Rap Battle: Ma$e vs Cam

47 Imagine 20 years with a bitter bitch and the same drama Dame told you do this shit and you don’t see Dame karma K9 on your ass, nigga no distraction Pussy nigga wearin’ pink I guess he think he matchin’ I’ma paint the picture, let the niggas make the caption Fuck bars I’m tell nigga what really happened You hear this tone, you know the mac is in my seat You see exactly what I see you know my rap is not for free You sent them pussy niggas to the hill to trap me in the V You singing nigga, ain’t gonna be no back up bitch with me I chew that nigga til’ my teeth hurt don’t even hit the weed first Bitches used to say I’m blessed and I didn’t even sneeze first Much dirt as I got on you, don’t even need no research My hand filthy, heart guilty, niggas like me need church Tax know you as the nigga that snitched on the Roc D.C. crips only know you the nigga they shot OG niggas don’t have no history with you on the block And everybody seen the footage I got Every since 10 you was a thirsty nigga I ain’t gone talk about the time you fucked your sister In 2002 you lost 50 pounds, ulcers in your liver And now you tryna sell niggas liquor, nigga You always play the sucker part Where was all that Rico shit when you left Jim in Rucker Park? Matter fact I’m on a true life change But let’s get back to that smack and that Tru Life chain Damn bro, Damn the whole fuckin’ land know After that 50 shit you moved to Orlando You had the nigga Jim on the radio, where did Cam go? We all understand though, you not really built for this shit You not ready to kill for this shit But no regrets, You gotta lift up a TEC to get Murder respect Nigga are U-N, you dipped on the set I’m the fuckin cough in the slime flu You gone out rhyme who? I’m your prime times 2 I never paid for my mistakes cause that’s not what crime do Bitches fuck me but that’s what dimes do Somebody wanna jump in tell ‘em come share I’m starting to feel like we don’t really compare I’m pretty nigga, wrist litty, sun wear Diplomat only mean that you ain’t from here You had a run here but y’all niggas is done here All these pretty women and y’all niggas bringin’ guns here You way past the gun line Every time you talk of me you sound like one time I fuck the King of rap bitch when I was unsign And made the nigga Diddy sign me off of one line Don’t blame for the past and I won’t blame you for the crash Sent my nigga Huddy on a dummy mission and he crashed Gilet I know you need money I get it I know your digital sales I know about your digits I know Sony Red didn’t wanna your shit distribute I know it’s crickets so fuck it use my name so they can click it I made you, I raised you, why would I play you? When you dealing with this power, nigga Flex can’t save you Me amorin, drive the foreign, kick the door in Lady treat me like him important I don’t even think of scoring I just run the floor and D could alleyoop it to me like in Boston On some Kyrie shit, y’all just talking Heard that often. Had to rap again, y’all was boring ‘em Now you can tell Dave East, A$AP Mob, whatever you want The whole hood know I’m the origin You robbed Juelz on some Diddy shit And when Jim start ballin’ you get back on sissy shit You even had the nerve to call up Sham And use his basketball skill to steal the name Jelly Fam Damn, Cam, I thought more of you But when I think about it, that’s really all you do You really not that fly, You really not that guy You really not that wise, I’m really not surprised All pride aside you try to pay Lodi mom’s to side with your lies Now I’m like fuck it Drago “if he dies he dies” Ain’t no unity, Ain’t no Children of the Corn Ain’t no you and me, Any nigga ever got Diplomat Immunity Was niggas who ratted or ones who snitched on their community And thats word to my nigga Big L To my nigga fucking Trell and to that nigga Bigavel To nigga Loon on all my niggas in the cell Hope you hold ya head, I hope y’all niggas doing well This Ma$e nigga, I invented the curve I’m the name on the ribbon on the bird I’m done rapping with you You’ll always be my bitch You got my fucking name tatted on you

PART 1: MA$E - THE ORACLE

RAP BATTLE • MA$E VS. CAM

Illustration by Tattman Ceez

PART 2: CAM’RON - DINNER TIME

I need somebody to talk to me tonight (Yes I will) You remember how well you use to sing it? (Yes, sir) Y’all know I can’t sing that song Young man looked at him and said “Why you can’t sing it?” (Why?) You know what he told him? “Since you saw me last, something happened to me”

