guards positioned themselves side by side covering the inside and outside of the court's doors. News reporters and cameramen rushed into place. Everyone sensed that something was about to happen. The chants hushed and cell phones lit faces as people refreshed news websites looking for the verdict. Some prayed and most waited anxiously. Occasionally a rumor would pass through the crowd. People lit up as someone said, "He's guilty!" "No wait..." People waited…. Finally, wails passed through the air, "Noooo!" "NOT GUILTY!" "The jury said not guilty!"
People broke. Old men, young women, mothers and fathers clenching their children wept. Some shouted "shame!" pointing toward the fifth floor where the jury had just freed George Zimmerman, a murderer. We witnessed a lynching. A kick to the face. News cameras pointed in the faces of weeping mothers and others staring in disbelief. Some turned to a revolutionary in the crowd. She spoke clearly and boldly condemning this system and proclaiming that a system that continually buries the Trayvon Martins of the world as the George Zimmermans walk free is an ILLegitimate system and should be swept off the face of the Earth.
Although the police would not allow anyone into the courthouse, they did allow people to leave. We received a call from a friend of the revolution, a woman in the Goldsboro neighborhood where the Trayvon Martin Memorial is located. Goldsboro is an historical Black neighborhood with a rich history and a deep, dark history of coming under horrific racist oppression that dates from slavery to today. While it houses a beautiful memorial to Trayvon, Goldsboro is also the home of the Sanford Police Department—where after murdering Trayvon, George Zimmerman walked freely out of the back door, before Trayvon's blood had even dried. The revolution is widely recognized in Goldsboro, and we knew that it was an important place to be on that night.
When we arrived, people were gathered outside of the Welcome Center. Many were gathered at the memorial where some had lit candles and placed flowers in honor of Trayvon. A reporter with Revolution newspaper was already listening as people reflected on their disbelief, disappointment, anger, and grief. Many older women spoke of worrying about the youth in the neighborhood. One woman talked about stopping in a 7-Eleven on her way home from the courthouse to buy a drink. A young Black man was outside in his car with his music loud. She approached him and pleaded for him to go home. She told him what had happened in court that night and told him that it wasn't safe for him to be out. We talked with people late into the night. We struggled together, trying to understand the implications of what had taken place, what it means for the youth, Black people, and why we don't have to live this way.
Around one in the morning, a few of us sat together on a bench with a small group of women from Goldsboro. We talked about how tragic it would be for the system to succeed in lowering people's heads even further, leaving them defeated and demoralized. One woman said that many people weren't going to church in the morning because they were simply too bitter. I suggested that we figure out a way for people to express their bitterness, grief, and anger with others who are feeling the same way, and call on others to refuse to suffer in silence. We talked and decided to have a public speak-out in Fort Mellon Park, a large city park on the waterfront in downtown Sanford where tens of thousands of people gathered last year to demand the arrest of Zimmerman. Together we agreed to spread the word with them, telling people at church the next morning and calling around to friends, and we put it out on Facebook and Twitter and called the contacts we had.
Sunday morning, our group distributed Carl Dix's statement on the verdict, "How Long Will This System Continue to Get Away with Murder?" to the congregation of the largest AME church in Goldsboro. Inside the church, word had already gotten out about the speak-out. Reporters from national press reporting from inside the church got word as well. People were receptive to Carl Dix's statement and despite exiting a church service, no one I spoke to claimed it was god's plan—no one was at peace with the verdict.
Speak-out at the Park
In the afternoon, we went to the park. As gusts of wind blew off the lake and the daily Florida storm clouds gathered overhead, we erected a giant (12 x 7 foot) banner with Bob Avakian's "No more generations of our youth…" quote and a stunning, larger-than-life photograph from the cover of Revolution of a group of youth, fists in the air, holding signs emblazoned with "Justice 4 Trayvon" with a caption under the picture, "We Are All Trayvon—The Whole Damn System Is Guilty!" Reporters and people playing in the park watched as the banner came together. The banner alone set a tone in the park. Bystanders talked about the verdict as a crowd of about 150 people gathered.
