Charlottesville chef Gabe Garcia sits at a table in the dimly lit dining room of Kitchen Catering & Events, which he co-owns and operates with his wife, Morgan, also a chef. It’s early evening, cold and drizzly outside, but the air inside is warm and redolent with the smell of a simmering savory soup.
Garcia, 42, explains that Kitchen will host a pop-up dinner on February 26 for Taste of Home, a non-profit started in early 2018 by then-UVA student Mayan Braude. It will be the organization’s third event showcasing home cooking by refugee chefs, who receive all proceeds. Garcia, who moved to the United States from Mexico about 20 years ago, and his wife kicked in use of their dining room and kitchen for free.
“As an immigrant myself, and in the current political climate, I thought it was the right thing to do,” he says.
As if on cue, Jamileh Amiri, 34, and Khadijah Hemmati, 33—sisters and Afghan refugees—step through the front door.
“Smells good in here,” Amiri says cheerfully.
“Feels good, too,” Hemmati says, shrugging off the cold.
Garcia greets the women with handshakes, and they all take seats at the table.
Though they offer few details of their lives in the Middle East, it is safe to say that Amiri and Hemmati undertook remarkable journeys to arrive where they are today. “We left home because we were in danger,” Amiri says. “Afghanistan is a very dangerous place, especially for women. That is why we decided to leave our country—to find a peaceful place for growing our family.”
Hemmati lives in a townhouse in Albemarle County with her five children, a third sister, and their mother. Amiri shares an apartment with her three children and husband. Those simple facts belie the epic story of Amiri and Hemmati’s 14-year separation and subsequent reunion in Charlottesville.
Hemmati was born in Afghanistan in 1984, after which her parents moved to Iran, where Amiri was born, in 1985. Hemmati married when she was 18 and returned with her husband to Afghanistan, within months of the post-9/11 U.S. invasion there. Amiri and her family made plans to immigrate to the United States. After three years, and by then with three children in tow, she succeeded, arriving in the U.S.—Rochester, New York, to be precise—in the fall of 2013.
“It was so cold,” says Amiri, hugging herself as if she could feel the frigid air.
Luckily, she connected through social media with a friend who’d previously immigrated to Charlottesville. “She told me, ‘It’s a small town, it’s nice, and it’s warm,’” Amiri recalls. She moved here immediately, living briefly with her friend before finding subsidized housing. Meanwhile, Hemmati was also trying to escape the conflict-stricken Middle East. For five years in a row beginning in 2011, she applied to immigrate via the U.S. State Department’s Diversity Immigrant Visa Program, commonly called the visa lottery. “Finally, we were winners!” says Hemmati.
In November 2016, the sisters were together once again.
Avid cooks accustomed to preparing food for large family gatherings, Amiri and Hemmati both landed jobs at UVA dining facilities, cooking three meals a day for about 2,000 people. In the spring of 2018, a volunteer with the International Rescue Committee introduced the women to the founders of the Taste of Home program, which had already held its first pop-up at The Southern Crescent, in Belmont.
Taste of Home tapped Amiri and Hemmati for Pop-Up #2, also at Southern Crescent. About 50 diners paid $25 apiece to attend the event, enabling the cooks to pay to study at Piedmont Virginia Community College, among other things. “Jamileh and Khadijah were so lovely to work with that we decided to do another dinner with them,” says Nima Said, 21, a senior studying foreign affairs at UVA and co-director of Taste of Home.
For Pop-Up #3, Garcia says he hopes to fill Kitchen’s 2,500-square-foot dining room, which seats up to 80 people.
“This is something we can definitely handle,” Hemmati says, shooting a glance at her sister and smiling.
Diners can expect chicken kabobs with saffron-infused rice; qabuli pulao, a rice-based dish with carrots and raisins; falafel; dolma, the Afghani version of the Greek dolmades; and for dessert, baklava and fereni, a pudding subtly flavored with honey and rose water.
There’s a lull in the conversation at the table. Hemmati raises her head and sniffs. “The spices smell familiar,” she says.
“Black bean and squash soup for tomorrow’s lunch,” Garcia says.
“Maybe we will come,” Amiri says. “This is a good place.”
Hungry yet?
Taste of Home Pop-Up #3 takes place at 7pm on Tuesday, February 26. Tickets ($20 each) are available through taste-of-home.org.
