Never Too Far: The Week of Tragedy and Triumph

Virginia Reflections: The Week of Tragedy and Triumph

 

First it was the constant phone buzzing and then the flurry of emails. Alert. Alert. Alert. I thought the late Sunday evening text messages were too numerous not to be true. However, I did not fully register the seriousness of it all. Shelter in Place. I fell asleep. In the early hours of the next morning those same alerts, now opened and read through my email inbox, made me suspicious. The sender’s email address was questionable to me. I soon awakened to the reality. Three University of Virginia students, Devin Chandler, Lavel Davis, Jr., and D’Sean Perry, were no longer here on this earthly plane.

Surely due to my intimate relationship with the place that I still consider home, a roller coaster of emotions flooded my mind. Even after 40+ years of my being a curious first-year student at Jefferson’s Academic Village, and now living in another state it rings true. My University of Virginia. I live and have experienced UVA in many ways. Student. Athlete. Soror. Leader. Alumna. Donor. Mentor. Advisor. Advocate. Counsel. Recruiter. Professor. Defender of all things Virginia.

As one who guides and instructs leadership principles centered on race and racism, I find that Virginia is an easy target for rational critique by deeply-grounded equity experts and those not so deeply-grounded. Being “on grounds” (aka campus) with any connection to an oppressed or marginalized population, one can smell and feel the elitism and “otherness” embedded in the culture. Steeped in an antiblackness colonial history and challenged like every other White institution in America, my university continues to wrestle with righting the wrongs of current and past inequities. It should be noted that I’m glad the institution grapples. Not surprisingly, many institutions do not. Looking the other way or even stating without stating, “we don’t care” has been far too often the solution to matters of race and belonging on college campuses. UVA wants to do better.

Over the decades I’ve been a part of the protests, conversations, and committees to keep our university’s light shining brightly in the midst of the often agonizing effort to overcome Thomas Jefferson’s belief that “White Americans and enslaved Blacks constituted two ‘separate nations’ who could not live together peacefully in the same country.” Yes, one can surmise that for many who attended and graduated from this amazing bedrock of creativity and research, the founder of UVA and the USA’s third president, is not a hero. And yet, having the shared experience of our time there we are bound to one another.

My first response on Monday was to gather. I desperately needed to connect with others who had the same level of passion for UVA – my athletics family. A phone call and text messages led to an online call scheduled that evening with the Black athlete alumni family. Using Zoom, I held and gave space to Cavalier athletes from across the nation who also felt the need to connect. We were in a brave space where we were not being graded, prodded, or evaluated on our command of the English language or our ability to speak on an opponent’s potential to beat us. We could just be ourselves in a moment of intense hurt and confusion. We shared our intimate thoughts, we asked “why?” and we moved in rhythm and grace as if we were still on the field or court lifting each other up as teammates. I was so blessed by the presence of current athletes who harmonized with us too. Our strength and unity in this tragic time remains.

There was only one work-related meeting on my calendar on Tuesday that required my presence. I knew I was ready. I felt engaged. I had participated in an earlier Black alumni prayer call prior to the athletes’ evening assembly. No more than thirty minutes into the meeting, in response to a well-meaning colleague’s sentiments that had little to do with the UVA incident, I felt my voice rise, tasted my tears, and knew I had to leave. I pressed the “leave meeting” button. The processing of the tragedy was present. It had not moved forward nor left me but rather had been simmering and only needed a spark to emote in a way that I could not control. Holding space for others sapped my own energy and ability to grieve. I wept.

Wednesday was different. I vacillated between feelings of low tide to high tide fighting the storm.

I was blessed to make and receive many calls and text messages from people who know me. People who feel UVA when I am in their presence. Like the many other Cavaliers who reside in the “southern part of heaven” Chapel Hill, I often do not wear my orange and blue apparel and swag. And yet, colleagues, students, and local townspeople knew of my love, and they expressed their heartfelt sympathies. Universities across the country made a public acknowledgement of our sorrow. Additionally, sharing space with Wahoo friends who spend a great deal of time pondering, commenting, and scheduling much of their lives around Virginia happenings – academic and athletic – felt good. I soaked in the community healing. I touched the prayers and thoughts of concern. The tragedy was senseless, and I was finding my own sense.

I was still angry. I often giggle as I think about how I’ve aged and become more like my deceased Mom. I can hear and feel her in my words and actions. I believe most my age are experiencing this same scary yet fun insight. I never heard my Mom raise her voice in anger to anyone except to command her children to do their chores. And in reality, I’m not even sure if she was angry but rather had a bit of frustration because we were tardy or inattentive. I wasn’t my Mother on Wednesday. I cried and lashed out to a trusted friend about an organization we both are engaged with who I felt did not live up to their mission in this moment. In the midst of my pain, I wanted them to be better and to show respect about this very dreadful Black crime. I wanted the UVA family to be heard and acknowledged. I wept.