Time to get the facts across Ohh, somebody pissed the pastor off I’m all for the jokes, bundle up, get your coat But I only go for the throat, I’m a chimney, I want the smoke You done opened up a door, I’m petty, ready for war I ain’t got a sister, only sister I fucked was yours I know the bars off The Program touched you How you mad at me, though, you let Mr. Royce touch you (facts) Do what you must do Me, I’m getting my just due But who you talking tough to? Blinky just snuffed you Puff fucked you, we’ve seen in those binoculars Passed you to 50, he was finger popping ya Then he took it back like a fly bitch that was popular You’re 42 still saying “Ain’t no stopping ya” You know my deals—liquor, movie, and flashy kicks How you talking deals? Your last deal was ‘96 Your flight book it, talking about I’m crooked Man, I don’t steal; if I took something I took it Pastor Mason, no fabrication, we’re winnin’ See all these people you spinning, I’ll take it to the beginning When Corey Wright japped you, Baby Maine yapped you Roc open-hand slapped you, you still gave him dap, too That’s when I asked you, “Murda, what’s the verdict?” You said, “Nah, chill, Cam, I feel like I deserved it” What kind of shit is that? Nigga, you a queer My crib in Orlando, I had that for years The Program gave you the biz You know exactly what this is I got homes where you hide, I hustle where you live Max B from my building, nigga, who you getting wavy off of? Fugazi baby, going off that water not Avianne Listening to Suga J, look, he gon’ play you wrong Carmelo took Lala, Meek Mill took his baby mom And let the church talk, hallelujah No, it ain’t a game, I still roll with the stainless And you know my slogan, nigga, I’ll make you famous I’ll use my brain so I will leave you brainless So where you wanna meet at, nigga? (YOU NAME IT!)

So you gon’ tell me when you was staying with Puff, and I came over there and used the bathroom, it wasn’t a dildo on the sink? I asked you, “What the fuck is going on, man?” FACTS!

Remember when you dissed trap? You said it was the devil’s work Look at this nigga, yo—see how the devil work? Wolves on your ass though, I told them all to pardon ya Why you talking Harlem? You from Jacksonville, Florida I used to give you all my clothes, don’t forget you was bummy I fed you when you was hungry, crash test, dummy But the shit he said next, I swear it ain’t funny Said “Cam, become a deacon, them deacons be getting money” That’s blasphemous, word to Jesus and Lazarus You got bad karma, stay away, he hazardous Collection plate money in his pocket, he a kleptoAnd to get a dollar dollar you were suckin’ Creflo 2 albums, 20 years, come on, this is dead, bro Only time they mention this nigga when it’s retro Money gone, jewelry fake, you could hear an echo I’m what you could have been, you was too petro I took your broad, they all know you a fraud And the only show you got, the Lady of Soul Awards He might be nominated, I’m your little mama favorite Any hood I go to, I’m accommodated What you mean I’m selling liquor now? You a jizzerk Forgot 10 years ago I gagged out on Sizzurp Oh Boy cologne, I was giving niggas that wizzork I ain’t even spend that Killa Season money, man, you hit dirt

48 WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON?

SEND YOUR VOTE TO Urban Life News Magazine 2270 Grand Ave. Suite 6, Baldwin NY 11510

Saint Valentine was a Roman priest and physician who was beheaded for his Apostolic zeal in 269 when Gallienus was emperor of Rome. Saint Valentine’s holy relics were buried on the estate of Sabinilla. In the fourth century a church basilica was erected over his relics.

During the fourteenth century this church fell into ruin. After the death of Christ, the early Christians were mistrusted by the Roman Civil authorities throughout the vast Roman Empire and lived under the constant threat of persecution. Roman civil authority required its citizens

to pay homage to their Emperor as though he were a god. In order to insure the loyalty of all citizens during times of religious and civil unrest the Roman Emperor and provincial governors instigated periods of persecution particular

ly against Christians, and, in order to flush them out of hiding, they required all citizens to worship the Emperor and offer incense before his image knowing that faithful Christians would surely refuse and reveal their identity. Christians rightly believed that while they could accept the civil authority of the Roman Emperor, even if he were pagan, they could not worship him as a god. Bishops and Priests were particularly suspect of treasonous acts because it was well known that they not only refused to offer incense themselves, but they taught the faithful to follow their example and to also refuse to concede in this matter.

