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Virginia’s Immigration Court Backlog Among Largest in Nation

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The first thing Abbie Arevalo Herrera is going to do when she eventually leaves sanctuary is thank God.

“He’s the one who’s allowed me to have this experience, and I feel like I’m learning a lot, things I never imagined,” Arevalo Herrera said in Spanish.

And then, she said with a pause, she’s going to the beach with her children. She finished the sentence with laughter and a smile in the basement of the Richmond church where she has lived in sanctuary since last June, when then-Attorney General Jeff Sessions announced that survivors of domestic violence no longer qualified for asylum. Arevalo Herrera was then ordered deported to Honduras, her home country that she fled after years of domestic violence at the hands of her ex-partner.

“I never imagined or dreamed of going to this country, I came because of how desperate I was,” Arevalo Herrera said. “I thought this was the farthest I could go. At least I was going to be protected from him.”

She never imagined how difficult the immigration process would be when she made the decision in 2013. She said she thought the U.S. would protect her and her daughter because they were fleeing violence.

Arevalo Herrera spent days in an “hielera” — a term meaning “icebox” that refers to immigration detention centers because of how cold they are — and was given a notice to appear in immigration court. The problem was, the notice didn’t indicate what date or time, and she missed her hearing after she was released.

PHOTO: by Carlos Bernate. Abbie Arevalo-Herrera making soy-milk while her son is peeking through the sink at the basement of the First Unitarian Universalist Church.

That, compounded with what her current lawyer Alina Kilpatrick called “one of the worst cases of legal work I’d ever seen” from previous attorneys, put Arevalo Herrera in a precarious legal situation.

Arevalo Herrera said that at one point, a lawyer simply told her he didn’t know what to do.

“Pero igual yo había pagado,” she said. But either way, she had already paid.

“We’re people, we’re human beings. I have children, and he isn’t looking at the case as a family that he’s saving — he’s just looking at it in terms of money,” Arevalo Herrera said. “I just ask that people look at us as human beings; that’s what we are.”

The problems Arevalo Herrera experienced, such as low-quality legal services and not being notified of her court date, are common, Kilpatrick said. They are symptoms of broader issues within the U.S. immigration system, which has undergone dramatic changes and seen an increasing backlog since the beginning of the Trump administration.

Most immigration judges are booked until 2022, Kilpatrick said, and though new hires have been made to alleviate the years-long wait times, that means some hearings are rescheduled for earlier dates.

“And if in your mind, you have a certain period of time to gather your evidence, maybe you haven’t done it, maybe your attorney doesn’t have time to do it when it was just set [further in the future],” Kilpatrick said. “So it becomes a very big problem.”

For three and a half years, Arevalo Herrera had check-ins with the Intensive Supervision Appearance Program — an alternative to detention for people in immigration proceedings operated by the electronic monitoring company BI Inc. — every Monday, which sometimes ate up the entire day. The same thing happened with weekly home visits, she said.

The office, located in Midlothian, was far from Arevalo Herrera’s home. She needed $40 saved by every Monday to pay for a ride to her appointment because as an undocumented immigrant living in Virginia, she can’t have a driver’s license. During this year’s General Assembly session, several legislators introduced bills that would have given undocumented immigrants driving privileges, but all of them failed.

The time commitment required by the check-ins also made finding work difficult, she said.

“You get depressed, thinking, ‘Oh my God, I don’t know what to do,’” Arevalo Herrera said.

Being under supervision affected Arevalo Herrera in other ways, too. The ankle bracelet she has to wear as part of being under supervision brings unwanted attention and stigma.

“It was absolutely horrible,” Arevalo Herrera said. “I didn’t wear shorts or dresses or anything that showed the ankle bracelet because people from here, from the U.S., are afraid of people when they see they have the ankle bracelet.”

Once, in the grocery store, a mother grabbed her son and ran away when she saw Arevalo Herrera had an ankle bracelet.

“People have asked me a lot of times why I have the ankle bracelet and what it was that I did. I haven’t done anything, and I’ve tried to follow this country’s rules. I haven’t been able to resolve anything,” Arevalo Herrera said. “I just told [the people who asked], ‘Because I crossed the border.’”

