by Geoff Serra
Westerly Sun
May 15, 2025
 
Sunday, May 18, 2025, 12-2 p.m., on the Town Hall steps, the Westerly Town Council’s Multicultural Committee will relaunch Neighbor Day – Westerly’s tradition of reflecting upon our community of neighbors. This year’s celebration honors founder Mary Jane DiMaio, a former Town Council member and president whose legacy is her inclusive vision of Westerly. There will be activities, music, and a special mapping event tracing the places and cultures across the globe that shape who we are as individuals and neighbors.
 
The event overlaps with the Library and Wilcox Park’s Garden Market Fair, 9-2 p.m., and follows ARC's weekly gathering on the Post Office steps,11 a.m.- 12 p.m.
 
In a time when division grabs the headlines, Westerly’s Neighbor Day offers us a radical thought:  belonging.
 
It is worth reflecting upon the meaning of "neighbor" and its connotations in Westerly. As a verb, neighbor implies action–to reach out, listen, welcome. We do not merely inherit it by geography; it is a daily choice.
 
Westerly has always been home to diversity; some is common knowledge, but some seems lost to history, especially the stories of our indigenous peoples and those brought to our land in servitude. Their recovered stories create a richer understanding of the diverse tapestry woven by those to whom Westerly is home. Sometimes, newcomers arrive in waves, and other times as individuals. However, upon arrival all share the challenge of being a stranger.
 
As a people, we are called to embrace the stranger; though we haven't always done a good job. We must continue trying, and Neighbor Day is a good way to heighten awareness, opening our arms and hearts to newcomers.  Often, both our implicit and explicit biases kick in and interpret “new” as “different.” Although natural, this is not a process to take pride in or ignore. 
 
Those who come, those who seem different, and those who are not Westerly insiders are not threats; they enrich our diversity and depth, our positivity and strength, enhancing the essence of our community’s fabric. And, in our Democracy, in our state, newcomers do not take from us, they add, and when we extend a hand lifting others, we lift all.
 
Neighbors awaken in us our potential for mutual aid, our grass-roots power to help one another, to give with no expectation of return.  Mutual aid is community building at its best. It is the opposite of the transactional relationships of our current political environment in which everything is a deal.  That view asks, "What's in it for me?" or "If I give, what's the return?" Mutual aid is kinder, more generous, more neighborly.
 
The idea of neighbor as a verb is at the heart of the New York Times bestseller and winner of the National Book Award, The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store by James McBride. A mystery wrapped in a powerful character-driven novel, the book inspires us to think about the meaning of "neighbor" and "community."
 
The novel, which takes place in 1972 in Pottstown, PA, traces from 1925 the transformation of the town through the connections and separations of its Black, Jewish, and immigrant communities in an area called Chicken Hill. It is a town where bigotry, hypocrisy, ethnic divisions, deceit, envy, and privilege endlessly simmer beneath the surface.
 
As the New York Times says, "By showcasing neighbors misunderstanding neighbors, McBride shines a light on how communities in America are at times walled apart by difference, even in intimate relationships." The author asks, "How do racial and class divides manifest in how we know and see one another and in how we allow ourselves to be known and seen?"
 
At one point, the now prosperous Jewish businessman Moshe suggests he and his wife move from Chicken Hill to another area of town “where the Americans are.” His wife Chona, the kind, forgiving, and wise grocer who extends credit, confidence, and respect to all, refuses. "America is here," she responds, defending a way of life in which "every act of living is a chance for tikkun-olam,” or action to repair and improve the world. Daily, Chona freely extends mutual aid. It is a passage Mary Jane DiMaio would have underlined. 
 
Many in the novel are impaired, physically or emotionally. Nevertheless, all try, sometimes unsuccessfully and imperfectly, to move forward despite handicaps which mark their difference. However, when one orphaned child, left deaf from an accident, is unjustly accused of a race-based crime and is to be unfairly institutionalized, the community pulls together to save the child, righting long-standing wrongs and achieving justice and equity.
 
As the Times review says, "McBride offers us a thorough reminder: Against seemingly impossible odds, even in the midst of humanity's most wicked designs, love, community and action can save us.”
 
It is a reminder for all of us. It demonstrates our power and how action on behalf of others strengthens community. It is Westerly ARC’s weekly message on the steps of the Post Office, and it is the essence of the Multicultural Committee and Westerly's Neighbor Day.
 
Today, there is no better tonic than celebrating mutual aid in our community. By honoring one another, we honor our diverse roots, share our cultural stories, and celebrate the common bonds that unite us – the very soul of Westerly. Don't miss it. But, don’t just show up -- commit.  To neighbor is to heal, build, and belong.
 
