Editorial by: Lavell Flamon
First off, I would like for anyone who is reading this to take a moment of silence in respect for the family of Treyvon Martin. Pray for them in this exceptionally difficult time as they continue to seek justice for the murder of their son.
The murder of Treyvon Martin has struck a particularly deep cord within my being. With all of the violence in today’s world, being desensitized is quite common place. To that point, the death of a black male in the Unites States is even more so numbing, as for most of us, it is the wallpaper in our daily lives. The death of the young black male isn’t even fodder for the news, yet, it is the stuff of entertainment, be that movies or rap music. For some, it is the holy grail of their existence, as we honor and venerate Tupac Shakur and Christopher Wallace. However, for me and many of my friends who grew up in Chicago, it was an eerie fact of life that could be our epitaph. Growing up in Chicago, especially under the umbrella of gang violence and racial segregation, dying a violent death was par for the course. During high school, many a school mate met with that fate as did many of my friends I grew up with off of 79th and Jeffery on the South Side. Even I, for however good I was, was still pulled into violent altercations on several occasions. I feared dying before the age of 21.