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Moving forward: Two years after A12, how do we tell a new story?

It’s been two years since the “Summer of Hate,” and Charlottesville, to the larger world, is still shorthand for white supremacist violence. As we approach the second anniversary of August 11 and 12, 2017, we reached out to a wide range of community leaders and residents to talk about what, if anything, has changed since that fateful weekend, and how we can move forward.

Responses have been edited for length and clarity. 

 

What do you think of how Charlottesville, as a city, has responded in the aftermath of A12? What’s changed? What hasn’t?

It’s hard to say what’s changed in Charlottesville. Once heralded as America’s most ideal city, we’ve been outed as a place that is just as flawed as any other town. Having been forced to enter a conversation that has no easy solution, it feels like a collective healing from August 11 and 12 and its aftermath is going to take much longer than any of us want to believe. It’s a humbling and sober thought. That’s not to say there isn’t reason to hope—there certainly is—but I think that the pace of change—real, lasting change—is glacial. I think there’s a way to press on for a better future while extending grace to ourselves and each other.

—Sam Bush, music minister at Christ Episcopal Church and co-founder of The Garage art space

 

Charlene Green. Photo: Devon Ericksen

I think the way we tried to respond last year, from a law enforcement perspective, I think it was one of safety, we were definitely trying to assure the residents that no one was going to get hurt in the same way.

I think this year, the planning of Unity Days has definitely given community members a whole new opportunity to figure out how to be engaged about this, how to acknowledge the anniversary, and I think so far it has been a pretty successful effort.

It’s about constantly educating folks about what Charlottesville is all about, because we’re not a one-story town.

–Charlene Green, manager of the Charlottesville Office of Human Rights

 

I still think it’s a plantation, not a city. I feel that we should be going further with having transparency in the community to be able to work together.

The city hasn’t done anything besides make themselves look good, writing books, getting all these different recognitions for themselves, but nothing for the community.

[A lot of] the activists that were hurt…and that have been the true fighters for Charlottesville, are gone. And then you have some of us who are still left here, but I’m willing to leave, because I’m tired. Because this hasn’t just been going on for me since 2017, this has been going on for me for 13 years now. So I’m tired, because it’s like the more you’re fighting, it’s like it’s not changing.

–Rosia Parker, community activist and Police Civilian Review Board member

Rev. Seth Wispelwey and other clergy marched to oppose the KKK in July 2017. Photo: Eze Amos

It’s difficult to answer, because what people make of that weekend, whether they experienced it directly or not, is up to them, and relies so much on the stories we told about ourselves beforehand.

As a co-creator of Congregate, in our weeks of training, we always emphasized that it was about using the weekend of August 11th and 12th as a pivot point to the long, deep, hard, life-giving work we all can be a part of in dismantling white supremacy. So some people took up that call, and have continued to run with it, learning and growing along the way, and others covered their ears, and wanted to believe that this had nothing to do with Charlottesville or our collective responsibility to one another. And then still others were somewhere in the middle, believing that their ongoing efforts were sufficient, that the status quo was naturally going to lead to some sort of evolutionary progress. We’re a very self-satisfied progressive city.

I think it’s no secret that governing authorities, from City Council to the police force, in the summer of 2017 made choices that left our community vulnerable and exposed and suffering from violence. What hasn’t changed is there still has been little to no accountability for that, and so while people have undertaken their own healing processes, I still believe, even two years on, there’s a tremendous trust deficit between members of the community who saw the violent threat for what it was, and our ostensible leadership, who by and large prescribed ignoring it and left people to be beaten, and then prosecuted some people who defended themselves.

And again we saw that on the first-year anniversary, the over-militarized response. Treating the community and activists as the enemy has been the wrong direction so far. And I don’t think it would take much to repair that trust deficit. “I’m sorry” is free. But that’s going to take some work, and I haven’t seen changes there from city leadership.”

–Reverend Seth Wispelwey, former minister at Restoration Village Arts and co-founder of Congregate Charlottesville

 

I think in the aftermath of A12, we’ve seen a tremendous increase in civic engagement. More and more people are paying close attention to City Council and getting involved with local community groups. People are trying to understand where we’re at as a community, and how we can create real, lasting change.

The conversation around race and equity has completely changed and there’s an unprecedented level of awareness about local economic and racial inequalities. But we haven’t yet created the level of institutional change needed to fundamentally shift the balance of political and economic power within Charlottesville. We’ve planted the seeds of change, but we have a lot of work left to do when it comes to changing outcomes.

–Michael Payne, housing activist and City Council candidate

 

Everything and nothing. We’re still very much a city divided. There have been some efforts made…but I don’t think there’s been any real substantive change. We elected Nikuyah, but I’d like to think that that would have happened whether August the 12th ever did or not.

The city’s done a great job with the Unity Days events and that’s a huge start. But we’ve still got such a long way to go.

–Don Gathers, community activist and former Chair of The Blue Ribbon Commission on Race, Memorials, and Public Spaces

 

 

Photo: Amy and Jackson Smith

“I was still new to Charlottesville when A11/12 happened; I had only been here about eight months, so I don’t have a great deal of perspective on Charlottesville before that time. The changes that I have seen, though, I would characterize as a greater urgency around the conversations that Charlottesville and the country as a whole must engage in—conversations around systemic and institutionalized racism, equity, and the historical inequalities that continue to resonate locally and nationally.

One of the things that worries me in the community is that I continue to hear people say things along the lines of, “they (meaning the white nationalists) weren’t from here…” True, some did come from other places, but I think it is dangerous not to acknowledge fully that this is our problem, too.”

—Matthew McLendon, Ph.D., director of The Fralin Museum of Art at UVA

 

In terms of where we are this year—with no active threat of more violence and a plan for less police presence, I do want to emphasize that there is increased possibility for the beginning of a healing journey, both at the individual and the community level. It was very hard to begin that process that year, as so many people felt unsafe around the anniversary, so that feels to me very different this year.

Mental health-wise, reflecting on the changes over the past few years, there are many more therapists and other people in our community who are prepared to respond to traumatic experiences and to facilitate healing—in particular the establishment of the Central Virginia Clinicians of Color Network.