This column is written by members of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition, which embraces multiculturalism to address racism. A community coalition unaffiliated with any state, national, or international organization, ARC meets on the steps of the Westerly Post Office each Sunday, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. All are welcome. Learn more and subscribe to ARC's newsletter at westerlyarc.weebly.com. Contact them at [email protected]

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by Geoff Serra
Westerly Sun
April 16, 2025

​On April 5, they came from all over the region — hundreds more than expected. Despite the wet cold, people gathered with placards, voices, and hope. They assembled in the municipal parking lot on Canal Street, marched up High Street to the steps of Town Hall on Broad Street, and spilled into Wilcox Park, in front of the Library, and along Union Street. They came in peace, unity, and resolve—just like hundreds of thousands of Americans in over 1,200 cities across the country.

Their message rang out loud and clear: “Hands off!”

The many, many signs said it all. Hands off our values. Hands off our honored democratic principles. Hands off our history, our schools, colleges and universities, our social safety nets, our social security, our national security, our global standing, our citizens, our military, our rule of law, our honor, our Constitution.

They came because this administration, with a razor-thin popular vote and a cabinet full of billionaires and insiders, does not represent the will of the people. We are witnessing the erosion of decades of hard-won progress—and the people are rising to end it.

One message we must not lose in the current national furor is this: for this administration to take its hands off, we, the people, must be hands-on.

Bending the long arc of the universe toward justice can only happen with action. We—the citizens, the voters, the public—must relentlessly engage with the levers of government and power. Our resistance, our persistence, and our civic engagement are not just options, they are responsibilities. They will steer this imperfect country toward the values we hold dear.

As Theodore Roosevelt reminded us, “The government is us; we are the government, you and I.”

So, what does it mean to be hands-on?

It means standing together—as we did on April 5—and as we’ll be called to do again. But it also means acting beyond the rallies and the headlines. We must write to and meet with our representatives. Speak out at local meetings. Volunteer, vote, and run for office. Join organizations working for justice and equity. Be everywhere and anywhere where your words and presence will have influence. Show up. Be civil. Be nonviolent. Be present. Show up; don’t give up. And, make no mistake, even the smallest actions produce results. When we show up, change follows.

If you find yourself in a situation where you cannot act, support those who do. Be there for the protesters who arrived home on April 5 soaked and chilled to the bone. Let them know you see them. Stand with them in whatever way you can.  We each have different skills, talents, and abilities, and we need all of them to turn back this tide. There are so many jobs to do; find one that fits you, and lend a hand.

For us at ARC, yes, it has meant five years of Sundays on the Post Office steps in solidarity, but there is so, so much more action in educating, engaging, and empowering our community - public programming, partnering and networking with local and regional organizations, movie and speaker series, political engagement, pot lucks with purpose, strategic planning and learning, community conversations, celebrations and awards, volunteerism, and art, poetry, music, books, and tons of reading, learning, thought, discussion and sharing. All positive, all hands-on.

In Westerly, we have the power to lead by example and create a community rooted in equity, justice, and kindness where our neighbor’s hunger and struggles are our own and the successes and achievements of another are ours to celebrate. This is not the time for division or cynicism. We need each other now more than ever.

Many in our community live at the margins—overwhelmed, overburdened, or afraid to speak out. We must act for them, lending our hands and opening our minds and hearts, raising our voices, and extending kindness. Solidarity is mutual aid; it’s grass-roots support and help that lifts others and causes real policy change.

To those already doing the work, thank you. It’s personally exhausting but also meaningful and necessary. Hold each other up. Keep going.

What will make America great again is not chaos or cruelty, but compassion, character, and conscience. A return to decency, a focus on people, not profits, and a future guided by justice, not fear.

This is our call. This is our time to stand up and be counted. To be hands-on. Together. Let’s make our voices heard, our actions felt, and our community stronger than ever before.

Special Note:  Westerly ARC’s Black Voices movies series at The United Theatre continues at 7 p.m., tonight, Thursday, April 17, with a screening of Barry Jenkins’ award-winning 2018 film adaptation of James Baldwin’s 1974 novel If Beale Street Could Talk. Don’t miss it. Post-viewing discussion.
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This column is written by members of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition, which embraces multiculturalism to address racism. A community coalition unaffiliated with any state, national, or international organization, ARC meets on the steps of the Westerly Post Office each Sunday, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. All are welcome. Learn more and subscribe to ARC’s newsletter at westerlyarc.weebly.com. Contact them at [email protected]

by Frank Pendola
Westerly Sun
March 23, 2025
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​Like many in small-town America, I must confess that for much of my life, I moved within a rather limited circle—one largely defined by church affiliation, family, and occupation. These remain essential parts of who I am, but now—older, more experienced, and perhaps a bit wiser—I view my life as a kind of second childhood, only without the innocence of naivety. Instead, it is a time of intentional expansion, education, and wholehearted embrace.

The violence of 2020 against African Americans and the glaring inequities laid bare by the COVID-19 pandemic were like alarms sounding deep within me. They prompted a profound reckoning as I struggled to reconcile my spiritual beliefs and devotion to my Catholic faith and social justice with the unsettling realities around me. I found myself reevaluating my motivations for work, my involvement in my community, and my commitment to our fragile democracy. 

