Tag: Martin Kumer

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Out of control

Individuals incarcerated at the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail say poor containment procedures and unhygienic living conditions are among the reasons COVID cases have hit an all-time high at the facility. Photo: Skyclad Aerial

For nearly two years, the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail has been hit hard by the pandemic. While the virus shakes up life outside the jail’s walls, those incarcerated at ACRJ have reported poor COVID containment procedures and unhygienic living conditions. Now, with the highly-contagious omicron variant spreading across the country, coronavirus cases have reached an all-time high at the jail.

On January 18, superintendent Martin Kumer reported that 65 incarcerated individuals and 10 staff members had tested positive for the virus. Around 66 percent of the jail population—currently 265 people—have received at least one dose of the vaccine. As of February 1, the ACRJ data on the Blue Ridge Health District’s COVID dashboard had last been updated on January 21, and showed 42 positives among incarcerated people and another six among staff.

“An outbreak this size is not unexpected given the community positivity rate of over 35%,” Kumer wrote in a press release. “Our infection rate typically follows those within the community. We expect our rates to begin to decline as those in the community decline.”

In response to the outbreak, Kumer claimed the jail would continue to put eligible individuals—especially those who are high-risk—on home electronic incarceration, as well as test and quarantine the jail population and staff, require employees to wear masks, offer vaccines and boosters, and limit movement around the jail. The local courts also agreed to delay those scheduled to begin sentences from reporting to the jail for 30 days, he said.

However, multiple incarcerated individuals report that the jail could be doing more to get the outbreak under control. These claims echo reporting from C-VILLE over the last year.

Terrence Winston claims that the flow of employees in and out of the facility, which is short-staffed, is contributing to the spread of the virus. Staff members have also not been wearing masks consistently, he says, possibly causing the outbreak.

“It’s the staff—they’re the ones that keep coming in and out,” Winston says. “And they may be slacking on testing these people who are coming inside of this jail.”

He also says the jail hasn’t provided adequate cleaning supplies. Throughout the pandemic, incarcerated people have reported black mold, bug infestations, dirty vents, standing water, leaky ceilings, and many other sanitary issues in their pods.

“I’ve been in [my pod] for two and a half months, going on three months—we’ve never seen bleach to clean the pods, the showers. The catwalk is disgusting,” says Winston. “We have to sit here and beg for bleach, and don’t get it.”

Allan Via fears COVID will only get worse at the jail if staff does not stop moving people around to different pods. Meanwhile, the jail continues to bring in new people, claims Ty Gregory.

“I was supposed to come off quarantine on the 23rd, but they brought a guy to our block [last week] knowing that he was COVID positive. They brought him in and took him out,” says Via. “They’ll bring somebody in for about two minutes, turn around, and take him out.”

“They’re constantly moving people around,” he adds. “They do not have it under control.”

Following the announcement of the outbreak, Beyond Charlottesville Policing urged the public to contact the jail board, and demand the jail provide hand sanitizer, cleaning supplies, and medical-grade masks, as well as fix the heating outage in Pod GL. During a January 18 City Council meeting, Councilor Sena Magill, a member of the jail board, said the jail no longer had heating issues, but did not plan on distributing masks because “people just haven’t been wearing them.”

Winston claims the jail population wears masks outside their pods, and would appreciate new ones. “We got to put masks on to go to rec, to go out in the hallway to get mail…If you don’t have a mask on, you can’t go nowhere,” he says.

And on top of the outbreak, the heat is still out in some parts of the jail, report multiple incarcerated people. Gregory claims it has been 40 degrees in his pod for several days. “Nothing’s changed,” he says.

During a January 13 jail board meeting, Kumer claimed the jail had restarted in-person programming during the outbreak, focusing on substance abuse, anger management, domestic violence, financial literacy, and other topics. However, Winston says there has yet to be any programming, leaving people at the jail with little to do.

To bring an end to the outbreaks, Via wishes the jail would test staff members regularly, and use more accurate tests. Winston also urges the jail to adopt proper health and safety protocols, and provide the population with sufficient cleaning supplies.

Most importantly, jail leadership must improve their communication, and immediately inform and quarantine people who have been exposed to the virus, say the incarcerated men.

“They don’t tell us nothing at all,” adds Winston. “We just eventually find out.”

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‘This is a nightmare’

Inmates at the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail say conditions at the facility are unhealthy, with complaints ranging from poor hygiene to unacceptable COVID containment procedures. Photo: Skyclad Aerial

“This is very unhealthy in here for all,” reads one letter. “No one deserves this kind of punishment.” 

In dozens of letters written over a period of months, people incarcerated at the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail reported that shoddy COVID containment procedures, poor general hygiene, and strict visitation policies have plagued the facility.

These complaints are not new. Since last year, the Charlottesville chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America has been corresponding by mail with more than a dozen people in the ACRJ. In January, C-VILLE published a story detailing the unhygienic conditions and other issues at the facility. 

According to recent interviews with C-VILLE—and additional letters collected by DSA—very little has changed at the jail.

Poor COVID management

In recent months, the ACRJ has failed to properly treat COVID cases and keep the deadly virus from spreading, according to multiple sources from within the facility. 

Over the summer, Terrence Winston says that his entire cell block contracted coronavirus, even though most of the men were fully vaccinated.

“One person had to go to medical, and we quarantined, but they never came and COVID tested us,” explains Winston, who has been incarcerated at ACRJ since 2019. “The only thing they did was check our blood pressure, check our temperature, and gave us this cough and cold medicine.”

“Some people just had the sniffles, but others had the cough, sore throat, congested head cold, lost sense of smell and taste, body aches,” he adds. “I still really don’t have my full sense of taste and smell back.”

According to ACRJ Superintendent Martin Kumer, there are currently three active COVID cases at the jail. Around 47 percent of the population is fully vaccinated, and 55 percent have received at least one dose of the shot.

In September, Deryck Brown claims the jail added a new person to his block in the middle of a lockdown. The man soon started exhibiting minor COVID symptoms, and the whole block had to get tested. Four people tested positive and were put into quarantine, but “we all had it, all 12 of us,” wrote Brown.

Over the next few days, he and another man started to experience COVID symptoms too. They were tested again and moved to a quarantine block. However, they were later moved to the medical unit due to issues with a “problematic bunch,” then back to quarantine.

“Initially I praised ACRJ’s handling of COVID, but now I’m simply appalled,” wrote Brown. “[Jail administration is] moving all these people around, potentially exposing healthy people to sick people and making a huge mess out of this whole situation.”

When he wrote his letter, Brown was still experiencing severe symptoms of the virus. 

“Now it hurts to breathe, I can’t smell anything, my whole body aches, and I feel like shit, all because they forgot the meaning of the word ‘lockdown,’” he wrote.

‘Filthy as fuck’

Incarcerated people also report that jail leadership hasn’t addressed their complaints about the building’s numerous health and sanitary issues. 

One woman, who asked to remain anonymous, claims that the older part of the jail, built in the 1970s, is filled with cockroaches and spiders. The showers get backed up regularly, and the faucets don’t work properly.

“We are always getting watered down cleaning solution,” she wrote of the women’s quarters. “And the towels that we get to exchange once a week ALWAYS smell bad.”

The men—housed in the newer part of the jail, which was built in 2000—report similar conditions, including black mold in the showers, cells, and air vents. There are also leaks in the ceiling. One letter writer reports that the heat hasn’t been turned on yet, either.  

“There is a bag full of poop water hanging from a pipe from the ceiling,” wrote Winston. “It’s filthy as fuck.”

