Charleston strong: from tragedy to unity

CHARLESTON, South Carolina – Last week the small southern city of Charleston, South Carolina was rocked to its foundation as news spread of a mass murder inside Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, also called, “Mother Emanuel.” Wednesday night, after services ended, a small number of people remained for an 8 p.m. Bible Study. A stranger entered the old church, and he was invited to join them. One hour later, that stranger opened fire, killing 9 of the 12 people in the Church. While police worked to locate and arrest suspect Dylann Roof, the city of Charleston was left to deal with the aftermath. According to witnesses and a later confession, the suspect reportedly made his racially-motivated mission very clear.

Column: Grey is Every Blue

Mysticism keeps men sane. As long as you have mystery you have health; when you destroy mystery you create morbidity. The ordinary man has always been sane because the ordinary man has always been a mystic. He has permitted the twilight. He has always had one foot in earth and the other in fairyland.

Culture and Community: Ferguson and Its Importance in Today’s Society

The small town of Ferguson, Missouri has become a household name over the last week. Following the killing of unarmed 18-year-old Michael Brown by local police officer Darren Wilson on August 9, the city went into a state of turmoil as local residents responded to the shooting and police responded to the community. The protests of community members sparked a response from local police that displayed a clear picture of the militarization of law enforcement in this country by turning the streets of an average American community into what looks like a war zone. City Data reports that Ferguson had a population of 21,135 in 2012, and approximately 65% of the residents are Black. This urban area has a documented history of disproportionate arrests and police involvement with people of color from a predominantly Caucasian police force.

An Outsider at the Crossroads

“I still can’t believe you’re moving there. That neighborhood is dangerous.” At that point, I had already had this conversation way too many times, with way too many well-meaning friends who simply couldn’t see past their prejudice. It seemed that every cup of coffee over the past month came with a free intervention attempt. It was getting quite tiring, and my patience was wearing rather thin.

Patterns, Histories, and Tendencies of Place

“The Parks Department may not want me here, but this land tells me otherwise.”
We were standing on the north bank of the Willamette River, where I had come down to check up on a friend who had lived on the river next to the boat landing for as long as I had known her. I had come to the riverbank bearing root beer, but Mary Ann met me at her entryway bearing bad news and a yellow piece of paper. Maintenance workers had just come through the area earlier in the afternoon, and the yellow paper had been left taped to her door. She was being evicted from her home. I looked around, forgetting for a moment as I always did that her “home” was not a house in the traditional sense, but a primitive hut built from waddling and covered with a canvas tarp that was tucked away within the confines of a city-owned park.