The longer wait times in immigration courts mean immigrants are under supervision, and subject to the problems Arevalo Herrera faced, for longer periods of time, Kilpatrick said. According to a Syracuse University database, the average case in Virginia in 2019 has been pending for 936 days, making it the state with the third-longest wait times in the country.

Behind the backlog: Judicial changes overwhelm system

PHOTO: by Carlos Bernate. Immigration lawyer Alina Kilpatrick, Abbie Arevalo-Herrera and community organizer Flor Lopez during Sunday service at the First Unitarian Universalist Church. 

In the wake of sweeping changes to the U.S. immigration system, attorney Sarah Milad heard something from a judge that stuck with her.

“I was in court with a judge one day who said, ‘It would be really nice if there was one week where immigration law didn’t change as I’d known it for the last 20 years,’” Milad said.

Those changes include factors that Milad and other experts on immigration say have caused an immense backlog in the immigration system, including in the courts — which adjudicates immigration cases, determining whether an immigrant can remain in the U.S. — and in U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, which issues visas.

Virginia has the sixth-largest immigration court backlog in the nation, behind states like New York, Texas and California. As of this year, 44,779 pending cases await a hearing in the state’s sole federal immigration court in Arlington.

Of those cases, 96% are based on immigration alone, encompassing things like asylum cases and immigration violations, such as having entered the country without authorization or not leaving the U.S. after a visa expires. The remainder of the cases are based on charges related to national security or terrorism.

Though the Arlington court’s total number of cases processed annually increased by 78% from 1998 to 2019, that jump pales in comparison to the skyrocketing backlog in its docket. The number of pending cases increased by almost 1,900% from that time to now. While the backlog started increasing in Virginia’s federal immigration court in the mid-2000s, the number has doubled since 2015, and much of the increase occurred after President Donald Trump took office.

The president has repeatedly criticized the immigration courts for the backlog, even suggesting the courts be abolished. Some groups, such as the Center for Immigration Studies, have said Trump’s proposed policy changes would help reduce the number of pending cases by hiring more immigration judges and reducing incentives for undocumented immigrants to remain in the country and fight their cases. But others cite the president’s policies as reasons for the backlog.

Simon Sandoval-Moshenberg, the director of immigration advocacy at Legal Aid Justice Center in Charlottesville, says the reason for the dramatic increase is clear: When Sessions was U.S. attorney general, he ended a process that allowed immigration judges to close a large number of cases. Administrative closure allowed judges to suspend proceedings, though it didn’t give an undocumented immigrant any legal status.

“The No. 1 sort of ‘off-ramp’ for removal proceedings is now completely closed,” Sandoval-Moshenberg said. “And a large number of people — supposedly every single person who’s been given that off-ramp — is going to be put back on the docket.”

Similar in effect was another Trump administration policy change, rolled out around the time of the January 2017 travel ban. While previously not all undocumented immigrants, especially those who had never had run-ins with the law, were prioritized for deportation, the change now means no group is exempt from enforcement.

Sandoval-Moshenberg and other advocates say the change has led to an increased number of arrests by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, resulting in a greater number of cases in the courts. He disagrees strongly with the measure.

“It is simply not the case, neither is it a matter of law or a matter of good public policy, that every single undocumented person that ICE comes across has to be put in deportation proceedings,” he said.

As of 2018, Virginia had the 12th-highest number of ICE arrests in the country and the eighth-largest number of removals under the Secure Communities program, under which the FBI provides fingerprints to the Department of Homeland Security to identify noncitizens. Local police departments share fingerprints with the FBI, meaning DHS has access to fingerprints from those departments. In Virginia, more than 12,000 people have been deported as a result of the program.

Before ICE’s priorities were changed by the Trump administration, most of the cases heard in immigration courts were the result of an immigrant being convicted of a crime and put in deportation proceedings, said Kevin Cope, an immigration law professor at the University of Virginia.

“[Criminal cases] tend to be simpler than many other cases because the predicate event is this criminal conviction, which is a matter of fact, it’s in the record,” Cope said.

