We need to start addressing the racism at the root of the Zimmerman-Trayvon Martin case. And in our day-to-day lives.

It is a telling "not guilty" verdict.

Like our Philadelphia verdict of not guilty for former Lt. Jonathan Josey despite video evidence that he struck Aida Guzman in the face during the Puerto Rican Day festival, the outcome of the George Zimmerman trial is all about disparity of power and racism that barely bothers to stay under the surface. 

In the former case, a policeman hauls off and hits a much smaller woman because she's part of the festivities of el barrio. There is no doubt Lt. Josey hit Guzman — it's right there on video for all to see — so the trial hinges on whether Josey is justified in his actions. Because the incident happens in a place — as the judge on the case tells us during his ruling — full of drugs and violence and rife with Puerto Rican hooligans behaving badly, he is. 

In the second verdict, a man with hopes of becoming a police officer kills a child because the child is African-American and seems suspicious as he walks along streets of a gated community where he is perceived not to belong. There is no doubt Zimmerman killed Trayvon Martin — he told us he did — so the trial hinges, again, on whether he was justified in his actions. Cue society's default fear of young black men, and the threat they are perceived to present no matter which streets they walk and you've got the jury's verdict.

We all know that justice is different for people of color. It is just that high profile cases like Zimmerman's nationally and Josey's locally, put it in sharper focus for us and, for the moment at least, we cannot sidestep the fact that in our country justice is meted out according to skin color, accent and cultural prejudice.

The judge deciding the Josey case was white and at ease expressing his disdain for the Puerto Rican community centered at 5th and Lehigh. The jury in the Zimmerman case was also white, and believed "Stand your Ground" — a shoot-first-ask-later law suited to cowards or characters in a Western — was exoneration. 

But there is no exoneration. It is clear that Zimmerman wasn't stalking and shooting down Trayvon Martin himself but an idea of who Martin could be, might be, was feared to be — based on his skin color and his youth. No matter what else you might think of the trial, this fact is irrefutable. 

The mothers of African-American boys have long had to worry about the knee-jerk — and all too often, hair-trigger — reaction to their sons just walking down the street. Standing at the train station. Being. 

Unreasoned, blinding fear is the filter through which young African-Americans are seen. Always. Whether they wear a hoodie or their Sunday best. 

We see this fear of young African-Americans expressed, less lethally, in news and opinion — as it was in the "Being White in Philly" article that appeared in Philadelphia Magazine a few months back. We see it reinforced in television shows that show us black punks instead of black scholars. We see it in the panicked vitriol of accusations flung at our president. We see it in every incomplete iteration or willful deflection of an honest national conversation about race and justice.

This is how we create Zimmermans.

Lt. Josey is African-American, Guzman is Latina; Zimmerman is Latino, Martin was African-American. We lie to ourselves if we think that as people of color we are incapable of the same racism entrenched and encoded in the white dominant culture. We lie to ourselves if we think we can work to end racism without engaging with each other.

A mother mourns her slain son and the betrayal of justice. We grieve with her — in New York, Los Angeles, Philadelphia and a half-dozen other cities — but we need to do more than simply stand side-by-side at candlelit vigils and carry placards in protest rallies. We need to do something. As communities and subcommunities and as a nation. 

At AL DÍA we propose to sponsor a series of panel discussions about race and ethnicity in media coverage, journalistic jargon and within organizational structures. We'll let you know when these are taking place and invite you to participate in them. But we invite you to go further. Initiate and formalize discussions about race and justice at your church, community center and club. Invite us to them and we'll go to listen, to learn, and write about this crucial aspect of building justice. Let us share — with each other and with our print and online readership — as we tear down walls built by fear and walk the streets of our city together.