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‘Screaming for help’: Three years later, August 12 victim struggles for support

For Tay Washington, August 12, 2017, started off as a normal day. She ran some errands, and then stopped to see a friend at Friendship Court with her sister.

When Washington learned crowds were gathering downtown, she drove over to take a look.

“I was amazed by all of the people with their signs,” says Washington. “I took a picture [and] proceeded to go home, [but] I got detoured” to Fourth Street, unable to drive forward or turn around.

“Me and my sister [were] staring at the crowd because we had never seen so many people before,” she says. “And then it was a blackout…All I heard was screaming and hollering. I didn’t see any help. When I opened my eyes, it was just chaos. I thought a bomb had went off.”

After a few moments, her sister realized that somebody had rammed into their Toyota Camry from behind. But it was not until later that they learned that 20-year-old self-proclaimed neo-Nazi James Fields, Jr. had intentionally sped down the street, killing 32-year-old Heather Heyer and injuring more than 30 others.

Washington was diagnosed with an ankle fracture. She started doing physical therapy, but her pain only worsened. Eight months later, a visit to an orthopedic specialist revealed that she had complex regional pain syndrome, a chronic condition with no cure.

Washington visited multiple specialists, but none of the medications and treatments she was given helped. She was also repeatedly put down and not taken seriously, she says.

“My job now is my body, taking care of it, so I do not flare up in so much pain that I cannot live day-to-day life,” she says.

Now 30 years old, Washington wants to work, but says she cannot because of intense pain and brain trauma, which causes her to have explosive episodes. Before the car attack, she had been on her way to becoming an EMT, and says she had received multiple scholarships and awards.

Though August 11 and 12—and the ensuing investigations and trials—made international headlines, it has not been easy for Washington to get the assistance she needs, both for herself and her daughter, who is now 11. She says she’s been denied disability benefits multiple times, and hasn’t been able to claim unemployment, since she hasn’t had a job in three years.

The Charlottesville Area Community Foundation’s Heal Charlottesville Fund has been Washington’s main source of financial support for the past three years, but CACF Director of Programs Eboni Bugg says donations have dwindled, and the fund is now out of money. Only three people—including Washington—have requested assistance from the fund in recent months.

Washington’s mother, Emma, a licensed practical nurse, covered some of her daughter’s expenses for a while, but when her 31-year-old son, Telvin Washington, was murdered in their hometown of Belzoni, Mississippi, last year, her own pain and trauma became overwhelming—her PTSD and panic attacks make it too difficult for her to work.

Washington says the last check she received from the fund will help her get through the next three months, but after that, she will have no source of income. She is also in need of long-term medical and emotional support, as well as legal counsel, and is accepting donations directly through GoFundMe.

“I feel left. I feel stuck. I feel invisible,” she says. “I’m screaming for help as Black young woman.”

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McAuliffe’s take: Book avoids blacks, activists in account of August 12

Former Virginia governor Terry McAuliffe had a rocky start to his book tour at Washington, D.C., bookstore Politics and Prose on August 1, when survivors of the August 12, 2017, Fourth Street car attack showed up to denounce his account of that weekend. But he found plaudits and praise among fans at the National Press Club a few days later.

Beyond Charlottesville: Taking a Stand Against White Nationalism has received mixed reviews, and McAuliffe has gotten a potpourri of reactions ranging from exasperation and anger to admiration over his “take” on white nationalism.

Civil rights icon Congressman John Lewis wrote the forward, setting the tragedy in Charlottesville in the context of the movement against white supremacy. But McAuliffe’s opening page has no fewer than five “I” statements. The book, critics say, is not about activism, the struggle of black lives in Virginia under remnant shadows of the Confederacy, or even about August 11 and 12, 2017, in Charlottesville—it’s about McAuliffe.

At his book tour stop at the National Press Club on August 6, McAuliffe was charismatic, lifting his greatest hits in fighting for equality straight from his resumé.

An enthusiastic audience celebrated him taking the Confederate flag off Virginia license plates, giving 200,000 former felons voting rights, and his “F” rating by the NRA.

Attendee Heather Cronk, an activist and survivor of August 12, was not as charmed by his casual jokes and verbal tackles of President Trump. “[McAuliffe] thinks he’s the one who discovered racism,” she says. “But it’s blacks—black activists—who for over 300 years have known and experienced it in—most in shackles. And it’s clear he still doesn’t get it.”

McAuliffe describes many incidents that took place in Charlottesville on August 11 and 12 from a first-person perspective, as if he was at ground zero from the night the violent weekend began, though he reportedly arrived Saturday. “Hundreds of torches coming up over the mountain on UVA…such evil,” he said.

Some of the book’s firsthand accounts were even taken from those who were there without their knowledge. “I found out from Twitter,” says activist Emily Gorcenski about her multiple quotes in McAuliffe’s book. “He has not reached out to me, and he did not seek my permission.”

McAuliffe weaves a soliloquy about how he “got the rally shut down before it even started. I chased them out—I told them to leave our state, leave us alone, and the Nazis left,” he recounts—although Charlottesville citizens don’t remember it quite like McAuliffe does.

He waited to declare a state of emergency until after neo-Nazis clashed with counterprotesters in the streets, injuring many, including Cronk. One later rammed his car into a crowd of dozens, killing Heather Heyer.

