Charlottesville is about 90 miles from my front door, and is in-between my front door and Richmond, where the mediation workshop was being held. I had several different invitations to consider: peace stance with ministers, civil disobedience workshop, giving a talk about the concept of White Genocide and what it means for peace activists and civil rights today, the reality of free speech and free assembly protections -- all sorts of cool, instructional, compassionate activities. And I had every intention of going. As I gathered my things up Friday night, I felt a strong sense that this was not a good idea, and, despite feeling a bit foolish, I brought my bags back in the house and decided to wait until the very early morning to make up my mind about the event. Pictures of torches on the lawn didn't sway me, but left me feeling even more drawn to say "This is not my voice; you do not speak for me." But again, I had foreboding as I turned the key in the ignition. Again, I stayed home, sheepishly schlepping my bags up the stairs to the living room. By ten-thirty, the only thing I wanted was a nap, and I started to read and write a bit.
By the time I resurfaced into the Known World around 3:30 in the afternoon, I was glad I had stayed home, and began the texts and calls that would take up the rest of the evening, verifying the safety of the others that I had known were going, checking in with the Friends network and the activists, ministers, and community that I have come to think of as my family. We were all well, though understandably rattled in varying degrees. I daresay that each of us has felt this weekend as a watershed event emotionally, and it might take a bit to see the impact that it has on each of us personally, on us as groups, and on us as a nation.