Obviously, trauma is historical and something we’re still grappling with. On the positive side, our community is looking very explicitly at health disparity and in particular racial inequity around health outcomes for the first time. Everyone’s coming together in our community health needs assessment to say our number one priority is to address inequity in health outcomes. So I think that is a positive change. Has that disparity changed yet? No. So we have a lot of work to do, but awareness is the first step.”

—Elizabeth Irvin, executive director of The Women’s Initiative

 

Susan Bro. Photo: Eze Amos

I think Charlottesville is working to bring awareness to the citizens and change its image. There have been intensified efforts to shed light on the truth of the past. That’s a good beginning. But the racial divides in housing and education seem to still be just as bad as before. None of us at the Heather Heyer Foundation actually live in town or even Albemarle County. So we are on the outside, looking in.

—Susan Bro, mother of Heather Heyer and president of the Heather Heyer Foundation

 

It is always a challenge in the aftermath of a traumatic event, like A12, to move from the initial reactive state to a long-term adaptive state. The city, local businesses, organizations, and citizens responded to the events with a great deal of energy and attention. When we realized that many of us had turned a blind eye to the racism in our community, our leaders took on new initiatives and made demands for change with gusto. But the real trick is what happens in the next 5-10 years.

—Bree Luck, producing artistic director, Live Arts

 

What do you think the city needs to do to move forward?

One huge step would be to visibly and viably take ownership for that weekend and what happened, and the role that they actually played in it. It’s still very much a point of contention that the folks who directly lost their jobs were two men of color.

The council, whatever it may look like on the first of the year, they’ve got a huge task on their hands. The new buzzword of course is civility, and I think that we’ve got to become comfortable in the incivility for a while, because this was so very painful and hurtful for so many people. Now I’m not saying that 10 years down the road folks still should be shutting down meetings because of it. I don’t see the necessity of that. But if something triggers a person…I think we have to allow space for that, and understand it.

They’ve got to figure out how to bring about some level of trust between the city and the community and the police department. Because that’s what’s sorely lacking right now. And figuring out how to do that, that’s the E=MC squared equation.  What it looks like and then how to make it happen. That’s something that’s vital to the renaissance, if you will, of Charlottesville, and getting us to a point where we’re not recognized as just a hashtag.

—Don Gathers

 

We certainly have issues in this community that we’re working on, but there’s also a lot of great things that are happening. The Chamber of Commerce is in a great position to help with that.

It’s not surprising that the business community [and tourism have] taken some hits from the events that happened in the last couple years. Nobody wants to minimize some of the tough conversations and hard work that’s going on here to build equity, but you can work on those things and also highlight the things that are going really well-—companies that are launching and doing world-class work here, opportunities that are opening up for new careers, that’s the piece that the business community thinks needs to be out there more.

It would be helpful if there was cooperation between elected officials and the business community and others, trying to get toward some shared goals.

—Elizabeth Cromwell, President & CEO, Charlottesville Regional Chamber of Commerce

 

We have to commit ourselves to the work of making Charlottesville a more equitable city, not just in word but in deed. And we have to hold space to celebrate and document who we are as community and what we’ve accomplished. Fundamentally, we care about this community because we love the people in it. We can’t be afraid of acknowledging that.

—Michael Payne

 

I was fortunate to hear Bryan Stevenson, the founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, speak earlier this year, and I was moved by his insistence on the need for “proximity.” He stressed that we must be close to, and by extension listen to, those who are not like us.

The Fralin Museum of Art joined the larger national conversation on social justice by participating in the “For Freedoms” project with “Signs of Change: Charlottesville.” Working with our community partners, most importantly Charlene Green from the Office of Human Rights, we convened a series of workshops to bring people together to first learn about the histories of marginalized people in Charlottesville and then talk about ways we could help to stop history from repeating itself. There must be continued opportunities for proximity, education, and dialogue.

—Matthew McLendon

 

What the City of Charlottesville I believe needs to do in its various official capacities is apologize and take ownership for the exposure and violence that came. At its root, it was a failure to take the inherent violence of white supremacy seriously: these were terrorist groups who threatened violence, the city was adequately warned, and we know for a fact that the police were more interested in what “antifa” was going to do, or [suggested] that we should just ignore them. No one can tell me that if this had been an ISIS free speech rally that it wouldn’t have been shut down immediately. So it starts with that.

Honest and sincere apologies are not weakness, they’re a sign of strength, and I think what Charlottesville is fighting to do and what the city could help do is stop continuing to gaslight people and say yeah, we were wrong, we will take the threat of white supremacy seriously, and I think the temperature would cool across the board.

—Rev. Seth Wispelwey

Rosia Parker outside the courtroom after the James Fields verdict, in December. Photo: Eze Amos

One, you gotta listen to the community. Don’t just listen at the community, listen to the community. [Be] willing to be transparent, willing to create ideas together, that will make a thriving community.

—Rosia Parker

 

As a city, I think we have an obligation to help provide opportunities for folks to be engaged and for people to see that we’re trying very hard to walk the talk. At the Office of Human Rights, if we say that equity and social justice are important for residents, then we need to show it.

—Charlene Green

Photo: UVA

 

Moments of adversity and heartbreak sometimes give us an opportunity for collaboration and progress. Since August 2017, UVA and the local community have been working together in unprecedented ways. The UVA-Community Working Group that came together last fall identified the most pressing issues that we can begin to work on together—jobs and wages, affordable housing, public health care, and youth education—and efforts are under way now to address those issues through UVA-community partnerships grounded in equity and mutual respect.

So many of us love Charlottesville. I think the best way we can express that love, and the best way we can move forward after August 2017, is by working together to make our community stronger, more united, and more resilient than it’s ever been before

—Jim Ryan, president of the University of Virginia

 

We need to continue our efforts to rebuild the bonds that unite all of us, with the understanding that a community dedicated to issues of social justice and racial equality is a place that we can be proud to call home, and a place that more people will want to come visit.

—Adam Healey, former interim director of the Charlottesville-Albemarle Convention and Visitors Bureau

 

Addressing racism at the structural and institutional level remains the highest priority. In particular being able to give the mike to people of color, black people in particular, who have historically not had a voice, would be at the top of that list. From a mental health perspective that’s important because healing can’t occur without first acknowledging the trauma of people who’ve experienced this, and I think we still have a lot of work to do. Some of these events of Unity Days are beginning to give voice to that, and I think there’s a lot more room to do more.