The opener of Tip of the Sphere is an interesting mongrel—half Irish folk mantra, half space rock, and ending with three minutes of Jerry-Garcia-circa-1972 wah guitar. All of which sort of sets the tone for Cass McCombs’ latest. There’s easy loping folk on “Absentee” and tabla and David Crosby vibes on “Real Life,” while “Sleeping Volcanoes” would sound like a single if it weren’t for the droning intro and the subject matter (Armageddon). Dusty California vibes abound on Tip of the Sphere, as do light-boogie codas featuring tasty pedal steel licks by Dan lead [sic]. ****
Partly on Time: Recordings 1968-1970 (Tompkins Square)
Kinloch Nelson, who trained in jazz and classical guitar at the esteemed Eastman School, has had a steady career as a pedagogue, penning guitar instructionals and teaching in and near his native Rochester. But as a high school student in the summer of 1968, Nelson visited his older sister at Dartmouth College and met Dave Graves of student station WDCR. Nelson, who had been composing solo and duo guitar pieces with childhood friend Carter Redd, convinced Graves to commandeer WDCR’s production equipment and help him and Redd make some recordings. Here they are, and though virtuosic, they’re unlike the mathematical workouts of Kottke or the mutated ragtime of Duck Baker (who apparently hipped Tompkins Square to these recordings). They’re sweet and lyrical (“Solitudes”); trancey (“The Eyes of Fair Molly”), and lightly swinging (“Coming Down From the Ceiling,” which sounds like it hatched Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon”). Catch Kinloch Nelson April 12 at Rhizome in D.C. with Max Ochs, a co-conspirator of John Fahey’s back in the day. ****1/2
Galactic
Already Ready Already (Tchoup-zilla)
Chevy Chase transplants Jeff Rainesand Robert Mercurio have never been shy about exploring the musical heritage of their adopted New Orleans,and at its best, Galactic has conjured something of the Meters’ funk and the city’s general party-to-the-skies ethos. On Already Ready Already, guests Princess Shaw, Erica Falls, and Boyfriend bring some vocal heat, and instrumentals “Goose Grease” and “Ready Already” sound ready to cook under the stage lights. But overall the proceedings feel a bit forced, a street revel turned into a drinking game. **1/2
Lucky Daye
II (RCA)
With his November EP’s lead single “Roll Some Mo” still climbing the charts, New Orleans native Lucky Daye follows up with this, the second installment of a full-length slated to come out later this year. An odd gambit, but in the meantime it’s nice to have these slinky, efflorescent R&B jams with influences from Shuggie Otis to Prince to Frank Ocean. Daye’s profane analyses of sexual politics might disqualify II from the family minivan, but Mom and Dad’ll still dig it. ****
Jessica Pratt
Quiet Signs
(Mexican Summer)
After three albums, I can firmly assert that I find Jessica Pratt kind of miraculous. Her songs go like this: she plays some simple acoustic guitar, strumming chords or picking arpeggios. She may or may not add a faint layer of something—organ, flute, a string instrument. On top of this minimal ground, she lays a lightly dancing, echoey vocal line. It’s a deceptively simple formula, but every one of her songs casts a gauzy spell, transfixing and transporting. Is it the inventive “Forever Changes” chords? Is it her hushed wistful-dryad voice? Is she a witch? The mystery continues. *****
Vanessa German grew up in Los Angeles in a creative household, wearing clothes her artist mother made, writing stories, and crafting creations from the scrap materials her mom laid out on the dining room table for her and her siblings.
“We were makers as a way of life,” says German, the 2018 recipient of the $200,000 Don Tyson Prize, which recognizes “significant achievements in the field of American art.”
“My earliest memories of joy and knowing and understanding a sense of euphoria in being alive was through making things—the joy of gluing lace to cardboard and realizing I could make a separate reality in a story different than what existed in living reality. That is the way we came to know ourselves.”
She speaks on the phone from an artist residency in Mexico, where she is preparing a new body of work for a solo show, opening in Los Angeles in March. This new work is her special baby, she says, because it will be installed in the city “where I came to love the feeling of making art, the process of being in materials—being in a relationship with them and activating that relationship with intention.”
The as-yet-untitled new work is a series of sculptures and wall works constructed inside the frames of tennis rackets. “There is a point of classical mechanics,” German says, “that talks about the moment of inertia, the torque that it takes to bring something back to center.” The tennis rackets represent her experience of growing up black in L.A. “when hip-hop became hip-hop and AIDS became AIDS,” she says. Like her previous work, it reckons with mortality. But it also explores what it meant “to be alive in a culture of celebrity,” she says, in which Leonardo DiCaprio and other child stars were among her classmates and she learned to play tennis in Compton where Venus and Serena Williams practiced.
It’s about “what it was to be black in that environment and creative and sort of wild…how you make yourself as a black person…and what that is to find your center, the force of motion.”
After her exhibition opens inLos Angeles, German will come to Charlottesville for a week-long residency at The Fralin Museum of Art at UVA, where her sculpture and sound installation, “sometimes.we.cannot.be.with.our.bodies,” opens this week.
She created this work, which premiered in 2017 at the Mattress Factory in Pittsburgh—where she has lived since 2001 —in response to the “ongoing deaths” and unsolved murders of black women and girls in Pittsburgh.
“I think of it as an act of restorative justice, a healing ceremony by sight,” she says.
Some of the sculptures in the installation are heads without bodies, solemn faces, and closed eyes, adorned with headpieces made of found objects, from tree branches to ceramic figurines. Other sculptures are vivaciously dressed bodies without heads, their expressive fingers pointing, flipping the bird, or forming fists.
She found some of the materials that compose the sculptures in her neighborhood of Homewood—in the alleyway near her house, on the street, in dumpsters—and some items people left on her porch. Once, a person left an entire box of shoes—large, glittery, funny, and beautiful shoes, she says, that were likely used in a drag performance.
She is particularly moved by the lives of black transgender women, and notes the prevalence of violence against them. “There’s an incredible well of creativity that it takes to endure your humanity when it feels like you’re not in the right skin,” German says.
“sometimes.we.cannot.be.with.our.bodies” can be read in two ways. The first is the experience of someone whose loved one has been murdered in the street and she cannot go to her because the body is cordoned off by police tape. The second is the interiority of trauma itself and the dissociation a person may experience from her own body in order to survive the experience.
“As a descendant of enslaved Africans,” German says, “the soul of my culture, the soul of my people, is you attend to a body in a very special way in the space they have died. The ways bodies are tended to in a Western capitalist, patriarchal culture contributes to the trauma.”
She recalls how the body of Michael Brown, an unarmed teenager shot by a police officer in Ferguson, Missouri, in 2014, lay uncovered in the street. “This continued the horror, for his body to be treated like he wasn’t a person, like he wasn’t a boy just an hour before,” she says.
Yet there is something of triumph and celebration in her installation. With its vibrant colors and the sound of dance music and uplifting voices mixed among whispers, it is, German says, “a force that can galvanize the sense of terror and tragedy and simultaneously connect that tragedy with the beauty and miracle it was that our people lived and were whole, miraculous, stunning human beings.”
“sometimes.we.cannot.be.with.our.bodies” will be on view at The Fralin February 22-July 7. Vanessa German will be in residence at the museum March 25-29, and will give a public talk on March 28.