“This is a nightmare,” wrote Allan Via, who has been incarcerated at ACRJ for four years.

Men also report cockroaches, maggots, spiders, silverfish, and fruit flies running rampant in the facility.

While heading to bed one night in August, Winston realized he had a small bump on his left arm. When he woke up, his entire arm was swollen and filled with fluid. Though the nurses told him it was a staph infection, he believes it was a spider bite.

“I’m sitting there playing spades, and it just busted. This stuff just starts bleeding out of my arm,” explains Winston. “It was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I had a humongous hole in my arm. They were supposed to treat it every day, then they wanted to stop,” he continues. “Once the hole finally closed, it still was swollen…they kept putting me on antibiotics instead of just checking on it to make sure it was fine. They just gave up.”

Other men in the jail have also gotten spider bites, including on their faces, claims Winston.

“We reach out, we ask for help…and we pretty much get treated like shit,” he says.

Little to do 

Since the start of the pandemic, the jail has banned in-person visits, which has taken a heavy toll on the population’s mental health. 

“The ban was horrible,” wrote one man, who wished to remain anonymous. “I only gotten to see my kids in pictures.”

“The ban on visits takes away from your spirit, your hope, adding to your loneliness and the great hurt you already have being separated from your loved ones,” wrote Via.

After months of waiting, every person in the jail now has their own tablet, which they can use to do video visitations with those outside, as well as watch TV, listen to music, and send emails. However, it costs $15 per video call, and 5 cents per minute for other tablet activities. Want to catch a football game? It’ll cost you around $9. 

And the tablet system doesn’t work for everyone. “My papa has no smartphone or computer, so even video visits are not [worth it] for some of us,” wrote the incarcerated woman.

Kumer says the jail will allow in-person visits again “as soon as it is safe to do so.”

With classes and programming also still on pause, people at the jail are left with little to do. They are not allowed to go outside, and have limited indoor recreation time each week. They are also banned from ordering books online, meaning they can only read books already inside the jail. The jail says this rule was put in place because people had used books to smuggle drugs into the building.

To pass the time, many people feel they have no choice but to become trustees, says Winston. 

“Without the trustees, this jail would be fucked. Right now they’re short staffed,” he says. “[Trustees] fix the jail, they help clean the jail, they help keep the jail presentable, they cook…They work like slaves down there.”

Though they do not get paid or receive any special benefits for their hard work, they at least have “something else to do for the day,” Winston says.

Winston himself has not been allowed to be a trustee due to his charges. 

“I’ve been sitting up in this jail for almost three years. There’s no programs that will help me,” he says. “It’s like I can’t do nothing. I just gotta sit here.”

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‘I was not sentenced to death by virus’: Stories of disturbing COVID containment procedures at regional jail

People incarcerated at the ACRJ report unsanitary conditions and poor COVID containment procedures. PC: Skyclad Aerial

“We are treated like animals, and are told that we have no rights, and we sure feel like we don’t,” reads the final paragraph of the letter. “I have great concern for the safety of myself and others here at [the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail].”

The handwriting, in pencil, is large, legible, soft; the paper’s rounded corners and jagged left edge hint that it was ripped from a composition book. The letter details the jail’s cleaning procedures, or lack thereof. “All inmates in lockdown blocks share one shower. …The green cleaning rags are washed with dirty mopheads. …You have to eat, sleep, and work in the same clothes all day.”

This letter is not unique. Since the fall, the Charlottesville chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America has been corresponding by mail with two dozen people incarcerated in the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail.

Around the country, jails, prisons, and detention centers have been hit hard by COVID-19. For incarcerated people in the United States, the infection rate is three times higher than that of the general public, while the mortality rate is twice as high. At least 275,000 have tested positive for the virus, and over 1,700 have died.

Locally, 12 incarcerated people and 12 staff members have tested positive for coronavirus since the start of the pandemic, says ACRJ Superintendent Colonel Martin Kumer. The jail currently reports one incarcerated person and two staff members with active COVID cases.

But in the letters collected by the DSA, and in interviews with C-VILLE, ACRJ’s incarcerated people tell of a terrified jail population, disrespectful guards, and insufficient COVID containment procedures.

Keeping the outside out

The problems with COVID containment begin at intake.

One woman reports that when she was brought to the jail in September, she was put in a cell by herself that had not been cleaned, and was not allowed to take a shower. When she asked for cleaning supplies, staff claimed they could not find any for her to use. (Most of the incarcerated people who communicated with DSA and C-VILLE for this story requested anonymity out of fear that speaking up could lead to punishment inside the jail.)

Over the next two weeks, the woman says she was moved three times into cell blocks that had also not been cleaned, before finally being put into a quarantine area with two other people for another two weeks.

“This is deliberate indifference by the facility, from the top down,” she says. “They are ignoring conditions of confinement that are likely to cause a serious, life-threatening illness.”

A different letter writer reports that he contracted COVID while quarantining on his way in. When people are first brought into the jail, they are screened for COVID-19 symptoms and exposure. People who are symptomatic or have had a recent exposure are tested for coronavirus, while those who have no symptoms are put into a quarantine unit for two weeks.

Placed in a quarantine pod with 11 men, the letter writer describes catching the virus from a man who was asymptomatic. When he—and several others—began to develop severe symptoms, he says the nurses ignored him for several days before finally moving him to the medical unit, where he reports receiving further inadequate treatment. Though he recovered from the virus, it has left him with brain fog and memory issues.

After the initial screening period, incoming incarcerated people join the general population and are not tested again unless they show severe symptoms. The last time the jail tested the full population and staff members was in September.

“Large-scale facility-wide COVID tests are only conducted when an outbreak has occurred,” says Kumer. “We have been fortunate that we have not experienced an outbreak that would warrant a large-scale test.

“Testing asymptomatic, non-exposed staff or inmates…would [also] yield a false sense of security, since a person could contract and shed the virus in between testing, or test negative today, only to be exposed or contract the virus tomorrow,” he adds. “We have to operate on the assumption that everyone is positive and wear PPE and take universal precautions whenever possible.”

“While the jail has sort of touted their preventative measures, and what a good job they’ve done…it seems like they’ve actually done the bare minimum just to keep people from dying in droves,” says Melissa, a DSA member who has been writing and receiving letters from the jail, and who asked that we not use her last name out of fear of retaliation.

The jail has taken some substantive steps to reduce its population. ACRJ has drastically expanded its Home Electronic Incarceration program, allowing people to be removed from the jail early and serve out the rest of their sentences from home, while wearing an ankle monitor. Before the pandemic, an average of 430 people were housed in the jail, with only three to five on HEI. Now, the jail population has dropped to as low as 300, with an average of 65 to 75 people on HEI, says Kumer. As of January 18, there are currently 345 people incarcerated at ACRJ, a majority of them ineligible for HEI due to their charges or convictions.

But even with the reduced population, it’s impossible to socially distance inside the jail, where people are constantly moved around, says Jennifer Hughes, who has been incarcerated at ACRJ since December 2019.

“The [cells] stay open all day until night time, when you have to go to sleep, but…[they’re] not very big,” says Hughes, who is currently housed in a closed cell block. “If you put your foot off the [bunk] bed, you could put your foot in the toilet—it’s that tight.”

And Kumer confirms that social distancing is also not enforced in common spaces.

“When the food comes, we’re expected to eat at a bench. Right now, there’s six people in the area I’m in, and you can maybe get six inches from the next person. You’re basically elbow-to-elbow eating,” says another incarcerated woman.