—Elizabeth Irvin

 

My heart goes out to the city officials since they’re the ones who are publicly shouldering what is actually each of ours to carry. I hope that they will continue to serve humbly, to keeping listening and asking questions. I’ve found that bringing small groups of people from different backgrounds together can be an effective way to get people to speak honestly and calmly in a way that inspires others to listen.

—Sam Bush

 

Someone besides me to say what we need to do to move forward. People like me who have been in leadership positions for many years ought to create the space for other people living and leading quietly in our community to say what needs to happen.

—Erika Viccellio, executive director of The Fountain Fund

Don Gathers and others at the official unveiling of the Inside Out: Charlottesville mural. Photo: Eze Amos

What do individual people need to do to move the community forward?

If you see a need, don’t wring your hands and hope someone does something about it. Step up to see what you can do to move things forward. And then actually do it. Don’t play armchair quarterback. Put feet to your intentions and get involved. If you don’t step up and out, who will?  #StepUpStepOut.

—Susan Bro

 

I’m not sure the public speaking platforms of our age are as effective as we think they are. Many of us are speaking to people who already agree with us which, in turn, merely helps us feel better about ourselves while vilifying those who disagree with us. As a result, we seem quick to anger and slow to listen. The alternative, I think, is much more difficult but more effective. I think we’d each be better off by getting to know someone who couldn’t be more different from us and then befriending them. Easier said than done, of course.

—Sam Bush

 

There’s no magic pill here that’ll fix this. We’ve got to begin to have those tough and difficult and hard conversations. And we’ve got to stop talking about race and start talking about racism. We can’t just talk about white supremacy, we’ve got to actually have the difficult conversations about white privilege and white advantage. And once we embrace those conversations…then we can move forward and start talking about unification.

I’m not sure there’s a mediator or moderator in the world that could handle that, because in so many instances we’re still talking at each other instead of to each other. We’re still talking about each other instead of trying to handle and solve the problem as it presents itself. How it’s handled, what it looks like, I’m still trying to envision it, but I know that it’s got to happen in order for us to move that needle.

—Don Gathers

 

 

Lisa Woolfork and members of the Hate-Free Schools Coalition of Albemarle County, who fought for a ban on Confederate imagery in county schools. Photo: Eze Amos

People can support community members who are already doing the work to build a better Charlottesville. City councilors need to respect and support Mayor Walker’s leadership. Voters need to vote for strong racial justice supporters. School administrators need to respond with deep policy changes to address concerns about racial equity raised by students and families. We need to stop protecting Confederates and their white supremacist legacy. We can create a brighter future if we do the difficult, sometimes uncomfortable, yet necessary work of liberation, learning and unlearning.

—Lisa Woolfork, UVA professor and community activist

 

Listen! We are each, as individuals, responsible for change. I am clear that as a white male, I need to listen to people of color and other marginalized communities with lived experiences different from mine. By listening we can understand what we need to do to be active allies. My fear for our whole society is that far too many people want to speak and too few have the self-discipline or awareness to listen.

—Matthew McLendon

 

Choose to live in community. In an age of climate change, neoliberalism, and tech-mediated communication, we are encouraged to remain fearful and isolated. To paraphrase bell hooks’ essay “Love as the Practice of Freedom”, the road to healing our wounded body politic is through a commitment to collective liberation that moves beyond resistance to transformation. We all have a positive role to play in healing and transforming our community. Yes, that means you too!

–Michael Payne

As individuals we just need to get involved, and stay aware. Because we can’t depend on one agency or one entity to handle it all; we need to all step up as a community, and in whatever way you feel the most comfortable. Hopefully you’re able to push yourself out of your comfort zone. It’s when we stay in our little circles of comfort that we tend to perpetuate stereotypes and assumptions about people in different groups. So to push ourselves to get involved and be challenged, and to challenge each other, I think are some of the things we can do.

–Charlene Green

 

Photo: Nick Strocchia

First and foremost is that self-reflection and working around issues of race and privilege. And within that, being willing to take care of ourselves and recognize what we need to do around our stress and anxiety so we can continue to have uncomfortable conversations and meaningful dialogue, but also continue to challenge ourselves moving forward.

Relative to the traumatic aspect of the anniversary itself, people who were more directly impacted still may be experiencing a lot of traumatic stress, so I just encourage those people in particular to reach out for support.

—Elizabeth Irvin

 

My own perspective shift came from new and growing relationships in Charlottesville, thanks to a lot of grace and space afforded to me by people who have been working on anti-racist advocacy for a long time here.

The truth is we all have space and grace to grow forward, and so what individuals can continue to do, and I’m talking about cis-hetero white individuals particularly, is not just listen to voices and perspectives that are threatened and crushed by white supremacy, but start to foreground their asks and desires. It will be costly for a lot of the privilege we carry, but it’s a cost that liberates, and is really life-giving in the end.

We can’t all be responsible for all the things all the time, or we’ll burn out, so get plugged in and focus where you feel most called and led. There’s a multitude of opportunities, but life’s too short and racism is too strong in this country to not try a bit harder to show up in embodied solidarity, somewhere.

—Seth Wispelwey

 

For those of us who weren’t born and raised here I think we need to be committed to better understanding the community we live in. It is only recently that I started regularly attending events and tours at the African American Heritage Center. I have a new, and essential, emerging understanding of the community I’ve been “serving” all these years.

—Erika Viccellio

 

One thing that we can do as individuals is to extirpate the systemic racism that plagues our culture. At Live Arts…we have begun to explore the systemic barriers to [theater] participation, including obvious issues like cost and content representation—and not-so-apparent barriers like architecture, language, food, and transportation. With the help of community partners this year, Live Arts offered more “pay what you can” tickets and scholarships than ever before. Also, we are diversifying representation on our stages by making more stories written and directed by and about persons of color and women.

Education is the key to effecting change. At Live Arts, we discussed micro-aggressions, unconscious bias, and workplace discrimination each month in board and staff meetings. This summer, we invited volunteer directors to join a diversity, equity, and inclusion workshop so that our creative teams have the tools to create a safe space to work and play.