In the process, I forged connections with a diverse group of friends—some of whom I now meet on Sunday mornings at the Post Office steps after my traditional worship. There, unity and diversity coexist, however briefly, in conversations and shared purpose.

As I have slowly and cautiously engaged more politically, I’ve discovered friendships that would have been unimaginable in the narrower circle of my youth. In these connections, I’ve found a place where unity and diversity converge, where hope, positivity, and action are not just ideals but guiding principles.

These friends move me with their tireless dedication to justice for all people, especially those who are marginalized and oppressed. They are activists, writers, and teachers who do not shy away from illuminating the painful parts of our history—who confront personal and national “sins” with honesty and love for this country and one another. 

Their courage and compassion inspire me. And like them, I understand that our way forward is through genuine sharing and cooperation, together at an ever-expanding table where there is always room for more.

My life’s circle has grown larger, encompassing people of all backgrounds—different in so many ways, yet united in their inherent goodness and shared humanity. It is unity in diversity, a living, breathing testament to hope.

Recently, I have reflected upon, and often, meditated about the word “Unity” in its many forms and contexts.

Through my spiritual reading, I’ve come to realize that the deeper I go, the wider my embrace becomes. I learned that the ancient Aramaic word “Alaha” and the Arabic “Allah” both emphasize Unity—a state without qualification or limit. Since childhood, I’ve spoken the words “in the Unity of the Holy Spirit.” The preamble to our Constitution proudly echoes this aspiration—“in order to form a more perfect Union.” And our nation’s very name, “The UNITED States,” suggests a union of diverse geographical and cultural entities. 

A wise mentor once told me, “In God, there is Perfect Unity and Infinite Diversity.”

I realize now that words like “God” and “Infinite” point to a reality far beyond human understanding. Yet, we so often try to categorize each other, highlighting differences rather than celebrating the profound commonalities that bind us, despite our differences.

More than ever, there is a need to call upon our better selves—to be inspired to live deeply, intentionally, and respectfully in how we think about and act toward one another, especially those different from us. Are we not all called to bring about unity within our diversity, whether in our towns, our states, our nation, or our world? Aren’t the principles of unity within diversity foundational to every global faith system and the very essence of our democracy itself?

Looking back over my journey—philosophically, spiritually, and emotionally—I have come to believe that purposefully seeking out and celebrating the tension in both our diversity and our commonality is our only way forward. We must embrace, honor, and include everyone in our collective quest to understand our nation’s past, heal our present, and shape a more perfect union.
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This column is written by members of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition, which embraces multiculturalism to address racism. Geoff Serra is a contributing editor. A community coalition unaffiliated with any state, national, or international organization, ARC meets on the steps of the Westerly Post Office each Sunday, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. All are welcome. Learn more and subscribe to ARC’s newsletter at westerlyarc.weebly.com. Contact them at [email protected].

by Geoff Serra
Westerly Sun
February 20, 2025

​The second film in ARC’s Black Voices Movie Series, “John Lewis: Good Trouble,” directed by Dawn Porter, airs tonight at 7 p.m. at the United Theatre. It offers a glimpse into 60 years of one man’s action to make things right. Lewis was a charismatic and courageous activist and legislator who earned the title “the conscience of Congress.”

Lewis’s life of action answers some questions raised in last month’s documentary “Traces of the Trade:  A Story from the Deep North.” That film unraveled how ten cousins learned of an untold family secret. Their wealthy, respectable, influential, and prominent ancestors in Bristol, RI, had run the largest slave trading business in the Western Hemisphere.

The documentary makes clear that slave trading was, by extension, the town’s business. The community’s economy touched upon every facet of the slave trade. All profited—the boat yards and shipwrights, the coopers who made barrels to contain rum traded for slaves, those who distilled that rum, those who provisioned the ships, and those who manufactured the manacles and chains used to restrain the cargo of human lives.

These and many more were ‘upright’ community members, practicing Christians who attended St. Michael’s Episcopal Church in Bristol, whose vibrantly stained-glass windows bore the proud name of the slave trading family who donated them. Journals and written records reveal the wide net of complicity, a conspiracy of silence, a pact or bargain of sorts, not to “rock” the slave trading boat. But there is no escape from complicity when capitalism monetizes human flesh.

As the ten ancestor cousins face this awful legacy and their complicity as economic beneficiaries, our national reluctance to fully engage with this history—to learn it, to teach it, to acknowledge its weight, and to grieve generations of trauma – is brought into clear focus.  The legacies of slavery still define so much of American life in unshakable racial inequities in wealth, education, healthcare, and the justice system. 

We cannot simply leave history in the past — it repeats in new forms, often under different names and biases. We are called to root out and eliminate how these inequities persistently manifest in our country.

In a voiceover at the beginning of tonight’s movie, John Lewis says,  “I feel lucky and blessed that I’m serving in the Congress. But there are forces today that are trying to take us back to another time and another dark period.”