Across two LPs and five years of nonstop touring, Houndmouth made a name for itself as a troupe of sonic time travelers. After performing at SXSW in 2012, the Indiana band signed to Rough Trade Records and dropped its debut album, From the Hills Below the City, the following year. Full of hard-luck protagonists who hop trains, lurk in casinos until the wee hours of the morning, and wind up in the penitentiary bumming a light from Capone, the lively record has an undoubtedly old soul. The group’s sophomore release, Little Neon Limelight, continued this trajectory with tall tales of drifters and soul-searchers, on songs like “Otis” and “Cousin Greg.”
But it was the album’s opening track, “Sedona,” that became Houndmouth’s breakout single, getting national airplay: “We’re going California but we’re all out of work, I guess that’s better than a grave and a hearse, oh, oh / Hey little Hollywood, you’re gone but you’re not forgot / You got the cash but your credit’s no good…” The lyrics were perfect fodder for sing-alongs, the band’s raucous live performances harkened back to the past, and Houndmouth was quickly swept up in the folk-rock revival wave that claimed Mumford & Sons and The Lumineers as pied pipers.
In 2016, co-founding member Katie Toupin (keyboards) left the band to pursue solo work, and Houndmouth’s remaining members, Matt Myers (guitar), Zak Appleby (bass), and Shane Cody (drums), had a decision to make: Where to travel to next?
On its latest release, Golden Age, they ditched the nostalgia and landed somewhere between the present and the future, tapping Jonathan Rado of the band Foxygen and famed producer Shawn Everett (The War on Drugs, Alabama Shakes) to be their auditory gurus.
“We brought them into the studio in Shawn’s place in L.A. and pleasantries were exchanged and we just dove into recording,” says Appleby. “Those two just meshed right away and kind of led us on this wild journey through this record.”
Golden Age presented a whole new frontier for Houndmouth. This time, the band had the backing of a major label, Warner Brothers.
“We had never had the opportunity before to be in these amazing studios with all this gear…when we signed with Warner, they were like, ‘It doesn’t just have to be like, the bass and the amp that you’ve been using the whole time, you can experiment,’” Appleby explains. “And so we like to think we used the studio as an instrument in the record as well…when we look back on it, that really changed things pretty drastically.”
The result is a multi-layered, synth-pop take on the digital age and beyond. “Do you ever feel like a ghost looking at your phone,” Myers asks on the track “Coast to Coast.” Although Golden Age marks a decided shift from the barn-burning Americana of the group’s first two albums, that doesn’t mean every layer is shaped by machines. Sometimes, drawing on the tools available in the trio’s surroundings meant a return to roots, like during recording sessions at Sonic Ranch in Texas.
“[Sonic Ranch] is on this 7,000-acre pecan farm just south of El Paso—a place called Tornillo,” says Appleby. “One night, we decide we’re going to get a different sound for this chorus harmony, so we take a little tape player out into the middle of this huge pecan farm. It’s pitch black outside—it’s dead air it feels like—and we all gather around this little tape player and we start doing these harmony parts surrounded by trees and just pure darkness. It was surreal.”
Whether traversing through the Wild West or the digital landscape, one thing’s for certain: Being on the journey with Houndmouth is never boring.
Short film blocks are often the highlight of any film festival, but when the Academy Awards come around, audiences are less familiar with them than with other categories. Here’s a rundown of this year’s nominees.
Animated Short
It would be easy to crown Pixar’s delightful Bao the early favorite on pedigree and name recognition alone, but it has some solid competition. Bao follows an unexpected relationship between a mother and a sentient dumpling she created; delighted by its company, she is also saddened by how quickly it grows up and asserts its independence. It’s an effective metaphor in a sleekly produced package.
Three out of the remaining four nominees also examine parent-child relationships. Late Afternoon shows an older woman whose memories are triggered as her adult daughter packs her old belongings. It’s perhaps the best cry you’ll have with any film nominated this year. One Small Step, about a young woman who aspires to be an astronaut and the father who supports her dreams and fixes her shoes, is cathartic for anyone who wished they had more time with a loved one. Weekends depicts a young boy’s point of view of the difficulty each family member has after a divorce. It’s funny, honest, visually inventive, and packed with powerful images.
The worst of the bunch is Animal Behaviour, about a group therapy session for animals. The mantis can’t keep a partner, the pig overeats, and the gorilla has trouble with anger management. They are also drawn with human-looking butts, which is apparently another joke.
Live-Action Short
It’s troubling that three of the five live-action shorts are about child death or endangerment. It’s possible the entries stood out at the festivals where they premiered, but choosing them back-to-back in the same category is puzzling. Of the three, Madre is the strongest, almost a single take of a mother in Spain who is called by her son after he is abandoned on an unknown beach. Watching a story like this unfold in real time, as the characters come to understand the stakes, is very effective drama, as can be seen in another nominee, Fauve. This follows two teenage boys who explore a quarry unsupervised, playing a game to see how many times they can trick each other. It seems to be a truly personal film for its director, and the performances are excellent.
The most troubling nominee is Detainment, about the real-life murder of 2-year-old James Bulger in Liverpool by two young boys in 1993. Bulger’s family has objected to the film’s nomination, and though it’s well-made with good performances from child actors, it adds nothing new to the conversation.
Two films about prejudice are very different, but equally satisfying to those of us hopeful but frustrated with the state of the world. Marguerite, from Canada, depicts an elderly woman who reflects on her own life after learning that her caretaker is in a same-sex marriage, confessing that she never acted on her love for a friend when she was younger because “times were different.” Skin, meanwhile, shows the retribution taken on an American neo-Nazi who launches a brutal attack on a black man in a parking lot after the Nazi’s son laughed at a toy he was holding. To say what happens would minimize the impact, but a feature-length version is reportedly in the works, so stay tuned.
