Paul Ryan and the myth of pro-life

A pro-life stance is not always as benevolent as its name would suggest. At its most basic form, it is saying that abortions are almost never the best solution. I don’t think anyone can disagree that abortion is heinous. No amount of guilt-mongering abortion fetus photography campaign can increase my level of disgust towards the act. It is disgusting, and by an ordinary person’s standards, immoral. That does not mean, however, that the next logical step would involve the revocation of a woman’s option to abort an unwanted pregnancy. Too often, the pro-choice movement is painted as a pro-abortion movement. I cannot speak for every pro-choicer, but for me, it is absolutely possible to endorse a woman’s right to have an abortion, while electing to never have such a procedure myself.

The issue of pro-life vs. pro-choice extends beyond a woman’s ability to access safe and legal methods of abortion. The debate actually boils down to whether a woman’s ownership of her body is legitimate, and whether it can be justified that the heralded American values of freedom and liberty are suddenly discontinued when a woman defies nature and wishes not to birth a baby she has conceived.

“All these men without vaginas discussing abortion,” my roommate said today. She was mostly referring to Paul Ryan and Joe Biden, who squared off in the vice-presidential debate last night. Tucked in the final few minutes of the debate, the tone became somber as the debate reached the topic of abortion, specifically as it related to both Joe Biden’s and Paul Ryan’s Catholic backgrounds and intended policies. “I don’t see how a person can separate public life from private life, or faith,” Ryan began. He asserted that faith, reason, and science all contribute to his belief that women should only be granted abortions in the case of rape, incest, or if there is a threat to the mother’s life. It is a simplistic, borderline myopic view that does not account for the realities and diversities of the human experience. For example, what qualifies rape? Rape is likely characterized in people’s minds as a miscellaneous, violent act — maybe by a masked stranger in a dark alley. There is such a large spectrum in defining rape that it would add great difficulty to asserting this as one of the few exceptions to pro-life measures.

There are many things along these lines that make Ryan’s situational exceptions problematic. In a perfect world, every situation involving pregnancy would result in a healthy baby being born into a world of love and care, from two parents, biological or otherwise. There are those who oppose abortion because it is murder—and yes, it is. But as with any murder, legal repercussions aside, the emotional and mental consequences deflect largely if not solely onto the “perpetrator.” And this is not to suggest that women who have had abortions should carry around the guilt and regret of a cold-blooded killer; this is to say that if a woman has made the conscious decision that terminating pregnancy is optimal to her life, she lives with the decision. Regulating abortion rights in such a way that the Romney-Ryan ticket would may serve as an assault on women’s health, and more importantly, their sexual and reproductive rights. Unwanted pregnancies have been around since before there were lively television debates about our options for dealing with them, and there was a time where abortions were unprofessional, unsafe, and shoddily performed. Greater technology has transformed abortion into a relatively safe option for women with unwanted pregnancies, though safety in such a procedure is always debatable. However, the social stigma of even just the word “abortion” has outweighed the real matter at hand: women should not endure any additional restrictions that are not and cannot be extended to men, especially ones that invite others into the jurisdiction of their own bodies. The prevalence of teenage pregnancy in television media is just one signal that most people would prefer impromptu, uninformed parenting to the ghastly idea of an abortion. Indeed, abortion is an unpleasant procedure, but an approach like that of the Republicans sends a much broader message that women, specifically, are incapable of governing their own bodies.

There is no law that requires a man to be a father, and there should be none that requires a woman to be a mother, whether directly or simply as fact. There is no equivalent to childbirth for men; the closest thing is, well, childbirth. If a man so chooses, he can become a wonderful, involved father to a child, whether his or her birth was planned or unplanned. On the other hand, a man can just as easily choose to impregnate a woman and never have anything to do with her or the child. Men are afforded so many patriarchal privileges that are so standardized that they are virtually invisible. It is an accepted social fact that many fathers are simply absent. The single mother is a common character of society; the teenage mother is another that unfortunately has a large overlap. The unfit mother is another category that has infiltrated some of the previous categories, many times producing sad, horrific stories of abuse and even murder. Women’s situations during pregnancy and childbirth are obviously quite different from men’s. The woman walks around with the baby inside of her womb. The woman walks around with the stigma of being a pregnant teenager. The woman sleeps at night with the trauma and guilt of having an abortion. The woman feels the void of having birthed a baby she has given up for adoption, knowing she will never have that unbreakable bond with her child. There is so much more to pregnancy and childbirth than can be addressed in religious text, political debates, or academic textbooks. All the while, politicians are fervently debating the wombs of women they do not know and likely will never meet.

