The abrupt departure of the staffer in charge of implementing Charlottesville’s 2-year-old civil rights ordinance has set the volunteer Human Rights Commission (HRC) that worked with her office on the defensive, but some involved with the creation and oversight of the city’s anti-discrimination efforts say there’s reason to be optimistic.

Zan Tewksbury resigned from her position as director of the city’s Office of Human Rights (OHR) earlier this month. An experienced civil rights attorney, she was hired in October 2013 with a salary of $72,000 and a budget of $197,000 to run what was then still a new endeavor. Four months earlier, the city had passed an ordinance allowing it to tackle discrimination locally with a two-part approach: Tewksbury’s office would take in complaints and help resolve them through mediation or refer them to other agencies, while the Human Rights commission would adjudicate persistent complaints and tackle issues of systemic racism in the city.

The ordinance was hailed as a partial victory by those who had long advocated for local civil rights enforcement powers; it limited the OHR’s oversight to complaints against city businesses with 15 or fewer employees. Claims against bigger employers were to be passed along to the federal Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, while housing complaints would be handed off to the Piedmont Housing Alliance.

The HRC’s first annual report, released in January, was a mixed bag. While the commission reported success in facilitating conversations about race and civil rights in the city and collected 107 discrimination complaints, it hadn’t officially resolved any complaints. None of the 39 employment-related claims received fell under its purview—they involved companies that were too large or were located outside the city. Another 24 complaints were deemed to be “systemic” problems, the most common being biased policing. In all, the commission itself was able to address just 10 complaints. None are resolved.

Local NAACP president M. Rick Turner, initially a supporter of the human rights ordinance, said those numbers point to a basic problem.

“I don’t think you can be effective city-wide with the kinds of impediments that were in the policy,” he said.

HRC members referred requests for comment to chair Aidyn Mills. They were speaking with one voice, she said, because recent media coverage of the commission had been critical and they deemed it was “best not to give these reporters more fuel for the kinds of negative articles they might be trying to write.” Mills wouldn’t comment on Tewksbury’s departure, but said the group was moving forward with action plans to address several issues it had identified in its first year of operation.

City Manager Maurice Jones also declined to discuss why Tewksbury left, and stressed it was important to look beyond complaint adjudication when judging the effectiveness of the commission: It has helped refer many complaints to the EEOC and other bodies, he said, and is an important part of community conversations about discrimination.

Walt Heinecke, another vocal supporter of the city’s human rights ordinance when it was passed, said he thinks there’s still hope for a commission with teeth, but it needs a champion on City Council and more control over the office so recently vacated.

“The HRC has to see the world in terms of city staff working for them, and not vice versa,” Heinecke said.

Turner is less optimistic. He thinks the fundamental flaw in the city’s civil rights institutions is that they were built on compromise. “You can’t compromise with discrimination,” he said. “You fight it, or you don’t fight it.”

The trial for the accused murderers of Waynesboro reserve police officer Kevin Quick was already one for the record books when it began May 4: Six defendants, 10 defense attorneys, three prosecutors, a jury panel of 134 and six weeks set aside for arguments in front of the Honorable Glen E. Conrad, chief U.S. District Judge for the Western District of Virginia.

But eight days later came a bombshell: The judge granted a mistrial for all defendants. The impetus was the discovery that one of the accused, now identified as Kweli Uhuru (who previously went by the name Travis Bell), had a list of the entire 134-person jury pool with him for a night in the Central Virginia Regional Jail. A transcript of a marathon meeting in the judge’s chambers not long after the discovery reveals some of what happened, and sheds light on the contentious debate that led to the decision to scrap the trial and start over.

Uhuru and siblings Mersadies Lachelle Shelton, Shantai Monique Shelton and Daniel Lamont Mathis face life in prison for murder, racketeering and other charges in the January 31, 2014, death of Quick, whom prosecutors say was abducted, robbed and killed while driving from his mother’s home in Afton to see his girlfriend and their young daughter near Charlottesville. Two other defendants, Halisi Uhuru and Anthony Stokes, stood accused of racketeering, narcotics distribution and obstruction of justice. Federal authorities said all six were members of the 99 Goon Syndikate, a Central Virginia subset of the Bloods gang.