‘Nasty’

In addition to the close quarters, incarcerated people report that the jail itself is in poor physical condition. The older part of the jail, where the women are currently housed, was built in the 1970s.

“It’s so nasty in here,” says Hughes. “The paint is peeling off. We have bugs in here biting us. There’s springs hanging out of the wall. There’s pieces of iron sticking out. If you’re not careful, it’ll hit your feet and it’s sharp.”

In their letters, women report black mold and mildew in the vents, as well as faulty wiring, freezing temperatures, and standing water. And because there are no call buttons in the older part of the jail, the women have to yell and bang on the doors whenever they need help.

“We had an emergency in here today with a woman that has high sugar. It took a good five minutes of hollering, banging, and waving frantically at the camera to get anyone’s attention,” wrote one woman. “Good thing no one was dying.”

Kumer admits the older section of the building is “in desperate need of renovation.”

The men, housed in a newer part of the jail which was built in 2000, have also reported a range of sanitary issues in their cell blocks, including bug infestations, heating outages, and dirty vents.

One trustee, who works on a cleaning detail in exchange for a reduced sentence, reports receiving only one cleaning rag and watered-down solution to clean an entire cell block, which includes bunks, toilet, and shower.

According to Kumer, the cleaning solution used at the jail is approved by CDC to kill the coronavirus, and is properly diluted.

“The showers in my block have not been cleaned in over three weeks,” reports one man. Another letter writer puts it bluntly: “The sanitation or lack thereof is appalling.”

Unguarded

Multiple incarcerated people report the jail staff taking a lackadaisical at best approach to COVID prevention.

“Half of these officers wear masks at their own discretion,” says Hughes. “They’ll come into our pods, take their masks off, and start coughing and making jokes. It’s really not funny.”

“The guards hardly ever have the mask on properly, they constantly pull them down,” reads one letter.

Some of the writers report officer misbehavior unrelated to COVID. “The COs are very disrespectful at night,” reads another letter, “slamming on the doors every 15 minutes to ½ hours at night all night long.”

“It is not feasible to force any resident to wear a mask, although it is encouraged…since the majority of our facility is open air and dormitory in nature,” says Kumer. “Unless residents also wear their mask properly while they sleep, it’s not as effective as it otherwise could be. …Staff are required and if necessary disciplined if they are not wearing their PPE.”

Multiple letter writers accused the jail’s medical team of not taking pre-existing ailments seriously, failing to provide people with the treatments they need.

“The medical care is a joke,” wrote one woman. “I have serious medical issues. I was not sentenced to death by virus.”

“Medical is very neglectful in here and don’t care what people’s needs are and there are issues that many people have,” wrote one man. “I’m diabetic, it took me 10 months to convince them that I’m a diabetic in need of diabetic meds + insulin…I could have died of a heart attack.”

And on top of their physical ailments, those held in the jail report suffering from acute loneliness and boredom.

Throughout the pandemic, the jail has allowed everyone to have two free phone calls and emails per week. However, it has banned visitation.

“We are the only jail that don’t have tablets [and] video visits…We have not seen our families in almost a year,” wrote one man.

“Once a week we have people from the outside deliver our commissary items,” wrote another man. “How come we have people from the street in here with us every day, but we can’t have visitors behind the glass?”

Because the jail has canceled all programming, people are “really bored,” adds Melissa. “Many of the books they have access to have missing pages, they’re all old…There’s just nothing for them to do.”

According to Kumer, the jail is working to provide video visitation, but programming and in-person visitation currently pose too great a safety hazard.

“I haven’t had a visit in at least nine months, but other jails have tablets and video visits. What makes us different?” reads one letter. “Thank you for responding back to me, I was starting to think I was forgot about.”

“I hope they do start some type of visitation soon,” says another letter. “It’s been almost a year since I last seen my baby’s.”

While Melissa, along with her fellow DSA activists, hopes ACRJ leadership will work to remedy the dire issues voiced by incarcerated people, she believes the solution is not a matter of funding—but of massively lowering the jail population.

“They should release people…so they can provide adequate care for the people in their system,” she says. “Increasing their budget will not resolve these issues. They will continue to treat these people as if they’re not worth anything, and their lives don’t matter.”

“It is a damn shame to be treated like fucking trash and not cared for or any care any at all. People can turn their heads and look the other way, but it ain’t them or happening to them,” ends one letter. “There is no justice anymore.”

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The Power Issue: People and organizations that hold us together in tough times

Mental health advocate Myra Anderson warns that the social service systems need reform too. PC: Eze Amos

 

Every year, C-VILLE publishes a power issue. It’s usually a rundown of local real-estate moguls and entrepreneurs, tech tycoons, arts leaders, and big donors. This year’s issue is a little different—most of the people and groups listed here aren’t the richest folks in town. They don’t own the most land, they don’t run the biggest companies. But when things got really rocky, they stepped up, and exercised the power they do have to help those around them. This isn’t a comprehensive or objective list, of course, but we hope it highlights some of the many different forms that power can take in a community like ours. —Dan Goff, Brielle Entzminger, and Ben Hitchcock

The Organizers: Black Lives Matter movement in Charlottesville 

There’s a revolution brewing. Activists all over the country and the world are taking a stand against police brutality, and Charlottesville is no different. Over the last few weeks, local black activists young and old have organized events in support of the national Black Lives Matter movement and its associated goals, including a march from the Charlottesville Police Department to Washington Park and a Defund the Police Block Party that marched from the John Paul Jones Arena parking lot to hold the intersection of Barracks Road and Emmet Street. Other organizations such as Congregate Charlottesville and its Anti-Racist Organizing Fund are supporting the activists calling for defunding the police department. Little by little, change is happening—on June 11, Charlottesville City Schools announced it will remove school resource officers and reallocate those funds for a new “school safety model.”—D.G.

Eze Amos: Photo: Eze Amos

The Documenters: C’ville Porchraits

How do we preserve art and community during a pandemic? It’s been a question addressed by many creatives, perhaps none more successfully than the creators of Cville Porch Portraits. Headed by Eze Amos, the “porchrait” takers, who have photographed 950 families outside their Charlottesville-area homes, also include Tom Daly, Kristen Finn, John Robinson, and Sarah Cramer Shields—all local photographers in need of work once the city shut down. The group has donated $40,000 to Charlottesville’s Emergency Relief Fund for Artists. “This is for everyone,” says Amos of the project, which has been successfully emulated by other photogs, including Robert Radifera.—D.G.

The Musicians: The Front Porch

As most concert venues were struggling to reschedule shows and refund ticket money, The Front Porch, Charlottesville’s beloved music school and performing space, wasted no time in pivoting to COVID-friendly programming. Executive Director Emily Morrison quickly set up Save the Music, a livestreamed concert series that brings performances by local artists like David Wax Museum and Lowland Hum to the comfort and safety of your home. If you haven’t tuned in yet, there’s still plenty of time—as the city tentatively reopens, Morrison recognizes that live music will likely be one of the last things to return, so she’s extended Save the Music to late August.—D.G.

 

Jay Pun. Photo: John Robinson

The Innovator: Jay Pun

All restaurant owners have had to get creative to keep their businesses alive during the pandemic, but almost no one has been as creative as Jay Pun, co-owner of both Chimm and Thai Cuisine and Noodle House. Pun has gone further than just a pickup/delivery model by starting a virtual cooking series on Instagram and Facebook Live, and selling kits to be used in tandem with the lessons. He’s also donated significant amounts of food to UVA health workers, and most recently has brought other Thai restaurants into the conversation: A recent discussion with the proprietor of famed Portland institution Pok Pok focused on food, but also touched on the issue of race in America.—D.G.