Documentary Short
Feature-length documentaries often take years of research. The advantage of a short-form documentary is its immediacy, showing what is going on in the world as we speak. Lifeboat follows rescue crews tasked with retrieving people who risk their lives crossing the Mediterranean from Africa to Europe, then letting the migrants themselves tell their stories. PERIOD. END OF SENTENCE. examines the taboo of menstruation in India from the point of view of a pad manufacturer that, in order to sell its product, must combat rampant misinformation.
A Night at the Garden is an assembly of footage from when the German American Bund, a Nazi organization, sold out Madison Square Garden for a rally. The towering image of George Washington surrounded by swastikas as Fritz Julius Kuhn shouts frighteningly familiar rhetoric will surely haunt anyone concerned about the rise of the far right.
End Game explores our relationship with death in a medical context, speaking with professionals in hospice and palliative care, as well as their patients and families. Despite its subject matter the film has a strong current of positivity, and shows why a relationship with death is so crucial to embracing what makes us human. Black Sheep—one of the best and most confessional in this category—features a man who grew up as the child of African immigrants in the U.K., reflecting on family and societal pressures, and how they led him to whiten his skin, wear blue contacts and seek the friendship of the racists who once tormented him. He tells his story with many mixed emotions, and the way he puts us in his shoes is truly gripping.
Greg Weaver has been playing video games since…well, since he can remember. Growing up, his family had an Atari system and his cousin had a classic Nintendo NES. One particularly exciting Christmas, the family got a Super Nintendo system.
The Weaver siblings spent hours playing on the consoles, immersed in the worlds contained therein, but when their dad put on Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, they’d boogie down. Weaver was particularly into the songs with heavy sax, and when he was about 6 years old, he started begging his parents for a saxophone of his own.
By the time Weaver got his wish (and a PlayStation), he was in sixth grade and more than ready for a wind instrument—all that blowing on video game cartridges to fix the glitches just might have helped increase his lung capacity (emphasis on the “might”), he says.
About two decades later, Weaver still plays video games and saxophone, and he combines his love for the two in The Hard Modes, a jazz ensemble that plays original arrangements of video game music and counts American jazz icons Charles Mingus and Ornette Coleman, as well as Japanese video game composers Yasunori Mitsuda and Nobuo Uematsu, among its influences.
The Hard Modes will play C’ville Coffee Saturday night, with Weaver on tenor and soprano saxophones, Brandon Walsh on trumpet, Trevor Williams on vibes, André La Velle on bass, Nick Berkin on keys, and Pat Hayes on drums.
Weaver, who arranges most of The Hard Modes’ pieces, has been playing video game music himself for years now. In middle school, he’d pluck out the “Zelda: Ocarina of Time” theme on his parents’ stand-up piano; other times, he and friends would take midi files of their favorite game music and feed them into a computer program that would print out corresponding sheet music, allowing the friends to play their favorite game tunes before jazz band practice started.
But it wasn’t until Weaver’s fourth-year music recital at UVA that the jazz musician, who studied with John D’earth and Jeff Decker, arranged some of his favorite game music for saxophone, combining two tunes—“Proto Man” and “Gemini Man” from Mega Man 3—for the program.
Weaver guesses that when most people hear the phrase “video game music,” they think about synthesizer bleeps and bloops, the earworm melodies from 8-bit games like Super Mario Brothers and Tetris that stick in your head for hours. But video game music has come a long way, and game music composers have fewer limitations than they did, says Weaver. Some of the soundtracks have been so popular, they’ve been released as albums.
In recent years, video game music has made its way into orchestra repertoires—like The Legend of Zelda: Symphony of the Goddesses tour, which made a stop in town at John Paul Jones Arena in April 2016. And rock bands, such as heavy metal instrumental group Powerglove (named for the Nintendo controller accessory), play versions of video game music, too.
It only makes sense for a jazz group to do it, though video game music hasn’t caught on as quickly in the jazz world, says Weaver. “Throughout time, jazz has taken the popular music of the era and adapted it” into the language of jazz, he says, and when you think about how much time people spend playing video games, this music is some of the most popular stuff out there. A few groups have done it, but it often comes out sounding like lounge or elevator music, says Weaver.
“It’s easy to take a piece of video game music, arrange it, and make it really cheesy,” he says, in part because video game music “is kind of humorous” to begin with. It’s more difficult to strike a balance between a thoughtful arrangement that honors both the spirit of jazz and the playfulness of the original composition. The Hard Modes are up to the challenge.
Weaver focuses on “adapting that rich, harmonic, rhythmic, melodic language that jazz has, to these video game tunes,” and makes very deliberate choices about which pieces the group will adapt and play. On Saturday, they’ll play selections from the Game Boy classic Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening; critically acclaimed modern game Undertale; some from Chrono Cross, one of the earliest games to gain recognition for its soundtrack (composed by Mitsuda, who claims classical, jazz, and even Celtic influence on his music); and an arrangement of a tune from Secret of Mana nestled within one from Secret of Evermore (Walsh arranged this one).
The goal, says Weaver, is to get jazzheads and gamers into the same room to appreciate something together. The Hard Modes want to put on a good show, one that proves the strength of video game music composition to the jazz fans while opening up the world of jazz music to gamers, challenging any preconceived notion either group has of the other’s art. “There’s such a connection between the two; hopefully we can blur the lines a little bit,” says Weaver.
Weaver feels that connection most strongly during the improvisational moments of The Hard Modes’ performances. In jazz improv, “you’re keeping the melody in mind, using it as an influence on what you’re playing. It may not be obvious, but it’s in the back of your mind. And with these video game tunes, you get to put your own emotions and memories into what you’re playing when you improvise,” like the memory of playing Nintendo 64 with your best friend, or recalling the excitement of unwrapping a Super Nintendo on Christmas morning. “Expanding upon those melodies that we already love,” says Weaver, “that’s really fun.”
The Hard Modes strike a balance between serious jazz and less-serious video game music on February 23 at C’ville Coffee.
As he prepares to step down, the founder of the Southern Environmental Law Center looks back on three decades of defending the region’s natural treasures
Ambitious and naive.