Women’s basketball gave me my first genuine smile since the shooting on Sunday night. Amaka Agugua-Hamilton, affectionately called Coach Mox, and her staff dug deep and asked their team to do their best. To compete in the midst of crying, laughing, and cherishing of their friends who were gunned down by a fellow student only days before. On that evening they traveled far away from the comfort of Charlottesville, which is now shaken by another misfortune, to remember the Xs and Os, to not get overwhelmed by a coach’s or a teammate’s plea for better execution, or to follow through on simple tasks even though your mind wandered to how your football family was doing or your own safety. And yet. They focused and fought their way to victory. Thank you. We can’t expect anything of our UVA athletes during this time period. And yet.

On Thursday I floated. I was present for my meetings and led an important strategic planning session. I wasn’t able to conjure up the strength to do any writing or interviewing for my radio show. Cognizant of how the brain works when processing grief, I thought it best as a professional to take even more detailed notes than usual. I knew that there was a high probability I would not remember what happened that day. I breathed better. I knew tomorrow was my getaway. Off to Las Vegas for basketball. Well, not really. The trip that I had planned for months ago to see Coach Bennett and the team play had now become my opportunity to touch and experience Virginia.

On the shuttle bus from parking to the airport terminal I was strong. I had to be. That Friday morning no more than three feet from me sat a young Black man who made eye contact. He noticed my “V” on my jacket and the school colors. His gentle eyes more so than his voice offered his condolences. I thanked him with my hands while slowly drawing out the two syllables of “thank you” in silent response. I then immediately looked down. Minutes later when it was time to disembark, I looked back up, and my tears were gone.

Arriving in Sin City and seeing the many UVA fans in our bold colors and the acknowledgement of our shared pain made me feel joy. I was now physically in contact with people who knew our story and who also had a heavy heart. When I embraced my sorority sister in the hotel lobby that afternoon, I knew this moment was special. I didn’t want to let go of her. I’m not sure if she wanted to interrupt the embrace either, but we did. In a more spiritual way, we actually never let go of each other the entire trip. I needed her smile, her tears, and the time shared of being away and together with hundreds of Cavaliers.

The Saturday afternoon live-streamed memorial service helped us connect with our family many miles back home. To see Atlantic Coast Conference administrators, former UVA athletes, and the student body in one gathering was powerful. Dr. Carla Williams, the university’s athletic director, and President Ryan’s messages specially spoke to my soul. After raising attention to the particular pain for the UVA community, Ryan stated, “And we should acknowledge all of that and just pause for a moment.” Truth. The excellence executed in the programming, narratives and advice from leaders and Coach Elliott, the courage and storytelling by the players, and the fortitude displayed by the victim’s families and loved ones was almost overwhelming. It was such a glorious act of praise for the kings who served us well. I will treasure that tender experience forever.

One can’t expect anything of our UVA athletes during this time period. And yet. The men. Oh, the men of UVA basketball. I’m sure some have equated the two wins in the Main Event tournament held at the T-Mobile arena on Friday and Sunday to another demonstration of the will of Wahoos to persist and triumph. To go from losing to the #16 seed in the 2018 NCAA March Madness tournament in one year and then winning the 2019 National Championship was nothing short of a miraculous blend of determination, preparation, and vision. And here we were, with odds against us winning a single game and certainly not the championship, competing against nationally-ranked contenders considering the heaviness befallen on Virginia. We cheered with the enthusiasm of not knowing or caring if we even won one game.

When the buzzer sounded on Sunday afternoon the collective breath, we all took as a UVA family, was deep and profound. The walls that often separate us a nation were absent. There were no race, age, gender, language, religion, or sexual orientation barriers that kept us apart. We were only and all of Virginia. We hugged. We cried. We gave high fives. We puffed out our chests, held our heads high, walked taller, and almost skipped out of the arena with the giddiness of a child. Prayers were answered.

While waiting for my flight back to North Carolina on Monday morning, I wondered if the little girl sitting next to me with the piercing black eyes saw my week’s tragedy and triumph. Our eyes would not let go of each other.

Over the years I’ve found that many Wahoos often enjoy analyzing, critical thinking, and debating matters of complexity and uncertainty. It’s in our UVA blood. Today, and perhaps for a while, we will all take a break from those mental gyrations. A healthier path might be for us to sit with the realities, trust those in the academic, legal, and healthcare professions connected to this tragedy to do their jobs well. To continue to engage in spaces that provide healing, love, prayers, and resources to manage the hurt and ambiguity of it all is enough. We don’t have to figure this one out. We should reflect on our lesson in this anguish, find strength in our community, and shine a path forward like Devin, Lavel, and D’Sean who kept their light shining throughout their Virginia experience. These wonderful men made impact each in their own way. Let’s do  the same.

#UVAStrong

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“Never Too Far” contains perspectives and insights from an inquisitive and engaged Orange County transplant from Philly. Deborah Stroman is an entrepreneur and UNC leadership professor who has seen too much and not enough, and thus continues to question and explore the thoughts and actions of humankind.

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