Because of his Holy Zeal and his open confession of faith, St. Valentine was arrested and threatened with death by beheading if he did not repent of his treason against the state. St. Valentine refused to repent and he was thrown into prison to await his end. The jailer at the prison was deeply impressed by St. Valentine’s warm love and his kindness toward other prisoners and toward his captors who unjustly held him prisoner. The jailer began to befriend St. Valentine and he could see that St. Valentine was learned in all things. Not only did St. Valentine have a vast knowledge of history, literature, philosophy and science but also, St. Valentine had great ability in teaching and encouraging others.

Unbeknown to St. Valentine, the jailer had a beautiful young daughter who had a great thirst for learning in spite of the fact that she had been blind since birth. Whenever the jailer’sdaughter heard people speaking about things of interest she would go to sit at their side and listen intently in the hope of learning something new about the world she could not see but, nevertheless, believed that it must be very beautiful. When the jailer came to know and trust St. Valentine he told him about his daughter and how she ached with yearning to know as much as possible about the world and its history. After telling St. Valentine all about his daughter the jailer asked the Holy Saint if he would teach his daughter as much as possible while he was in prison under his guard. St. Valentine agreed and the jailer began bringing his daughter to the Saint each day so that she could spend time with him in his jail cell and learn about the wonderful world. The girl was extremely enthusiastic and remembered in great detail all that St. Valentine taught her. St. Valentine, being a man of God, taught very matter-of-factly about how God had created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. He taught her about Adam and Eve and the Paradise God created for them and how they fell from paradise through their disobedience and their pride. He taught her how God never abandoned Adam and Eve

even after the Fall and worked always for their salvation and the salvation of all men. He taught her about Noah and the flood, about Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, about Joseph and the migration of the tribes of Israel into Egypt. He taught her about how they became slaves and how God raised up Moses and Aaron to lead them and all of their generations out of bondage to Pharaoh and his demons into a land filled with milk and hon- ey and the promise of eternal salvation. St. Valentine taught her about the prophets and how they foretold the coming of the Messiah, the Anointed One of God, Jesus Christ our Lord. See- ing that she was prepared to receive the Gospel of Christ, St. Valentine revealed to her the mystery of the Incarnation of the Son of God through His miraculous conception in the womb of the Virgin Mary, His birth and the revelation of the Holy Trinity at His baptism. St. Valentine taught her about Christ’s life, His teachings and His miracles. And finally, he told her about His Holy Passion, His arrest, His imprisonment, His false trial, His scourging, His crucifixion, His death and His burial. When his catechumen thought that all hope for mankind had been lost, St. Valentine taught her about Christ’s most Glorious Resurrec- tion from the dead and the Divine life in eternity that became possible to all who believed in Him and were baptized by water and the Holy Spirit in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.

St. Valentine taught his catechumen well and she saw Christ in the union of her heart and mind by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, more vividly than if He were there before her in the flesh. With all of her heart, her mind, her soul and her strength she confessed Jesus Christ to be her Savior and insisted that she be baptized immediately. The catechumen’s father had been witnessing the remarkable transformation of his daughter into a child of God and all the while in the evening he learned from her all that she learned each day. When she converted, he con- verted and when his daughter asked him to take her to be bap- tized he was baptized with her and together they entered into the joy of salvation.

Within a few days of their baptism, the time for St. Valentine’s execution was set. As he considered the final moments of his life and the scourging, torture and death he faced, he prayed for the strength to remain true and faithful to the end. In those remaining days St. Valentine also composed a letter filled with the Divine Love of God for his spiritual child exhorting his newly illumined to become the bride of Christ and to unite herself to Him in perfect Love by fulfilling His Word and Commandments with all of her being in every aspect of her life. St. Valentine then signed his letter,

With all of my love in Christ, Your Valentine”

That next day St. Valentine was beaten, tortured and then be- headed. With the strength of God working in him he remained faithful to the end so that we could remember his life and be enlightened by his example.

THE MYTH OF CUPID & PSYCHE

Once upon a time, through that Destiny that overrules the gods, Love himself once gave up his immortal heart to a mortal maiden. And this is how it came to pass.

There was a certain king who had three beautiful daughters. The two elder married princes of great renown; but Psyche, the youngest, was so radiantly fair that no suitor seemed worthy of her. People thronged to see her pass through the city, and sang hymns in her praise, while strangers took her for the very goddess of beauty herself.