We are far from perfect. But the aim is not to create a utopian society where we all say and do the right thing. Instead, the goal is to have an equitable culture of belonging, prosperity, community, and creative exploration.

—Bree Luck

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Mall rats: Does the Downtown Mall have a rodent problem?

Many Charlottesvillians spent the last few weeks enjoying a festive holiday season on the Downtown Mall. But have we been strolling, shopping, and dining in the company of species Rattus?

No question the mall has rats—the place is packed with restaurants, which means food waste, which means rat heaven. And just so you know, the term for a group of rats is a “mischief.”

Are mall rodents on the rise?

“We receive on average less than one report a year to the city manager’s office regarding rats,” says city spokesperson Brian Wheeler. A very unscientific survey of mall vendors, restaurants, and others garnered responses ranging from “no” to “not really” to “not anymore” to “OMG yes” and “cat-sized.” Commonly mentioned problem areas include restaurant patios, tree grates, and garbage pick-up sites along Water and Market streets.

Kim Malone, a manager at Chaps, was emphatic: “I see rats outside in the morning when I come in. They’re all along the alley behind the store, next to the Paramount. And they’re in the outdoor cafés—it’s worse in the summertime.”

According to Malone, last year the mall merchants complained, and the city’s parks and recreation department, which handles animal control, responded. “They poured something down into the tree grates. The smell was horrible—people wouldn’t eat out there.” She shares an exterminator with Sal’s Caffe Italia next door.

A mall shop manager, who asked not to be identified, saw signs of rats in her store about a year ago. “We sell some food products, and they had chewed into the bags—and into one of our blankets to make a little nest,” she says. “We have a basement, and we’re in between two restaurants. And people just pile trash in the alley behind the stores.” She bought plastic bins to store her food products, and hired an exterminator to plug every possible hole.

Realistically, no city is vermin-free. Wheeler says a third-party contractor manages bait traps at “numerous locations on and around the Downtown Mall.”

But can those bait traps make a difference, given great hiding places, humans who litter and drop food, and garbage buffets? And then there’s the biggest rodent bonanza of all—the Landmark Hotel, aka the Dewberry. Most people view the derelict eyesore as a veritable Rats-Carlton.

David McNair, a journalist and publicist, says late at night a few months ago he was walking along Water Street behind the Landmark, “and I saw rats pouring out of the hotel, swarming the garbage cans there…it looked like the bins were covered with flies.”

Heather, who works at a mall restaurant and didn’t want to give her last name, says she was headed home one night past that same spot. She saw what she first thought, in the dark, was “a herd of rabbits, because they were leaping around. Then one of them brushed against my leg—it was a rat, a large one, with a roll in its mouth. The rats were so busy feasting they were literally bouncing up and down.”

Joan Fenton, chairman of the Downtown Business Association of Charlottesville and owner of Quilts Unlimited, minces no words. “The Landmark Hotel is a problem, and the city should address that. They have a responsibility to finish that deal.” But she says all restaurants face this problem and downtown business owners have been responsible in addressing it.

Brandon Butler has perhaps the worst story. He and his family were on the mall one recent Saturday morning for a Christmas parade. Afterwards, his 8-year-old daughter and her fellow Girl Scouts were hanging around near the Jefferson, when they started giggling and crowding around a large gray plastic garbage bin. Then “my wife screams, and I hear this high-pitched squealing coming out of the bin. I walked over and looked in, and there were two or three huge rats, live ones.”

“The size of cats,” his wife contributes.

Seth Wispelwey, who lives about two blocks from the mall’s Market Street side, has put traps inside his closed outdoor shed and checks them daily. He’s now up to 20 rats. He recalls walking to Live Arts one night last January. “There were two massive rats right there on the sidewalk, rather boldly walking along.” He told his spouse and friends—but he didn’t contact the city. Neither did any of the other rat-sighters we talked to.

Store owners and managers know they can call the city with rat complaints, but mall workers and residents who have seen rats seem clueless. Wheeler says Charlottesville Parks & Rec got fewer mall rat complaints in 2018 than in 2017. And without complaints, there’s no reason to step up efforts to “eraticate.”

“In total, in our MyCville database for 2018, there are six reports related to rats this year,” Wheeler says. MyCville, an online and smartphone application to request services and report issues, was just launched this year. No one interviewed for this story knew about it.

Proposed New Year’s Resolution: Get the city’s rat stats in line with actual rat sightings. In the meantime, when it comes to rats on the mall—or anywhere else—if you see something, say something.

 

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Telling the lion’s story: Charlottesville’s faith community employs activism to unite against supremacy

Photography by Eze Amos

Sunlight had just begun to illuminate the candy-colored stained glass windows of First Baptist Church as people filed through the door and slid into the wooden pews.

“This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine,” the crowd sang louder as it grew larger. When the pews were full, people stood arm to arm against the back walls and in the balcony. “Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine,” they sang in Charlottesville’s oldest black church, asking the lyrics and melody that were sung at sit-ins and marches of the American civil rights movement of the 1960s to carry them through the day ahead. It was August 12, 2017.

A few minutes after 6am, First Baptist Church deacon Don Gathers addressed the now-quiet congregation that included First Baptist parishioners, Charlottesville community members, and dozens of clergy and people of many faiths. “Thank you for coming out early in the morning. It is truly early in the morning,” he said.

He asked everyone present to pray for an end to oppression, tyranny, and “400 years of misdeeds.” The mood was energetic but reverent as each speaker addressed the seriousness of what might lie ahead of them that day.

“In the face of fear, the only weapon that wins is love…It is not your body that wins your battle, it is your heart,” Reverend Traci Blackmon, executive minister of justice and local church ministries for the United Church of Christ, told them. “Until the lion tells his whole story, the hunter will be the hero.”

“I didn’t come to Charlottesville to run my mouth. I came to go to jail,” philosopher and political activist Dr. Cornel West told them. “This is not a discourse about hope. We’re going to be the hope.”