But as a result of the end of prosecutorial discretion two years ago, which means all removable immigrants are targeted for deportation, Cope said, the courts are hearing more complex cases that take longer.

An increase in asylum applications, from migrants arriving at the southern border and from other regions, is another factor in the backlog, Cope said.

“A lot of the outcomes of asylum cases depend on what happened in a place that may be thousands of miles away,” Cope said. “It may not be easy to get access to records or get witnesses there.”

Trump recently directed his administration to tighten restrictions on asylum seekers, including introducing fees, barring anyone who crosses the border illegally from obtaining a work permit and requiring asylum applications to be adjudicated within 180 days, a drastic shift from the years-long wait times applicants currently experience. While the Department of Justice and DHS have not yet made the changes, they would serve to reduce the overall number of asylum applicants.

The rise in immigrants seeking asylum occurred during Barack Obama’s presidency, as did an increase in unaccompanied minors crossing the border. Cope says that administration’s reaction to their arrival is cited by some as a reason for the increase in pending cases.

PHOTO: by Carlos Bernate. Immigration Lawyer Alina Kilpatrick sharing some words about her client Abbie Arevalo-Herrera in her birthday surrounded by family members and community advocates at the basement of the First Unitarian Universalist Church. 

When the Obama administration prioritized cases involving unaccompanied minors and families, it moved those groups to the front of the “front of the line,” Cope said, requiring judges to shift their dockets.

“It creates some amount of inefficiency when cases are shifted around like that,” Cope said.

Solutions: ‘Tremendous need’ for more resources

In a report released last month, the American Bar Association wrote that the U.S. immigration system is “on the brink of collapse.” It said there is a “tremendous need” for more resources.

Immigration attorney Sarah Milad — who is part of Northern Virginia’s Just Families, an organization that aids immigrants — agrees. She said hiring more judges, which the Trump administration paused in March days before outlining a plan to hire 100 more, would help alleviate the issue.

Better access to attorneys would also help, she said. When immigrants are unable to afford a lawyer, they sometimes have to ask for continuances to prolong their cases while they search for representation, pro bono or otherwise.

“They’re often asking questions of the judge who’s trying to help them navigate their legal rights without an attorney,” Milad said. “There is some effort to do universal representation in certain localities, so when there is funding available for non-profit attorneys, pro bono attorneys to provide services, then more staff can be hired and more people can be helped.”

But a number of experts, and the American Bar Association, agree that the very structure of the immigration courts, which fall under the control of the attorney general and DHS, needs to change. That would mean making them Article I courts, in line with bankruptcy courts, or creating a new executive agency under which they would operate.

“I think we have to start being very radical about how we look at this problem,” said Alina Kilpatrick, Abbie Arevalo Herrera’s lawyer. “We have bankruptcy courts that have independent judges — we can make immigration courts independent and have a smoother process.”

According to Cope, working under a political appointee like the attorney general reduces the independence of judges. An independent judiciary would “improve the quality of justice” for many immigrants.

“It’s hard to have faith in a system when the person who decides your case works for” a political appointee, Kilpatrick said. “An independent judiciary would be much better equipped to handle this problem because I think a lot of the judges are very intelligent people and have great ideas on how to fix this — or at least make it better.”

For Arevalo Herrera, fixing the immigration system would be a step toward equality for immigrants.

“How can we change this, to truly have equality among human beings?” Arevalo Herrera asked. “We came here in search of better opportunities, for a better quality of life, to be safe. That’s all we ask for, safety. And they don’t see us like that — they see us as criminals.”

Written by Georgia Geen, Capital News Service.

“Trump Will Not Last Forever. My Art Will”: Catching Up With Artist Asiya al-Sharabi

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We last spoke with artist Asiya al-Sharabi in October of 2017. Her mixed-media series, Trumperie, which we highlighted in our previous article, seems more relevant now than ever. That series of artworks explores what it means to be an immigrant during Donald Trump’s presidency. 

Trump’s controversial travel ban, which finally went into effect this past July after months of court challenges, spurred discussion about its inherent xenophobia. Now, the Trump administration is proposing an executive action that could use travel-ban-like authority to block those seeking asylum at the Mexican border. As America heads into Trump’s third year in office, the welfare of immigrants is still uncertain.