This angered Venus, and she resolved to cast down her earthly rival. One day, therefore, she called hither to her son Love (Cupid, some name him), and bade him sharpen his weapons. He is an archer more to be dreaded than Apollo, for Apollo’s arrows take life, but Love’s bring joy or sorrow for a whole life long.

“Come, Love,” said Venus. “There is a mortal maid who robs me of my honours in yonder city. Avenge your mother. Wound this precious Psyche, and let her fall in love with some churlish creature, mean in the eyes of all men.”

Cupid made ready his weapons, and flew down to earth invisibly. At that moment Psyche was asleep in her chamber; but he touched her heart with his golden arrow of love, and she opened her eyes so suddenly that he started (forgetting that he was invisible), and wounded himself with his own shaft. Heedless of his hurt, and moved deeply by the loveliness of the maiden, he repented himself of the mischief he had wrought, and hastened to pour over her locks the healing joy that he ever kept by him, undoing all his work. Back to her dream the princess went, unshadowed by any thought of love. But Cupid, not so light of heart, returned to the heavenly mount saying not a word of what had passed.

Venus waited long; then, seeing that Psyche’s heart had somehow escaped love, she sent a spell upon the maiden. From that time, lovely as she was, not a suitor came to woo; and her parents, who desired to see her a queen at least, made a journey to the Oracle, and asked counsel.

Said the voice: “The princess Psyche shall never wed a mortal. She shall be given to one who waits for her on yonder mountain; he overcomes gods and men.”

At this terrible sentence the poor parents were half distraught, and the people gave themselves up to grief at the fate in store for their beloved princess. Psyche alone bowed to her destiny. “We have angered Venus unwittingly,” she said, “and all for the sake of me, heedless maiden that I am! Give me up, therefore, dear father and mother. If I atone, it may be that the city will prosper once more.”

So she besought them, until, after many unavailing pleadings, the parents consented; and with a great company of people they led Psyche up the mountain—as an offering to the monster of whom the Oracle had spoken—and left her there alone. Full of courage, yet in a secret agony of grief she watched her kindred and her people wind down the mountain-path, too sad to look back, until they were lost to sight. Then, indeed, she wept, but a sudden breeze drew near, dried her tears, and caressed her hair, seeming to murmur comfort. In truth, it was Zephyr, the kindly West Wind, come to befriend her; and as she took heart, feeling some benignant presence, he lifted her in his arms, and carried her on wings as even as a seagull’s over the crest of the fateful mountain and into a valley below. There he left her, resting on a bank of hospitable grass, and there the princess fell asleep.

When she awoke, it was near sunset. She looked about her for some sign of the monster’s approach; she wondered, then, if her grievous, trial had been but a dream. Near by she saw a sheltering forest, whose young trees, seemed to beckon as one maid beckons to another; and eager for the protection of the dryads, she went thither.

The call of running waters drew her farther and farther, till she came out upon an open place, where there was a wide pool. A fountain fluttered gladly in the midst of it, and beyond there stretched a white palace wonderful to see. Coaxed by the bright promise of the place, she drew near, and, seeing no one, entered softly. It was all kinglier than her father’s home, and as she stood in wonder and awe, soft airs stirred about her. Little by little the silence grew murmurous like the woods, and one voice, sweeter than the rest, took words. “All that you see is yours, gentle high princess,” it said. “Fear nothing; only command us, for we are here to serve you.”

Full of amazement an delight, Psyche followed the voice from hall to hall, and through the lordly rooms, beautiful with everything that could delight a young princess. No pleasant thing was lacking. There was even a pool, brightly tiled and fed with running waters where she bathed her weary limbs; and after she had put on the new and beautiful raiment that lay ready for her, she sat down to break her fast, waited upon and sung to by the unseen spirits.

54 Surely he whom the Oracle had called her husband was no monster, but some beneficent power, invisible like all the rest. When daylight waned he came, and his voice, the beautiful voice of a god, inspired her to trust her strange destiny and

“Never doubt me, dearest Psyche,” said he. “Perhaps you would fear if you saw me, and love is all I ask. There is a necessity that keeps me hidden now. Only believe.”

So for many days Psyche was content; but when she grew used to happiness, she thought once more of her parents mourning her as lost, and of her sisters who shared the lot of mortals

while she lived as a goddess. One night she told her husband of these regrets, and begged that her sisters at least might come to see her. He sighed, but did not refuse.