“Go and be brave and be fierce…because we can,” said Reverend Winnie Varghese, priest and director of Community Outreach at Trinity Episcopal Church Wall Street in New York City, before Reverend Osagyefo Sekou, who directed most of the morning’s musical offerings, led the congregation in another civil rights movement song, “Freedom In The Air.”

As the song wound down, Sekou asked those who had “been trained” to come forward to the altar. Dozens of clergy, most of them dressed in their religious garb, walked to the altar and bowed their heads as Sekou asked the congregation to extend their hands and pray for the safety of the clergy as they prepared to bear witness.

He asked them to pray, too, for the people who were against them, who wished to cause them harm. To pray for the white supremacists.

Don Gathers, a deacon at First Baptist Church on West Main Street, put together the program for the August 12, 2017, sunrise prayer service. He offered the site—Charlottesville’s oldest black church—when he heard clergy wanted to do something that morning. It wasn’t without risk, though: Black churches, along with mosques and other houses of prayer, have been frequent targets of white supremacist violence.

“Be safe, be mindful, be vigilant. Look out for the brother and sister beside you,” Gathers reminded the group as the clergy walked from the church sanctuary.

In front of the church, the clergy formed two groups: One proceeded quietly to Market Street Park, the planned site of the Unite the Right rally. A second sang “This Little Light Of Mine” as it’s members walked to designated safe spaces around town.

They sought to be a nonviolent but strong presence, a visible indication that love is greater than hate. They were ready to bear witness to God’s love, wherever it may be that day, and to bear witness to injustice.

It goes without saying that the day was mayhem. The rally was shut down before it started, and a melee broke out in the streets of Charlottesville.

After a white supremacist drove his car into a crowd of protesters on Fourth Street, killing Heather Heyer and injuring dozens of other people, Gathers stood at the corner of Fourth and Water streets with other activists, community members, and clergy, the asphalt covered in bloody and broken bodies, the air filled with the smell of tires and sweat and screams of pain. The deacon who’d put together the program for that morning’s prayer service at First Baptist had reached his limit.

“I was tired of the fight. I didn’t want to see anyone else hurt or injured. All the fight had left out of me at that point. I was just done,” Gathers recalls nearly one year later. When it came time for him to leave the scene of the attack, he hadn’t walked half a block down Water Street before running into NBC29 news director David Foky. Before Gathers could say a word, Foky embraced him and whispered, “you can’t give up. You can’t walk away.”

“Oh, my God,” Gathers thought. “How did he know?”

Gathers has long felt God tapping on his shoulder; that chance meeting with Foky was one such tap. Most people feel it but try to outrun the proverbial tapping hand, he says, and in the past year, he’s realized he’s not so fast.

Gathers, 59, answered the call. He’s now making plans to enter seminary and become an ordained minister.

Enduring mission

Over the past year and a half—and even before then—a number of Charlottesville faith leaders have been visible and audible beyond their pulpits and sanctuaries in order to address racial, social, and economic injustices. And they’ve done so together.

Some have taken pilgrimages to civil rights landmark sites like Selma, Alabama, and visited the site of a slave auction block in Richmond. They have attended demonstrations in support of DREAMers and affordable housing, and signed and sent a letter to the Albemarle County Jail Board asking the facility to reconsider its choice to notify ICE when an undocumented person enters the facility. Some of them have literally put their bodies on the line. For these members of the clergy, their call to social justice and activism is part of, and inseparable from, the call received from God.

“The events of last year were not new to us,” says Reverend Cass Bailey, vicar of Trinity Episcopal Church on Preston Avenue since 2010. While many folks in Charlottesville are just now beginning to understand how white supremacy and racism have manifest in every corner of the city, it’s a familiar story to many, including members of Bailey’s parish.

What is new, says Bailey, is how many people—particularly white people—are now willing to acknowledge racism and white supremacy as a problem that needs to be solved.

Trinity Episcopal began as a mission in the Vinegar Hill neighborhood in 1919, a mostly black church that today has a racially and economically diverse congregation, which is a bit unusual in Charlottesville (and, really, in the United States), says Bailey—most houses of worship, whether intentionally or not, are not terribly diverse.

Trinity Episcopal pastors and parishioners were active during the massive resistance and the civil rights movement of the 1950s and ’60s, and in the 1970s, Trinity Episcopal was one of the first parishes in town to intentionally integrate. Currently, the parish has a ministry program that works to address systemic problems of access to healthy food that disproportionately affect people of color in our community.

Reverend Dr. Alvin Edwards, senior pastor at Mt. Zion First African Baptist Church, says his congregation emphasizes equity and equality through education. Mt. Zion sponsors an annual back to school bash, where they hand out school supplies to children. “Education is the best transport to equalizing, to making the ground level” for all, says Edwards, who has served at Mt. Zion since 1981, making him almost certainly the longest-serving clergy person in Charlottesville. “I believe it’s one of the best things we could do as a community, and as a city,” he says.

Clergy of different faiths “may not agree doctrinally on everything, but we can impact the lives of people in our community by doing different things” together, says Edwards.

The promise of what a group of diverse and interfaith clergy can accomplish when working together is what led Edwards to establish the Charlottesville Clergy Collective in 2015 with the intention “to discuss and address the challenge of race relations” in Charlottesville and Albemarle County.

After a white supremacist opened fire on a prayer service at Emmanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina, Edwards began to wonder if pastors and faith leaders in town knew one another well enough to call upon each other if something like this were to happen in Charlottesville. At a breakfast meeting, he and a few other pastors admitted that the answer was no.

It now seems an almost prophetic action on Edwards’ part, because in 2017, it became clear to members of the Charlottesville Clergy Collective that they would need to rely on one another as white supremacists began holding rallies in the city and threatening the Jewish synagogue, black churches, and people of color in the community.

The collective realized it needed to respond as a unified group with some measure of authority, to assert that white supremacy in all forms “is not acceptable, and then find tangible ways to support more vulnerable members of the community,” says volunteer secretary Reverend Michael Cheuk.

The morning of the Ku Klux Klan rally on July 8, 2017, a group of Charlottesville Clergy Collective members linked arms and walked to the park together in a show of solidarity. When they came into view of the people who had set up to protest the Klan’s rally, some people started yelling, “The clergy are here! The clergy are here!” and it became clear that their presence meant something positive to people in the community.