Al-Sharabi fled to Egypt with her children after the Yemen revolution and then relocated to the U.S. with her family.

“I was heartbroken. We had to start from scratch,” she said. “I felt sad that I had to leave my studio, my mother, brothers, sisters, friends, and everyone in a country torn by war.”

The fate of Yemen is ambiguous, and the country still faces hardship in the wake of poverty and terror. This week it was reported that Yemen’s Saudi-backed government will participate in United Nations-sponsored peace talks in Sweden. This could be a positive turning point in the almost four-year civil war.

Even so, it’s also reported that an average of 75 people are killed or injured every day in Yemen. The country’s belly and pockets are empty — a catastrophic famine is looming over the war-torn area. Restoring the country and its people will be laborious. This is the state of things in al-Sharabi’s beloved home country, which she still cannot return to.

While Trump tries to make immigrants feel unprotected in the supposed land of the free, al-Sharabi isn’t wavered by his hate.

“I get frustrated whenever I hear him speak about immigration,” she said. “Then I get inspired and I create art. Trump will not last forever — my art will.”

Before pursuing art, al-Sharabi was a photojournalist in Yemen, a career full of risks that was looked down upon in Yemen.

“I wanted to quit so many times, it was culturally challenging and not encouraging, starting with family members,” al-Sharabi said. “But in my heart, I knew I would make it one day, and I wanted to prove to myself and other women in my country what we can achieve.”

The causal ease of taking a photo and being allowed to photograph freely is something we often take for granted in the states. Al-Sharabi recalled how she felt the first time she ever took a photo.

“I remember it very well,” she said. “I was so forced on impressing my dad, there was only one target in my mind — to make him proud. I knew back then, if he is proud and supportive, nobody else matters.” 

In series like “No Photography” and “Queen Sheba,” Al-Sharabi creates artwork that brings to life the reality Yemeni people face, specifically women. In Yemen, women are regarded as only half a person, and face income inequality, gender-based violence, and a lack of legal protection for women. Being a woman in Yemen is so dangerous that photographs of women are grounds for getting them killed.

“The country is going backward by the hour; we’ve reached a point where a picture of a woman in advertisement poster has to be covered or they splash paint over it,” al-Sharabi said. “In cafes and restaurants, [women] have to be separated from men. If the woman is single or divorced, her suffering trebles, from rumors into insults and humiliation.”

As an artist, al-Sharabi must find ways to keep the identity of her subjects hidden. She often photographs parts of the body, such as the hands or feet.

“Every picture I took, I had to show them [the women] how it looks, assure them that their identity will not be revealed,” al-Sharabi said. “Once trust is built I repeat the process.”

She said that her work receives varied critique from those in Yemen. While the women are proud and inspired, al-Sharabi revealed that some of her family members think she should stay at home and be a housewife.

“[From] the men I get different messages,” she said. “Some who are liberal thinkers and progressive and into the art scene are very supportive, others just observe and don’t comment.”

After photo shoots, al-Sharabi turns photos into negatives, prints them on handmade Japanese paper, paints on a panel processes with gesso, and then combines them together to create the distinctive mixed-media style that is reflected in most of her art. Al-Sharabi says she does all this to protect the identity of the Arab women.

Rather than being influenced by outside forces, al-Sharabi draws inspiration from within her own experiences. She uses them to contextualize the adversity that marginalized bodies must pull through. Al-Sharabi bridges her world and the outside together to create a unique vision that must be peeled back like an onion. The longer you look at the photographs, the more intricate details and hidden messages you will find within the work.

“Each viewer confronts their personal experiences and perceptions, mixed with history and myth, transformed into a space that conflates western perspective with eastern illusionism,” al-Sharabi said. “I want them to draw their own impression and feelings based on their experiences, challenges, and knowledge of the world. I want to communicate with every person a message that’s empowering to them. This is something between me, the artist, and the audience.”

More than anything, knowing her work in the U.S. is becoming recognized and that her children are proud of her is something al-Sharabi holds close.

