“Did you hear about the verdict?” a woman in the church choir in which I sing asked as we settled in for yesterday’s service. As the organist played the comforting strains of a Mendelsohn fugue, people talked about their surprise with the jury’s not guilty decision in the George Zimmerman trial. But I’m not surprised at all.

At the beginning of my sixth grade year, four black kids joined the junior high students at the small private school I was attending. This was my first exposure to black people my age, and while each had different personalities, over-all, I grew to both admire and vaguely fear them. They called people out when they felt disrespected, even me despite my disability. They pushed me to respect the music of Arethra Franklin, the Temptations, Sly and the Family Stone, the Supremes, and James Brown. They rejuvenated the school’s pathetic basketball team. They were funny storytellers using colorful language that I had rarely heard before. They admired Muhammad Ali, who my dad disliked because of his name change and his criticism of the United States’ activities in Vietnam. They were sharp, street-smart people who often didn’t do their homework, which my mom didn’t appreciate when I started not doing all of mine. And while we white people tended to trust the police, they tended only to tolerate them.

At first, I found this mistrust weird, as my infrequent contact with police officers was always positive, but over time, I learned that the experience of black people was often very different. Since my junior high days, I have heard countless stories from black men and women whose backgrounds range from people who have done time to mid-level managers of Fortune 500 companies about how police officers have tried to intimidate or humiliate them or members of their family. I think of these when, for example, I heard about a high-ranking New York City police official testify that one of the reasons of their “Stop and Frisk” program was to intimidate young black men. I also remember these stories whenever I hear about white police officers killing innocent black men because, for example, they didn’t “freeze” fast enough, were holding a candy bar which officers claim they thought was a gun, or were shot in the back because officers said they were afraid. When these cases go to trial, juries composed mostly of white people invariably find these officers not guilty. While everyone agrees that most police officers do good work most of the time in extremely difficult conditions, many question the justice of mostly white jurors exonerating white police officers killing innocent black men.

George Zimmerman’s lawyers highlighted his role as a neighborhood protector, and this nearly-police-officer status made it almost inevitable that the mostly-white jury would acquit him. On top of that, the prosecutors, who were shamed into trying the case by Florida’s conservative governor, told a confused story that, with the exception of the opening sentence, lacked emotional punch.

We know that George Zimmerman said “Fucking punks. These assholes, they always get away” while choosing to ignore the advice of the police dispatcher by following Trayvon Martin on foot with a gun on his person. We know that it was dark. And we know that a convincing witness testified that Trayvon Martin was on top of George Zimmerman doing violent things to him.

But we don’t know how the fight got started. Trayvon Martin’s girlfriend, Rachel Jeantel, testified that Trayvon told her that “a “creepy-ass cracker” was following him; that he was scared; and that he tried to run away. And then? We just don’t know.

The defense lawyers told a convincing story of the emotional state of George Zimmerman. This athletic guy, they argued, was smashing his head against the pavement, so scared and desperate, he shot the attacker. But I didn’t hear the prosecutors present a compelling statement about Trayvon’s emotional state that might have encouraged jurors to put themselves in his shoes. “A `creepy-ass` big guy was following him on a dark night,” they might have said. “Scared, he ran away, but Mr. Zimmerman came up from behind. Perhaps, Trayvon flashed back to a story of a similar scary experience that happened to a family member or close friend (calling a witness to support this). Perhaps Mr. Zimmerman flashed his gun. Perhaps, Mr. Zimmerman said something like: `All you fucking punks always get away — but not tonight, asshole!`” So Trayvon, feeling desperate and cornered, attacked Mr. Zimmerman, causing the injuries we have presented as evidence, and Mr. Zimmerman, not wanting to lose the fight he started, shot Trayvon dead.”

Would such a statement, crafted to survive judicial review, changed the verdict? Probably not, as the “white law enforcer man killing black man in self-defence” meme is too engrained in our culture, but at least the prosecutors’ efforts wouldn’t have been so obviously lame.

I’m not irritated with the jurors, even though I believe George Zimmerman should have been convicted of manslaughter. While both parties made mistakes, Mr. Zimmerman understood that he was the potential aggressor when he started following Trayvon. He was older, demonstrated hostility, and, I believe, shot Trayvon Martin to end a fight that he started and was losing.

I am, however, irritated with the prosecutors for their inept handling of the case. I am irritated with people like Linda Chavez who argued that race wouldn’t have been a factor if it weren’t for the media. I am irritated with people like Pat Buchanan who attributed only rational motives to George Zimmerman and emotional motives to Trayvon Martin. I am irritated with those who focus on the effects of their family history while criticizing other ethnic groups for doing the same. I am irritated with those who launch verbal grenades against those with whom they disagree instead of trying to find common ground on improving relations between law enforcement and people from underrepresented communities, reducing gang violence, addressing education inequalities, supporting families, and fighting poverty. We can start with supporting faith communities, businesses, educators, nonprofits, community leaders, law enforcement officials, and others who are already working together to make things better.

And the time for being surprised by these verdicts is over.