“Life begins at conception,” Biden said during last night’s debate, acknowledging his accordance with the beliefs of the Catholic church. But, he continued, that does not grant him the right to determine what the equally devout followers of other religions are able to do with their bodies. As a nation, we interfere with other countries’ problems, because we believe our power and strength as a nation warrants such behavior. Such is true with politicians who seek to control women’s reproductive rights: they somehow believe their opinion is of greater value than those of the millions of people their actions would affect.

It is easy to say that abortions are wrong and that no one should seek such a procedure, no matter what the circumstances are. It is easy to summarize a short list of situations in which abortion is okay, and outlaw all other instances. It is easy to stand outside of an abortion clinic and scream at the horrified women who probably debated tearfully about their decision. It is harder to actually accept the fact that as much as we might like, we cannot and should not forcefully impose our personal beliefs onto others, because we will only walk in our own shoes for the remainder of our lives. It is hard to accept that we are not always right, even sometimes when we believe we are. It is hard to set aside personal beliefs and standards to come to logical and practical conclusions that affect everyone. Conceding to the regulation of our bodies is one of the first steps towards imprisonment. If we are not free in our own bodies, then there is no limit to the liberties that can be stripped of us as women and as people.

The third wave 'feminactivist' and why bands won't make her dance

Danielle “Uni” Simms was just a baby when the infamous Riot Grrrl revolution exploded in 1991, but the do-it-yourself, fuck-you-I’m-a-girl values from this era have distended from her heart and mind like a bright, sparkly, ultra-feminist appendage. Now 21 years old, Uni is busy preparing for her Nov. 3 event It’s a Grrrl, heavily influenced by her riotous 90s counterparts.

It’s a Grrrl is “a girl power party smashing patriarchy, spreading feminist thought and celebrating our womanhood,” according to hot pink flyers, reminiscent of handmade feminist zines, adorned with feminine floral designs and the faces of women like Frida Kahlo and Courtney Love. Uni looks like none of these women. She is rocking a curly blonde bush, septum piercing, and round, green-tinged sunshades. Her matte red lips match the demureness of her loose knit sweater—she doesn’t look like a feminist. That, according to the ideals of the third wave of feminism, is because there is no way to describe how a feminist looks. They are all different in both image and in ideology: third wavers have no centralized goal to achieve for “women” as a sweeping nomenclature.

Uni is a part of this wave that has come to understand the importance of incorporating socioeconomic, racial, and other defining factors into their understanding of women’s issues. Feminism can take on different meanings according to people’s different experiences, qualities, and ideas. For Uni, being a feminist involves three main things: doing, creating, and educating. She is a ‘feminactivist,’ a hybrid of two obvious and self-perpetuated titles.

An artist and part-time nanny, Uni considers her ultimate job title to be “creator.” Her passion to create has permeated all aspects of her life. “If I don’t do it, I feel like I’m not making something of myself,” she said. This resistance to complacency bolstered her ambition to create a free event that would promote awareness of women’s issues in a fun, comfortable, misogyny-free environment.

Instead of a coat check, It’s a Grrrl will feature a “bra check.” Everything will be handmade, according to Uni, who herself is creating a wreath made of Barbie dolls, among other peculiar and meaningful art-installation pieces. She is encouraging others to submit their own posters, poems, letters, and artwork for the event. “If you’re familiar with the Riot Grrrl scene, everything was self-created,” Uni said. “So that’s how the aesthetic [of It’s a Grrrl] is going to be: sparkly, girly, but at the same time very raw. Like ‘fuck you if you don’t like it’ type of shit.”