Their trial was only days old when an FBI agent named Scott Cullins asked to meet with Judge Conrad. The transcript shows that early on May 7, all 13 attorneys joined them in Conrad’s chambers, where it was revealed a U.S. marshal had discovered the jury list—which included each potential juror’s name, address, spouse’s occupation, number of children and partial Social Security number—among Kweli Uhuru’s documents as he reentered the federal courthouse on West Main Street. The judge revealed marshals said it appeared he had it overnight while housed among the jail’s general population, and that he made a phone call to a relative during that time. One marshal said the defendants “are doing things that we can’t monitor” in jail. A search of Uhuru’s jail cell turned up nothing, said Cullins, but he could have copied the list and distributed it. The agent said law enforcement, including higher-ups at the FBI, were “appalled.”

The Blood Nation “has a history of not only retribution, but also preventative actions,” he said, bringing up the case of the father of a North Carolina prosecutor who was kidnapped on the orders of a jailed Bloods leader and rescued five days later. Nine people associated with the gang were indicted last April in the abduction of 63-year-old Frank Janssen of Wake Forest.

“It was actually a failure from an attempted murder,” Cullins said in chambers. “This person was in a closet tied up in plastic so any bodily fluid could be recovered.”

All 134 people on the jury list had to be notified, Cullins said. The FBI wanted to do it right away, he said, but would agree to wait until the trial’s end.

Defense attorneys in the room quickly raised the specter of a mistrial: If the already-impaneled jury members were told of the leak, it could prejudice them against the defendants.

“This trial seems snake-bit already,” said Christopher Kowalczuk, one of two attorneys for Mersadies Shelton.

Not all those representing the six agreed with him. Frederick Heblich, one of Mathis’ attorneys, pointed out that there’s nothing unusual about a defendant having access to a jury list, at least in court—a fact confirmed by the judge, but one that alarmed and seemed to baffle the FBI agent, who said he’d be “outraged” if he was a juror and learned his information had been shared.

Despite the agent’s concerns, Assistant U.S. Attorney Christopher Kavanaugh also opposed the move for a mistrial, calling the decision “rash.”

Kweli Uhuru’s lawyers were mostly silent, and the judge didn’t discuss details of how their client managed to obtain the list. But he did make clear who he thought was ultimately responsible for what he said was an “unacceptable” situation.

“I think it was a shortcoming on the part of the United States in several different respects, and I’m disappointed this happened,” Conrad said, “and I’m not going to forget that it happened.”

In the end, the judge said he thought that while the leak posed “no indication of any real and immediate threat,” he would act on the FBI’s concerns.

But a post-trial letter to jurors was out of the question, he said, because “it would have a serious impact on the confidence that the public at large would have in the jury system and service as a juror” if dozens of people learned the court knew they could have been at risk and kept it quiet for weeks. If the FBI insisted on notification, he said, “then we have to start over. It’s as simple as that.” He promised to pen the letters to the jury pool, and he indicated he’d grant mistrials to the defense attorneys who sought them.

Lawyers for all six defendants ultimately did so, though attorneys for Mathis and Kweli Uhuru waited to file motions until they saw how jurors reacted to news of the list leak in court on May 12. By 2:30pm that day, it was over—for the time being.

Attorneys on both sides seemed to agree during the wrangling in chambers that another trial would follow, possibly in a new location in Virginia. That makes sense, said Charlottesville defense attorney Dave Heilberg, who is not connected with the case, because this doesn’t appear to be a situation where double jeopardy would apply. There was no obvious misconduct by the prosecution, Heilberg said, and the defense wanted the mistrial. Conrad has not specified when a new trial would begin.

Another thing most—Heilberg, several of the trial attorneys, the FBI agent and the judge—seem to agree on: The circumstances are unprecedented.

“It’s highly unusual,” Heilberg said. “It’s a mess.”

The final chapter in a 4-year-old legal battle over a Charlottesville ordinance banning solicitation in certain areas of the Downtown Mall is playing out in favor of the free-speech advocates who challenged the rule. Last week, the City Council approved a nearly $126,000 settlement to the plaintiffs in the case, Albert Clatterbuck and Christopher Martin, after a federal judge ruled in February that the city’s attempt to ban panhandling within 50 feet of traffic crossings on the mall was unconstitutional. Other parts of the law, including a ban on soliciting from restaurant patrons, remain in place.

Judge Norman K. Moon initially sided with the city in tossing out the case three years ago, saying the plaintiffs’ claim failed to point out a First Amendment violation, because the ordinance appeared to be “content-neutral”—it banned any kind of monetary solicitation, regardless of who was holding out a hand or why.