Collecting trust

While the Charlottesville Clergy Collective seeks to foster trust and relationships among faith leaders, a few of the group’s members wanted to develop stronger relationships with local social activists as well.

For Reverend Brittany Caine-Conley, a member of Sojourners United Church of Christ and current interim campus minister at Westminster Presbyterian Church, her faith and her activism are “very much the same thing.”

Reverend Brittany Caine-Conley, interim campus minister at Westminster Presbyterian and a member of Sojourners, is called to social activism because of her faith. She is a co-founder of Congregate Charlottesville, a group established last year to “equip and prepare people of faith to bear public witness to injustice and educate faith communities on issues of justice and liberation” through nonviolent direct action and faithful presence trainings.

“I’m called to action because of my faith,” she says. “The more I study, the more I read the Bible, the more I read theologians, the more I dig deep into the Christian tradition, the more I am pushed toward activism. I am convinced that the basic premise of the gospel is that Jesus absorbed violence so that others didn’t have to.”

With that activism in mind, in early summer 2017, Caine-Conley and Reverend Seth Wispelwey of Restoration Village Arts, both members of the Charlottesville Clergy Collective, founded Congregate Charlottesville, a group whose mission is “to prepare and equip people of faith to bear public witness and to show up for matters of justice,” says Caine-Conley.

While the Charlottesville Clergy Collective and Congregate Charlottesville are two different groups, there’s a fair amount of crossover between them, says Caine-Conley.

Last summer, Congregate Charlottesville put out a nationwide call to clergy requesting their presence on August 12, to participate in nonviolent direction action and civil disobedience training and dozens actually showed up to be present in a variety of ways that day—most of them were clergy of color, LGBTQ+ clergy, and female clergy, joined by plenty of Jewish, Muslim, and other non-Christian clergy. People who are used to showing up.

Over the past year, Congregate Charlottesville has continued to hold trainings on faithful presence for clergy and for laypeople alike, and they’ve established a rapid response network through which the community can request their presence. The Congregate folks will show up “only through invitation,” says Caine-Conley. “We never want to show up somewhere where we’re not wanted or helpful.”

Heightened threat

Walk toward Congregation Beth Israel on East Jefferson Street and it’s likely you’ll hear shouts of delight from the synagogue’s preschoolers. Once you’re standing in front of the magnificent brick building, it’s hard not to notice that the children are playing under the watch of an armed security guard. The juxtaposition is jarring, heartbreaking even, but it’s evidence of what the Reform synagogue’s congregation has been through in the past year.

Last year, on the night of August 11 and the morning of August 12, as the congregation held its weekly prayer services, white supremacists and neo-Nazis loitered outside yelling anti-Semitic slurs loud enough for those inside to hear. When prayer services were over, congregants had to leave in small groups through a side door—the prominent front door was deemed too dangerous an exit.

Rabbi Tom Gutherz, senior rabbi at Congregation Beth Israel, seen here on the bus during last month’s community pilgrimage to the Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama, says that in order to “create a better, more equitable, more just community and country,” we have to open our hearts as well as take action.

“To have that kind of hate, and specifically some of the anti-Semitic hate, parading around the streets so proudly, and assertively, that’s…unsettling,” says CBI Senior Rabbi Tom Gutherz. “People from different generations maybe deal with it in different ways; for some people, they’d never seen anything like that, and for other people, they had,” depending on where and when they grew up.

Congregation Beth Israel’s existence as a community of Jewish ethnic culture and worship makes it vulnerable ideologically; the synagogue’s location has made it vulnerable physically, too. With Market Street Park one block to the west, and Court Square Park one block to the east, the synagogue is literally in the middle of where many of the white supremacist rallies have taken place. Gutherz points out, too, that the city and county courtrooms where some of these white supremacists have been tried throughout the year—often bringing a group of like-minded friends along for support—are only a few blocks away as well.

Printed on a piece of paper taped up to a doorway in the Congregation Beth Israel office is the congregation’s principles: Worship; culture; lifelong learning; repair of the world; gladness and joy; caring and kindness; commitment to Israel. The sign also reads, “We promote social justice, charitable giving and lifetime learning.”

Gutherz, who participated in last month’s pilgrimage from Charlottesville to the Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama, says that Congregation Beth Israel is a community of people that “feels very strongly” about social justice initiatives; many congregants are involved on both a personal and a community level. “I think it’s part of the Jewish worldview,” says Gutherz. “I would say part of the Jewish mission is to see that the teachings that we teach, and the words that we speak, should also lead to action out there in the world.”

Ministry of presence

Showing up to court is something that Reverend Dr. Susan Minasian never anticipated would be part of her ministry. But there she was, sitting in the Charlottesville General District Court the morning of July 19, 2018, wearing a short-sleeved black collared top, the bright white rectangle of the clerical tab at the center of her throat.

A second generation Armenian American whose grandparents immigrated to escape Ottoman Turk rule—and the Armenian Genocide—in the early 20th century, Minasian was raised in the United Church of Christ by a mother who she says was ahead of her time—an electrologist, frequently offering hair removal services gratis to people going through gender reassignment.

Minasian recalls playing receptionist in her mother’s office one day, and asking her about a client: “He looks like a she, but I thought he was a he?” 7-year-old Minasian asked.

Reverend Dr. Susan Minasian, pastor at Sojourners United Church of Christ who recently celebrated the 30th anniversary of her ordination, has incorporated social justice initiatives into her ministry since the beginning—she’s attended protests, served as a clinic escort for Planned Parenthood patients, and performed same-sex unions before they were legal.

Without missing a beat, Minasian’s mother replied, “She’s becoming who God created her to be.”

That sort of love—acknowledging, recognizing, and valuing people for who they are—is the focus of Minasian’s ministry through Sojourners United Church of Christ. It’s a ministry of presence, both physically and spiritually.

Minasian, like the other clergy interviewed for this story, are upset by the ways in which religion, and Christianity in particular, is used by some—including American white nationalists—as a weapon of oppression against people of different races, genders, sexualities, and faiths.