“Zephyr shall bring them hither,” said he. And on the following morning, swift as a bird, the West Wind came over the crest of the high mountain and down into the enchanted valley, bearing her two sisters.

They greeted Psyche with joy and amazement, hardly knowing how they had come hither. But when this fairest of the sisters led them through her palace and showed them all the treasures that were hers, envy grew in their hearts and choked their old love. Even while they sat at feast with her, they grew more and more bitter; and hoping to find some little flaw in her good fortune, they asked a thousand questions.

“Where is your husband?” said they. “And why is he not here with you?”

“Ah,” stammered Psyche. “All the day long—he is gone, hunting upon the mountains.”

“But what does he look like?” they asked; and Psyche could find no answer.

When they learned that she had never seen him, they laughed her faith to scorn.

“Poor Psyche,” they said. “You are walking in a dream. Wake, before it is too late. Have you forgotten what the Oracle decreed,—that you were destined for a dreadful creature, the fear of gods and men? And are you deceived by this show of kindliness? We have come to warn you. The people told us, as we came over the mountain, that your husband is a dragon, who feeds you well for the present, that he may feast the better some day soon. What is it that you trust? Good words! But only take a dagger some night, and when the monster is asleep go, light a lamp, and look at him. You can put him to death easily, and all his riches will be yours—and ours.”

Psyche heard this wicked plan with horror. Nevertheless, after her sisters were gone, she brooded over what they had said, not seeing their evil intent; and she came to find some wisdom in their words. Little by little, suspicion ate, like a moth, into her lovely mind; and at nightfall, in shame and fear, she hid a lamp and a dagger in her chamber. Towards midnight, when her husband was fast asleep, up she rose, hardly daring to breathe; and coming softly to his side, she uncovered the lamp to see some horror.

But there the youngest of the gods lay sleeping,—most beautiful, most irresistible of all immortals. His hair shone golden as the sun, his face was radiant as dear Springtime, and from his shoulders sprang two rainbow wings.

Poor Psyche was overcome with self-reproach. As she leaned towards him, filled with worship, her trembling hands held the lamp ill, and some burning oil fell upon Love’s shoulder and awakened him.

He opened his eyes, to see at once his bride and the dark suspicion in her heart.

“O doubting Psyche,” he exclaimed with sudden grief,—and then he flew away, out of the window.

Wild with sorrow, Psyche tried to follow, but she fell to the ground instead. When she recovered her senses, she stared about her. She was alone, and the place was beautiful no longer. Garden and palace had vanished with Love.

Over mountains and valleys Psyche journeyed alone until she came to the city where her

two envious sisters lived with the princes whom they had married. She stayed with them only long enough to tell the story of her unbelief and its penalty. Then she set out again to search for Love.

As she wandered one day, travel-worn but not hopeless, she saw a lofty palace on a hill near by, and she turned her steps thither. The place seemed deserted. Within the hall she saw no human being,—only heaps of grain, loose ears of corn half torn from the husk, wheat, and barley, alike scattered in confusion on the floor. Without delay, she set to work binding the sheaves together and gathering the scattered ears of corn in seemly wise, as a princess would wish to see them. While she was in the midst of her task, a voice startled her, and she looked up to behold Demeter herself, the goddess of the harvest, smiling upon her with good will.

“Dear Psyche,” said Demeter, “you are worthy of happiness, and you may find it yet. But since you have displeased Venus, go to her and ask her favour. Perhaps your patience will win her pardon.”

These motherly words gave Psyche heart, and she reverently took leave of the goddess and set out for the temple of Venus. Most humbly she offered up her prayer, but Venus could not look at her earthly beauty without anger.

Then she led Psyche into a great chamber heaped high with mingled grain, beans, and lintels (the food of her doves), and bade her separate them all and have them ready in seemly fashion by night. Heracles would have been helpless before such a vexatious task; and poor Psyche, left alone in this desert of grain, had not courage to begin. But even as she sat there, a moving thread of black crawled across the floor from a crevice in the wall; and bending nearer, she saw that a great army of ants in columns had come to her aid. The zealous little creatures worked in swarms, with such industry over the work they like best, that, when Venus came at night, she found the task completed.