But when the case came before them, judges on the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals found just the opposite. They pointed out that while the ordinance made asking for money illegal, asking for other things of value, such as a signature, was allowed, and they sent the case back to Moon. The second time around, said plaintiffs’ attorney Jeffrey Fogel, he was able to present evidence, including the testimony of several city officials.

Moon’s final judgment pointed to that evidence in what reads as a strong rebuke to the city. He said officials didn’t back up their claims that people asking for money could distract drivers or cause pedestrians to take “evasive maneuvers” and end up in traffic, and he called arguments that the city’s “assistance to the homeless and impoverished” and its siting of a monument to the First Amendment on the mall showed it had no intent to censor panhandlers’ speech “irrelevant.” He added in a footnote that the Thomas Jefferson Center for the Protection of Free Expression, “which built and maintains the First Amendment Wall, filed an amicus brief on Plaintiffs’ behalf.”

City Councilor Kristin Szakos, who voted for the ordinance in 2011, said she believed supporters and opponents of the rule held “positions that were taken in good faith,” and pointed to a major U.S. Supreme Court decision in 2014 that ruled 35-foot buffer zones around Massachusetts abortion clinics unconstitutional. That ruling made a difference in this case, she said.

But Fogel pointed out that on what has long been the key argument over the intent of the ordinance—whether the city was targeting beggars specifically—Moon sided with him. “My examination of the record reflects that the City’s focus was on panhandlers, and the City created an ordinance reflecting that focus,” the judge wrote.

“The First Amendment is always tested by the people who displease the majority,” said Fogel, and in this case, the majority included “even nice liberals” who questioned whether begging had any social value. “It’s the people on the edges of society that society seeks to suppress. This reached that edge,” he said.

City Attorney Craig Brown declined to comment on the case. But in a memo he penned for last week’s Council meeting, he recommended approving a $125,975.70 settlement—$123,000 of which covers the plaintiffs’ attorneys’ fees, which he acknowledged were “substantial” due to the lengthy battle in the courts—and avoiding a jury trial. The money will come out of the city’s risk management fund, which spokeswoman Miriam Dickler said has a balance of $3.4 million.

Fogel hinted more local fights over panhandling restrictions might be coming from his quarter. He’s watching a case challenging a Henrico law banning begging in highway medians, and said he may file a similar suit against Albemarle County, where soliciting money from medians was outlawed in 2005. That move pushed panhandlers into the city, where they’re currently allowed at most intersections.

The plaintiff at the center of the case, meanwhile, is now living at The Crossings, the subsidized housing development near the mall. A disability payment helped Clatterbuck buy a scooter, his attorney said, and he relies a lot less on panhandling these days.

“He’s doing well,” Fogel said.

Tuesday afternoon brought a major development in a local case that continues to grab national headlines: Albemarle County Commonwealth’s Attorney Denise Lunsford announced that she would charge Jesse Matthew with capital murder in the death of UVA second-year Hannah Graham. That means Matthew, who was in court for a hearing to set his trial date on first-degree murder and abduction charges in the case, could now face the death penalty.

“The Commonwealth received some additional forensic information in late February that led to this increased in charge,” Lunsford told a throng of reporters gathered outside the county courthouse.

February was when a grand jury indicted Matthew on charges of first-degree murder, abduction with intent to defile and reckless driving in connection with Graham’s death. The 18-year-old went missing in the early morning hours of September 13, 2014 after a night out with friends. Security camera footage shows she ended up on the Downtown Mall, apparently disoriented, where witnesses saw her outside a bar with Matthew, who was charged with her abduction soon after and arrested on September 24 near Galveston, Texas. After weeks of searching by volunteers and law enforcement officials from around the state, Graham’s skeletal remains were found on a rural property off Old Lynchburg Road on October 18. A medical examiner declared the death a homicide.

Matthew is also facing attempted murder and rape charges stemming from a 2005 assault in Fairfax County. DNA from that assault has been linked to Morgan Harrington, the Virginia Tech student who disappeared in 2009 and whose remains were found three months later in a field a few miles from where Graham was found. No charges have been filed in that case.

When the indictment in the Graham case came on February 2, Lunsford took care to note that Matthew had not been charged with a capital crime.

“A great deal of serious thought went into the decision, including the impact on the Grahams, on the community and the ability to have a fair trial,” Lunsford said then.

She did not elaborate yesterday on the specific evidence that has prompted the Commonwealth to put the death penalty on the table now. But David Heilberg, one the few attorneys in the Charlottesville area who is certified to defend capital cases, said it’s possible that investigators discovered some kind of biological evidence that could help them prove what he refers to as “murder-plus.” That’s what a capital murder charge requires, said Heilberg, who is not directly involved in the Matthew case: not only willful, deliberate and premeditated killing, but proof of an additional element, such as a second homicide, robbery, sexual assault, abduction or some other crime.