That’s how Rick Middleton describes himself 33 years ago, when he founded the Southern Environmental Law Center, a small nonprofit that would protect the air, the water, and the special places of the southeastern United States. It was 1986, and he was 39 years old.
“I didn’t have enough sense to know how challenging it was going to be to start up an organization,” he says, and he didn’t have much of a plan for how he’d build it over time, either. With thegoal of hiring about five lawyers who would work regionally out of a single office on the city’s Downtown Mall, he says his “grandest dream” was that maybe a dozen attorneys would someday come on board to support his vision.
But today, with 140 employees on his staff and nine offices on the map, Middleton has built the largest environmental advocacy organization in the South. And as one of the country’s pioneers of environmental law, this is the legacy he leaves behind as he prepares to retire this spring.
So why did he do it? The Alabama-born-and-raised University of Virginia alum says the answer is quite simple: “Love of the South.”
While there’s been much talk lately about preserving Southern heritage, history, and culture, Middleton is concerned about protecting the South as a physical place, whose treasures include the Appalachian mountains (which run through each state the SELC represents) hundreds of miles of Atlantic coast, and hundreds of thousands of acres of national forest, all of which the organization’s army of attorneys has fiercely defended.
Middleton says that of the few environmental advocacy groups that were around when founded the SELC, none knew much about the historically conservative South, nor were they interested in learning.
“The South needed an environmental advocate,” he adds, but even more than that, it needed a lawyer.
Environmental law was just emerging as a distinct field in the 1960s and ’70s, as the federal government passed a wave of landmark legislation to protect our land, air, and water. After graduating from Yale Law School in 1971, Middleton went home to Alabama, where he worked at the attorney general’s office to enforce those laws against some “pretty big” polluters like the Tennessee Valley Authority and U.S. Steel.
He then practiced law with national environmental nonprofit Earthjustice in Washington, D.C., for seven years. But while that organization was scoring some big wins on the federal level, Middleton wanted to have more impact on the place he loved the best—the South. And he decided he’d do it right here from Charlottesville.
A graduate of UVA, he knew the university brought in some of the brightest people from across the Southeast. And “I felt like Charlottesville was a unique and special place that would attract like-minded people,” aka smart and capable lawyers who cared about the environment.
Middleton admits that environmental advocacy in the South hasn’t always been easy. But he grounded his approach in staying local, tapping into people’s connection with their home.
“The way we view the world is that the environment shouldn’t be a partisan issue,” he says. We all should love and care about the places [where] we live, work, and go have fun.”
In his experience, if you can bring major environmental issues out of the national, highly polarized political world and down to a local, place-based level that people can easily understand, “I would say almost always the local public is on our side.”
Global issues, local impact
Here’s a not-so-fun fact: If carbon dioxide emissions from the six states the SELC represents were combined, the region would be the eighth-largest contributor to global warming on Earth, Middleton says.
The Southeast can attribute rising seas, loss of beaches, wetlands, and other natural resources to global warming, “but we’re also having this devastating flooding from these monster hurricanes that are clearly because of changing weather patterns from climate change. So we’re not only producing more carbon dioxide than anywhere in the country, the Southeast is [also] suffering the consequences of this.”
In other words, the region he’s worked so hard to protect is also the epicenter of the problem.
But tackling climate change is one of the big issues the SELC is equipped to take on.
“We now have an organization that is smart enough and big enough and has enough staying power that we can do things today that we never could have dreamed about 30 years ago,” he says.
Roughly 12 years ago, the SELC created a strategic plan to reduce carbon dioxide emissions across its six states. And, Middleton says, they’ve done it.
Twenty staff members are currently working on the project, which began with Environmental Defense v. Duke Energy. In this case, SELC attorneys represented the Environmental Defense Fund, Sierra Club, and Environment North Carolina when Duke wanted to rebuild and extend the life of a dozen of its coal-fired power plants without installing new legally required pollution controls.
They took the case all the way to the Supreme Court, and won—a unanimous victory that required power companies to always install new pollution controls on rebuilt plants, and set off the largest power plant cleanup in U.S. history. Since 2010, the SELC and its partners have reduced one-third of the Southeast’s coal plant capacity by pressuring companies into retiring their plants.
“The reduction [of emissions] has been something like 30 percent,” Middleton says. “I mean, it’s incredible.”
Going forward, the SELC is working on the South’s first carbon cap-and-trade program for power plants. If adopted, it will give utilities incentives to opt for low- or zero-carbon energy resources.
Building the team
But before there was a staff of 140 people who could tackle such large-scale projects, there were just three attorneys.
The first to join Middleton’s fledgling organization was David Carr, a Princeton grad with roots in Albemarle County. Carr had graduated from UVA’s law school in 1983 before moving to Seattle, where he practiced general business litigation and did some business advising.
But what he really wanted to do was environmental law. At the time, there were few jobs available in the field, so when a friend saw an ad for the new SELC, he jumped on it. About a month later, he was back in Charlottesville.
He was 30 years old. Now he’s 63, focuses primarily on alternate energy and protecting wilderness, and is one of the first names that usually surfaces when asking about the enormous impact the law center has had on the Southeast.
“It all happened pretty quick,” says Carr, who had no idea he’d spend the rest of his career at the organization. Middleton had secured a grant and funding for only three years. “We didn’t know if we’d be in business three years down the road —at least I didn’t.”
But it wasn’t long before Kay Slaughter, whom Middleton recruited from UVA’s law school in ’86 and who would serve as Charlottesville’s mayor 10 years later while still at SELC, turned their duo into a trio.
Slaughter, who retired in 2010, says the three lawyers focused on bringing their knowledge of federal environmental laws to city and state laws in the South.
“We’re certainly a very different organization than we were when there were three of us,” says Carr, but he commends Middleton for maintaining a sense of camaraderie and collegiality as the organization grew.