Local clergy of all faiths hope to help dismantle that system eventually, but they know it will take time and patience—they have to recognize when to be present and when to give someone their space. They understand that for those who have been turned away from a church, or abused emotionally or physically by a religious ideology or religious person, the clerical collar, stoles, and robes might not be a welcome sight. And so these particular clergy have to do a lot of gentle convincing that they are not “terrible people,” says Caine-Conley, and that process involves showing up, quietly, over and over again.

So, while in court, Minasian says she’s “usually praying for some people to be comforted and to be of peace and okay,” she says. “And then I’m praying for the other side, saying, ‘Dear God, if there is any way to soften their hearts and change their minds, this would be a good time to zap ’em.’”

This particular morning, one of the activists who was found guilty of stepping in a road with poor visibility during a recent protest didn’t have the money to pay the fine—$15—plus $89 in court fees. As the activist’s name was called to go into the clerk’s office, Minasian rose from the bench, clutching her change purse in her hand.

“I’m sorry,” the activist said to Minasian as they walked to the clerk’s office door side by side. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Minasian asked, waving her change purse in the air. “I’ll take care of you.”

Walking the talk

It’s the job of the clergy to take care of people, says Reverend Brenda Brown-Grooms, co-pastor of New Beginnings Christian Community on Market Street. “Our spirits need growing, and care, and a pastor is someone who grows people’s spirits up.”

The Reverend Brenda Brown-Grooms believes that every faith leader has a single sermon that they preach “a million different ways, a million different times” throughout their lives. Hers is: What is just? What does God say? Where is justice in this?

Sometimes that care requires pastors to be in court, at protests. It requires sitting on a park bench with a grieving congregant. It requires difficult conversations with community members and even with fellow clergy. Caine-Conley says that Brown-Grooms, who grew in Charlottesville, attending a church that was razed along with the Vinegar Hill neighborhood, will frequently “pipe up” in meetings and “say what needs to be said.” Brown-Grooms will remind white clergy and male clergy that the work of social justice has long been done by women and clergy of color in town—and that women and clergy of color should be supported in and given credit for that work. She won’t let that story go untold or unheard.

And while so many pastors have been active in the community outside of their church buildings and congregations, one should not forget the profound work a pastor can accomplish in a worship service. In a sermon in particular.

“A church is a hospital. From the pulpit to the door, we are all broken. And this is the place where there’s space enough for all, the space to be and become in. To be a church is to understand your position in helping people,” says Brown-Grooms. She says every faith leader has a single sermon that they are called to preach “a million different ways, a million different times” throughout their lives. Hers is: What is just? What does God say? Where is justice in this?

She preaches her sermons with the intention of getting people to relate to one another. She knows a sermon is working when people respond. They murmur, shift in their seats, nod their heads, turn their gaze upward and take a deep breath. When a sermon works, she says, “it can accomplish healing.” A sermon can change minds and hearts.

“Stories are the Tupperware of the universe,” she says. “Everything that’s important and that we need to know as human beings is contained in a story. It’s a proper container—you can carry it from one generation to the next, and you can pop it open, and it’s there. This is why I preach. It’s stories.”

Faith in community

The ability to see the humanity of all people is the gold thread among the ideologies of the clergy interviewed for this story.

Through the meetings of the Charlottesville Clergy Collective, “I feel like we’ve strengthened our sense that our religions are maybe sometimes using different language” to say the same thing, that “we all have the same idea of the dignity of every human being, that every human being is created in the image of God,” says Gutherz.

Reverend Phil Woodson of First United Methodist Church and Rabbi Rachel Schmelkin of Congregation Beth Israel participate in a community prayer on Fourth St. SE on August 13, 2017.

“I can never ignore the humanity in the people who are on a side opposite than I am,” says Reverend Elaine Ellis Thomas, formerly of St. Paul’s Memorial Church on University Avenue, who participated in various events with both the Clergy Collective and Congregate Cville last year.

“It gets interesting sometimes,” says Gathers about this challenge. “It’s not easy to separate the two, because that means I have to look [at all these white supremacists] and be able to love what’s standing in front of me, and look past everything that they’re doing and what’s coming out of them, and love the spirit that’s inside of them.”

The “emotional, spiritual toll” this work takes on the clergy “is great,” says Cheuk.

What’s more, Cheuk says he knows for certain that several of those involved with the Clergy Collective and in Congregate C’ville, “face tremendous pushback and criticism from their own congregants” for their faith-driven activism. “Their lives and their calling are at stake. So the amount of courage that is required to stay connected to their own community of faith while also doing this work” is extraordinary, says Cheuk.

The work is perhaps made easier by the fact that none of them are doing it alone. They heard and, over and over again, have heeded the request Gathers made of them during that sunrise service at First Baptist Church: “Be safe, be mindful, be vigilant. Look out for the brother and sister beside you.”

One of the “really beautiful things that came out of last summer are these amazing, really deep relationships I’ve formed with clergy of different faiths, through the work of activism,” says CBI rabbi educator Rabbi Rachel Schmelkin, who regularly keeps in touch with her protest buddy and frequent “This Little Light Of Mine” duet partner Thomas—now rector of All Saints Episcopal Parish in Hoboken, New Jersey—via text message.

Reverends Susan Minasian and Brenda Brown-Grooms and Rabbi Tom Gutherz led a prayer during a ceremony when soil was collected from the site where John Henry James was lynched by an Albemarle County mob on July 12, 1898. Many local clergy believe that by strengthening relationships among clergy, they can better serve the Charlottesville community as a whole.

Perhaps because she has a bit of physical distance from Charlottesville now, Thomas believes that what happened here last summer was a watershed moment that finally got the community—and some clergy—acting on issues of justice they’d only been talking about for years and years.

It is very difficult to be what God created us to be when we have borne witness to the worst, says Thomas. “It’s very difficult to do if you are by yourself. If you are in some kind of community that is seeking to do good, it’s much easier to recognize that in some small way, in your corner of the universe, you might be able to make a difference.”


Throughout this week, the Charlottesville Clergy Collective is sponsoring a number of interfaith prayer and worship services open to the community. See the group’s website for times and locations.

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Re-righting history: Katie Couric documents what divides us

During her 15-year tenure as NBC “Today Show” co-anchor, UVA alum and journalist Katie Couric was known as America’s Sweetheart. These days, she’s way past that chipper morning news persona, and having finished a six-part series delving into the most contentious issues facing the country today, she says she’s exhausted.