“I can only speculate,” said Heilberg, “but maybe there’s some kind of DNA evidence, biological evidence on her clothing or her, that could improve their case”—because it supports a charge of rape or some other crime.

Heilberg can’t recall the last time the county pursued capital charges in a murder case. There’s no question, he said, that the already high-profile trial will now see much more scrutiny—and will cost taxpayers much more. According to various reports, James Camblos, the former Albemarle County prosecutor who has represented Matthew since his arrest, has been replaced by Doug Ramseur of the Virginia Capital Defender Offices and local attorney Michael Hemenway. Both are highly respected defense lawyers, said Heilberg, and have the experience and qualifications for such cases.

“There’s an expression: ‘Death is different,’” he said. “So much is at stake, and so much more can happen. It requires specialized training. Not more than a half dozen people in the Charlottesville area can do them.”

Another attorney with such experience and certification? Denise Lunsford. Contrary to what was reported in the Washington Post this week, the prosecutor did handle capital cases during her years as a defense attorney here. She defended Dorian Lester, the former Patricia Kluge bodyguard convicted of murdering a jeweler in 1997, as well as Craig Nordenson, who killed two people in a notorious shooting at the coal tower near downtown Charlottesville in the summer of 2001, among others. Both were sentenced to life without parole—the only other sentencing option besides death in a capital case.

Lunsford confirmed in an e-mail Wednesday that she was also a mitigation expert on a number of other death penalty cases. In that role, she would have served as a kind of biographer for the accused, Heilberg explained. “A mitigation specialist goes back into the defendant’s background and literally finds out what made them who they are today,” he said.

This will, however, be her first time prosecuting a death penalty case. (Lunsford charged a Louisa County man named Daniel Dove with capital murder after he killed a man during a robbery in an Autumn Hill apartment in 2008, but Dove pleaded guilty, and there was no jury trial.) Heilberg said she could face a long, tough fight. Matthew’s defense attorneys may push for a change of venue, he said, citing the intense media coverage of the case.

“It’s a very high hurdle to clear,” he said. “I don’t remember any change-of-venue cases anywhere around here, and that’s in the last 36 years. But this is the kind of case where the defense would certainly attempt it.”

That can be part of what adds to the length and expense of capital trials. “It means more rounds of pre-trial hearings, and it’s grounds for an appeal if you don’t get it,” he said. “To put someone to death is very expensive.”

A group of 55 Sweet Briar faculty members has filed yet another lawsuit attempting to block the planned closure of the 114-year-old college, claiming breach of contract. But the school’s leaders have fired back with a legal memorandum opposing the suit—the third filed against the school in a month—and have accused the faculty of trying to milk the situation for their own gain.

The plaintiffs filed the motion for an injunction in Amherst County Court on Friday, April 24, claiming that the school’s leaders are terminating faculty members’ employment illegally based on a financial crisis that doesn’t exist. They’re seeking $42 million in damages plus another $2 million for non-tenured faculty, saying they’ll suffer “irreparable harm” if they’re terminated at the end of the current school year. Academic employment is about more than their salaries, they claim in the suit; they need to stay in academia in order to remain “marketable as faculty members in higher education,” they said, and the timing of the closure means they won’t be able to find employment for the coming school year.

The college fired back with its own filings claiming the faculty lack standing and are trying to reargue a similar effort to block the closure. The judge in that case, brought by Amherst County Attorney Ellen Bowyer and supported by the alumnae group Saving Sweet Briar, granted only a temporary injunction against shuttering the school.

“We believe there is no legal or factual basis for the lawsuit’s effort to prevent the College from closing, so the intent of the lawsuit appears to be an effort to secure a financial windfall,” the college said in a press release issued Monday. “If it were somehow successful, the faculty members’ damages claim would guarantee the College’s inability to complete an orderly wind down of operations and eliminate any possibility of Sweet Briar’s mission continuing in a different form in the future.”

The release said the school will vigorously defend itself in the face of legal claims against it, which include a separate suit brought by students and parents filed even as Bowyer seeks an appeal in her case.

“Neither court rulings nor political pressure can improve Sweet Briar’s financial condition,” said the release. “As sad, disappointing and disheartening as it is, the simple truth is that the College lacks the resources to remain open through the end of the 2015-2016 academic year.”