“Deceitful girl,” she cried, shaking the roses out of her hair with impatience, “this is my son’s work, not yours. But he will soon forget you. Eat this black bread if you are hungry and refresh your dull mind with sleep. Tomorrow you will need more wit.”

Psyche wondered what new misfortune could be in store for her. But when morning came, Venus led her to the brink of a river, and, pointing to the wood across the water, said, “Go now to yonder grove where the sheep with the golden fleece are wont to browse. Bring me a golden lock from every one of them, or you must go your ways and never come back again.”

This seemed not difficult, and Psyche obediently bade the goddess farewell, and stepped into the water, ready to wade across. But as Venus disappeared, the reeds sang louder and the nymphs of the river, looking up sweetly, blew bubbles to the surface and murmured: “Nay, nay, have a care, Psyche. This flock has not the gentle ways of sheep. While the sun burns aloft, they are themselves as fierce as flame; but when the shadows are long, they go to rest and sleep, under the trees; and you may cross the river without fear and pick the golden fleece off the briers in the pasture.”

Thanking the water-creatures, Psyche sat down to rest near them, and when the time came, she crossed in safety and followed their counsel. By twilight she returned to Venus with her arms full of shining fleece.

“No mortal wit did this,” said Venus angrily. “But if you care to prove your readiness, go now, with this little box, down to Proserpina and ask her to enclose in it some of her beauty, for I have grown pale in caring for my wounded son.”

“It needed not the last taunt to sadden Psyche. She knew that it was not for mortals to go into Hades and return alive; and feeling that Love had forsaken her, she was minded to accept her doom as soon as might be.

But even as she hastened towards the descent, another friendly voice detained her. “Stay, Psyche, I know your grief. Only give ear and you shall learn a safe way through all these trials.” And the voice went on to tell her how one might avoid all the dangers of Hades and come out unscathed. (But such a secret “And be sure,” added the voice, “when Proserpina has returned the box, not to open it, however much you may long to do so.”

Psyche gave heed, and by this device, whatever it was, she found her way into Hades safely, and made her errand known to Proserpina, and was soon in the upper world again, wearied but hopeful.

“Surely Love has not forgotten me,” she said. “But humbled as I am and worn with toil, how shall I ever please him? Venus can never need all the beauty in this casket; and since I use it for Love’s sake, it must be right to take some.” So saying, she opened the box, headless as Pandora! The spells and potions of Hades are not for mortal maids, and no sooner had she inhaled the strange aroma than she fell down like one dead, quite overcome.

But it happened that Love himself was recovered from his wound, and he had secretly fled from his chamber to seek out and rescue Psyche. He found her lying by the wayside; he gathered into the casket what remained of the philter, and awoke his beloved.

“Take comfort,” he said, smiling. “Return to our mother and do her bidding till I come again.”

Away he flew; and while Psyche went cheerily homeward, he hastened up to Olympus, where all the gods sat feasting, and begged them to intercede for him with his angry mother.

They heard his story and their hearts were touched. Zeus himself coaxed Venus with kind words till at last she relented, and remembered that anger hurt her beauty, and smiled once more. All the younger gods were for welcoming Psyche at once, and Hermes was sent to bring her hither. The maiden came, a shy newcomer among these bright creatures. She took the cup that Hebe held out to her, drank the divine ambrosia, and became immortal.

Light came to her face like moon rise, two radiant wings sprang from her shoulders; and even as a butterfly bursts from its dull cocoon, so the human Psyche blossomed into immortality.

Love took her by the hand, and they were never parted any more.

From: Old Greek Folk Stories Told Anew

by Josephine P. Peabody

HER NAME WAS HEATHER

You probably never heard of Heather Heyer. But for a few days last summer, her name and her hometown—Charlottesville, Virginia—made national headlines. The spark was the controversy over two local parks named Lee and Jackson, and one statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee. By mid-summer, the statue of Lee was covered in black plastic and the parks had been renamed, Emancipation and Justice, respectively. In August, word went out on social media that there would be a torchlight protest on the campus of the University of Virginia in Charlottesville. The protesters carried tiki torches and wore white polo shirts and khaki pants—they looked more like Hitler youth than white supremacists. Kept in formation by an organizer with a bullhorn, they shouted “Blood and soil!” and “Jews will not replace us.” There was shoving, someone used pepper spray, and a torch flew through the air at the statue of Thomas Jefferson, the university’s founder. It was just a warm-up for the next day’s Unite the Right rally.

