I moved to Boston after college to find my birthfather. My sole black parent, who, I’d been told, used to spend a lot of time hanging around the Berklee School of Music—not as a student, or a teacher, or any kind of staff member, just as a guy who loved jazz music, could play the Read More
Well, that was fast.
On Saturday, the jury in the George Zimmerman trial found him not guilty in the death of Trayvon Martin. By Monday, one of the six anonymous female jurors announced that she had signed on Martin Literary Management to shop around a book about the experience.
“Trayvon did not have to die,” they chanted. “We don’t know the reason why.”
A crowd of thousands demanded justice for Trayvon Martin as the group marched en masse from Union Square to Times Square yesterday. Angry over George Zimmerman’s acquittal on all charges in the shooting death of the Florida teen, the protesters decried what they described as a starkly unjust ruling. The march culminated in a “shut down, sit down” protest in Times Square around 9.30 p.m.
NBC fired the producer of the deceptively edited call from George Zimmerman to 911 on Thursday. NBC News would not name the long-time Miami-based producer, citing “internal company matters” to the New York Times. The firing followed NBC’s review of the Today Show segment about the Feb. 26, 2012 shooting of Trayvon Martin. The report aired March 27 and featured audio from George Zimmerman’s 911 call edited in a manner that seemed to point to a distinctly racist motivation for the shooting. However, as Brian Stelter reported late Friday for the Times:
As the adult world continues stoking the senseless battle royale of the presidential primary season, the youth-entertainment complex has briefly overtaken the news cycle. Everyone not living in their own life-or-death competitive isolation dome knows by now that this past weekend ushered in the blockbuster movie adaptation of the first installment of The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins’ dystopian teen scifi trilogy about children compelled to destroy each other for the amusement of the jaded, power-mad political leaders of the future. The basic plot of the Collins franchise is by now well-known: In the authoritarian North America of the third millennium—rechristened Panem—this ritual sacrifice of the young serves to tamp down any impulses of mass rebellion, and the games’ sole surviving winner is bought off with a life of ease, fame, and prestige.
But no sooner had the great Hunger Games colossus alighted at the multiplex—with a box-office take of $155 million over its first weekend—than a sober retinue of adults began clambering to impose their own agendas on the strange new teen spectacle unspooling in their midst.