From a Native Son
I grew up in Charlottesville. My roots are in Charlottesville. I am Charlottesville. I write this at a time as tears flow in cycles, and I still haven’t totally reconciled what happened this past weekend. The truth is, I’m still struggling.
I’m struggling, in a sense, because I know all too well how the abuse of discretionary power has done harm in Charlottesville—for generations. I’m struggling because our cries for help have, for so long, seemingly fell upon deaf ears. I’m struggling because, one of the most renowned and powerful universities in the world has stood by, and at worst, been complicit in the suppression of human potential—for years.
My family is from Vinegar Hill, and the narrative of my existence begins there. Laura Smith recently wrote that, “In 1965, the city of Charlottesville demolished a thriving black neighborhood. The razing of Vinegar Hill displaced families and dissolved the community.” Many of the families that were displaced were moved to the Westhaven public housing community following the destruction of Vinegar Hill. Smith went on to write that, "The trauma of losing their community and homes was enormous and the financial toll would follow them for the rest of their lives.“
My earliest memories are from 824-H Hardy Drive in Westhaven, where my grandmother lived. I would hear stories about Vinegar Hill at my grandmother’s kitchen table—often. She was like a mother in the community, keeping the peace, maintaining order, and fixing a plate for anyone who was hungry. And boy, could she cook. I would hear stories of how there was a sense of community in Vinegar Hill and how people worked their hardest to address this nostalgia for authentic community where they found themselves. I would hear of how the young boys played marbles and baseball and how the girls would jump rope and play jack rocks and how—the love was real.
I was kind of an old soul. (I still am). I would just sit around and listen. They let me into the conversation as if they were leaving a portion of history with me. I took it all in. I soaked it all up. It gave me context. It helped me to understand, when I came of age, that I came from a people with a culture and with dignity but who were often deemed degenerate and sub-human by those with primitive morality.
In retrospect, the familial ties and nostalgia for community kept us safe in the subtle hostility of Charlottesville. To be certain, there is a great many of people in Charlottesville of all colors and creeds that sought to deal with this stealth supremacist mindset, and I have deep and meaningful relationships with people of all colors and creeds in Charlottesville. Nevertheless, even though we often couldn’t articulate it, we couldn’t point to it exactly, we knew that the dark forces of evil were present—at all times.
My mother was able to get a United Way scholarship for me to attend one of the best early childhood programs in the city: Westminster Presbyterian on Rugby Road, on the campus of the University of Virginia. In most cases, she wasn’t able to take me to school because she had to work, but one of my older cousins or uncles would walk me just a few blocks up the street from what we called the ‘Jects’ [Projects] to Westminster.
In my family, even though we were a poor and working-class family, education was seen as ‘salvation.’ Everyone was on board. While my family had struggled as laborers mainly in service to the students and faculty of the University of Virginia, they drew one conclusion from their experience in the halls of Mr. Jefferson’s university. Education is power.
My grandmother was a janitor at the law school. My mother was a clerk for patient and financial records, and my father was a construction laborer that took pride in every brick that he laid to build the extension to the UVa hospital. We would look across the tracks into the horizon, and he would say, ‘Son, I built that’ probably not even knowing the historical depth of what he was saying.
In a real sense, the greatness of what you have heard or seen of Charlottesville was unquestionably built, in large part, by African Americans.
The frustration with this statement is that economic mobility and educational outcomes for African Americans native to Charlottesville have largely stayed the same. It makes it difficult for one not to wonder after a couple of generations if this reality is not by design, and it makes those ‘it is what it is’ and realist types quote Tupac when he said, “It ain’t no hope for the youth, and the truth is there ain’t no hope for the future.”
This fatalism hit hard in Charlottesville during the Crack Cocaine epidemic. We got hit hard. But the double blow were the mandatory minimums that went with the sentencing. Crack wiped out a whole generation in Charlottesville and perpetuated socioeconomic disparities that were never dealt with to begin with.
What I have to say may in fact take a book to get it all out of me, but I just had say that I am unfortunately not surprised at the hate that materialized itself to the world in Charlottesville. Many people in Charlottesville will admit that we have felt it, but just couldn’t articulate what it was or who was an authentic ally. The truth is that there are cities throughout America that have a similar historical narrative and what happened in my hometown could have happened in a lot of places.
My hope is that when the media leaves and the world directs its attention to something else going on, that the people of Charlottesville will pick up the pieces and demonstrate leadership and work towards authentic reconciliation that deals with long-standing socio-economic and human rights issues that prevent the place that I love from being all that it projects itself to be.
Architect, Kenneth A. Schwartz wrote in 1995 of Vinegar Hill that, “It would be impossible to resurrect Vinegar Hill in its earlier form… However, some form of reconstruction can be imagined, and one hopes that this new interest in the area can seriously consider the rich history of the place and the memory of its former residents.”
As it is with Charlottesville as a whole… It would be impossible for Charlottesville to ever be the same after the events of 12 August 2017…However, some form of reconstruction can be imagined, and one hopes that this new worldwide interest in Charlottesville can consider the wholistic history of the place and the possibilities for its current and future residents.
by Sarad Davenport Co-Founder, Vinegar Hill Clothing Company