Modestly tending to a Jack Daniels and ginger beer at U Street’s Tap and Parlour, Uni explains how her insatiable hunger for education is best fed through women’s rights activism and feminist work. She is a petite girl, but the conviction in her words boast the strength of several feminist armies. F-bombs escape her lips about as frequently as the Red line comes during rush hour in D.C. She is as cool as a non-phallic cucumber, even when recalling days of being bullied by other girls throughout her childhood. Her personal experiences with what it meant to be a girl—getting her ponytail cut off by a girl classmate, enduring constant harassment and catcalling from dozens of guys in the span of a block—further motivated Uni to cling to her pursuit of feminist education. “I’m always creating, always putting something out there,” she said. “The reason I like [what I do] is because I am educating others as well as…myself.”

In as much as words can hold clout without action, a feminist cannot truly retain such a role without also being an activist—putting those beliefs to work tangibly. A complacent feminist is not a feminist at all; she is a fly on the wall at a patriarchy convention, complicit with the metes and bounds she has been assigned as a woman via inaction. Shirley Chisholm, the first African-American woman elected to Congress, once said that “emotional, sexual, and psychological stereotyping of females begins when the doctor says: It’s a girl.” This pervasive system of gender bias is something Uni acknowledges, and aims to upset through educational events like the one named after the tail end of Chisholm’s famous quote.

Wistfully gazing out into the graying September sky through the bar’s window, Uni offers her opinion on everything from raunchy video vixens to the role of social media in spreading a message. The overarching emphasis seeming to simply be on awareness, Uni insists that “we all just need to know what’s fucking going on”—something It’s a Grrrl aims to assist with.

“Our generation has so much information and so many resources, but how are we going to use them?” Uni asks, her drink barely halfway gone. “[We have] so much knowledge…[because] everyone’s learning at faster and easier pace, but what are we going to do with what we have?”

If Uni’s event were a cocktail, it’d be one part Chisholm, one part Riot Grrrl, and a splash of her godmother, who raised her to enforce rigid standards in the respect she both imparted on and expected from others. “She respected herself so much,” Uni said. “That’s the basis of how I feel I should be treated, and it expanded to other women as well. What also inspired me is that I know so many great women, [and my godmother made me feel like respect] should just be a given.”

Discussing respect, Uni arrives to the topic of a video she recently viewed online of a Sept. 15 performance at N.Y.’s Tammany Hall, in which two ballerinas perform to Juicy J’s “Bands A Make Her Dance.”

“These are professionally trained ballerinas dancing to a song that objectifies women,” Uni said. “You’re tying the culture of hip hop to ballet, I get what you’re trying to do. If you’re trying to uplift a culture, don’t use a song…[that’s] about giving girls money to strip and dance. [The ballerinas] think they’re just dancing and showing their ballet skills, but there’s so much more to it.”

And that’s what It’s a Grrrl will explore: the less prominent nuances of misogyny, and equally as important, how women are themselves exacerbating an undesirable situation.

“There are a million ways to express and empower yourself, to be sexy and be confident,” Uni said. “Sex sells and that’s cool, but it’s a battle between doing a split and pointing at your pussy, or you know, smoking a cigarette in a beautiful fucking outfit, or wearing a bikini [on the beach] somewhere reading a book. That’s sexy, too.“

It’s A Grrrl will take place on the first Saturday of November from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. at Mova Lounge, a nightclub venue that’s been responsible for hosting a number of LGBT-oriented nights. This location was of special importance to Uni, since she is extending invitations to those both born and identifying as women. “I really want it to be somewhere where they’re going to be accepting of that,” she said. She is also looking forward to the possibility of making this event the first of many, depending on the success of the pilot party next month.

Uni is also cognizant of the potential criticism she may receive for catering this event to just half of the gender spectrum.