This stark warning darkens as the film unfolds. Today’s efforts to roll back hard-won progress in equity and inclusion should not be taken lightly. Silence and complacency are complicity, and complicity has harmful consequences. 

“Good Trouble” derives from Martin Luther King’s belief in a “beloved community”; it stresses the mutual aid nature of change in a community. Lewis believed that meaningful and just change came when good people called out wrongs and acted courageously to right them. It meant making noise, challenging and disrupting the injustices of the status quo, and championing equity and social progress through the powerful tool of nonviolence.

Beginning with his childhood in Troy, Alabama, when he worked to integrate his local school, Lewis took action, seeking answers and paths to right the wrongs his country had dealt his people. Lewis became an activist, leader, freedom rider, and close friend of Martin Luther King. He participated in historic marches in Selma and Washington, DC. He was beaten and jailed, but his dedication to servant leadership and nonviolence held strong.

He made his mark in history as a Democratic legislator from Georgia, a position he was elected to in 1987 and held until his death in 2020. Lewis focused upon our society’s dispossessed and marginalized, those most often victimized and without a voice.

Congressman Lewis was a pioneer in civil and voter rights. The Voting Rights Advancement Act of 2023 bears his name. It would restore and strengthen many eroded protections of the original Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Lewis’ support of gun control, healthcare, women’s rights, and immigration reform demonstrates the compelling need in our nation to act with full knowledge within the context of history, a lesson so dramatically learned by the ancestors of a slave trading family.

Following John Lewis’s example, we must commit to governing, setting policy, and legislating within the context of who we strive to be as a people.  And as Lewis did, we must hold ourselves accountable.

Informed action is key. Civic and political engagement in our community is the kind of “good trouble, necessary trouble” Lewis encouraged us to make.  He said, “When you see something that is not right, not fair, not just, you have to speak up. You have to say something; you have to do something.”  

We can do that; we must do that to honor and celebrate the diversity that makes Westerly great, not again, but today.
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This column is written by members of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition, which embraces multiculturalism to address racism.  A community coalition unaffiliated with any state, national, or international organization, ARC meets on the steps of the Westerly Post Office each Sunday, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. All are welcome. Learn more and subscribe to ARC’s newsletter at westerlyarc.weebly.com. Contact them at [email protected].

by Geoff Serra
Westerly Sun, January 16, 2025

​Do you know these difficult facts of Rhode Island history? 

By the middle of the 18th century, about 10% of Rhode Island’s population were enslaved, with the greatest concentration in Newport and South County. Despite colonial laws dating back to 1652 abolishing human enslavement, the practice continued in Rhode Island for 200 years.  

The ports of Newport and Bristol were key hubs of the transatlantic trade triangle.  Caribbean sugar and molasses, produced through enslaved labor, were shipped to Rhode Island, distilled into rum, and traded in West Africa for human lives. Between 1700 and 1800, over 1,000 of these voyages initiated from Rhode Island.

The deadly voyage of The Sally, financed by Rhode Island’s Brown brothers, procured about 200 nameless, enslaved African people. In the Middle Passage, 109 died by disease, starvation, drowning, suicide, violence, and other causes before the remaining human cargo of 87 was delivered.

The DeWolf family of Bristol, Rhode Island, (related to the Brown family through marriage) was North America’s most prominent slave-trading family.

I didn’t, and neither did many descendants of the Brown and DeWolf families. 

“Most of the general public in the U.S. has no understanding of the very long history of slavery in the northern colonies and the northern states,” says Christy Clark-Pujara, professor of Afro-American Studies, University of Wisconsin-Madison and author of “Dark Work: The Business of Slavery in Rhode Island.”

There is a history of slavery in Rhode Island, and especially of the state’s shameful entrenchment in the business of slave trading. That history became more complex as fortunes were made in the state’s growing textile industry. Its increasing demand for Southern cotton fueled slavery in the South.

A surge of 20th-century scholarship about the forgotten history of Northern slavery compels us to reassess our general understanding of and the teaching of American history, and of Rhode Island history in particular.  A spotlight has been cast not only on our minds, where we must unlearn and relearn the facts of history, but also on our hearts, where we must process the emotions of our accountability in the national sin of slavery. We’re called to learn, process, and grieve. Indeed, we are called upon to avoid the “that was then, this is now.”

We live in a society built upon that past’s foundation. We must discover and repair the cracks in that bedrock so that we can securely move forward in a just world for everyone. The tools of that work lie in facing the truths of history and developing the mind and heart to recognize and repair still lingering biases and wrongs.

No one knows this process better than nine descendants of the DeWolf family, who, upon learning the truth of their family’s part in this hidden, unspoken slave-trading history, set about to piece together, learn, and try to understand both the facts and the emotional and moral implications upon race relations in our country today.

That story unfolds in the 2008 riveting documentary “Traces of the Slave Trade: A Story from the Deep North” by first-time filmmaker Katrina Browne, a DeWolf descendent. The film, an official selection of the 2008 Sundance Film Festival, airs at 4 p.m., Sunday, Jan. 19, at the United Theatre.