Middleton built a management committee to help him lead the staff as it sprawled across six states, while still holding onto his original vision of protecting the South’s environment and the people who depend on it for their wellbeing at a local level. And he’s maintained high standards across the board for SELC’s work, whether that be its legal advocacy, fundraising, or communications, Carr says.
“That’s been the secret sauce.”
Like Middleton himself, many of the attorneys who work for him are motivated by their love for the outdoors, and Middleton has always encouraged—even insisted—that they get out and visit the places that they’re working on, Carr says.
Getting boots on the ground can give attorneys a visceral sense of the particular place, stream, mountain, or beach they’re fighting to protect.
“Plus,” says Carr, “it’s good for the attorney’s outlook and spirit to get out of the office and enjoy the places that they’re working on. …A lot of my best memories in working with Rick have been visiting some of those places together.”
He specifically recalls an SELC-sponsored retreat to the barrier islands of the Cape Lookout National Seashore, a three-mile boat ride from the coast of North Carolina’s southern Outer Banks. It was 2001, immediately following the September 11 terrorist attacks.
About 25 SELC staff watched as fishermen reeled in an “incredible catch” of croakers and spot from the sound side of the Cape. The fish would usually be destined for New York’s famous Fulton Fish Market, but because it was closed due to the tragedy unfolding in the city, the fishermen were trying to figure out where they could sell their catch of the day.
“And on the ocean side, there were surfcasters reeling in these huge flounders,” Carr remembers. “I’d never seen flounders this big.”
He also recalls early trips to Georgia’s Cumberland Island National Seashore and North Carolina’s Cedar Island, which the SELC successfully protected from development and other destruction. Staff hikes around The Priest and Three Ridges, two of Virginia’s most popular hiking circuits, are also at the top of his list.
Because of Carr and the SELC, the Nelson County spots are now congressionally designated wilderness areas, which means they’re federally managed and designated for preservation in their natural condition.
Protect and defend
Longtime environmental advocate Ridge Schuyler, who has worked with the SELC in a couple of different roles, says Carr’s dedication to preserving The Priest and Three Ridges is a prime example of the law center’s outstanding work.
As a chief policy advisor to Senator Chuck Robb in the ’90s, Schuyler worked closely with the nonprofit to protect national parks and other forests. Later, as director of the Nature Conservancy, he worked with the SELC on protecting the Rivanna watershed, and specifically restoring healthy river flows to the Moormans River in the early 2000s.
That presented a dual challenge: protecting the river while still providing water for the community.
“Working together,” Schuyler says, “…We took what is often seen as an intractable challenge and figured out a way to solve it.”
Though this primarily involved policy and regulatory work instead of litigation, when asked if the Nature Conservancy could have navigated the situation without the aid of the SELC, Schuyler doesn’t mince words: “No.”
SELC attorney Rick Parrish brought his expert knowledge of the Clean Water Act and state regulations to guide the Nature Conservancy in developing a plan that would meet water supply needs and the law’s requirements to protect the environment, Schulyer says.
“Rick was an excellent partner during a stressful time—both good for nature and good-natured,” Schuyler says. During the course of the conversation, he also praised a string of other SELC attorneys such as Carr, Slaughter, Morgan Butler, and Trip Pollard for their passion and reputation.
Adds Schuyler, “Their work undergirds a lot of what makes Charlottesville a wonderful place and an attractive place to live.”
Grey McLean, director of the locally based, climate-change-combatting Adiuvans Foundation, has supported the work of the SELC for years. After getting to know Middleton and the attorneys, first through their projects in Virginia and then throughout the Southeast, he joined the organization’s board of trustees a few years ago.
He’s impressed by the SELC’s “extremely high degree of professionalism,” he says. “These are really committed, talented lawyers who, quite frankly, make a significant financial sacrifice working at a nonprofit, relative to working for a for-profit law firm.”
He says the reputation of their work precedes them, “and I think that has an impact on the behavior of folks who might otherwise be ready to run roughshod over the environment.”
Adds McLean, “I often think if it were not for SELC, what would happen?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but Carr suggests some answers: For starters, likely more than a million acres of wildlands and other wilderness and national scenic areas like the George Washington and Jefferson National forests would be unprotected, vulnerable to things such as pipelines, fracking, and coal mining. The Southeast might be smothered in a film of air pollution, and the shift to solar energy and other renewables might not have taken off. (Now North Carolina is ranked second in the amount of solar systems installed nationwide, with SELC’s other five states ranked in the top 25.)
“We’d probably be lagging behind the rest of the country, whereas we’re helping lead the rest of the country in those transitions now,” says Carr.
Staying power
Though he’ll remain president emeritus of his law center, Middleton is stepping down at a particularly fraught time, as the Trump administration fights tooth and nail to tear apart the protections he has defended for 30 years. But as Middleton hands over the reins to Jeff Gleason, a 28-year veteran of the organization and an expert in clean energy and air, he says the SELC is better prepared than ever to fight back.
“It’s almost like every organizational decision we’ve made in the last 30 years has been to build an organization capable of succeeding at this challenging time,” Middleton says.
One of the policies under attack by the administration is the Clean Water Act, which was passed in 1972 to regulate pollution, and is to thank for increasingly cleaner waterways despite population growth. SELC research found that gutting it would affect the drinking water supply of 2.3 million people in Virginia alone.
The president’s goal is to reduce Environmental Protection Agency oversight of what gets released into the country’s wetlands and isolated streams, seemingly because the current law doesn’t sit well with some of his base. The Clean Water Act limits how folks such as rural landowners, real estate developers, and golf course owners can use their properties, including restricting the quantity of pesticides they may use.
“There’s nobody in that administration who’s interested in protecting the environment,” says Middleton. “It’s up to us.”
Now the SELC is the central organization defending the Clean Water Act with a team of about a dozen attorneys, and thousands of environmental allies on their side. They expect their litigation will play out in the courts over the next two years, and ultimately be decided by the U.S. Supreme Court.