“I knew there’d be people who would think it’s sexist to not invite guys,” she said. “A lot of people think feminists hate men, and we don’t want them around, but it’s not that. In terms if being practical and getting the message across [with this event], it only makes sense to have women there that can understand what I’m talking about. If this thing goes well, I want it to be an ongoing thing, then I can think of how I can implement men. I want the women to be comfortable, so it’s strictly an empowering event for women. In the future, we’ll worry about the guys. But for now, women first.”

Each wave of feminism has drenched its generation’s participants in notions of equality, ability, and freedom—but the fundamentals of feminism remain for the most part in our society, eluded. Some say the feminist revolution has acquiesced into a cesspool of generally satisfied women. Besides, something that isn’t broken, according to the old axiom, does not warrant a fix.

American women today can certainly enjoy many liberties that they previously could not, but institutionalized misogyny still keeps many women at bay from their full potential, perhaps with their unknowing consent.

“We’ve come to a place where we feel like we’re good,” Uni said. “We can work, we can vote, we can wear whatever we want. From the outside it looks cool, but when you get to the underlying things, you start to see how it’s not. We have to get inside people’s minds, and understand how they think about women, and the unconscious things they do.”

Finally polishing off the last sips of her drink, Uni dishes out her sentiments on the attention paid to women’s rights and feminism amongst her peers, saying that enthusiasm seems to be “decreasing, but hasn’t lost hope.”

“It’s simple,” Uni said. “Once women know [about the issues and what they can do], they’re like, ‘Oh shit, I’m game.’ It’s like telling someone there’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. They’ll go get it, but if they don’t know about it, they won’t.”

Her philosophies are ahead of her time, and more humanist than divisive, despite her current, more narrow focus on celebrating and uplifting women. When asked about her long-term goals, Uni smiles, and suddenly she’s less of a holy figure for feminism and more of just a free-spirited 21-year-old still searching for the ultimate life path that encompasses art, philanthropy, feminism, and activism. “I’m a normal young woman, and my answer is: I don’t know.”

“I know that every time I do something, something else comes from that. So once this event happens, I know something will come from it, and I'll go from there."

What's in a "like"?

Posting a photo to Instagram is almost meaningless without the hopeful slew of "likes" that follow shortly thereafter. You've taken a share-worthy picture, selected a befitting filter, and have bared all for the Instaworld to see. 63 likes is certainly a better feeling than 12. 1,253 likes will get you to the "Popular" page. But what does it all mean? In short, nothing.

The culture of the "like" is one that has only recently emerged. It is a descendant of other rating methods: think the 5-star movie rating system by which we rate our cinema. On Facebook and Instagram we can "like" something as an instantaneous sign of approval and wordless compliment. On YouTube or Reddit, it's taken a step farther, where you can express your dislike, as well, with one click of a button. On Twitter and Tumblr, admiration can also be expressed in the "most flattering" way: imitation—a retweet or a reblog, respectively.

In an ideal world, the frequency of a like would be an accurate way to measure an item's popularity, success, or overall appeal. However, as we also consider other factors, the integrity of the like seems to shift. Rihanna posts a picture of her left ear and instantly is flooded with 20,000 likes. A talented yet relatively unknown photographer shares an important shot and is social media invisible.

There is a philosophy behind the like, and a burgeoning online culture that surrounds it. It can be utilized as an icebreaker, the like acting as a virtual introduction, a way of making friends via social networking. It can also garner jealousy and distrust between social media butterflies involved in intimate partnerships in the non-pixelated world. The meaning of a like depends on what was liked, and why one liked it. Liking a status that proclaims today has been the worst day in history is spiteful. Liking a status that reads "I'm officially a [name of college of university] graduate!" is universal and customary. We also must consider the frequency with which one reaches for the like button. If someone likes everything, it begins to mean less. If a person has (obviously) viewed every picture you've ever posted, and liked only one from 7 weeks ago, then, well, they must genuinely like that photo a lot.

It's impossible to read too much into the like, as it is just a simple, staple function of most social media networking platforms employed to engage users with one another's personal content. It can be flattering, it can be ironic, it can be annoying. Wherever the root of the like lay, it is arguably the simplest form of contemporary camaraderie.