The pre-show discussion begins at 4 p.m., and post-viewing talks will follow. Westerly ARC is proud to announce that Dain and Constance Perry, DeWolf descendants directly involved in the documentary, will be present for the pre- and post-viewing programming.

This promises to be a powerful afternoon of learning and reflection upon the complexities of race in America and our path forward. It is a unique opportunity unlike any which we have had in recent times. Either we remain blind to the injustices of the past and how they manifest themselves in our world today, or we begin the journey of learning our untaught history. Please plan to attend.

This year, Westerly ARC, in partnership with The United Theatre, is presenting a Black Voices monthly film series. Sunday’s movie “Traces of the Slave Trade: A Story from the Deep North” is the first in the series. The selection for Black History month will be “John Lewis: Good Trouble,” Sunday, Feb. 16, at 6:30 p.m. , and Daughters of the Dust follows for Women’s History Month, Thursday, March 20, at 6:30 p.m.

This column is written by members of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition, which embraces multiculturalism to address racism.  A community coalition unaffiliated with any state, national, or international organization, ARC meets on the steps of the Westerly Post Office each Sunday, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. All are welcome. Learn more and subscribe to ARC’s newsletter at westerlyarc.weebly.com. Contact them at [email protected].

by Tim Flanagan
Westerly Sun
December 19, 2024

Sometimes, the holidays bring nostalgia for the “good old days.” When I was growing up in the 1970s, my large Catholic family had many traditions. By Thanksgiving, I had worn thin the pages of the Sears catalog and finished my letter to Santa. At mass, the lighting of Advent candles anticipating the birth of Christ only lengthened my endless wait for Christmas morning. We went caroling on Christmas Eve and enjoyed freshly baked cookies and hot chocolate from our neighbors, whose yards became our playground during summer days. Midnight mass was another tradition, and I recall at least one magical Christmas Eve snowstorm.

It’s tempting to long for those good old days, especially given how much our world has changed in fifty years. A Christmas Eve snowstorm is unlikely today, and snowless winters are more common. Consumerism reaches full force with Christmas displays up before Halloween and Black Friday deals throughout the season. Now, a few clicks on our phones purchase all our gifts and deliver them tomorrow. And neighborhoods where people know and interact with one another are increasingly rare. 

I would not, however, choose to return to the past even if I had a time machine. The past was not perfect. Despite my fond memories of growing up in a loving family in the suburbs, that world was far from ideal. In America, being gay was considered a mental illness until 1987, the year I started my teaching career in a job I would never have gotten as an openly gay man. 

Yes, there has been slow and uneven progress with gains in civil rights for other marginalized groups. Now, women can open a credit card in their name; students with disabilities are guaranteed a free, appropriate public education; and the trauma of Native American boarding schools has finally ended. 

Today, my children and grandchildren entrusted to me through adoption can now see more Black people who look like them in leadership positions. Representation matters, especially in Westerly, where twenty percent of our students identify as a race other than white and where we now have our first Black School Committee Chairperson.

These hard-won victories are milestones and beacons of hope for a more just future. 

Gains toward a more just society during my lifetime have been achieved only because of many who lived long before me. Though laws have changed to address many injustices, the impact of centuries of unequal treatment remains woven into the fabric of US law and policy. Undoing the damage of those unjust laws and practices will continue to require much work.

Maintaining these hard-fought achievements will also take concerted effort. In the past few years, women have lost bodily freedom rights, rights for trans people are increasingly under attack, and voting rights for marginalized groups are often suppressed.

At times, I do struggle with the temptation to idealize the past. Sometimes, I think I can do little to address the enormity of our past’s legacy of injustice, so why try? It’s an easy temptation to enjoy my privileges ignoring the injustices that impact others. But, then, I remember the countless individuals before me who worked so hard sacrificing so much to make today’s freedoms possible. Just as we now benefit from their efforts, we must work together to make a better world for those who will follow us. And, if we don’t support equity for everyone, who will help us when our freedoms are attacked?

Our decisions impact tomorrow. As Senator Robert Kennedy said in a speech at the University of Cape Town in South Africa in 1966: 

“Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.”

History demonstrates the truth of Kennedy’s words. Ripples do indeed become powerful waves of forward motion. Let us work together to create more ripples of hope right here in Westerly. This holiday season, let’s recommit to learning from the good and the bad of our past, understanding the complexities, and forging a more just and equitable future for all. 

Join me and others on the downtown Post Office steps every Sunday as Westerly ARC reminds all to engage, educate, and empower our community. 