The Reporter: Jordy Yager

Through his work as a Digital Humanities Fellow at the Jefferson School African American Heritage Center and as a reporter for multiple local news outlets, journalist Jordy Yager addresses equity or the lack thereof in all its forms. This is showcased most notably in his Mapping Cville project, which takes on the enormous job of documenting Charlottesville’s history of racially restrictive housing deeds, but also through in-depth coverage of Home to Hope, a program dedicated to reintegrating formerly incarcerated citizens into society, and other studies on the redevelopment of Friendship Court and the day-to-day lives of refugees. Yager’s also extremely active on Twitter, retweeting the content of community organizers as well as his own work, and keeping his followers up to date on, well, almost everything.—D.G.

Kat Maybury (left) and Sherry Cook volunteering at the Haven. Photo: Zack Wajsgras

The Safe Places: The Haven and PACEM

Since the onset of the pandemic, the places that serve some of our community’s most vulnerable members have ramped up their efforts to keep guests and staff safe. Downtown day shelter The Haven has opened its doors to women who needed a place to sleep, while also continuing to provide its regular services, including daily to-go meals, with cleanliness and social distancing measures in place.

PACEM has remained open, serving more than 40 people per night, even though its volunteer staff is smaller than usual. Guests are screened for virus symptoms, and they’re given face masks, among other safety precautions, before being admitted to either the men’s or women’s shelter, where there’s at least six feet between every cot. Though it had to move its male guests out of a temporary space at Key Recreation Center on June 10, PACEM will offer shelter for women at Summit House until at least the end of the month.

Thanks to funding from the city, county, and a private donor, PACEM has also housed 30 high-risk homeless individuals in private rooms at a local hotel, in addition to providing them with daily meals and case management. Men who still need shelter after leaving Key Rec have been able to stay at the hotel for at least 30 days.—B.E.

The Sustainers: C’ville Mutual Aid Infrastructure

One of the most heartwarming nationwide responses to COVID-19, and all of the difficulties that came with it, was the widespread creation of mutual aid networks. Charlottesville joined the trend in March, creating a Facebook page for community members to request or offer “time, money, support, and resources.” Since it was launched, the page has gained hundreds of followers, and posts have ranged from pleas for a place to sleep to the donation of a

half-used Taco Bell gift card. The page’s moderators have also shared resources such as a continually updated list of when and where food-insecure community members can access pantries. Though it came about through dire circumstances, the C’ville Mutual Aid Infrastructure network is proof that our community looks after its own.—D.G.

Howie and Diane Long. Photo: Keith Sparbanie/AdMedia

The Nourishers: School lunches

Before COVID, over 6,000 students relied on our public schools for free (or reduced price) breakfast and lunch. To make sure no student has gone hungry since schools closed in March, Charlottesville City Schools and Albemarle County Public Schools have given away thousands of grab-and-go breakfasts and lunches to anyone under age 18, regardless of family income. With the help of school staff and volunteers, both districts have set up dozens of food distribution sites, as well as sent buses out on delivery routes every week. During spring break, when CCS was unable to distribute food, Pearl Island Catering and Mochiko Cville—backed by the Food Justice Network and area philanthropists Diane and Howie Long—stepped up and provided 4,000 meals to kids in neighborhoods with large numbers enrolled in free and reduced-price meal programs. Even though students are now on summer break, that hasn’t slowed down staff and volunteers, who are still hard at work—both districts plan to keep the free meal programs going until the fall.—B.E.

The Superheroes: Frontline workers

After Governor Ralph Northam issued his stay-at-home order in March, most Charlottesvillians did just that: stayed at home. But the city’s essential workers didn’t have that luxury. In the language of Northam’s executive order, these are employees of “businesses not required to close to the public.” Frontline workers’ jobs vary widely, from health care professionals to grocery store cashiers, but they all have one thing in common: The people who do them are required to put on their scrubs or their uniform and go into their physical place of employment every day, while the rest of us work from the safety of our sofa in a pair of sweatpants. Their reality is one that the majority of us haven’t experienced—and the least we can do is thank these workers for keeping our city running.—D.G. 

Jim Hingeley. Photo: Elli Williams

The Reformers: Commonwealth’s attorneys/Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail

The area’s commonwealth’s attorneys are some of the most powerful people you might never have heard of. During normal times, Albemarle’s Jim Hingeley and Charlottesville’s Joe Platania have tremendous influence over sentencing decisions for those on trial in their localities. They’ve both worked toward progressive reforms since taking office, but since the pandemic took hold, they’ve accelerated their efforts.

The effect has been especially pronounced at the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail. Under the guidance of the commonwealth’s attorneys and Jail Superintendent Martin Kumer, around 90 inmates have been transferred to house arrest. As prisons across the state have fought coronavirus outbreaks, the ACRJ has yet to report a single case among those incarcerated.

“It’s a shame that it took this crisis to motivate the community to get behind decarceration,” Hingeley said at a panel in May, “but it’s happened now, and when the crisis has passed, we’re going to work to continue doing this.”—B.H. 

Zyahna Bryant. Photo: Eze Amos

The Voices: Charlottesville Twitter

“Twitter isn’t real life,” some say. (Most often, they say it on Twitter.) But Charlottesville’s ever-growing group of dedicated tweeters has recently used the platform to make real-life change.

The synergy between social media and protest is well-documented, and the demonstrations against police brutality that have taken place across town have been organized and publicized on Twitter, as well as on other social media platforms. Meanwhile, people like Matthew Gillikin, Rory Stolzenberg, and Sarah Burke have used Twitter to call out the police department for botching its collaboration with state forces and dragging its heels on revealing important budget details. And Molly “@socialistdogmom” Conger—perhaps Charlottesville Twitter’s most recognizable avatar—continues to digest and interpret dense city government meetings for the public, making real-life advocacy easier for everyone.

The effect is felt on UVA Grounds, as well—this month, tweeters shamed the university into changing its new athletics logo to remove a reference to the school’s historic serpentine walls, which were designed to conceal enslaved laborers. After UVA abruptly laid off its dining hall contract employees in March, outraged tweeters raised tens of thousands of dollars for those workers, while pushing the university to create an emergency contract worker assistance fund. And recently, Zyahna Bryant drew attention to UVA President Jim Ryan’s limp response to the protests that followed the death of George Floyd, when she tweeted her resignation from the school’s President’s Council on University Community Partnerships. Keep tweeting, people. It’s working.—B.H.

 

Updated 6/24 to clarify which organizers were responsible for recent demonstrations to support Black Lives Matter.

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Get out of jail virus-free: Coronavirus crisis sees local justice system adopt progressive reforms, for now

Chanell Jackson is one of 61 people recently transferred from the ACRJ to home electronic incarceration. Photo: Zack Wajsgras

 

Chanell Jackson is home early.

The local resident and mother of three had about seven weeks left on her six-month sentence in Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail when she was transferred to house arrest in late March. She’s one of the 61 non-violent offenders who have so far been released with ankle monitors, as the ACRJ braces itself for the worst-case scenario playing out in prisons across the country: a coronavirus outbreak within the jail. 

“It feels good to be home and with my family, especially with everything that’s going on,” Jackson says. “In the jail it’s scarier if you get sick. I don’t feel like I would be able to quarantine properly.”

Jackson’s concerns are legitimate: more than 5 percent of inmates in New York’s huge Rikers Island complex have already tested positive for COVID-19, meaning the jail has a higher infection rate than any country in the world. In Virginia, as of April 8, 11 inmates and 12 staff at the Virginia Correctional Center for Women have confirmed cases of the virus. Some Virginia prisons have had serious health care problems even in the best of times—in 2019, a judge determined the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women had failed to provide sufficient care after four women died while incarcerated there. 