America's prison mentality: Common sense thrown behind bars

When it comes to issues of incarceration, modern American society seems to mirror some kind of science fiction story. There is some large yet invisible exodus of people occurring every day, and a concrete smattering of walls loosely resembling a room becomes these people's unfortunate abode. What is the difference between being jailed and being erased from existence? With the latter scenario, a person does not have to deal with the difficulties of mental and physical abuse, and the hardships of re-acclimating one's self into "normal" society. Indeed, the concept of the prison is misguided at best: throw the wayward, trouble-making citizens of society into a huge, dangerous, violent, and probably wildly unkempt facility. It is a poorly devised attempt at structured repercussion. A man who is found guilty of rape will likely, and ironically, endure the same assault while imprisoned. The question is, does this twisted form of punishment reduce the chances of this man committing the same crimes once released? The answer to that is murky at best, clouded by pervasive, outdated American ideals of legal discipline. Consider the death penalty; it is an act of outlandish hypocrisy, a "tit for tat" approach that embodies mankind's cruelest intentions and obvious apathy towards the human life. The lethal injection is no more or less humane than the electric chair, or the atrocity that landed said person in such a position. Why perpetuate murder as a meaningful element of American culture, to the point that we fight fire with fire, only stopping to mourn once everything has crumbled to ash?

According to influential Black feminist Angela Davis, the prison system is a catastrophe that must be abolished. The "success" of the prison system has largely been propagated through law enforcement rooted in racism, and the perpetuation of impractical and often irrational social rules. Even aside from the crack/cocaine jail sentence dichotomy, the prison system is fueled by racist motives. What else could explain the disproportionate amount of minorities imprisoned? Additionally, the prison economy is a thriving one: there are certainly people who profit from the morbid fact that millions of Americans are incarcerated.

Of course, the issue is not so simple that it can be addressed in one blog, one book, one day, or even one lifetime. Society must undergo a series of climacteric transformations before something so radical could even be considered. The idea of prisoner rehabilitation is largely ignored; it's arguable that prisons destroy more than they assuage, and are far more detrimental than helpful when it comes to handling criminals and crime. As a culture consumed by eroticized and normalized violence, it's only right that our country boasts the highest number of prisoners in the world. What this means for our society, and generations forthcoming, is an outlook more grim and dull than a prisoner's bar-eclipsed view.

On the importance of handwriting

My third grade teacher once urged me to enter a national handwriting contest.

Mimicking the elementary school cursive alphabet template, I developed a handwriting of my own that was stylish yet pragmatic. Never did my cursive sport gaudy loops or hooks, or awkward, unsure angles that suggested I hadn’t mastered the art of penmanship. I would have sooner dropped dead than have anything other than a modest blackened circle hovering above my lowercase I. My capital D, bulging ever so slightly and seductively before twisting into a semi-circle of perfection, flowed effortlessly into an A, an N of symmetric precision, and another A.

Now that I am no longer 8, I am decidedly less anal about my handwriting, in the same way I was, at least. I am able to morph into different identities within myself, vicariously through my right hand. Sometimes I’ll loosely slant my writing to the right, in a sort of pseudo-cursive that reminds me of big sweaters and just-warm-enough cups of tea. Other times I’ll write in all caps, wide and exact, imagining I am a busy architect who is artsy yet scrupulous. Oh, and don’t sign a receipt around me. I participate in perfunctory autograph mimicry. I can forge a signature faster than you can say, “Hey, stop forging my signature.”

These days, I find myself scribbling for sport. In class, I opt to jot down notes with a delightfully inky pen although my MacBook Pro just begs for me to click-clack away. At home, I write reminders to myself, notes to friends, and impromptu journal entries on any blank canvas my itching hands can sequester. Handwriting is like bike riding. You’ll never forget how. But I’d rather not chance it.