This column is written by members of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition, which embraces multiculturalism to address racism. Geoff Serra is a contributing editor. A community coalition unaffiliated with any state, national, or international organization, ARC meets on the steps of the Westerly Post Office each Sunday, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. All are welcome. Learn more and subscribe to ARC's newsletter at westerlyarc.weebly.com. Contact them at [email protected]

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by the Westerly ARC Steering Committee
Westerly Sun, November 21, 2024

​As the holiday season approaches, the Anti-Racism Coalition’s (ARC) work is especially resonant. Education and engagement lies in the heart of our mission, especially the more profound hospitality of treating others with compassion and empathy.  Making space for one more at our personal holiday dinner table extends to making space at our community table for those different in language, culture, background, skin color, belief, or political affiliation. In very real ways, holidays challenge us to embrace inclusion and belonging as a source of strength, joy, and renewal.

What is the point of ARC’s Sunday gatherings at the Post Office? Those who witness only ARC’s public gatherings may have doubts or be curious. But these gatherings — a tradition of nearly 222 Sundays — are just one piece of ARC’s work. Beyond our foundation of friendship and community, lies a wellspring of collective action, a presence in our community, and a journey of growth.

ARC was born in pain and outrage in May 2020. George Floyd’s murder bared the enduring injustices faced by so many in our country, and those early gatherings were raw and emotional. In the needed release of long-carried hurt and anger, we chanted; we yelled.

As weeks became months, something shifted. We realized that anger would not make change. Talk began to replace shouting. We read poetry aloud, sang songs of hope and resilience, studied and shared, and invited guests and children to join us in the joy of gathering.

ARC became more than a place to release frustration — it became a place to build friendships, foster understanding, and inspire action.

Sunday gatherings have evolved into a space where coalition members come for a kind word, a sense of solidarity, or a simple moment of peace. They have also become necessary stops on a journey of learning.

While these gatherings remain a powerful symbol of our mission, they are not the whole. In four years, ARC has transformed pain into purpose, harnessing and turning collective energy into meaningful action.

From hosting cultural events like Juneteenth celebrations, art exhibitions and programming, multicultural book readings and discussions, movie screenings, speakers, and action to advocate for systemic change, ARC’s work has deepened connections across Westerly. Partnerships with local agencies and organizations have helped us create a live, growing, inclusive community network.

One area of significant impact has been in civic engagement. Early on, seeking to think globally, but act locally, ARC recognized the importance of diverse representation in shaping a more equitable town. Our efforts were additive in electing Westerly’s first Black town councilor, Black School Committee member, and Asian American state senator. This year’s election results reaffirm both our progress and the community’s commitment to an even more beautiful Westerly.

Our state senator’s reelection is testament to the town’s belief in strong and effective leadership. Representing the values of hard work, commitment, and transparency, this servant-leader has championed critical issues such as affordable housing, health care, coastal access, and environmental protection.

Similarly, newly elected Town Council members bring a shared dedication to progress. They are focused on priorities like mental health, strategic leadership, affordable health care, and housing challenges, offering thoughtful solutions and fresh energy.

In addition, new members and advocates for all children will soon join the School Committee, bringing with them a history of community involvement, creative vision, and extensive educational expertise. Together, these leaders reflect a deep commitment to equity, empathy, and the well-being of every child and family in our community.

Though the arc of justice may be long, it does bend toward equity, however slowly. ARC believes that Westerly has shown us that such progress is possible.

Beginning in chant and protest, ARC has grown into a beloved community of hope and action. We’ve channeled emotion into conversation, turned outrage into outreach, and transformed division into connection.

We invite you to stand with us, learn with us, and join in the excitement of shaping our beloved community’s future of inclusion and belonging.
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This column was written by members of the Steering Committee of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition, which embraces multiculturalism to address racism. Geoff Serra is a contributing editor. A community coalition unaffiliated with any state, national, or international organization, ARC meets on the steps of the Westerly Post Office each Sunday, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. All are welcome. Learn more and subscribe to ARC’s newsletter at westerlyarc.weebly.com. Contact them at [email protected].

by Andrea Carey
Westerly Sun, October 17, 2024

​In general, poetry, poetic prose, and writing have always been at the core of ARC’s tools to help build a more equitable community. Several months ago, Andrea Carey stepped forward to read an original piece, a reflection on diversity and inclusion, narrated through the metaphor of the egg. As we face the ballot box and deliberate upon our choices for leaders, let us reflect upon what we value, what we stand for, who we are, and who our neighbor is. In Andrea’s words, “Let us consider the egg.”

Some eggs have outer shells colored brown, white, or even blue, but inside, they are all alike, and each bears its own yoke (yolk). Here we are — all eggs of different colors and shades, but we all want the same thing — not to be boiled, fried, poached, or scrambled — just to have the opportunity to be the full expression of our potential and to be treated with equity and justice.

We, like the eggs in this metaphor, represent our shared humanity, regardless of our outer differences.

I was born in Hawaii. My DNA, among other things, says I am descended from Czechoslovakian, Portuguese, Spanish, Japanese, Native American, French, German, Korean, Pacific Islander, Scandinavian, Ashkenazi Jew, and Sub-Saharan African. My ancestors came from everywhere; you’d think I could fit into any box of a dozen eggs.

