Part of the reason folks rallied in reaction to Trayvon Martin’s murder has to do with ideas about who is an appropriate or worthy victim. He was shot by a vigilante, he wasn’t armed, he was a good student, had some class privilege, he was doing something mundane, simply returning from buying Skittles and ice tea. He was “innocent” and killed in cold blood.

We have an idea of who is deserving of support en masse and who is not. And for similar reasons we thought, with 911 tapes, eyewitness testimony, national outrage that it would result in a prosecution in the very least. If anything, the murder of Trayvon Martin shows us once again that there is no such thing as an “appropriate” Black victim.

Despite all evidence, Geraldo, Gingrich and others have found a way to make Trayvon the guilty party in his own fatal shooting. When brown and black men wear hoodies, they are asking for it. In a moment when it seems undeniable that race is a factor, people are still denying it! They even use victim blaming language.

Last week was International Anti-Street Harassment Week and I was struck with the similarities between the harassment that Black and Latino men experience by the police and the experiences of trans and cis women and gender non-conforming folks on the street. The language used by men of color to describe police harassment, is very similar to the language that those of us marginalized by our genders use to name our realities. Our clothing choices, our right to be where we are, when we want are all called into question.

It seems that this time we can begin to talk across these incidents of violence and see the ways in which societal oppression is killing people. When you wear your hoodie for Trayvon, also think of:

Shaima Alawadi
Rekia Boyd
Deoni Jones
CeCe McDonald

Because these victims were women, Iraqi, trans, they didn’t pass the appropriate victim test. News media and popular opinion hasn’t prompted folks to take to the streets in the same numbers for them. But people are making the connections.

Yet Sugar Ray’s autobiography is much more than just a personal, singular story. His haunting revelations expose much about the racist society he lived in, and how little that society valued young black men like him in any other setting than the squared circle.

Why is it that so many young black men still search for safety, solace, and a sense of control in the sporting realm, whether in the ring, on the court, or on the field? The execution of Troy Davis in Georgia despite questionable evidence against him and the shooting of Florida teenager Trayvon Martin by George Zimmerman just for looking “suspicious” both shine a harsh spotlight on the continued precariousness of black life in the twenty-first century. A cursory look at recent movies from Streetballers (2009) to The Blind Side (2009) shows that society actively encourages young black men to escape their troubles and drown their sorrows in sports. And yet, that same society often castigates black youth for becoming “sports obsessed.”

Where else but in the sporting arena can young black men benefit from their reputation for being “dangerous”? Where else are they glorified for that “hard chip of ice” that many store in their fighting hearts? Where else can they have a good chance of receiving adulation and respect? And, where else is the violence they face at least controlled by rules and referees?

Rather than demonizing black youth, we need to have a serious conversation about how the dangerous and insecure conditions they face are driving many to seek solace in sports, violence, and drugs. Hypervigilant policing and mass incarceration alongside the ongoing divestment from social services and public education and the decline of jobs that provide both dignity and a living wage are all wreaking havoc on black youth across the United States.