A person’s handwriting says more about them than could any 12-point font, Times New Roman, 300- to 500-word personal statement. I don’t judge a book by its cover, but I’m dangerously close to admitting that I judge a person by their handwriting. I’m simply fascinating by how many ways a person can arrange their letters on paper. In fact, the pursuit of pen pals is something that consumed my young life. I’d handwrite letters and cards until my fragile fingers ached. And I’d always pay particular attention to the way I styled the words on the paper, each one more like a mini-masterpiece than a trivial element of a sentence. I knew that when my pen pal opened my letter, she would simply delight in the confident lines, calculated curves, and immaculate H’s in “Hi! How are you?” Or maybe, like most people I know, she wouldn’t notice.

What I've learned in college and why it matters: An honest personal statement

Like many others, I have an inferiority complex. The biggest thing college has taught me is that no matter how good you are, you can, and must become better. You will never be good enough, because "good enough" is not enough. Standards are ever-rising, degrees mean increasingly less, and each new wave of college grads have either catapulted themselves into a battle royale for the entry-level job, or resigned to the fact that they will likely be students for several more years than they might have initially liked. I will be graduating with a B.A. in Print Journalism next month, and have recently contemplated what makes me the ideal candidate for any of these jobs that my peers are vying for. I have a résumé to outline my qualifications, but it hardly scratches the surface of my identity as a writer and reporter, not to mention a human being with a personality.

My skills are only minimally conveyed on paper. Isn't that the story? It's rather difficult to capture and express the depth of a person's creativity, dedication, and technical ability unless these attributes have been directly and concretely applied to some sort of verifiable achievement. Even then, each feat represented in a person's résumé is inevitably robbed of its true essence and life by way of format standardization. It is a precarious dance, the struggle to beef yourself up on paper while maintaining an honest sense of quasi-braggadocio. Work samples generally work to add a pulse to the heart that is a résumé. But many times in Journalism, editors have changed or rearranged the one sentence you were truly proud to have written, or adjusted your assonance so that it better fits their expectations. It's part of the journalist's career, this compromise of creativity. And so we are left to fend for ourselves in the treacherous job hunt, hoping our scrawlings can survive in a sea of seasoned writers, armed with whatever innovative tools we can scrounge up. Journalists are expected to be multimedia at minimum in this era, and rightfully so. There is no room for incompetence with writing, shooting video, editing audio, snapping photographs — you've got to know it all. And the problem is that so many of us are in the same situation: we "know it all." What, then, could ever set us apart from each other? Though I've been taught more than once about the value of neutrality in the journalism industry, one instance in which this does not apply is the marketing of one's self.

And so, here is my proclamation of self-worth and potential value to anyone who is even remotely interested.

 I am the first and only person in my immediate family to attain a college degree. I am instilled with a kind of wisdom that is now unconventional but representative of the American experience: hard work produces results. My parents earned every dollar they've ever owned through hard work and persistence, and a high school education. A huge chunk of the money they fought to attain went to providing me the opportunity to attend university, and I do not and cannot take that lightly. Every class I've taken at the University of Maryland has been a privilege to me and I strive to take full advantage of everything I've been taught.

I am the excited, eager, semi-perfectionist that attacks every challenge with unparalleled determination and enthusiasm. I am of a generation that is accustomed to the unpaid internship, which at many places is a plebeian equivalent to paid staff. I can do anything and I want to do everything, and I don't mind if pay is not through the roof. When I don't know, I learn, and my liberal arts education has certainly taught me how to learn. Life is about the enrichment of one's self; for some people, that is about family or religion or love. For me, it is largely about education, and not simply the retention of lifeless facts and data. I will never stop learning, because I know that reaching an education plateau is equivalent to career suicide in the Journalism industry. We must know what is happening, why, and what it means beyond mere face value. We must constantly look forward, and critically assess every element of news we encounter.

I am a work in progress, someone that is constantly clinging to my profession as an inextricable part of my identity. I am a writer and a reporter and it pervades every aspect of my life. For these reasons, I know I'd make the perfect addition to any organization — not just for my skills and expertise, but for my endless potential and desire to morph into someone even better.

