Charlottesville
For clarity:
David and I went to Charlottesville in response to a call for faith leaders to peacefully confront a white supremacist rally called "Unite the Right." The rally was convened because of a recent city council decision to remove the statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee from a prominent public park. Two weeks before, the NC chapter of the KKK was in town to protest and the scene turned ugly. Now, with white supremacists coming from all over the country, local faith leaders and other anti-racist groups (such as Black Lives Matter and Showing Up For Racial Justice) were asking for anyone committed to non-violent direct action to join them for a counter-protest. We were not able to attend the non-violence trainings held on Friday night, which is why we did not participate in the action directly.
What I've tried to do is detail what our day was like as accurately and plainly as I can. We didn't have a lot of information about what was going on as the day unfolded, so I have tried to piece together the timeline of events from news outlets and other sources.
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We arrived in Charlottesville just past 10AM on Saturday, August 11th. As we drew closer to the protest site, I expected to see police cars and barricades but the city looked surprisingly normal; Families were out shopping for back-to-school supplies, the Trader Joe's parking lot was full, traffic was light. The church where we'd be volunteering sat right at the edge of Emancipation Park, so we were amazed to find a parking spot in the adjacent neighborhood.
By the time we'd arrived the protest was already under way. Members of the church had a check point set up, where volunteers used hand-held metal detectors to make sure no one brought weapons inside. One of the guys manning the table timidly asked if he could inspect my purse before waving me through. David, on the other hand, had to be searched before he was allowed in —they were taking special precaution with white men. A church member marked his hand with a heart to signify that he was here to help.
It didn't take long for me to understand why the church was being extra careful. Moments before we arrived, a group of armed militia showed up wearing camouflage and touting large rifles. A few marched past as we made our way to the church. The only way I was able distinguish them from real military personnel was by how casually they carried their guns — automatic weapons slung carelessly against their hips messenger bag style.
Once inside we checked in with the volunteer coordinator, who gave us a quick run down of the rules: 1) Never leave site without a buddy; 2) listen for announcements, especially in the event of a lock-down; and, 3) pay attention to your personal needs throughout the day. Our role was to give out snacks and water to anyone who sought refuge in the church, and to help restock bags for Runners who were carrying supplies back and forth from the protest sites.
The first people we saw coming back from the park were clergy. There were Anglicans, Congregationalists, Unitarians, Catholics, Rabbis, Methodists, Baptists, Episcopalians and a smattering of Quakers (granted they don't have clergy). They were returning from an interfaith prayer circle that formed around the park earlier that morning. As they prayed for peace and sang hymns, a group of white supremacists physically pushed their way through the circle, that's when things began to go down hill. Fascists and Anti-fascist counter-protesters (Antifa for short) began fighting. From what I was told by folks who were there, this is when the police, who had been watching everything unfold, finally intervened by shooting tear gas into the crowds.
This approach, as you may expect, did not deescalate the situation...
The next group of people who came in were covered in tear gas; some were bleeding from injuries. Thankfully, there were volunteer medics and trained counselors on site to help them cope. One girl asked if she could borrow a brush to get the gas out of her hair. I didn't have one.
The volunteer coordinator asked if we could drive a chaplain to UVA hospital, where she could minister to injured persons. Our drive to UVA was the first time we had been outside in a few hours. To our amazement, the roads were still relatively clear, except now the sidewalks were filled with roaming groups of Nazis. White men (and a handful of women) were set up on every corner wearing MAGA hats, waving Confederate flags, and carrying signs with Nazi insignia and pro-Trump/Pence slogans. A few of the guys on the corner closest to us chanted "WHITE POWER! WHITE POWER! WHITE POWER!" over and over again.
Back at the church, the National Guard was in position. As we crossed the street onto church property, a pick up truck filled with Unite the Right protesters holding AR-15s sped up to a police officer who was blocking one of the entry ways to the park. A man in an army helmet yelled, "Can we get in here?" She told them no one was allowed in. "But we have to get in there!" he shouted back. She shook her head NO. The man (who could not have been older than 25) grunted angrily and the truck sped off.
This is the moment that stands out to me the most from yesterday. If that had been a truck full of black/brown men not wearing seat belts, speeding through an upper-middle class neighborhood, carrying automatic rifles looking to fight, they would be arrested or killed on the spot.
Inside again, someone kindly reminded us to take our name tags off the next time we left the site. It seems they would help identify you as a counter-protester or open you up to online harassment. I remember thinking how much this small act spoke to my white privilege; our safety that day relied on remembering to take off a name tag, it's not so easy to hide your skin color. As people of color have long noted, the tension of being black/brown in a society that privileges whiteness, is that you can be invisible and all too visible at the same time.
We had a new volunteer helping us now, a young, soft spoken white woman who worked near the church. I asked her what became the basic "get to know you" questions of the day: "Are you from Charlottesville? When did you get here? Have you been out on the street?" Etc. She was a local, but had just arrived at the church. She had also been at the prayer service the night before.
