ABSTRACT
I remember a devastating presentation I gave using autoethnography. I stood in front of a packed room filled with faculty and students alike and regaled them with stories about how my mothering is complicated by existing societal problems involving race, class, and gender, and how this ultimately affects my mothering practices. I honed in on the difficulties of discussing terrible events with my daughter. I explored a particularly troublesome event for me—the not guilty verdict in the trial of George Zimmerman. I described it as such:
I cried when George Zimmerman was acquitted for the murder of Trayvon Martin. I remember it like it was yesterday.
I was sitting in a bar in my Brooklyn neighborhood, anxiously awaiting the verdict in the high profile case. I ordered libations, but I couldn’t really bring myself to partake in them. So, to blend in with the other patrons, I slowly swirled my straw around in the drink to give the illusion of happiness. All of our eyes were nervously glued to the television monitor held against the wall. As the jury filed in and the jury foreman began to read the verdict, I began to swirl my straw faster.
Faster. Faster. Faster.
The announcement: not guilty.
But I barely heard this. Everything became a blur. I heard the clanging of bottles, the surge of beer pouring from spouts, the clinging of server’s shoes, the gasps of thick Jamaican accents. 149I heard the swinging of doors, the clamoring of chairs, the raucous sounds of disbelief.But the verdict, I did not hear. And so I read it in the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen. In bold, black letters it appeared: George Zimmerman Not Guilty.