Our family of five moved to Texas in 1960. I attended high school in San Angelo. New and shy, I was timid and afraid to make friends, but one day, a student, a Mexican immigrant, approached me speaking in Spanish. Apologetically, I replied that I didn’t speak Spanish. The student excused herself and walked away. No white Texan student at that school ever introduced themselves to me, nor tried to make friends.

Across the street from our house a Jewish family lived. Their daughter Sarah and I made fast friends. One day, she complained that she did not like her “Jewish nose.” I stared at her, looking from left to right, but I really could not see that her nose was unusual in any way, and I told her so. I did not see the negative stereotype she had internalized.  In fact, until she used the term “Jewish nose,” I had never even heard it.

A similar incident happened while I was attending Boston University. There, a group of us students worked together in pairs on a project. I partnered with Sam. Other students asked me who my partner was. Because they did not recognize Sam by name, they asked me to describe him. I said, “Tall, thin, very short hair, very resourceful, and smart,” never thinking that “black” was relevant. I had dismissed race. In time, I came to know and respect that “black” was centrally important to Sam’s identity, though racial identity was not in my vocabulary. With the group, I came to know that Sam was my very intelligent, resourceful, Black partner.

You know what? None of us has to fit in a box of eggs to be a good egg or feel good about ourselves.

I always feel welcomed at ARC’s peaceful Sunday gathering. I participate because I see the need for meeting the moment and facing the realities of changing demographics in our community with self awareness, openness, and love. I participate because understanding biases and history is vital to our future. I participate because I believe every person deserves equal opportunity and equal justice. And, I participate because I know that challenges exist not simply because there are just some “rotten eggs.”

Don’t get me wrong. Our peaceful gathering of good people doesn’t mean we can’t and haven’t felt anger. We are learning together as a community that anger is not resolution-oriented. Anger can evolve and be used in positive, healthy ways to accomplish good. One by one, one egg at a time, we can reach out to one another, embrace our differences, and work together for change ... and vote by vote, we can make a difference.
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This column is written by members of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition, which embraces multiculturalism to address racism. Geoff Serra is a contributing editor. A community coalition unaffiliated with any state, national, or international organization, ARC meets on the steps of the Westerly Post Office each Sunday, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. All are welcome. Learn more and subscribe to ARC’s newsletter at westerlyarc.weebly.com. Contact them at [email protected].

by April Dinwoodie
Westerly Sun, September 19, 2024

Witnessing Vice President Kamala Harris accept the Democratic presidential nomination and hearing her share her experience of extending her family through love was moving. As a Black/bi-racial transracially adopted person, I have always been acutely aware of the way love and biology can shape families.

Harris, who is of mixed race and part of a blended interracial and interfaith family, exemplifies the beauty of family created through connection and care rather than shared genetics. Her presence in the highest levels of government is a powerful message to those millions of households, families, and individuals who don’t fit the traditional mold—our family bonds are no less strong, meaningful, or real.

I’ve experienced this through adoption. A family that didn’t look like me embraced me as a baby, and we share love and mutual care that transcended our different skin tones. I was raised to understand that DNA does not determine family; the people who choose to love and stand by one another determine family. Through the power of love, my parents, siblings, and relatives have shaped the foundational elements of who I am and how I value family.

Forging kin-like bonds with those not genetically related takes real work, intention, and commitment. While family by blood is automatic, creating family by love requires intentional efforts, vulnerability, and the willingness to show up for one another in ways that transcend simple affection or obligation. 

Vice President Harris’s experience of extending her family through love speaks to the labor of cultivating relationships that nurture and sustain us, especially across racial, cultural, or background differences. Built on mutual respect, trust, and care, these bonds reflect the true essence of family. These bonds demonstrate the strength of choosing connections and creating lasting ties with people who share your heart, but not your DNA.

This “family by love” is a personal and communal reality. Living in Westerly and being part of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition (ARC) reinforces that idea for me. Loved ones in this community have become my extended family—an ever-growing circle of respect and support. We are a family connected not by race or blood, but by a shared commitment to equity, inclusion, understanding, and belonging.

Balancing my family of origin, with whom I reconnected later in life, with my family of adoption, I have often said there are never too many people to love or to love me. ARC reinforces and extends that love beyond the DNA of “family trees” to the branches of human beings, bonding with and nourishing my soul and filling my heart with joy. 

I’ve come to believe that families like mine, like Vice President Harris’s, like the one we’ve created within the Westerly ARC community, represent the future where people are celebrated for who they are and the love they give, not what they look like or where they come from. 

Family isn’t simply a noun in these spaces—it’s a verb. It’s the connection and care we create and nurture daily by supporting one another.  And I’ve also come to know that communities can be families.