“I needed to balance the First Amendment, so the key was to keep them separate, then they started fighting, and I had to stop it,” he recounted at the press club. This reporter has sued Virginia State Police for the release of the August 12 operations plan under Virginia’s Freedom of Information Act, and McAuliffe said he thinks “it should be released for everyone to see.”

In discussing the deadly summer weekend in 2017, McAuliffe failed to mention its origin: a petition to the city from then-Charlottesville high school student, Zyahna Bryant, seeking to take down the Confederate statues. A recent story by the Daily Progress’ Allison Wrabel said the book “includes factual errors and omits important context.”

In fact, for a book touting a focus on race relations, there are stark voids in the conversation: black people, black names, and black activism.

“It’s hard. People who have been here, who have been involved, are not surprised,” Bryant says. Earlier this year, the incoming UVA freshman published her own book, Reclaim, about the realities of being a black activist, and living in Charlottesville.

“He should be saying our names,” says Bryant. “He needs to remember, he wouldn’t have ever been in office without us and white people doing the anti-racist work out here. Black women show up the strongest in Virginia voting polls, and yet, here he is, erasing us, harming us.”

Bryant says the voices of black activists are still marginalized, and “like in so many historical excerpts, the narrative has been whitewashed and romanticized by someone who wasn’t even present.”

McAuliffe said book proceeds would go to the Heather Heyer Foundation and the Virginia State Police Association. The backlash he faced for supporting police prompted him to say he’d donate to survivors, too—when proceeds come in.

“He’s published a book. He’s accumulated a national platform, he could now use it to make this right. But that’s not the decision he’s made,” says Cronk. “He’s never met with survivors.”

Brendan Wolfe with Heal Charlottesville says he can confirm that McAuliffe has committed one-third of the book’s proceeds to the fund.

Nearing the end of the talk, McAuliffe declared “the white nationalist movement is over.” It was a curious statement given the slew of white supremacy-based violence and terrorism that has risen over the past two years, most recently in El Paso.

Gorcenski says, “The white supremacist movements were harmed in part, helped in part, by what happened on and after A11/A12…Terry seems to not understand that the roots of white supremacy do in fact rely on civility, the state, and the ‘both sides-ism’ that we see coming from too many Democratic candidates.”

McAuliffe has more stops on his book tour—but none in Charlottesville, and activists aren’t holding their breath.

“I don’t expect anything more from him,” says Bryant.

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Not healed: August 12 survivors ask for help

By Jonathan Haynes

The vaulted sanctuary of First United Methodist Church fell silent Friday night as survivors of the vehicular assault that killed Heather Heyer spoke one by one about their paths to recovery. Survivors organized the event to raise money for Heal Charlottesville, a local charity that provides financial assistance to people harmed by Unite the Right protesters on August 11 and 12, 2017.

Kendall Bills, the evening’s emcee, opened the November 9 event by recounting the concussion she sustained after a Nazi punched her in the face. She warned that speakers would be describing white supremacist violence and would not take questions, then she reminded the audience that donation boxes were stationed on the lectern and near all the exits.

Victims recalled the assault in graphic detail. Tay Washington, an EMT, was sitting in her car on Fourth Street when it was struck by James Fields’ car. “I heard a big noise, like a bomb had gone off, then I opened my eyes and saw people tumbling over the car,” she said, embracing her sister as tears trickled down her cheeks.

She also said that, as someone from Mississippi, she wasn’t used to seeing so many white people show up in support of black Americans.

Many survivors said they were initially hesitant to accept financial help from Heal Charlottesville. Another victim, Lisa, who did not give her last name, said she felt like she did not deserve money from the fund, but was prompted to accept it after she realized her insurance only covered 30 physical therapy sessions.

“When you feel like you’re not paying for yourself, you worry about becoming a problem,” said Washington, who has not been able to return to work. “It feels wrong to go and ask for more because you found a new doctor.”

The inability to return to work was a common theme. Star Peterson, who suffered injuries in one of her ribs, two parts of her back, and both of her legs, hasn’t been able to return to work after five surgeries and infections caused by the surgical metal doctors implanted in her leg.

Trauma also played a role. “I live with physical scars, though sometimes the more painful scars are mental,” said Courtney Commander, a friend of Heyer’s who went to the August 2017 rally with her. For her part, Al Bowie was skeptical of receiving help after spending time in the hospital, which she found more traumatic than the attack itself.

While it wasn’t mentioned at the event, many survivors of the August 12 attacks have been bracing themselves for James Fields’ upcoming trial. The 21-year-old from Ohio, who is accused of driving into a crowd of protesters, will begin a three-week trial for first-degree murder and malicious woundings in Charlottesville Circuit Court on November 26. He also faces 30 federal hate crime charges.

Despite all the pain and trauma, the sense of community that emerged after the attacks was a common thread. “I had the privilege of confronting fascism alongside some of the most beautiful people I’ve met in my life,” said Peterson. Bills echoed this sentiment, saying, “The most powerful thing of the summer was what my friends were able to bring out of me. That my sister, community, best friends stepped up with me.”

Still, the tone was urgent. Heal Charlottesville would need more funding to continue its work. Peterson implored people to donate to the organization, which paid for her rent, groceries, and medical bills in the aftermath of the assault. “They don’t have enough to help victims for as long as they need,” she said. “I want to ask Charlottesville to keep walking by my side.”