Couric was in Charlottesville April 4 to screen at the Culbreth and Paramount theaters “Re-righting History,” the first episode of the National Geographic series she’s made called “America Inside Out.” The Virginia Film Festival sponsored the event.

She was already working on the legacy of Confederate monuments and names on public buildings before she came here for the August 12 weekend. A high school friend of her daughter’s was going to Yale, and Couric wondered what it was like for an African-American to live in a dorm called Calhoun College, named for a slavery-advocating U.S. vice president.

And then the Lawn where Couric lived as a student was flooded with tiki torch-carrying white supremacists and neo-Nazis chanting, “Jews will not replace us.”

“Little did we know what happened in Charlottesville would take a young woman’s life and change Charlottesville forever,” she said before the screening to a packed house at the Paramount.

Her documentary calls August 11 and 12 “one of the most savage displays of hate America has seen.”

Locals Zyahna Bryant, the then 15-year-old Charlottesville High student who started the petition to remove the Lee statue, activist Don Gathers and Unite the Right organizer Jason Kessler, who says the rally’s purpose was to prevent the ethnic “cleansing of white people,” appear in the 47-minute episode that took Couric to New Orleans and Montgomery, Alabama, to explore how the Lost Cause rewriting of history came about and still impacts us today.

The August 12 clashes on the screen “look like the civil rights era all over again,” narrates Couric, and images of the July Ku Klux Klan rally here are interspersed with archival footage of the KKK in its heyday.

The Paramount audience, many of whom were present at the white supremacist invasions, booed when President Donald Trump came on the screen to denounce the hatred and bigotry “on many sides.”

Couric interviewed Confederate heritage defenders, descendants of slave owners now shamed by their ancestors and New Orleans Mayor Mitch Landrieu, who described how he came to remove the Big Easy’s monuments after his friend, Wynton Marsalis, told him what it was like to see them through his eyes.

Historians described how the spike in Confederate monuments came around the beginning of the 20th century as Jim Crowe and lynchings reasserted white supremacy, and the Lost Cause narrative sanitized slavery and the Civil War. “Gone with the Wind did more to shape the history than anything I’ve taught,” said UVA Civil War expert Gary Gallagher.

The landmark Brown v. Board of Education decision also led to a spike in naming schools after Confederate generals, a background of which many whites, like actress Julianne Moore, were unaware. Moore, who went to J.E.B. Stuart High School in Fairfax, led a petition to rename the school, whose moniker she now calls “shameful.”

“Why do we have such a hard time coming to grips with our past?” asked Couric.

After the screening, UVA’s Larry Sabato led a panel discussion with Couric, Bryant, Gathers, Gallagher, UVA historian John Mason and religious leader Seth Wispelwey.

Historian Gallagher doesn’t want a rush to remove statues, instead suggesting there’s more history that can be memorialized, such as the 250 black men from Albemarle who “put on blue uniforms” of the Union.

“People of color often have to put our trauma on the back-burner at the expense of teaching other people about white supremacy,” said Bryant.

And Gathers said, “If a monument to a slave owner is necessary to teach history, it’s time to change the curriculum.”

Thomas Jefferson came up as a prime example of America’s complicated past, and Mason suggested the TJ statue in front of the Rotunda be shrouded at least one week a year in recognition of the less-laudable aspects of the Declaration of Independence’s author, whom Mason called the “godfather of scientific racism.”

Mason also pointed out that many race-based issues, like stop and frisks, gentrification and education, were issues in Charlottesville before August 12. “We’re a very self-congratulatory city,”  he said.

Other current events were part of the discussion. Wispelwey called out Commonwealth’s Attorney Joe Platania for prosecuting the three black men charged August 12. He also mentioned City Council’s decision a few days earlier to approve West2nd and asserted that its nearly 100 luxury condos and the 16 affordable units will not help with wealth inequality, with West2nd developer Keith Woodard sitting a few feet away in the audience.

Couric had the last word, and she called for continuing the oft-difficult conversations in which she admitted, “I find myself feeling uncomfortable.” But she said the more she talks to people, the more she’s convinced “people want to do the right thing.”

When Sabato asked what she would change, she said, “I wish we were in a place where there would be a little less harsh judgment.” And she cited the wisdom of her mother, who said, “You get more flies with honey.”

The series premieres at 10pm Wednesday, April 11, on the National Geographic channel.

Clarification April 11: Zhayna Bryant’s comment about African American’s trauma being put on the back burner specifically addressed teaching others about white supremacy.

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August 12 victims sue Unite the Righters

Eleven residents injured during the August 12 weekend, represented by legal powerhouse firms, filed a suit in federal court October 11 seeking monetary compensation from organizers of the Unite the Right rally, including Jason Kessler, Richard Spencer and more than three dozen white supremacist and neo-Nazi individuals and groups, alleging they conspired to commit violence in Charlottesville.

Tyler Magill, who had a stroke a few days after being whacked by a tiki torch during the August 11 march through UVA’s grounds, Marcus Martin, who was struck by defendant James Fields’ car, which broke his leg and ankle, his fiancée, Marissa Blair, and the Reverend Seth Wispelwey are among the plaintiffs suffering physical and emotional trauma, according to the suit.

Attorneys for the plaintiffs include Roberta Kaplan, who represented Edie Windsor in the landmark Supreme Court case on gay marriage, and former federal prosecutor Karen Dunn with Boies Schiller. In a 96-page complaint, the plaintiffs allege an unlawful conspiracy to intimidate, harass and injure blacks, Jews, people of color and their supporters.

The suit cites Andrew Anglin, publisher of the Daily Stormer, who wrote of an “atavistic rage in us, deep in us, that is ready to boil over. There is a craving to return to an age of violence. We want a war.”

Organizer and new Identity Evropa CEO Eli Mosley promised,”They will not replace us without a fight,” according to the suit.

Says Kaplan, “The whole point of this lawsuit is to make it clear that this kind of conduct—inciting and then engaging in violence based on racism, sexism and anti-Semitism—has no place in our country.”

tylerMagill et.al. v. whiteSupremacists