We started with a reading of Carl Dix's statement on the verdict. We made two large signs with the three points in the statement declaring Trayvon's murder, the way the trial was conducted, and the verdict as "UNACCEPTABLE." These three points resonated with people as true and extremely relevant at this that moment.
After reading the statement, we opened the mic up to the crowd. This was not the type of gathering people were used to in Sanford; revolution was undeniably in the forefront, people were indicting the system and pointing to a way out—this set the tone. Putting forth revolution and communism as a solution did NOT stifle people, in fact it unleashed them. This was a real model of BA's solid core with a lot of elasticity. There was a feeling of community and a sense of "we've got each other's back—we are all Trayvon."
At the speakout July 14 in Fort Mellon Park, Sanford, Florida. Special to Revolution
A Puerto Rican mother stepped to the center of the crowd with her 13-year-old son. She took the microphone and told the crowd, "I moved to Sanford from one of the roughest neighborhoods in the Bronx. I moved here for a better life—this is what I get." She pointed to her son who stood beside her with his head held high, straight-faced and serious, "This is my Trayvon! This is my son. He is Trayvon Martin!" Her son seemed to know this—he lives it every day. The mother talked about how her son was already big for his age and she described her terror as she watched him grow, fearing that he could be murdered by the police or a vigilante who might profile him as a threat.
Three other people spoke and talked openly about their experiences with the New Jim Crow—mass incarceration and the disenfranchisement and stigma they are forced to live with now that they are "free." One was a young Black woman who now works with an organization advocating for the rights of people formerly incarcerated. She described the struggle that she and thousands of formerly incarcerated men and women face under this system. She told us about the 1.4 million (mostly Black) people in Florida who are disenfranchised and suggested that it may have played a role in the jury pool for the Zimmerman trial.
During one of the speeches, a young boy, no older than 7, began to chant, "No justice! No peace!" and got his even younger brother to join him, both pumping their fist in the air; the crowd joined them. He took the microphone with confidence and asked the crowd, "Who here wanted to see George Zimmerman guilty? Say 'me' if you did." Everyone responded "ME!" and broke back into chant. The boy's courage opened things up for people who may have been reluctant to speak.
Over a dozen others spoke. We read from BAsics 2:16, in which Bob Avakian recounts the story of Tyisha Miller, a woman passed out in her car from a seizure, who awoke and was murdered by the police. People cheered after the line "If you can't handle the situation differently than this, then get the fuck out of the way…get off the earth…. Because, you know, we could have handled this situation any number of ways that would have resulted in a much better outcome." There was a real sense, a real interest among people, and a deep feeling that the system is illegitimate and WE could do much better. People, including many from other states, gathered to talk and ask questions about revolution, the possibilities, and what it is about.
At one point, a woman, encouraged by her friend, shyly approached the mic and asked if she could sing a song. She took the microphone and started to sing. She was small, but her voice was tremendous, and as she sang people in the crowd went silent—all attention was on her. The song she sang was surprising, but incredibly relevant to the moment; she sang the song "Hero" by Whitney Houston. The lyrics of the song describe the feeling of defeat, but refusing to give in and give up.
And then a hero comes along
With the strength to carry on
And you cast your fears aside
And you know you can survive
So when you feel like hope is gone
Look inside you and be strong,
And you'll finally see the truth
That a hero lies in you
This speak-out was a powerful expression of defiance for the people of Sanford. People's sentiment ranged from disbelief (someone described the feeling as being "tased") to grief, and complete outrage at the continued oppression of Black people. As people struggle to sum up and understand where to go from here, it is crucial that revolution is in the mix. It is critical that people know about Bob Avakian and his new synthesis of communism and the party that he leads, the Revolutionary Communist Party. As the rulers of this system work overtime to beat into people's heads that even if you don't like the verdict, this is the best system in the world--we need to get BA and Revolution newspaper into all of this and cut through the bullshit. People need to know that WE DON'T HAVE TO LIVE THIS WAY! This is a moment where a crack has opened, people are seeking a way out, what we do now matters.
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