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YOU issue: Cities vs. counties

Here’s what readers wanted to know:

Why is Virginia the only state with multiple independent cities? The city/county split here seems to lead to more difficulties than not. —David Moltz

Why did Charlottesville become an independent city in the first place? What ridiculous conflicts and duplication of services have we had over the years? Why does it persist? What’s the future for the Charlottesville-Albemarle relationship?—Nathan Moore

The whys of independent cities appear to be a burning issue over at WTJU, from whence these two inquiries came—although GM Moore assures us he and Moltz were not in cahoots with the questions and that this is not an official WTJU inquiry.

Here’s what we know: Out of 41 independent cities nationwide, 38 are in Virginia. These cities got charters from the General Assembly and are not part of the surrounding counties—in our case, Albemarle.

In England around the time this country was founded, entities like the Dutch East India Company were created as corporations and given special powers. Former mayor Frank Buck says cities in the new Virginia colony, which was largely developed by the English, followed that model. Cities went to the legislature to ask for an act to incorporate as independent bodies, while counties were land grants and considered part of the state government, he says.

Cities had more power and could facilitate growth by annexing land, which did not make surrounding counties like Albemarle happy.

That became the genesis of the revenue-sharing agreement, the question we thought we would get from readers but didn’t. We’ll take this opportunity to explain anyway.

Charlottesville wanted to annex land on U.S. 29 north to the Rivanna River, east to Pantops, south to I-64, and west to Farmington, says former city manager Cole Hendrix. Not surprisingly, Albemarle was freaking out with the potential loss of land—and tax revenue—in its urban ring.

So City Council and the Board of Supervisors sat down to find an alternative, and revenue-sharing, in which Albemarle pays 10 cents of its property tax rate to Charlottesville every year, was the agreed-upon solution and was approved by the county voters in 1982.

Ironically, five years later in 1987, the General Assembly put a moratorium on annexation. But Albemarle was still stuck paying out millions to Charlottesville every year.

“Newcomers come into town and say, ‘This doesn’t make sense,’” says Hendrix. Nonetheless, Albemarle can’t get out of it unless the city and county merge, they mutually agree to cancel or alter the agreement, or the General Assembly decides to change the concept of independent cities and make them part of a county’s tax base.

Delegate Steve Landes added a budget amendment in 2017 that would have invalidated the agreement, but ended up withdrawing it because of unintended consequences to other localities. This year, he carried a bill that was signed into law and requires localities like Charlottesville to report how it spends the money, and for city and county to talk annually.

The revenue-sharing agreement led to a petition for Charlottesville to revert to town status in 1996 because of declining revenues. That would have allowed the city and county to combine duplicate government services like schools and police. “No one wanted to do that” as far as the schools, says Hendrix.

He points out the two jurisdictions do have joint agreements for services such as the airport, Rivanna Water and Sewer, and libraries.

Here’s another city/county divide factoid: “The original Grounds of the University of Virginia by fiat were in the county,” says Hendrix. When UVA began buying land in the city, it took that property off the tax rolls. “We had a gentleman’s agreement with the university,” he says: If the land was for educational purposes, it wasn’t taxed. If it was for non-educational purposes, for example, a football field, UVA paid taxes on it. 

Updated November 30 with Nathan Moore’s clarification that he and Moltz were not representing WTJU when they posed the questions about independent cities. 

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August 12 flamethrower Corey Long to serve jail time for disorderly conduct

“It is what it is. It’s no sweat.”

That’s the statement Corey Long gave today outside the Charlottesville General District Courthouse after he was convicted of disorderly conduct for lighting an aerosol can and pointing it in the direction of white supremacists on August 12.

Community activists wiped tears from their eyes and hastily left the courthouse when Judge Robert Downer sentenced Long to 360 days in jail, with all but 20 suspended, after Commonwealth’s Attorney Joe Platania advocated for no jail time.