David and I had seen pictures of the protesters carrying torches through UVA's campus on Twitter, but hearing about the scene from someone who had been there was chilling. She told me how near the end of the service someone came in to announce that hundreds of people carrying torches had surrounded the church and that it was not safe to leave. In fact, the mob was waiting at the front steps to confront the worshipers as they exited. She said people inside were incredibly fearful and wondered why the police weren't present. We learned later the police did not show up until the mob was gone, only to tell a handful of peaceful UVA students who gathered around the Jefferson statue that it was an "unlawful assembly." Eventually, she said, they gave up on waiting for the police to arrive and exited out the side of the church where they had to walk past a terrifying line of white nationalists.
Sometime during or after this conversation is when a car drove into a crowd of counter-protesters. The volunteer coordinator came out to announce what had just happened and an Episcopal priest lead us in a prayer for the victims. Soon thereafter hurt and crying people, clearly traumatized, started pouring into the church. An Indian man comforted his crying boyfriend, while an African American woman who's knee had been injured by the crash, was ushered into a room for medical attention. Young marchers and Antifa folks laid down on the ground in shock. A group of Jewish kids ran in asking for directions to UVA hospital, their friend had been injured at the crash site and needed a ride. Before they left a Rabbi and his wife, who had spent most of the day at the church, reminded them to take off their prayer shawls and kippas. They hugged, kissed, and prayed.
About 20 mins later I heard shouting outside. Everyone who had been standing in the church parking lot suddenly came running in. "A guy pulled a gun! Get back!" someone shouted. "Get away from the windows! We are in lock down!" Those of us who were already inside told froze for a second before asking people calm down and stop running. Fifteen minutes or so later, the doors were open again. I overheard someone say that a man fired a few shots into the alley before being arrested, but I can't say for sure if this is true. However, someone DID pull out a gun and point it at people in front of the church. It was quick, but for a moment I really thought we might die that day.
When things calmed down we offered to drive the woman who injured her knee and a friend to their car. They told us a bit about themselves and why they were there. In a moment of tense silence, the injured woman muttered, "I didn't know people could hate like that... so much hate..." We shook our heads in mutual disbelief.
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This was my experience in Charlottesville. It's a small glimpse into an ugly day I hope we never repeat.
The fact of the matter is racism is real and it touches all of us. Our nation's story is not an innocent one. It includes episodes of violence, hatred and a refusal to champion equal rights for all of its citizens.
So where do we go from here? Well,in the words of Brene Brown, "When we deny our story it defines us. When we own our stories we can write a brave new ending." I think one of the ways we begin to turn this thing around is by acknowledging the existence of structural racism and repenting of the ways we have been complicit in the continuation of white supremacy — even if they seem small or insignificant. For me, this has meant regularly and publicly acknowledging that I am the beneficiary of privilege I did not earn, but have by virtue of being born into a racist society.
White people, we need to be so secure in our identity as beloved children of God, and so committed to the cause of racial equity, that we can say in sincere humility: "I recognize and repent of the ways I have been complicit in the continuation of white supremacy. I want to be a part of the solution."
The gift of Charlottesville —if I can be so bold as to name it as such— is that I spent the whole day in a house of worship with people of every religion, gender identity, physical ability, sexual orientation and life stage one could imagine. What a weird and wonderful group we were. And while it breaks my heart that something like this had to happen for us to come together, I couldn't help but think this is what the kingdom of God must look like.
David and I went to Charlottesville in response to a call for faith leaders to peacefully confront a white supremacist rally called "Unite the Right." The rally was convened because of a recent city council decision to remove the statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee from a prominent public park. Two weeks before, the NC chapter of the KKK was in town to protest and the scene turned ugly. Now, with white supremacists coming from all over the country, local faith leaders and other anti-racist groups (such as Black Lives Matter and Showing Up For Racial Justice) were asking for anyone committed to non-violent direct action to join them for a counter-protest. We were not able to attend the non-violence trainings held on Friday night, which is why we did not participate in the action directly.
What I've tried to do is detail what our day was like as accurately and plainly as I can. We didn't have a lot of information about what was going on as the day unfolded, so I have tried to piece together the timeline of events from news outlets and other sources.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We arrived in Charlottesville just past 10AM on Saturday, August 11th. As we drew closer to the protest site, I expected to see police cars and barricades but the city looked surprisingly normal; Families were out shopping for back-to-school supplies, the Trader Joe's parking lot was full, traffic was light. The church where we'd be volunteering sat right at the edge of Emancipation Park, so we were amazed to find a parking spot in the adjacent neighborhood.
By the time we'd arrived the protest was already under way. Members of the church had a check point set up, where volunteers used hand-held metal detectors to make sure no one brought weapons inside. One of the guys manning the table timidly asked if he could inspect my purse before waving me through. David, on the other hand, had to be searched before he was allowed in —they were taking special precaution with white men. A church member marked his hand with a heart to signify that he was here to help.
