There is no irony here. No takeaways. No silver linings. No morals.
And, no winners.
Yes, when George Zimmerman and DMX box on a yet to be determined date at a yet to be determined location, someone will win the fight. But, regardless of the outcome, no one wins.
Not Trayvon Martin. He is dead.
Not Trayvon Martin’s family. It’s been two years since their son was killed. Nothing DMX can do will reverse what Zimmerman already did and what the Florida court already ruled. And Zimmerman’s continued prominence—regardless of the context—is nothing but a taunt, an acknowledgement of America’s not-so-beautiful tendencies. A reminder that they’ll celebrate each of their son’s birthdays with their son’s ghost.
Not those wanting justice for George Zimmerman. Any solace provided by seeing him blued and bloodied will be temporary. Fleeting. And, with each vicarious thrill experienced whenever DMX lands a punch, each cheer as Trayvon Martin’s killer takes one to the gut, we lose a bit of our humanity. And for what? This satiation of our bloodlust will exist in our own personal vacuums. Meanwhile, George Zimmerman will go home. Free.
This satiation of our bloodlust will exist in our own personal vacuums. Meanwhile, George Zimmerman will go home. Free.
Not those who continue to support and root for George Zimmerman. Perhaps you felt vindicated by his verdict. Maybe you’re happy that justice, true justice, was served. But every time his name pops up on TMZ, your decision to give him the benefit of the doubt looks more foolish. And more transparent. By continuing to expose himself, he’s exposing you.
Not George Zimmerman. The only thing more dangerous than a dangerous idiot is a dangerous idiot unaware of his idiocy. And his refusal to live a little more discreetly does nothing but widen the bullseye on him and the people close to him.
And definitely not DMX. Who...well, let me say this:
If making a list of rappers who’ve had a better year musically than DMX’s 1998, the list begins at 50 Cent’s 2003 and ends at 2Pac's 1996. No one else, not Jay Z, not Nas, not “anyone else you’d name,” has ever had a year where they had more of a grip on rap culture than X did that year. Yet, his fall has been so relentless that it almost makes you forget that he must have, at some point, been somewhere high to fall so violently. Even I, a person who remembers how X’s voice dominated radio, video, clubs, and mixtapes in 1998, have trouble believing my own memory.
Now, by volunteering to participate in this fucking circus, he’s added a new level to his descent, falling from a bad punchline to a murderer’s pawn; a prop in a million different conflicting fantasies, all competing to out-inhumane each other.
There are no winners here. But DMX is the biggest loser.
Pittsburgh-native Damon Young writes about things. And, @verysmartbros, he (occasionally) tweets about things too.