“All this pushes me to communicate that we are resilient, and no matter how many bombs dropped into the country and how many visas get denied and rejected, the people in Yemen will stand up again and communicate to the world their beauty, culture, and art.”

Al-Sharabi’s art is currently on display as part of the exhibition “Realism and Other Realities: A Photographic Exhibit” curated by Erlene Hendrix. This exhibition can be seen at the Rawls Museum, located an hour south of Richmond at 22376 Linden St in Courtland, VA, until Dec. 7. You can view more of her work on Instagram @asiyaart or on her website.

Images via asiyaart.com

Papa Roach: The #Resistance’s Last Resort Plays The National Tonight

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Are you feeling suffocated by the Trump presidency? Does the thought of another two years of Alice in Wonderland political depravity leave you breathless?

Papa Roach may be the anodyne you’re looking for, more so since the nu-metal luminaries are kicking off a month-long tour starting tonight at The National in Richmond. 

What they might be best known for recently is their viral trolling of President Trump, which has been a welcome development for a band who’s career has been subject to intense scrutiny for the better part of two decades. Most notably, the band mimicked President Trump’s childish, all-caps threat against Iran using lyrics from their 2000 mega-hit “Last Resort.”

For those who are not hard-wired into the world of international relations, the U.S. has been in a tense stand off with the Islamic Republic since they over-ran the U.S. Embassy in 1979 during the Islamic Revolution. Therefore, Trump’s tweet rage should come as no surprise; this bumptious outburst was in response to a speech given by Iranian President Hassan Rouhani in July, 2018. Rouhani was quoted as saying, “Do not play with the lion’s tail or else you will regret it,” referring to U.S. efforts to sanction crude oil exports after leaving the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action or simply “the Iran nuclear deal” – a signature landmark of Obama-era foreign policy. “Peace with Iran would be the mother of all peace, war with Iran would be the mother of all wars,” said Rouhani later in the speech. 

Irrespective of Trump tweets, the intricacies of diplomacy in the conflict-prone Middle East is always complex, leading Papa Roach to weigh with a nuanced response which was surely debated in the halls of each government (and possibly the U.N.); using “Last Resort” to make their point.

Genius.

Papa Roach also joined in the fun after a doctored New York Times article reimagined Paul Ryan listening to “Last Resort” in his SUV after a workout. The band later tweeted a photo of Paul Ryan lifting weights and wearing a Papa Roach shirt with caption, “#RoachGate,” after a joke tweet about Paul Ryan blasting “Last Resort” as he drove away once his healthcare bill failed. 

The cutting my life into pieces did not stop there, however, with the band re-tweeting Kavanaugh inspired memes.

The moral of this story? While Papa Roach might not be your bag, their epic trolling of the Republican establishment proves that even the nu-metal bands of the  90s and 00s can still get down with the movement. Bless.

Music Sponsored By Graduate Richmond

 

“Scary Time” for Men, Scary Lifetime For Women

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When the 45th President of the United States says that it is a “very scary time for young men in America,” he is blatantly discounting the fact that it is always a very scary time for women – young and old – in America. I have more than 100 students in my anthropology classes this semester, and the reality is that nearly 25 percent of them will experience sexual violence before they graduate. 

In the general population, 1 out of every 6 women will survive rape or attempted rape. LGBTQ women experience sexual violence at an even higher rate; more than half of transgender women of color will survive sexual assault during a lifetime that will be, on average, only 35 years long. The RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) website reports in large, dominating letters that every 98 seconds, another American is sexually assaulted. 

In a culture where sexual violence against women is this pervasive (and embedded in places like the high schools of potential U.S. Supreme Court members), it doesn’t matter if these women are our daughters, sisters, or wives: it matters that being a woman – any woman – comes with a very real, very tangible risk. 

A risk that is not just “scary,” but one that shapes our lives.

Most of us don’t remember where or when we picked up certain tricks, but many of us carry our keys between our fingers in case we need to defend ourselves while walking to the car. We’ve learned somewhere along the way to look under our cars and in the back seats before we get in; we rarely, if ever, get in an elevator by ourselves with a man or group of men we don’t know. We have all, at some point, called a friend on a walk home so that someone knows where we are, and listens with us for danger as we walk alone. 