In a time when the divisions of race, culture, and identity often feel insurmountable, I find solace in knowing that the family I have—through biology, adoption, and ARC—is proof that we can overcome these divisions. In our blended, diverse, and loving community, we celebrate the foundation of family — choosing to include and embrace differences, and LOVE!
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This column is written by members of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition, which embraces multiculturalism to address racism. Geoff Serra is a contributing editor. A community coalition unaffiliated with any state, national, or international organization, ARC meets on the steps of the Westerly Post Office each Sunday, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. All are welcome. Learn more and subscribe to ARC’s newsletter at westerlyarc.weebly.com. Contact them at [email protected].

By Geoff Serra
Westerly Sun 
​August 15, 2024


She appeared sobbing at my classroom door. She told me that immigration authorities had arrested and jailed her mom as an "illegal." She was tired, scared, terrified. Unsure what I could do to help, I comforted her, and we agreed to meet at the end of the school day.

A recent graduate, Majan had been an outstanding student in my 11th-grade English class. She had learned some English in Haiti; she spoke French and Haitian Creole. Beautiful inside and out, she exuded warmth and personality.

That day, I learned that, like her mother, Majan was undocumented. Years earlier, her mom had fled a failed marriage and Haiti, seeking political asylum from a régime unfortunately supported by US political interests. As a result, her asylum request was denied, but mother and daughter remained.

Majan was brought into the country as a child; Haiti was a distant memory. Via Miami and New York, Norwich, CT, had become her home. Today, we refer to young people like Majan as "Dreamers." Our political system has long wrestled with the citizenship status of minors brought into the country.

Not since President Reagan's action in 1986 has our nation addressed a path for undocumented children and their families whose stories are as unique and complex as the individuals. Legislation could allow these families to earn lawful status and citizenship. 

Since 2001, Congress has failed to pass comprehensive system reform; the Dream Act of 2017 (DACA) addressed the status of some, but it came too late for Majan. Immigration is a central issue in the 2024 election as Congress once more has failed to pass meaningful reform this year.

I vowed to stand beside Majan and her mom. I did and continue to do so.

Her tale is of personal courage, perseverance, and the incredible generosity of good people sharing their hospitality, bounty, and open hearts. It includes the care and compassion of a friend, an administrator, and a school, a mensch of a newspaper columnist who took up her cause with sensitivity and conscience, and the advocacy of politicians, especially in Connecticut and Washington, who saw the potential I had seen in my classroom—a thirst to succeed in our democracy.

Enthusiastic, committed, and reliable, Majan and her mom worked every job imaginable.
Through grit and generosity, Majan attended Three Rivers Community College and graduated from Eastern Connecticut State University. It wasn't easy—tuition was out-of-state, and financial aid was not available to her. Books and fees were challenging.

But she made it, and I was there at her graduation when, like others, she dropped a penny into the college fountain as a commitment to philanthropy, an admirable tradition at Eastern.

Now, the wife of a talented Haitian man and the mother of two beautiful girls, Majan is a businesswoman and entrepreneur. She did not take jobs from American citizens; she did jobs they would not, creating opportunity for herself.

She owns and operates two successful businesses in Southeastern Connecticut, and the couple owns their home in Ledyard. He is a citizen; she is on her way to citizenship. They pay taxes and social security as they have always done; their children attend school and speak three languages. In every way, they exhibit the "family values" we cherish as Americans.

I share this experience not to demonstrate the extraordinary challenges facing today's teachers (although it does), nor to advocate comprehensive immigration reform (which I could). Nor do I promote "white saviorism," for Majan's success is hers alone. 

To me, the story is of compassion and empathy—of seeing the potential in others and recognizing that powerful obstacles occur at the intersection of race, color, gender, poverty, and citizenship status.

For many of us in Westerly, it is essential to note that the immigration stories of our parents, grandparents, and ancestors may not be like Majan's.

From age 5 to 15, my grandmother spent her childhood in Italy without her father and brother. They were in the US working and saving until, under US immigration law, the remainder of the family could come. Those ten years were hard years of sacrifice on both sides of the sea.

US immigration policy has always taken a toll by dividing families.

Today’s immigration stories may tell of different circumstances, but of equal difficulty and hardship. Our laws have yet to catch up with changing global realities. The adversity of our own family experiences can help us understand the paths of others, even though they may not be the same as ours.

Amid Majan's struggles, journalist Steven Slosberg (whose new book Columnist II: East to Westerly has been recently published) asked me why I became involved in Majan's cause. I said, "My family, as many families, tells tales of how the helping hands of others made the difference in the outcome of our family's journey. It was my turn to lend a hand." 

Many voices today label "migrants'' as "bad people," criminals flooding our country to take our jobs and ruin our way of life. Majan taught me the opposite. Beyond the differences of circumstances and appearance, if we look hard enough, the faces of our ancestors appear.

 
This column is written by members of the Westerly Anti-Racism Coalition, which embraces multiculturalism to address racism. A community coalition unaffiliated with any state, national, or international organization, ARC meets on the steps of the Westerly Post Office each Sunday, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. All are welcome. Learn more and subscribe to ARC's newsletter at westerlyarc.weebly.com. Contact them at [email protected].