“I find that this behavior was very serious,” Downer said when he went against the prosecutor’s recommendation.

After the conviction, Long’s legal adviser offered a few more words than his client.

“Corey Long was and is and remains a hero,” said Malik Shabazz, president of Black Lawyers for Justice, to cheers from the dozens of community activists who showed up in support of the 24-year-old who they say protected the town during the Unite the Right rally that left three people dead and many injured.

Shabazz echoed what the activists have been saying since his client was charged: “Corey Long did nothing wrong.”

He advised that in Virginia, inmates with good behavior only serve half of their sentenced time for misdemeanor charges, and said Long will likely be incarcerated for 10 days. Long was ordered to report to the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail on June 22.

Shabazz told Long they’ll be the “proudest days you will serve in your life,” and reminded him and the crowd that Martin Luther King Jr. was also arrested and convicted.

As white supremacists filed out of Emancipation Park on August 12, immediately after law enforcement had declared the Unite the Right rally an unlawful assembly, Frank Buck testified that he heard someone say, “Kill the nigger.” He then saw Baltimore Ku Klux Klan leader Richard Preston point his handgun at Long, who was outside of the park and holding the homemade flamethrower with his arm extended. Buck said the flames were first between 20 and 24 inches, and then a bit shorter.

“I thought [Long] was going to be shot and killed,” Buck said. “I then heard the gunshot.”

He says he saw the bullet hit the ground near Long’s feat, causing a tuft of dirt to shoot into the air. He then saw Preston lower his gun and exit the area.

“I lit the can because he wouldn’t get out of my presence,” Long told the judge, though it is unclear whether he was referring to Preston or another man who can be seen swinging a rolled up flag at Long in a photo of the incident that has since gone viral.

Richmond-based defense attorney Jeroyd Greene said Long had been spit on and called racial slurs that day, and that Long first sprayed his aerosol can without lighting it. He only lit it when he perceived a threat, which doesn’t make a case for disorderly conduct, the attorney argued.

In fact, Greene said two men, including Preston, who fell out of line with their white supremacist allies and moved toward Long once they walked down the steps at the park, were the true aggressors who acted disorderly.

“There’s no evidence that they’re doing anything at all but walking down the steps,” said Platania, who argued that lighting the aerosol can was enough of an “annoyance or alarm,” which is required to prove a disorderly conduct had been committed.

Downer said the state’s disorderly conduct statute is complicated and problematic, and in his 17 years of experience, he’s seen only a few people convicted of the crime.

“I don’t have the least bit of doubt of his guilt of disorderly conduct,” Downer said. “It clearly motivated people to react in a way that involved a breach of the peace.”

Preston pleaded no contest May 9 to a charge of discharging a firearm within 1,000 feet of a school, a class 4 felony that carries a maximum sentence of 10 years and fine up to $100,000.

Long was also accused of assault and battery by rally attendee Harold Crews in a separate incident, but Platania said he was unable to reach Crews, and the charge was dismissed.

In the crowd of activists outside the general district court was Kendall Bills, the daughter of local philanthropists Michael Bills and Sonja Smith, who was also involved in August 12 litigation after Dennis Mothersbaugh, whom she calls a “neo-Nazi,” punched her in the face during the rally.

The video of the Indiana man clocking her has also gone viral. Mothersbaugh pleaded guilty to assault in November.

“He was sentenced to a decent amount of jail time, but, more importantly, I was not subject to the intimidation and harassment that now men of color—especially DeAndre Harris, Corey Long and Donald Blakney—are facing in this community,” she said. “As a white woman, I was protected. My case was settled quickly.”

Bills said she took to the streets on August 12 to do exactly what those three black men did, which was “trying to protect and defend our community,” but she hasn’t faced the same “inappropropriate judicial harassment” and retribution the men continue to face in their personal lives.

“The city of Charlottesville should be ashamed today,” she said. “I am proud to be a Charlottesville community member many days, but today is not one of them.”