These are ways that, every day, every woman in America acknowledges and mitigates – as best we can – the risk of sexual violence we face simply for being women. 

Ways that men mitigate the risk of sexual violence? They don’t, because for the most part, they don’t have to. Scary, indeed. 

Years ago, when I first started teaching at VCU, one of my undergrads asked me to sign a pledge to Start by Believing. At the time, it didn’t seem all that profound to me: it seemed logical pledging to simply believe women when they reported surviving sexual violence. But since then, as students have come through my classes, I’ve found myself in more than one situation looking in tear-filled eyes and saying, before all other things, “I believe you.” And each time I say it, the reality becomes more stark: despite statistics that clearly show women in America are at risk, the default seems to be that when they report their experiences, they are questioned and ultimately doubted.

“What were you wearing? Were you drinking? Were you walking home in the dark by yourself?”

Patriarchy is a deep and profound thing. 

The net result of this doubt is that only 20 percent of undergraduate survivors report their assaults. For non-student survivors, nearly 2 out of every 3 assaults go unreported. Their reasons? Fear of retaliation from the perpetrator, and law enforcement’s disinterest or inability to help. 

And what we watched, as Dr. Christine Blasey Ford testified before the Senate Judicial Committee, is this same tragedy playing out in a very national and public way.

For those who think college kids or millennials today aren’t engaged in a national conversation, I counter with this: students listened on their phones to Dr. Ford’s testimony in the hallway between classes, and asked me to finish lecturing early so we could watch together as a class. They gathered in a conference room on campus to watch the hearing with allies. They turned to each other, turned to me, and said, “I believe her.”

They witnessed, with the same gnawing fear and disquiet in their stomachs, as man after man on the committee told Dr. Ford some version of their doubt in her story. Doubt in her ability to remember, doubt in her ability to judge what makes assault assault. 

Her reasons for not coming forward were questioned by the leader of our country in a tweet on September 21: “I have no doubt that, if the attack on Dr. Ford was as bad as she says, charges would have been immediately filed with local Law Enforcement Authorities by either her or her loving parents. I ask that she bring those filings forward so that we can learn date, time, and place!” 

The resulting stories from survivors use the hashtag #WhyIDidntReport. They are swift, profound, and brutal. During her testimony and in the following days, RAINN saw a 338% increase in traffic on their sexual assault hotline. This is evidence, according to RAINN president Scott Berkowitz, that Dr. Ford’s “story has clearly resonated with survivors, and has led thousands to reach out for help for the first time.” 

The President would like us to focus on the fear of false accusations, or on criminalization of the “boys will be boys” mentality. But statistics tell us that of all assaults reported, only 2% are found to be false. The President – accused of sexual violence by more than a dozen women – has also mocked Dr. Ford and her testimony, which fuels the belief of women across the country that our experiences do not matter. It fuels the belief that, even in raising our voices to the most prominent leaders of our country, we will not be heard. 

Dr. Ford has likely spent her entire academic career being talked over by male colleagues, so in that sense, the hearing was nothing new. Having young women look to her as a role model is likely not new either. 

The conversation we are seeing on the national stage – of a smart, credible, accomplished woman being mocked by the president for reporting her sexual assault – is being heard by every woman in the country. 

It’s heard by women who may think to themselves, “If a professor of psychology isn’t believed, why would anyone believe me?” It’s heard by more women who have kept their assaults quiet for decades, and by women who do not remember all the details – and one result could be that all of these women see the writing on the wall, and simply continue to say nothing. 

Yet, by speaking out, Dr. Ford has done something for women in this country that we perhaps didn’t know we needed. In this moment, women are finding voices that they didn’t know they had, courage from places deeply buried. Another American will be sexually assaulted every 98 seconds until we, as a country, dismantle the power structure and language that believes the accused over the survivors. Starting, sadly, at the very top. 

I believe you. And if you are a survivor of sexual violence, I encourage you to call RAINN’s National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-4673. 