Also nearby, local advocacy groups report that 100 immigrants held in a Farmville ICE detention center have gone on hunger strike to protest their continued incarceration despite confirmed cases of the virus in the jail. The facility, run by the for-profit company Immigration Centers of America, experienced a mumps outbreak last year. ICE denies that the current strike is occurring.

“The jails and prisons already don’t have adequate health care for people who are inmates,” says Harold Folley, a community organizer at the Legal Aid Justice Center. Given the virus, “if you lock somebody up, I feel like it’s a death sentence to them.” 

Under normal circumstances, ACRJ has six “hospital cells” for more than 400 inmates. 

ACRJ Superintendent Martin Kumer understands the concern. “I want to be clear, jails and prisons are not set up for social distancing,” he says. “They’re designed to house as many people as efficiently and effectively as possible.”

 

Emptying out

Across the country, advocates have demanded that local justice systems reduce the risk for incarcerated populations by letting as many people as possible out of jails. Some such programs are underway—in March, California announced it would release 3,500 people over the next two months. 

Locally, some prosecutors have enacted progressive emergency measures designed to reduce jail populations. Others haven’t deviated from their usual practices. 

Charlottesville Commonwealth’s Attorney Joe Platania and his Albemarle counterpart Jim Hingeley have worked with the jail to identify nonviolent prisoners with short amounts of time left on their sentences, and transfer those people to house arrest or release them on time served. The commonwealth’s attorneys have also recommended releasing nonviolent prisoners being held pre-trial. That’s resulted in 122 of the jail’s 430 inmates leaving the premises so far. 

Nelson County prisoners also go to ACRJ, but Nelson County Commonwealth’s Attorney Daniel Rutherford, a Republican who campaigned on aggressively prosecuting drug crimes, has not participated in the efforts to decrease the jail population, says Hingeley. Rutherford did not respond to a request for comment.

“People don’t understand, the commonwealth’s attorneys have so much damn power,” Folley says. “Joe and Jim have the ability to release people to home monitoring free of charge.” Normally, offenders must pay their own home monitoring costs, up to $13 per day.

“Home electronic incarceration is not release,” says Hingeley, a point Platania also emphasizes. People on HEI are still incarcerated, and can be returned to the jail without any court getting involved if they violate the terms of their house arrest by doing things like traveling without permission or failing a drug screening.

A history of violent convictions will ensure an inmate stays in jail, Kumer says, but there are other considerations, too, like if the inmate is medically vulnerable or where they might go upon release. “We have a large number of individuals who are otherwise nonviolent but they have no place to live,” Kumer says, so they have to stay in jail.

Police Chief Rashall Brackney supports the shift to home monitoring. “I am very confident in the commonwealth’s attorneys, as well as the superintendent, that they are reviewing those cases and taking a very careful look at each of those individuals who would qualify,” she says. That’s a more tempered tone than some other police chiefs in Virginia: “The COVID-19 pandemic is NOT a get-of-out-jail-free card in Chesterfield County,” the county’s police chief wrote in a Facebook post. Last week, two employees at the Bon Air Juvenile Correctional Center in Chesterfield County tested positive for COVID-19.

The jail is emotionally isolating in the best of circumstances, Jackson says, and coronavirus precautions won’t help—all visitation has been halted, except attorneys. The jail is offering two free emails and two free phone calls per week to try to ameliorate the situation. (Normally, an email costs 50 cents—“a stamp will cost you more than that,” Kumer notes—and a phone call costs 12 cents per minute.)

Fewer people behind bars means prisoners can be more spread out and the facility requires fewer staff to operate. Kumer says the plan is to segregate—the jail has emptied out and rearranged one wing to house all inmates who start exhibiting symptoms. 

For now, inmates and officials wait with bated breath to hear the virus’ dry cough rattle through the cell blocks. So far, “no one has been symptomatic enough to test,” says Kumer.

Despite these precautions, Kumer isn’t rosy-eyed about the situation. “There’s not a lot we can do if an outbreak does occur,” he says. 

 

Looking ahead

The 308 inmates currently inside the jail is the smallest number in at least 20 years, says Hingeley. 

The emergency measures represent baby steps towards a more equitable justice system. The city-commissioned Disproportionate Minority Contact report earlier this year concluded that black people were disproportionately punished at every level of the local justice system. As it turns out, releasing non-violent offenders and people serving short sentences disproportionately helps black people: A little less than half the jail’s total population is black, but two-thirds of the people transferred to HEI due to coronavirus are black. 

“There’s a lot of folks who are not paying attention to people who are incarcerated,” says Folley. “When you think of people incarcerated you think, automatically, they are criminals, right. But what people should know is they are human, too.”

“I think they definitely should offer [HEI] more,” Jackson says. “There’s still rules and regulations that you follow, but some people have minor violations and they’re being incarcerated and taken away from their family. At least on home monitoring you can stay home and take care of your family. Because every day is precious.”

Jackson says she loves cooking, and she’s been doing plenty of it since she got home. Her favorite thing to make is lasagna; she just pulled one out of the oven. “I’m very family oriented. I’m very happy to be home with them,” she says. “I have a younger daughter, she’s 1, so I’ve been catching up with her, spending time with her…Everything is mama, mama where’s my mama,” she says, laughing. 

Will the change last? That depends who you ask. 

“We’re taking some calculated risks with some of these decisions,” Platania says—he doesn’t want to “overreact one way or another.”

He says it’s “absolutely” possible that the local justice system takes a more progressive view of sentencing and bail decisions after coronavirus. “But you know to turn that on its head,” he adds, “if we make a decision to release someone on a nonviolent larceny offense, and they break in to someone’s house and steal something or hurt someone, do we then say well, everything we did was unsafe and foolhardy?” 

Hingeley, who ran his 2019 campaign as a candidate for prosecutorial reform and alternatives to incarceration, is more direct. “Absolutely it is my goal to have these practices last,” he says. “From my perspective these are things that we should be doing.”

The emergency measures offer an unusual opportunity to see progressive policies in practice. “We are going to be accumulating information about the effects of liberalized policies with respect to sentences and bail decisions,” Hingeley says. “I am optimistic that that experience—as hard as it comes to us, in this emergency—that experience nevertheless is going to teach us valuable lessons. And we’ll see big changes going forward.”

“I can take the initiative, but other people have to agree,” Hingeley says. Platania also emphasizes that judges are a coequal branch of government to prosecutors, and though there’s been great “judicial buy-in” during this emergency, that won’t necessarily be true in the future.

“I do hope that this will change the system,” Folley says, “but it takes a number of people with courage.”

 

Updated 4/8 to reflect the number of confirmed cases in the Virginia Correctional Center for Women.

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YOU issue: Who’s in jail?

The Charlottesville-Albemarle Regional Jail. Photo: Eric Kelley

Here’s what readers asked for:

Pick one day and find out in Charlottesville and Albemarle County the name of everyone locked up in the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail on that day, the reason they are there, and their anticipated release date.—Catherine Wray

With close to 500 inmates in the regional jail, we pretty quickly nixed the idea of listing the name of everyone locked up, the reason they’re there, and their anticipated release date.

Here’s what we can tell you about what was going on at the jail on October 31, courtesy of Superintendent Martin Kumer.

Number of inmates: 488

How that fluctuates: Over the past few years as low as 380 to a high now of 488.