57 Saturday’s rally was much larger—this time, there were KKK members and a self-styled militia complete with camo and semi-automatic weapons. White nationalists arrived carrying shields and wooden clubs. Black-clad Antifa counter-protesters filtered through the crowd, pushing and throwing punches. People shouted racial insults and outrageous taunts like “Dylann Roof was a hero,” referring to the white supremacist shooter who killed nine African Americans in a Charleston, South Carolina, church in 2015. One idealist offered water and free hugs. Supposedly, everyone would remain peaceful and non-violent. Presumably, the state and local police would keep a lid on things. But nothing went according to plan.

Shortly after noon, police broke up the protest concerned that it was about to turn into an uncontrollable street brawl. Around 1:14 pm came reports of a vehicular incident nearby on the city’s Downtown Mall, a pedestrian district of shops and restaurants. James Alex Fields Jr. had left the rally and, still angry, got behind the wheel of his gray Dodge Challenger. He headed for the Mall and drove up a side street where he struck a dense knot of pedestrians. People were knocked to the curb and one man rolled across the trunk of the car as it careened into the crowd. Nineteen people were injured and one killed: Heather Heyer, age 32.

Heather Heyer worked as a paralegal for a Charlottesville law firm. Her specialty was bankruptcy but she spoke out against any form of discrimination or injustice. She was single, made extra money as a bartender, and had a Chihuahua named Violet. She attended the rally because she was incensed that white nationalists had come to her town. She was walking at the protest with some friends when the 20-year-old Fields drove into them. Her best friend saw it all. It was terrifying, simply unbelievable.

For weeks after the protest, the intersection where Heather was killed was closed off and became a street shrine. Flowers, stuffed animals, candles, and cards covered the pavement. At the center, someone had placed a snapshot of Heather, with bright hazel eyes and freckles, and a hand-lettered sign that read “No Place for Hate!”

I had avoided the Downtown Mall that weekend in August and for several weeks afterward. It seemed frivolous to go out to dinner near the spot where someone had died. But then I received a phone call from W.O., an inmate at Attica Correctional Facility. I have been working with W. for about a year as an editorial consultant and we have become friends as well as colleagues. W. called me to ask if I was OK and how things were in Charlottesville. He added that he and his co-workers in the Attica Law Library wanted to send a sympathy card. “Would you be willing take it to the place where Heather Heyer was killed?” he asked.

Then he said, very quietly, “I want to say something that you may not like.” I assured him I would let him speak. He said “Let’s think about the parents of the guy driving that car. He was some mother’s baby.” True. He was also some mother’s son when he decided that it wasn’t enough to march alongside fellow white supremacists and that he needed to make a grander statement behind the wheel of his car. But it made me stop and think. Heather’s life was taken from her and, though it’s hardly the same thing, Fields will have his best years—possibly his entire life—taken from him just for allowing a senseless hate to become a call to action. He will also encounter another loss, an inevitable outcome of being in prison: the loss of his humanity.

A couple of weeks later, W.’s card arrived. In fact, there were two cards. One had Psalm 23 on it and the other was a simple sympathy card. Each was signed by W. and all the prisoners who work in the Attica Law Library. So now, I’d have to go to the Downtown Mall. By this time, the street shrine had dwindled to a few dead flowers and some candles. I put the cards in a plastic bag to protect them from the elements. Well, the truth is I could hardly get them in the bag because I was crying. Like so many people, I am at a loss about how to respond to the events of last August—events which, sadly, are repeated almost every day somewhere. Heather Heyer’s mother responded by starting a foundation to provide scholarships to high school students who want to study social justice issues. That’s an admirable legacy for her daughter.

A few weeks after the August protest, I also received a poem from another Attica prisoner, M.M., a friend of W.’s. In “Glimmer,” the prisoner-poet writes “For deep within her human-core, / her strength was steeped in love.” None of the men from Attica knew Heather and they’d probably never heard of Charlottesville. But they do know what it’s like to feel fear, to be made to feel insignificant and something less than human—and they remember how to love in spite of all of this.

L.D. Alspaugh

Managing Editor of The Hedgehog Review Contributing Writer

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© L.D. Alspaugh © Justin Ide/Reuters