Southwest Virginians Need Healthcare, Not Scorn

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As a journalist, the Remote Area Medical clinic in Wise, VA, was an event teeming with stories and lives waiting to be uncovered. But as a sociologist, it was a textbook case of yet another rural community suffering from systemic disenfranchisement. Global and national forces have trapped the communities within Southwest Virginia in the cycle of poverty. Unemployment is high, wages are low, and medical care, education, and health lag behind the rest of the Commonwealth. The area has long been neglected by political representatives, and has become the subject of misunderstood stories that feed exploitative portrayals in media and entertainment.

Within sociology, I study access disparity, asking who, what, when, where, why, and how people are able to access the systems and concepts necessary to their well-being.

Setting out to Wise to cover the clinic with my reporting partner, Sarah Kerndt, we agreed that we wanted to tell the true stories of the community. Rather than exploit the residents and put them on display, we wanted to find out what they really needed, and share it in an informative, respectful manner. Understandably, we were met with skepticism and wariness. “Are you from the media?” Once, I was even seriously asked if I was part of the “crooked” media. What we found was a major disparity gap that drove these people to the fairgrounds for those three days, and personal experiences that have made them reserved when dealing with the media.

Rural Virginia, southwestern Virginia, and even more specifically, Wise, Virginia, have been grossly misrepresented by the media. The people who live in these communities are often seen as behind the times; backwards, toothless hicks that live in hollers. They are called desperate, which they often are, but are still spun as caricatures of rural America, as if they were the characters of the “Beverly Hillbillies” still stuck in their farmland homes.

These are inaccurate portrayals of the people of southwestern Virginia.

Photo by Sarah Kerndt

Policymaking often forgets those of low-populated, low-income areas. Although Wise isn’t as large as a metro area, I still struggle to find the logic behind forgetting a county that’s populated by more than 38,000 people. Yes, in the grand scheme of things, it is not the largest county by land area (Pittsylvania County) or population (Fairfax County) or by wealth (Loudoun County). But, no county is worth forgetting when it comes to baseline healthcare.

What is probably the largest misconception about the region is that the residents are all hateful, ignorant, and full of racist vitriol toward people of color, especially immigrants from Central and South America. While residents did want jobs to come back, they didn’t describe the loss as an immigration issue. “It’s ridiculous because people can’t get jobs because all of the coal mines are closing and everything, and what jobs that are there are pretty much gas stations and stores,” said Melody Austin, a resident of the area. She was standing in line waiting for general medical. “Everybody’s needing jobs, can’t get jobs, so you can’t get healthcare because you can’t pay for healthcare. It’s a cycle that feeds itself.”

While a lack of funding for schools and educational programs impacts people in rural communities, I came to find that this did not mean that people did not know how to take care of themselves. Sandra Schwaner, an RN from UVA, told me a story about an eye-opening experience she had during one of her first years volunteering for RAM. “From the dental perspective, dental care down here is horrible. I used to think it was because nobody brushed their teeth. Then somebody pointed out to me, “You know we’re not all idiots down here, don’t you? I do know how to take care of my teeth, but with all the fracking and coal mining runoff…”

 She said the contaminated water would collect in the wells, impacting dental health. Chewing on sediment and drinking poisonous water has taken a toll on the lives of these people.

Photo by Sarah Kerndt

People wonder why these folks just don’t get a better job or apply for health insurance, or even just move to a new area with better opportunities. For many, generations of their family have lived in this area. Additionally, the conditions they live in are not their fault.

“The folks that are here are mainly the folks that have fallen through the cracks of the expansion,” said RJ Briscione, regional vice president and Medicaid business development leader at Aetna. Aetna, a healthcare insurance company, was the local partner sponsor that year for RAM. “Most of the folks that you see here either don’t have or can’t get Medicaid or can’t afford other coverage.” As part of their analytics, Aetna partnered with US News and discovered that Wise has some of the worst healthcare coverage in the state. Falls Church was first on the list.