Number of beds: The jail is rated to have 329 beds, but actually has around 600.

Number of men: 415

Number of women: 73 (It’s been consistently 85 percent men, 15 percent women for the past two years.)

Racial breakdown: Roughly 50/50 among blacks and whites (the prison software does not track any other races).

Average age: Unreported, but “I would put it in the low 30s.”

Average length of stay: 35 days.

Number that are U.S. citizens: “We don’t have a report for that but I would estimate fewer than 10 at any time report being a citizen of another country.”

Most common charge resulting in incarceration: Not tracked, but “probation violation is probably the most common.”

Number in solitary confinement:
18 on October 31.

Number in work release: 28, but it fluctuates.

Cost per day per inmate: $91, but “that number is not a true cost of incarceration and is very misleading. That number is derived by totaling all of the inmate days per year and dividing it by the total budget. However, some of those costs are fixed so the jail population doesn’t directly impact the overall budget.”

Annual Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail budget: $15,345,000

Budget contribution from Albemarle: $3,541,000

Contribution from Charlottesville: $4,591,000

Nelson County: $618,000.

(Contributions are based on a percentage of that jurisdiction’s inmates.)

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Overflow meeting: ICE calls continue

Michael Del Rosso, chairman of the Charlottesville Republican Committee, was the first person to speak to the jail board during the public comment session. He said, "illegal aliens...have no reason to be here, anyway." Photo by Eze Amos

After months of thousands of community members urging the authority board at the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail to stop voluntarily reporting the release dates of undocumented immigrants to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, the board held a special meeting September 13 to take a revote on that policy.

At the local jail, and every jail in the state, staff is required by state law to tell ICE when an undocumented immigrant is taken into custody—but they also voluntarily call the federal immigration agents when that inmate is about to be released, and oftentimes, they’ll be there waiting for a newly released immigrant as he walks out the door.

At a July board meeting, jail Superintendent Martin Kumer said ICE picked up 25 undocumented immigrants from the ACRJ between July 2017 and June 2018, who were charged with crimes such as malicious wounding, domestic assault, abduction, drunk driving, driving without a license, public swearing or intoxication, failure to appear in court, and possessing drugs.

A vote didn’t happen at the September 13 meeting, but further discussion on the practice did, and Kumer introduced new information that could eventually lead to ending those ICE notifications.

VINE, a tool on the jail’s website, could be the game changer. Kumer said anyone—including ICE agents—can sign up to receive notifications on any inmate’s custody status or release date. The system updates every 15 minutes.

While the program currently has some kinks—as noted by Albemarle County Commonwealth’s Attorney Robert Tracci, who uses it often—Kumer said he’s already working to update the system, and would support encouraging ICE to track undocumented immigrants’ status through VINE instead of having staff call the federal immigration agents upon an inmate’s release.

But the absence of a vote didn’t sit well with community members who have long been calling for the jail board to end the process, and who prompted the special September meeting.

“They’re kicking the can down the road, obviously,” said Margot Morshuis-Coleman, a representative with the Charlottesville-Area Immigrant Resource & Advocacy Coalition, outside the jail. She noted that the “heart of the conflict is criminalizing immigration,” because ICE is currently notified of all undocumented immigrants’ release dates, not depending on the seriousness of their crimes.

“The jail should not do ICE’s work,” she said.

During a public comment session, only three of approximately 20 speakers held the same opinion. Most of them asked the jail to continue notifying ICE of the inmates’ release dates, which puzzled another CIRAC member, Priscilla Mendenhall.

“We question the fact that the majority of the public comment was by folks who were for maintaining notifications,” said Mendenhall, who was waiting in line outside the jail by 11:30am for the 12:30 meeting. Only about six of the people in line in front of her could have been in favor of continuing notifications, she reports, and when she signed up to speak, only about six or eight names were in front of hers.

Kumer said speaking time was given on a “first come, first serve” basis, and he allowed folks to enter the meeting room early because it was raining outside. He also noted that in all of the other related meetings, those against ICE notifications have dominated the public comment portion. More than 30 people signed up for public comment at the most recent meeting, and for those who didn’t get their turn, written comments were accepted and added to the meeting minutes.

Michael Del Rosso, chairman of the Charlottesville Republican Committee, was the first to speak.

“They are illegal aliens. They have no reason to be here anyway,” he said, and encouraged the jail board to continue its practice to help “get them off the streets.”

Many claimed notifying ICE of their release from jail makes the community safer, but opponents say it does quite the opposite.

In a September 12 letter to Charlottesville Sheriff James Brown—who abstained from voting on the matter in January—more than two dozen community groups and individuals encouraged him to vote to end the policy.

“While Tracci and ICE have repeatedly attempted to paint everyone who is taken into ICE custody from the ACRJ as rapists, murderers, and members of organized crime, the reality is that they are our neighbors, coworkers, classmates, parents—beloved members of the community you represent,” the letter said. “The portrayal of these inmates as violent criminals is untrue and a danger to the community in and of itself, as it stigmatizes, isolates, and persecutes an already marginalized population.”

Albemarle Sheriff Chip Harding, who encouraged the board to learn more about the VINE system before voting, was prepared to vote against ending the notifications.

“It bothers me greatly that the current ICE practice is to place detainers on almost everyone coming into our jail that is here illegally,” Harding wrote in a September 2 letter to the board.

He noted that ICE only takes a percentage of undocumented immigrants into custody after they leave the jail, and after review, some are released back into the community.

“Reportedly/understandably, the time this practice requires has a detrimental impact on the family,” he wrote, but he cites his oath of office, and said he feels compelled to comply with ICE, which has been charged by Congress to enforce 400 federal statutes.

Tracci shares Harding’s opinion of compliance, and in a letter that Tracci addressed to the Albemarle Board of Supervisors September 12, he said the ACRJ becoming the first Virginia jail to discontinue ICE notifications for inmates subject to federal detainers would have “safety and legal consequences,” partially because they’d all be released back into Albemarle where the jail is located, rather than the jurisdictions where they committed their offenses. The ACRJ houses inmates who were charged in Albemarle and Nelson counties, and Charlottesville.

But the man who holds Tracci’s job in the city, Joe Platania, wrote an August 10 letter of stark contrast.

The jail board’s position of voluntarily reporting and the media coverage surrounding it has left many community members “legitimately feeling angry, scared, and isolated,” according to the city’s commonwealth’s attorney.

“In some cases, primary caretakers or breadwinners are removed and are no longer able to care for their children, who are oftentimes citizens,” wrote Platania. “I am also concerned about witnesses and victims looking at voluntary notification as a reason to be uncooperative with local law enforcement and not report crimes or participate with prosecutions because they fear the deportation of charged individuals.”

He noted the “significant concern” of two of the immigrants deported between July 2017 and June 2018—one charged with DUI and the other with assault and battery—whom a judge had released on bond prior to their trials.

“They are currently considered fugitives from justice,” Platania said. “One problem presented by this scenario is that individuals who may not be guilty of the crime they have been charged with have no ability to assert their innocence and stand trial.”

And, he added, if they were tried and convicted before their deportation, they would have been held accountable for their actions, and Platania’s office could use those convictions as evidence in the event of a second offense. Each prosecutor is also able to reach out to ICE and request assistance in cases where they believe removal is the best option, he said.

When undocumented immigrants are charged with a crime and held without bond, Platania said his office determines whether they present a flight risk, are a danger to themselves, or a danger to the community. If prosecutors can’t establish any of those factors, they recommend release back into the community with terms and conditions, and if they do establish one or more of those factors, they ask that the immigrants be held until their trial.

