Charlottesville's tranquil story was forever changed by a horrifying attack: Voices

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Anger boiled over at the first Charlottesville City Council meeting since a white nationalist rally descended into violent chaos, with some residents screaming and cursing at councilors Monday night and calling for their resignations. (Aug. 22) AP

After narrowly avoiding the deadly car attack in Charlottesville, I'm realizing that it's empathy that will begin to restore this town.

(Photo: Andrew Shurtleff, AP)

Charlottesville, Va., boasts a near-utopian number of national accolades: It’s the fifth best place to live in the U.S.; One of the healthiest small towns in America; home to the most beautiful college campus; one of the nation’s best cities to retire; and a haven for everyone. In other words, it seems the perfect place to live. Thomas Jefferson envisioned this kind of ideal community when he founded the University of Virginia. He constructed our hallowed grounds and embodied the vision of an Academical Village. In doing so he formed a place where an openly gay student from London like myself could be happy for four years  —  and even return to work at the university after graduation.

But this story was shaken by the sound of an engine revving as it accelerated through a crowd of people, and by the sound of bumpers colliding as bodies hit the asphalt and rolled off the hood. It was shaken, too, by the sound of the transmission shifting into reverse as the tires backpedaled uphill, trailing a contorted fender and a shoe caught from one of the victims.

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The next day involved both movement and stillness: We chased Jason Kessler away from his undeserved platform. I stood at the vigil for Pilot Lt. H. Jay Cullen, Trooper-Pilot Berke M.M. Bates, and Heather Heyer just 24 hours after the grey Dodge Challenger missed me by inches.

At the vigil, I was rooted to the same spot where I was nearly hit. I replayed the scene in my head as thousands of others replayed my video online. But I understood that being there was an act of defiance in and of itself. We stood up against hate, mourned the loss of those who had passed and celebrated their bravery.

Later that day, I arrived late to a debrief organized by the Virginia Student Environmental Coalition. That was another moment of resistance and organization by those in the room. There were familiar faces among the students, activists and community members  —  all tied together by an urgent readiness to move forward.

Described above is a story with a perfect beginning, tragic middle, and a resolution to fight on  —  but it is not the whole story. It is simply the popular narrative, with Charlottesville viewed through the prism of hate: a perfect town corrupted by white supremacy, but ready to bounce back to normalcy.

But when that car struck, I was not standing there on behalf of a utopian vision of Charlottesville. I was standing on that street on behalf of the people who labored and died so that I might be there  —  for Skipwith, for Gibbons, and for the other slaves who toiled and are buried on UVA’s Grounds. I was there representing the spirits and souls of people who couldn’t be there themselves.

Nothing could have prepared me for that experience. A piece of me was taken that day along with a piece of everyone present. The grief I feel is real, but it does not stem from surprise. Whiteness is the air we have always breathed and merciless actions of white supremacy are nothing new. Black Lives Matter exists for a reason. The surprise comes instead from seeing hate disrupt the placidness of our community with such grotesque violence and celebration.

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However, beyond the grief and the violence lies an even deeper tragedy. The saddest moments of the weekend were the ones where I witnessed the youngest white supremacists out on the streets. They chanted, just like the others, “blood and soil," “white lives matter," and “you will not replace us." They had the same hate in their eyes as everyone else around them. But if you looked at them a little longer you could make out the twinkle of innocent adolescence corrupted by those around them. Think of it now, some of them were born in 2000.

These boys and girls looked like me, dressed like my friends, and articulated thoughts coherently. They were not the “Alt-Right” stereotype of middle-aged men, internet trolls, and unintelligent bigots. But they acted like the mob around me. Wielding shields, Nazi flags and semi-automatic weapons, they were impervious to the pleas directed at them to change their lives, to show compassion, to exercise empathy. As teenagers in the U.S., they had succumbed to radicalization.

In my position within the office of diversity in our school of engineering, I am directly implicated. So I will participate in conscious and deliberate dialogue and actively engage with others to overcome segregation. I will work to find a way to acknowledge the extraordinary insight of Jefferson to develop an academic community, while also rejecting everything about him that holds this university, and Charlottesville, down. Because without any of that, students across the nation may not become the image of global citizen leaders that so many universities strive for.

It is no secret that Jason Kessler and Richard Spencer are graduates of UVA. This is the result of deep institutional failure. I now feel the burden of responsibility to shape the lives of the 17 and 18 year olds that moved onto grounds this weekend. They arrived amidst trauma, and the plasticity of their young minds can be molded in any direction. It is up to everyone they interact with to shape them into citizens who understand that hate, even in its subtlest forms, is unacceptable.

Down that alley on Saturday afternoon, as blaring sirens shattered the silence, those still standing felt the trauma of our own near-death experience. We felt it replaying in our minds. But we also felt each other’s presence. Empathy, that feeling of connection on the street, will guide us forward. And although the feeling of being deracinated from a place I call home will linger, the legacies of those who died will strengthen our collective vision. And that vision for a better America cannot be trampled on, it cannot be torched, and it cannot be run over.

Thomas Pilnik is the program coordinator of the Office of Diversity and Engagement in the school of Engineering and Applied Science at the University of Virginia.

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Originally published on … https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2017/08/22/charlottesvilles-tranquil-story-disrupted-horrifying-attack-thomas-pilnik-column/589916001/