Middleton calls the administration “over the top” and “extreme” for things such as denying climate change and a refusal to act to reduce carbon pollution.
“There’s no rationale to it,” he adds. “It’s all just ignorance, hostility, and greed.”
Take offshore drilling as another example. It has never happened on the South Atlantic seaboard, because when former President Barack Obama initiated a plan to explore it, the SELC helped to convince more than 100 communities from Virginia Beach down to the Florida-Georgia line to pass anti-drilling resolutions, which further convinced the former administration to change its mind. Now more than 200 communities are on board, but not Trump. His administration and supporters are hellbent on extracting that petroleum.
With a sly smile, he does a quick and fairly tame impersonation of those pushing offshore drilling: “More oil! More gas! Drilling! Who cares about the coastal communities? Who cares about listening to people locally? I’m promoting maximum fossil fuel extraction. Let’s crank up the global temperature! We don’t believe in global warming!”
Now, Middleton’s law center has found itself back in the epicenter of the argument, “and this time it’s going to take the lawyers. We’re not going to be able to convince the Trump administration any other way,” he adds.
SELC attorneys currently have a lawsuit underway in Charleston, South Carolina, and just won an injunction to prevent things from moving forward until their suit can be heard. They’ll challenge any seismic testing permits that are issued, as well as a final drilling plan.
“We’ve never been so busy,” says Middleton. “And it’s never been so important, but we are winning.”
At the same time, he says the SELC must stay true to its roots: “people and place.” That means focusing on the preservation of specific communities’ unique culture and ecology across their six-state region.
“Don’t lose sight of that kind of heart and soul of who you are and why you’re doing what you’re doing,” says Middleton, who plans to spend time after retirement visiting many of the places he’s worked to protect and “spreading the good word” about the SELC.
Says Middleton, “It’s not just enough to win a case—you’ve got to win hearts and minds and values.”
Here’s what Middleton has his eye on in Virginia—and you should, too
Defending the Clean Water Act to keep pollutants out of Virginia’s streams and protecting its coastal communities from offshore drilling are top priorities for SELC attorneys. Here’s what else they’re working on across the commonwealth.
Opposing the Atlantic Coast Pipeline
Environmentalists have strongly opposed the 600-mile, $7 billion natural gas pipeline that will slice through Nelson County on its way from West Virginia to North Carolina since it was proposed half a decade ago. The SELC has also dug up mounting evidence that casts doubt on the need for a pipeline. And the organization has brought several lawsuits that have delayed the ACP’s construction, including convincing a federal court to throw out a U.S. Forest Service permit that would have allowed the ACP to cross two national forests and the Appalachian Trail. They also plan to challenge the pipeline’s entire approval permit.
Protecting our forests
A longtime champion of the George Washington and Jefferson National forests, the SELC helped draft the Virginia Wilderness Additions Act, which Senator Tim Kaine introduced a few weeks ago. If passed, it would permanently protect 5,600 acres in the Rich Hole and Rough Mountain Wilderness areas in Bath County.
Advancing clean energy
Accelerating a transition to renewable energy is an SELC priority, and it has several opportunities to do so in Virginia. Attorneys are currently defending the appeal of a March 2017 ruling that Dominion’s coal ash pits at a plant in Chesapeake are in violation of the Clean Water Act. The SELC also encouraged the administrations of former governor Terry McAuliffe and Governor Ralph Northam to propose the South’s first carbon cap-and-trade program for power plants, and will have an advisory role as the proposal moves forward. And lastly, the SELC is fighting for solar power access for all Virginians.
Greatesthits
In three decades, SELC’s attorneys have scored some significant victories. Here’s a sampling:
Moving the South away from coal
In April 2007, after a seven-year battle, the SELC won a U.S. Supreme Court case, Environmental Defense v. Duke Energy, which ruled
that power companies could no longer continue their practice of burning coal without installing new pollution controls on rebuilt factories. This ruling set off the largest power plant cleanup in U.S. history, in which the SELC also blocked or deferred companies’ plans to build seven new coal-burning units across their six states, and had a hand in the retiring of one-third of existing coal towers in the region. Carbon dioxide levels have now dropped 29 percent in the Southeast. That’s a lot.
Cleaning up 90 million tons of coal ash
Utilities generally store their toxic coal ash in unlined, leaking pits, but through SELC legal action and public pressure, utilities in South Carolina have agreed to safely store or recycle all coal ash, and in North Carolina, Duke Energy has agreed to clean up eight of its 14 sites. The law center’s suit challenging the Tennessee Valley Authority’s dumping of coal ash at its Gallatin Fossil Plant achieved a landmark ruling whena federal court, for the first time in the nation’s history, ordered the utility to excavate its toxic ash, finding it a violation of the Clean Water Act.
Saving special places
When traditional native fishing grounds on the Mattaponi River were threatened by what the SELC classifies as the largest proposed wet- land destruction in Virginia’s history, or when a proposed Navy jet training facility wanted to squash an Atlantic Coast tundra swan and snow geese habitat, attorneys were there to say, “not so fast.” So far, they’ve been able to protect and preserve dozens of these natural areas.
No acres lost
The law center defended more than 700,000 roadless acres of national forest in the southern Appalachians from logging, road building, and other destruction, and celebrated their permanent protection in 2013.
Less asphalt
SELC attorneys take the position that unnecessary roads induce unrestricted growth, and take away from funds that could address other transportation needs. Over a period of many years, they were able to halt the doubling of Interstate 81 across Virginia, a 210-mile outer perimeter of roadway around Atlanta, and a string of roads in the Carolinas such as the Garden Parkway, which would have been a limited access toll road. They’re now seeking new ways to advance forward-thinking land use strategies and steer funding toward public transit.
Although revenue is up in Albemarle, and county exec Jeff Richardson presented a sunny forecast to the Board of Supervisors February 15, his $457-million fiscal year 2020 budget is based on upping the current property tax rate by 1.5 cents.