Platania also said he “concurs wholeheartedly” with a July 1 letter from the jail board—signed by Kumer and board chair Diantha McKeel—in which they said undocumented immigrants don’t pose an inherent danger based solely on their citizenship status.

“If the board agrees with the letter it wrote, it may be useful to have ICE articulate with specificity how the voluntary notification policy furthers legitimate local public safety needs,” Platania said. And after examining available data on city cases, “I am unable to see the positive impact the current policy has on family stability or public safety.”

Echoing the local activists’ position, he said, “If community safety is one of our guiding principles, and it must be, it seems unwise to have a policy that perhaps unintentionally (albeit foreseeably) undermines it.”

At the meeting, City Councilor and jail board member Wes Bellamy suggested that if the ICE notifications must continue, the board should be open to compromise. He suggested leniency for undocumented immigrants charged with nonviolent crimes such as public intoxication, loitering, or civil matters related to paying child support.

The board will meet again in November to further discuss their policy and hear an update on any VINE system upgrades that have been initiated.

“The decisions that we make, they have consequences on people’s lives,” Bellamy said. “This is something we have to get right.”

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‘Crime against humanity:’ Jail urged to stop voluntary ICE reporting

Nearly 50 activists went to the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail’s July 12 board meeting to protest its policy to voluntarily report undocumented inmate release dates to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents. Staff photo

When incarcerated undocumented immigrants are released from the local jail, they exit through the sally port, where they often have an unfortunate encounter. It’s not unusual that a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent will be there waiting for them.

In a July 12 Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail authority board meeting, jail superintendent Martin Kumer said 25 undocumented immigrants were taken from the ACRJ by ICE between July 2017 and June 2018—because staff voluntarily reports those inmates’ release dates to the federal immigration agents.

Nearly 50 community activists showed up at the meeting to protest the board’s decision to continue reporting release dates to ICE, which passed in a 7-3 vote in January.

Local activist Matthew Christensen, the first person to speak during the public comment session at the meeting, called the jail’s voluntary reporting a “crime against humanity,” and others noted how “extremely cruel” it is to report someone who “came to make a better life for themselves and their families.”

These community members had demanded that the board take another vote at its July meeting, which did not happen. Approximately 2,900 people have signed a petition asking the board to stop its voluntary reporting.

“Because this matter was considered and acted on in January and no new substantive information directly relevant to this policy has been presented, there has been no compelling reason to place this matter on the agenda for another vote,” says a July 1 letter signed by Kumer and jail board chair Diantha McKeel, who also sits on the Albemarle County Board of Supervisors.

When undocumented people are taken into the jail and fingerprinted, staff is required by the state to notify ICE. Along with requesting their release dates, ICE has also asked for ACRJ staff to hold undocumented people beyond their release time, which the jail’s authority board voted against in 2017. ICE agents must be present at the time of a person’s release to take them into custody.

When authority board member and City Councilor Wes Bellamy motioned in January to comply with notifying ICE during the fingerprinting process, but nix the voluntary release date reporting, it wasn’t received well. He amended the motion to only voluntarily report release dates for undocumented immigrants with felony or DUI charges, and still lost the vote.

“We are sure members of the community would agree there are individuals who have committed specific crimes that should not be released back into our community,” says the letter from Kumer and McKeel. “It would not be reasonable or realistic to form a community consensus on specifically what crimes those would be.”

A list provided by the jail of the 25 undocumented people from Mexico, Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala hauled off by ICE between July 2017 and last month shows that some were charged with nonviolent crimes, including driving without a license, public swearing or intoxication, failure to appear in court or possessing drugs.

Some were convicted of more serious crimes such as drunk driving, domestic assault, abduction, malicious wounding or carnal knowledge of a child between the ages of 13 and 15, and the record shows that ICE picked up six undocumented people before they were convicted.

Showing up for Racial Justice organizer Mark Heisey used his public comment period to read from a letter signed by 17 community groups.

“If a judge has decided to release someone on bond, or if someone has already served their sentence, that indicates that a judge has decided that the person is no longer a danger to the community,” the letter says. “By calling ICE to incarcerate someone for civil immigration infractions, ACRJ is subjecting undocumented community members to additional incarceration based solely on their legal status and not on the crime they have been accused of committing.”

The board members have also said they don’t know enough about each undocumented inmate’s history to determine whether he is a danger to the community, should he be released.

“While you may not know everything about undocumented inmates at the ACRJ, we do know a lot about ICE,” says the letter given to the board. “We know they imprison people in the most inhumane for-profit prisons in the country. We know they separate families and lose children. We know people have died in their custody. We know they are construction internment camps on U.S. military bases. We know they sexually assault people in their custody.”

Several members of the board weren’t present, including McKeel and Bellamy, who are both on the civil rights pilgrimage to the Equal Justice Initiative’s National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama.

Outside the jail, Heisey said, “I’m confident that Wes would have pushed back against a lot of the narrative.”

But he said he’s glad that board members are considering holding a work session to re-evaluate their policies before their next meeting, which is in September.

And the irony of McKeel missing the meeting wasn’t lost on Heisey.

“She’s too busy celebrating civil rights victories of the past to be on the right side of civil rights struggles of the present.”

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Trash talk: Highway adopters say littering worse than ever

George Michie has been picking up trash for nearly 20 years on Miller School Road, and here, on U.S. 250 west. Photo: Jeffrey Gleason

There’s a famous scene from “Mad Men” in which the Draper family goes on a picnic. Afterward, Don tosses his beer can on the ground and Betty shakes the tablecloth out and leaves the trash from their outing, a not uncommon occurrence in that era before Lady Bird Johnson joined the Keep America Beautiful campaign in 1965 and PSAs urged citizens to “please, please don’t be a litterbug.”

For a Crozet couple, it might be time to launch that campaign again.

Miette and George Michie estimate they’ve picked up more than a ton of trash over the past 18 years on the stretch of Miller School Road they adopted—and that’s not counting tires or large pieces of debris that don’t fit into trash bags. Yet they say more people than ever are using the road as their personal garbage can.

Miette Michie says the amount of litter on roads has worsened. Photo Jeffrey Gleason

“It’s just ridiculous,” says Miette Michie. “We cleaned up the road three weeks ago, picking up literally 12 bags, and it needs to be done again. Who are these people?”

And it’s not just rural roads. She’s taken photos of litter in the city, on the U.S. 29 Bypass and pretty much everywhere she drives.  “I don’t think there is a 10-foot section of roadway anywhere in the area that is litter-free,” she says. “Disgusting.”

Michie has lodged complaints with Charlottesville and Albemarle officials, and she’d like to see more public awareness of just how trashy an area known for its natural beauty has become.

She points to a program in Albuquerque, whose mayor started paying panhandlers to pick up trash, and she thinks it’s an idea that could work here.

Charlottesville Public Works Director Paul Oberdorfer, in an email to Michie, says, “I agree there has been a notable increase in litter.” He says public works and parks & rec both work on litter control, and hire seasonal workers to help out.

Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail recently implemented two inmate programs that try to stem the tide of rising refuse. Last month, the Virginia Department of Transportation started funding a program for men to go out on weekends to pick up trash. Albemarle County pays for a similar program in which female inmates go out a couple of times a week to clear county roads, says Superintendent Martin Kumer.

The inmates pick up around two tons a week. “We weigh the trash,” says Kumer.

He calls the program a “win-win” for everyone. The agencies pay for one jail staffer to go out with a crew of up to five inmates. And the inmates themselves receive a credit of $7.25 an hour to go toward their court costs and fines.