Trayvon Martin, socialized racism, and the understanding of the black male body

Demonstrators in a Trayvon Martin rally hold Skittles and iced tea, items the teenager was holding the day he was killed.

Racial stereotypes are socially embedded in us, and are often times impossible to escape. Even those with the utmost cultural tolerance are still subject to bouts of racism, however minor or unintentional. In the shadows of our refusal to acknowledge this brand of stock racism, tragedies like the murder of Trayvon Martin occur and shake the core of a community and a nation. Not until our society learns to think in non-racial terms will senseless murders like this cease—and the prospect of such a happening is frighteningly dim.

We've heard about it in the news for nearly a month now. Trayvon Martin, 17 and black, was shot by 28-year-old George Zimmerman while walking through a Sanford, Fla. neighborhood where Zimmerman served as some sort of neighborhood watch leader. Zimmerman claims it was in self-defense and is protected by the state's Stand Your Ground law. Martin was armed only with a bag of Skittles and an iced tea.

While many claim that Martin was targeted because of his race, and portray Zimmerman as a trigger-happy racist, Zimmerman's family is eager to point out that he is a minority himself with several black family members. The question is not whether Zimmerman is a racist, because collectively, as a society, we are all racists. The question is whether a murky, ambiguous gun law like the one in place in Florida (and several other states) serves any purpose other than to provide an alibi to a hasty shooter, who in this case, was quite likely motivated by the color of Martin's skin.

In Zimmerman's case, the fact that he has black family members does not make him less likely to function according to race-based judgments. He saw a black man in his neighborhood that he did not recognize, and was moved by sheer outrage to pursue this boy—against the wishes of the 911 dispatcher he telephoned. Society has painted the black man as dangerous, and this image has become the foundation for all of our interactions around the black male body. It is uncertain whether Zimmerman truly acted in self-defense, but the fact remains clear that no act of self-defense would have been necessary had Zimmerman obeyed the directions of police. Let's take a moment to consider what might have happened if Zimmerman stayed in his car. The police would have arrived to the scene, and perhaps located Martin somewhere in the neighborhood. They would have stopped and questioned him—something someone like Trayvon is probably no stranger to. Simply being himself in a reasonably nice neighborhood would have likely been enough to get stopped by police, whether Zimmerman had phoned 911 or not. This is a privilege that whites and other non-Blacks do not often realize or acknowledge: the ability to go places without being asked "What are you doing here?", as Zimmerman had asked Martin. Did it really matter to Zimmerman what Martin was doing there, or was Zimmerman operating on the bigoted logic that any unknown black male intends harm?

In Southern Prince George's County, where I grew up, I'd always been the minority in predominately African-American neighborhoods, schools, workplaces, and more. My black friends were often an unfair target for hardened, jaded police officers of the area. Vicariously experiencing these difficulties with them, I grew to sympathize with the plight of simply being black, even when 99% of the people around them shared the same skin tone. Once, in a car with three of my friends (all of whom were black), we were stopped and searched in the parking lot of a mall in my neighborhood. Everyone was frisked except for me. One of the police officers, who was also black, methodically questioned each one of my friends until he got to me, and asked "What are YOU doing around these parts?" I wanted to scream at him that I'd lived in "those parts" my entire life, but instead I offered some less forceful comment about his racial stereotyping, which he proceeded to deny. Race precedes almost every human interaction. In our attempts to categorize and understand, we impose definitions and labels onto one another that aren't always helpful.

The way George Zimmerman has been portrayed in the media may not be absolutely correct. In fact, I'm certain that select details have been either omitted or emphasized in order to create the most ideal story for newspapers and other media outlets. However, at the root of it all, Zimmerman murdered an unarmed teenager, and remains protected by an ignorant, misguided law. Of course the issue sheds light on racial tension, but that tension is one of the main ingredients for the foundation of American society. We cannot think or see "racelessly." Zimmerman likely saw Martin as just another black, teenage delinquent looking to commit petty crime. As long as there is race, there will be racism. And as long as society holds dear its perverse need for prejudice, more innocent lives will be compromised.