Once inside we checked in with the volunteer coordinator, who gave us a quick run down of the rules: 1) Never leave site without a buddy; 2) listen for announcements, especially in the event of a lock-down; and, 3) pay attention to your personal needs throughout the day. Our role was to give out snacks and water to anyone who sought refuge in the church, and to help restock bags for Runners who were carrying supplies back and forth from the protest sites.
 |
| Picture of militia (credit: online sources) |
 |
| Clergy and activists rest in hospitality room |
The next group of people who came in were covered in tear gas; some were bleeding from injuries. Thankfully, there were volunteer medics and trained counselors on site to help them cope. One girl asked if she could borrow a brush to get the gas out of her hair. I didn't have one.
The volunteer coordinator asked if we could drive a chaplain to UVA hospital, where she could minister to injured persons. Our drive to UVA was the first time we had been outside in a few hours. To our amazement, the roads were still relatively clear, except now the sidewalks were filled with roaming groups of Nazis. White men (and a handful of women) were set up on every corner wearing MAGA hats, waving Confederate flags, and carrying signs with Nazi insignia and pro-Trump/Pence slogans. A few of the guys on the corner closest to us chanted "WHITE POWER! WHITE POWER! WHITE POWER!" over and over again.
 |
| Jewish performers sing songs of peace. |
Back at the church, the National Guard was in position. As we crossed the street onto church property, a pick up truck filled with Unite the Right protesters holding AR-15s sped up to a police officer who was blocking one of the entry ways to the park. A man in an army helmet yelled, "Can we get in here?" She told them no one was allowed in. "But we have to get in there!" he shouted back. She shook her head NO. The man (who could not have been older than 25) grunted angrily and the truck sped off.
 |
| Medics gather outside the church. |
This is the moment that stands out to me the most from yesterday. If that had been a truck full of black/brown men not wearing seat belts, speeding through an upper-middle class neighborhood, carrying automatic rifles looking to fight, they would be arrested or killed on the spot.
Inside again, someone kindly reminded us to take our name tags off the next time we left the site. It seems they would help identify you as a counter-protester or open you up to online harassment. I remember thinking how much this small act spoke to my white privilege; our safety that day relied on remembering to take off a name tag, it's not so easy to hide your skin color. As people of color have long noted, the tension of being black/brown in a society that privileges whiteness, is that you can be invisible and all too visible at the same time.
We had a new volunteer helping us now, a young, soft spoken white woman who worked near the church. I asked her what became the basic "get to know you" questions of the day: "Are you from Charlottesville? When did you get here? Have you been out on the street?" Etc. She was a local, but had just arrived at the church. She had also been at the prayer service the night before.
David and I had seen pictures of the protesters carrying torches through UVA's campus on Twitter, but hearing about the scene from someone who had been there was chilling. She told me how near the end of the service someone came in to announce that hundreds of people carrying torches had surrounded the church and that it was not safe to leave. In fact, the mob was waiting at the front steps to confront the worshipers as they exited. She said people inside were incredibly fearful and wondered why the police weren't present. We learned later the police did not show up until the mob was gone, only to tell a handful of peaceful UVA students who gathered around the Jefferson statue that it was an "unlawful assembly." Eventually, she said, they gave up on waiting for the police to arrive and exited out the side of the church where they had to walk past a terrifying line of white nationalists.
 |
| National Gaurd blocking access to the park. |
About 20 mins later I heard shouting outside. Everyone who had been standing in the church parking lot suddenly came running in. "A guy pulled a gun! Get back!" someone shouted. "Get away from the windows! We are in lock down!" Those of us who were already inside told froze for a second before asking people calm down and stop running. Fifteen minutes or so later, the doors were open again. I overheard someone say that a man fired a few shots into the alley before being arrested, but I can't say for sure if this is true. However, someone DID pull out a gun and point it at people in front of the church. It was quick, but for a moment I really thought we might die that day.
 |
| Priest gives directions to victims at crash site as friends look on. |
When things calmed down we offered to drive the woman who injured her knee and a friend to their car. They told us a bit about themselves and why they were there. In a moment of tense silence, the injured woman muttered, "I didn't know people could hate like that... so much hate..." We shook our heads in mutual disbelief.
-------------------------------------------------------
This was my experience in Charlottesville. It's a small glimpse into an ugly day I hope we never repeat.
The fact of the matter is racism is real and it touches all of us. Our nation's story is not an innocent one. It includes episodes of violence, hatred and a refusal to champion equal rights for all of its citizens.
So where do we go from here? Well,in the words of Brene Brown, "When we deny our story it defines us. When we own our stories we can write a brave new ending." I think one of the ways we begin to turn this thing around is by acknowledging the existence of structural racism and repenting of the ways we have been complicit in the continuation of white supremacy — even if they seem small or insignificant. For me, this has meant regularly and publicly acknowledging that I am the beneficiary of privilege I did not earn, but have by virtue of being born into a racist society.
White people, we need to be so secure in our identity as beloved children of God, and so committed to the cause of racial equity, that we can say in sincere humility: "I recognize and repent of the ways I have been complicit in the continuation of white supremacy. I want to be a part of the solution."
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