Some areas have to be picked up more often, and Kumer says Route 20 at Piedmont Virginia Community College is one of the worst, and the U.S. 29 Bypass and Ivy Road are also “really bad.”

Virginia’s volunteer pick-up program, Adopt-a-Highway, started in 1988, and the VDOT website boasts that it’s “one of the largest programs in the country.”

However, it’s unclear how viable the program currently is. C-VILLE Weekly contacted VDOT for more than two weeks without any success in reaching anyone involved in the program.

For those who attempt to adopt a highway, they’re asked to be responsible for a two-mile stretch and pick up trash at least two times a year for three years. VDOT supplies safety vests and orange trash bags. After two documented pickups, volunteers can get an Adopt-a-Highway sign with their names on it, according to the VDOT website.

“I don’t know how effective the VDOT program is,” says Michie. “We’ve never gotten a renewal in 18 years.”

Most volunteers get some satisfaction for their efforts, but picking up roadside trash isn’t necessarily one of them. “It’s the one thing that after you do it, you get more mad,” says Michie. “Other [volunteer activities] are uplifting.”

She concedes Miller School Road is on the way to the dump, but says the number of beer cans and bottles belie a few items flying off a vehicle on a dump run.

About the litterers, Michie is left wondering, “What is wrong with these people?”

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He said, she said: Ex-cop acquitted of sexual assault

Ronna Gary, the alleged victim of two counts of forcible sodomy, says she's devastated that she lost her case on March 6. She says she understands why victims don't come forward. Photo by Eze Amos

 

It was his word versus hers, and in a two-day trial, a jury believed him.

In the case where ex-Charlottesville Police Department officer Christopher Seymore was charged with forcibly sodomizing Ronna Gary—twice—in her Shamrock Road home, a jury deliberated four-and-a-half hours and found him not guilty on both counts.

Gary claimed that two November 18, 2016, sexual encounters with Seymore were against her will—that he was a cop, with a badge and a gun, and when he unzipped his pants, she felt pressured to her knees in her living room, where she says she had no choice but to perform oral sex on him.

“What was I supposed to do,” Gary said during her lengthy testimony. “He’s a cop.”

Christopher Seymore. Courtesy of the CPD

Seymore was responding to a hit-and-run incident on her street early that morning when Gary came outside, told the officer what she saw and invited him into her home while he waited for a truck to tow the impaired vehicle. And although they both agree that after the truck came Seymore removed his body camera and went back inside Gary’s house, the two accounts diverge from there.

Before the trial, Gary had spoken to multiple media outlets—including C-VILLE—about her version of what happened. But it was in Charlottesville Circuit Court on March 5 that the public heard Seymore’s side of the story for the first time.

When he took the witness stand, the former cop said Gary had been flirting with him throughout the night.

Internal affairs investigator Brian O’Donnell, who viewed Seymore’s body cam footage, also testified he thought Gary seemed flirtatious. (Because of a miscommunication, it was not preserved.)

She said he could come to her house any time without a warrant, Seymore said. When she showed him around her abode, she allegedly took him to the bedroom and said, “This is where the magic happens.” Seymore said she called him “the hottest cop [she’d] ever seen.”

“She made me feel good,” Seymore testified. “And I hadn’t felt good in a long time.”

The former cop said he’d been married since February of that year. His wife had just given birth to their son, who is now 18 months old. Seymore also has full custody of his 7-year-old daughter from a previous marriage, and he testified that in the same year of the offense, his wife’s dog had attacked his daughter, his daughter was hospitalized with severe asthma, he suffered from post traumatic stress disorder from his time serving as a sergeant the U.S. Army, and his wife was coping with postpartum depression.

“My life was in shambles,” he said. “[Ronna] made me feel liked.”

After she performed fellatio on him, Seymore said he went to the police department to finish writing his report for the hit-and-run.

Gary testified that she took a sleeping aid and was awakened by a loud banging on her bedroom window a few hours later, around 7:45am. It was Seymore. He was back, dressed in plainclothes and asking to come inside.

Seymore testified that about five minutes after he asked to come inside, she appeared in a “very sexy piece of lingerie.” He said she led him to her bedroom where she asked to have intercourse, but after she couldn’t find a condom, she performed oral sex for the second time. The two discussed that Seymore would come back next time he was on duty. He’d go buy a “big box” of condoms and leave it at her house, he said.

Gary testified she performed oral sex both times because she was intimidated and she feared what would happen if she didn’t. She denied inviting him back.

Defense attorney Elizabeth Murtagh showed the jury texts that Gary sent her ex-boyfriend shortly thereafter. One message said Seymore was only 34, noted the size of his penis, that he had a “body from hell” and that he “likes handcuffs.”

The officer never came back. Gary made contact with Seymore about 10 days later when the two exchanged several phone calls. In one of them, they both testified they chatted casually about Thanksgiving and their families. Seymore said Gary asked him to loan her money to buy Christmas presents for her kids—a claim that she denies.

Call logs show that after she hung up the phone, she dialed Officer Declan Hickey, an acquaintance who had helped her initially get in touch with Seymore. Hickey testified that this is when Gary told him Seymore forcibly sodomized her. He reported it, and the whirlwind began.

Murtagh painted Gary as a money hungry woman with financial issues. She called the case a “cash cow” for Gary, who told friends that she could make a million dollars off of it, an allegation Gary didn’t dispute. The attorney showed the judge an issue of C-VILLE Weekly in which it was reported a friend had created a crowdfunding site for Gary to raise enough money to move out of Charlottesville.

Murtagh called Martin Kumer, the superintendent of the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail, to testify about another instance in which Gary allegedly asked for money. Kumer said Gary filed an undisclosed complaint against the jail, so he went to her house to investigate it.

“She slid a piece of paper across her coffee table,” Kumer said, and told him she wouldn’t go to the media if he paid the amount she had written on the paper. It was $5,000.

Murtagh also questioned the alleged victim’s credibility. She told the jury about a 2005 case in Howard County, Maryland, in which Gary “fabricated” a “pretty outrageous” story that involved a carjacking and an abduction and was found guilty of filing a false police report.

In her closing argument, she asked the jury why people lie—and said it’s often to self promote.

“I know [lie] is a strong word, but it’s the word I’m using,” Murtagh said.

Commonwealth’s Attorney Joe Platania said the jury must decide if Garly truly made a voluntary decision about what she wanted to do with her body. He said the whole case boils down to two words: “submission and consent.”

“The jury worked hard on this case,” said Judge Rick Moore before the verdict was announced. He noted the attentiveness of the group of six men and six women who had to decide the fate of Seymore, who faced life in prison.

Gary, who was visibly emotional throughout the two-day trial, didn’t shed a single tear as the clerk read the verdict at 11:30pm on March 6. A red-nosed jury member could be seen wiping her eyes, however.

“It’s been a long journey for her and I think she’s also going to take some time to digest it,” Platania said outside the courtroom. “It’s an emotional evening for her.”

Seymore’s wife, who reached out to this reporter, declined to comment on the record.

Murtagh did not respond to an interview request.

In a March 8 phone call with Gary, she said she was packing up her things and planning to move out of Charlottesville by the afternoon. She says she leaves behind the “love of her life,” and a community she’s made safer by working undercover as a confidential informant for the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force, which was revealed during the trial.

“It’s International Women’s Day and I don’t feel like women are celebrated today,” she says. “This has been devastating. My life will never be the same.”

She calls the past year and a half “painful and exhausting.”

“I did not do this for money,” she says. “There is nothing glamorous about a rape trial.”