He calls the budget, which increases spending 5.7 percent, “an ambitious vision statement that is both grounded in history and aspirational,” anchored by the county’s strategic goals of an “exceptional public education system” and a thriving economy, and “rooted in protecting our environment.”
In addition to the tax increase, the county will see more revenue from property assessments, which increased on average 4 percent. Also up are personal property tax revenues, which Richardson attributes to citizens buying new cars, and sales and food and beverage taxes.
The higher property tax rate was a possibility when voters approved a $35 million bond referendum in 2016 to expand Woodbrook Elementary, but was deferred the past couple of years because of higher revenues, said Richardson.
Now, he wants to dedicate the 1.5-cent tax increase to capital improvements and debt service.
The budget recommends nine priority areas for spending, including economic development, broadband expansion, and parks. Darden Towe will see athletic field improvements, and Hedgerow Park, Buck Island Creek Park, and the Rivanna Reservoir boat launch are slated for funding.
Economic development, such as the county’s wooing of WillowTree, which is going to rehab the aging Woolen Mills factory and bring high-paying tech jobs, is part of the “transformational” investment the county wants to make more of in the 21st century, and Richardson wants to be ready for the next emerging opportunity. “We’ve got to be poised to be able to pivot,” he says.
Sustaining a quality county staff is another budget goal, and if approved, county employees will see a 2.3 percent raise. The proposal adds 15.5 staff positions, including a circuit court clerk, a deputy sheriff, a police officer, and two positions at Parks & Rec.
Revenue sharing—the agreement that the county forks over 10 cents of its property tax rate to the city for stopping annexation in 1982—is always a sore point with county residents. This year that multi-million dollar payment will be down 9.5 percent. The formula used to calculate the payment lags 24 months, and Charlottesville’s 13 percent jump in commercial property tax assessments in 2017 was the “biggest variable,” says Richardson.
County schools get 45 percent of the county’s budget, and Richardson’s budget adds $8.5 million to schools. “An exceptional school system underpins our vision,” he says.
The Board of Supervisors will hold its first budget work session February 21. Read all 300 pages here.
Last fall, after Burley Middle School unveiled a monument wall listing the names of students who attended the segregated school from 1951 to 1967, local activist Jimmy Hollins began circulating a petition to officially designate it a historic landmark.
Burley is one of three operating Virginia schools that had once been all-black, as it was when Hollins, 71, attended from 1960 to 1965. The Burley Varsity Club, a nonprofit co-founded by Hollins, collected over 500 signatures and sent a letter to the Albemarle County superintendent.
The Albemarle County School Board approved a resolution for the designation February 14. Next, the proposal goes to the Virginia Landmarks Register, which would officially grant historic status to the school. Then, an application would be submitted to the National Register of Historic Places to designate it a national landmark.
Burley’s unique story makes it a strong candidate for historic designation.
In the late 1940s, Charlottesville and Albemarle County decided to build Burley to show proponents of integration that public schools could truly be “separate but equal,” a common strategy in Southern localities at the time. The city and county provided Burley ample funding, hired top-shelf teachers, and distributed substantial resources to its athletic programs–all in the hopes of maintaining segregation.
At first, it seemed as though the plan may have worked. Burley was built to replace Jefferson and Esmont high schools and Albemarle Training School. “I think all the black kids wanted to go to Burley,” says Hollins, who played defensive tackle on the football team. “Charlottesville had police officers and firefighters who went to Burley, and UVA nursing school worked to get black nurses for UVA hospital from Burley.”
But the U.S. Supreme Court, in its 1954 unanimous Brown v. Board of Education ruling, determined that “separate educational facilities are inherently unequal” because segregating black children on the basis of race “generates a feeling of inferiority…in a way unlikely to ever be undone,” wrote Chief Justice Earl Warren. Regardless of quality, schools would have to integrate.
In the years between Brown and Hollins’ first year at Burley, Virginia Governor James Lindsay Almond Jr. shifted his efforts to actively resisting integration, temporarily closing Venable Elementary and Lane High schools in 1958 to avoid admitting black students. But his efforts were repeatedly quashed by mandatory desegregation orders from federal courts, and in 1959, the first black students enrolled at Lane and Venable.
Facing yearly declines in enrollment, Burley converted to a school for seventh graders from the overflowing Jack Jouett Junior High in 1967, then reopened as an integrated middle school in 1973.
Jeff Werner, historic designation and design planner with the city, decided to team up with Hollins after discovering they had a common interest: Since Burley Middle School is squarely within the Rose Hill neighborhood, designating the school could help the effort to preserve the entire historically black area, which has many homes dating from 1900 to 1930.
Werner inherited the project of designating Rose Hill a historic district from his predecessor, Mary Joy Scala.
Last summer, the Virginia Department of Historic Resources deemed Rose Hill eligible for historic status. This has granted special protections, since eligibility alone requires state agencies to take steps to mitigate potential damages when working in the district, even though its status has not yet changed.
Designating Burley a historic landmark “really changes the narrative,” Werner says. “Think about what that means to these individuals. That’s invaluable.”
Hollins concurs. “If I could go back to Burley I would do it all over again,” he says. “It was a family.” And one with a proud history, including the Burley Bears’ 1956 undefeated football season, which Hollins wants to make sure is not forgotten.
Raised in the fertile musical region of Galax, Virginia, Dori Freemanwas never far from the sound of a bluegrass tune. She began to sing and play at a young age, and despite entering college and becoming a single mom, she gravitated to the role of musician. After a bold move—Freeman reached out to singer-songwriter Teddy Thompson because she liked to sing along to his songs—she found herself with a debut album, produced by Thompson and recognized by the New York Times as one of the best releases of 2016.
Friday, February 22. $13-15, 7pm. The Prism Coffeehouse at C’ville Coffee, 1301 Harris St. 978-4335.