Just a few weeks before RAM, the Virginia legislature passed Medicaid expansion, granting necessary health insurance to nearly 400,000 low-income Virginians. According to the act, states are allowed to “to open their Medicaid rolls to people with incomes up to 138 percent of the federal poverty level, which is $16,643 for an individual. The federal government pledged to pay at least 90 percent of the cost, which in Virginia would amount to about $2 billion a year.” What has existed as a longstanding problem has been the lack of insurance for specialists, an often forgotten step in the role of healthcare. “A lot of the specialties and the subspecialties that you see here represented at all these different trucks…it’s really hard for people to find that kind of care,” said Briscione, gesturing to the different tents and trucks providing medical services at RAM. “We hope, in coming years, we wouldn’t see as many chronic cases here because the Medicaid expansion would help cover some of these folks.”

Chronic pain, in particular, has run rampant in southwest Virginia due to the looming yet decaying coal industry. On the drive down to Wise, you pass a behemoth of a coal plant run by Dominion. The cars leave with a thin layer of dust from the plant. “Southwest Virginia is kind of unique because we have a lot of coal mining industry workers, so we have a lot of chronic pain injury,” said Sarah Melton, professor of pharmacy practice at the Gatton College of Pharmacy at East Tennessee State University. She said this results in the abuse of opioids to treat their chronic or acute pain.

Photo by Sarah Kerndt

The dangerous field of coal mining leaves many with unbearable pain, work-related injuries, and black lung, which has been making a comeback since President Trump promised to bring back the coal industry. But as many have seen across the Appalachian Mountains, where many plants are located, his promise hasn’t brought back jobs. Nearly 20 percent of coal plants have closed since Trump took office, and coal consumption has fallen 2.4 percent, the lowest it’s been in 40 years.

What is hard to fully capture in this piece is how much passion the people of Wise hold. Their desire to work, to care, and to help is evident. As one woman, who wished to remain anonymous, told me, “All we want are jobs. A way of life.” Their sense of heart and pride was palpable. “The people are amazing. To a person, every single person here will [say] ‘thank you’ for volunteering. We don’t go 10, 15 minutes without somebody saying thank you even though they’ve got [to] sit and wait in the heat, which isn’t the best way to get healthcare,” said Briscione. Autumn, who drove all the way from North Carolina with her husband to seek care, was a former resident of Wise. “Everybody here would give you the shirt off their back if you needed it. [They’re] willing to help each other [and are] friendly.”

I refuse to accept the rationale that because a certain group of people voted a certain way means they shouldn’t receive the same treatment as everyone else. For many, the promises that President Trump boasted during his campaign was a sign of hope for the people of Wise. You can’t blame them for clinging to the only hope they have. Many people from Richmond barely know where Wise is located, much less that it’s a county within our Commonwealth. It is about time that people on this side of the region gave a damn about the folks on the other side of the mountains who need care. With the expansion of Medicaid and the looming elections ahead, perhaps we will see changes that are truly needed to aid those in southwestern Virginia.

Social Distortion’s Mike Ness Fights Trump Supporter at Concert

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Video has just surfaced of Mike Ness, legendary frontman of California punk band Social Distortion, taking swings at a concertgoer over an on-stage disagreement about politics last month at the Ace of Spades club in Sacramento, California. The clip shows 56-year-old Ness making aggressive hand gestures towards someone in the audience before taking off his guitar and jumping into the crowd.

The man allegedly assaulted by Ness, Tim Hildebrand, claimed he suffered two black eyes, a busted lip, and a concussion. Reports also have Ness spitting in the direction of the man before the beating took place.

According to CBS 13, the fight was due to Hildebrand heckling the singer after he made some disparaging comments about President Trump at the show. Telling the network affiliate, Hildebrand said, “I pretty much said, I pay for your music, not your politics.” He also told reporters that he stood in silent protest for two songs with his middle finger held high.

Once jumping into the crowd, the video shows Ness throwing some blows while being egged on by the audience. At one point, a concertgoer yelled, “Fuck yeah, Mike.” Hildebrand is a Republican and a farmer from the nearby town of Galt. The Daily Mail has reported that after the scuffle, he was escorted out by police where a report was filed. James Mauldin, who was interviewed by CBS 13, said the incident was “…a little bit excessive.” The band at this time has not commented on the incident.

Punk’s not dead.