Today is August 12th.
That might not mean anything to you, but I live in Charlottesville.
It means a lot to us here.
It is the five-year anniversary of what the rest of the world calls #Charlottesville, and we call A-12. Charlottesville is not a tragic national event to us, it’s a place, it’s our home. We are not a hashtag.
A-12 is the day that racists came to our town and murdered our neighbor. It’s the day that I went to the counter-protest, wearing a LOVE sweatshirt, and got yelled at by a drunk bigot with an assault weapon strapped across his chest. It’s the day I sat with the Quakers in the park and meditated while screams of Jews will not replace us rang out around us. It’s the day my girlfriend got punched in the face by a white supremacist in front of a cop who did absolutely nothing.
In the days after A-12, my friends and I stood in front of riot police with their shields and batons and pepper spray, as we attempted to protect those who were more vulnerable. We lit candles and marched at the University of Virginia, taking back our home, our school, our community.
It’s a day that I carry with me every day as Olive and I walk past Heather Heyer Way, mere blocks from my house. Every day I remember that someone intentionally drove a car into a crowd, killing Heather. That street is still covered in flowers and chalk and pain and love.
There are formative days in our lives, this is a big one for me.
And anniversaries are hard.
When I travel and people ask me where I am from, my answer tends to conjure HashtagCharlottesville. To them, it means hatred and conflict and that fucking phrase “very fine people on both sides.” I can see people looking at me, wondering which side I was on.
My town is not perfect. The south is not perfect. America is not perfect.
But this is my home. This is a town that gave me roots when I had none. It gave me a space to belong, a place to write, a place to discover who I am beneath the actor. It gave me the education that I longed for, the friendships that I longed for, and the community I longed for. It is a place that is reckoning with itself, and it is so much more complicated than that day. And there are many of us working to make it better.
Like my friend Eze Amos, who is showing his spectacular photography in an outdoor exhibit to mark the 5-year anniversary of A-12.
His photos are gripping and devastating and real. Here’s what he says about his work:
Dear Charlottesville,
The Story of Us is a collection of photos and narratives of our community coming together in resistance – holding space, being brave, being vulnerable, showing love for each other and their personal narratives show what we know to be true about Charlottesville. It is a city with a complex history and many flaws, but it is also a place of resilience, of unity, of art, and of joy.
My hope is that this project elevates our stories, pushing beyond the media’s narrative of Charlottesville to see all the ways we’ve moved toward a better understanding of one another and our city’s history. May this create opportunities for healing through storytelling.
I invite you to join me in taking a few moments to appreciate the beauty of this beloved community we all call home.
With gratitude,
Eze
“A place of resilience, of unity, of art, and of joy.”
Yes. I want to make my home in resilience, unity, art, and joy, please.
I’ll meet you there.
Below are some of Eze’s photos as part of the exhibit, which includes links to recordings of the subjects telling their stories. Also, I’ve included some of my favorite photos of Eze’s from that time. Please see more on his work here and follow him on Instagram.
Keep standing up, friends. Fight for what is right. And support art.
Thank you for reading, I’m grateful to you.
Much love,
~Lisa