Out of all of the strange dynamics I’ve observed since the verdict in the case against George Zimmerman, the one that won’t leave me alone is the chant of, “You weren’t there. You don’t know what really happened.”

Really?

Because I am rarely anywhere where major bad mojo goes down (mercifully), and yet I am not usually asked to keep my thoughts to myself.

I wasn’t in New York on 9/11.

I wasn’t with Caylee Anthony when she died.

I wasn’t in Tiananmen Square with the students.

You get my drift.

It is very clear to me that Florida law made it legal to acquit Zimmerman of any wrong doing in the death of Trayvon Martin.  I know enough about the difference between “legal” and “ethical” or even “intelligent” to not knock on that door.

I accept this verdict, but what I cannot accept is the pressure to not state the obvious, what is admitted by the defendant and his army of lawyers: A man took a loaded weapon after an unarmed teenager and shot him to death. He chose to, against the advice of the very resource he trusted enough to call, pursue another person while dropping profanity and suggesting this suspicious person would not “get away” on his watch.

It’s really okay to tell the Emperor he isn’t wearing any clothes. It’s his kingdom, and it is perfectly legal for him to walk around naked.

What is not okay is to expect me not to mention it.