Hours before Emory University Interim President Leah Ward Sears announced that Atlanta’s premier private university would be dismantling its diversity, equity, and inclusion office, she was in a meeting with professor Noëlle McAfee.

“Toward the very end of the meeting,” McAfee recalls, “[Sears] said, ‘I want you to know that in the next hour, an announcement is going to go out that we are closing all the DEI programs.’”

After that meeting, McAfee, a philosophy professor, chair of the Faculty Council, and president of the University Senate, immediately headed to teach a class. “At the very end of class,” she says, “I said [to students], ‘You’re about to turn on your phones . . . and see some news from the president.’ One student came up to me, and he said, ‘I was going to talk to you about accommodations for my disabilities, but I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.’” Even though the policy changes didn’t modify disability accommodations, McAfee says many of her students took the news as a sign that moving forward, their university would no longer prioritize such things.

Last September, Emory announced that it would comply with President Donald Trump’s directives to higher-education institutions to end programs dedicated to DEI. His administration’s attack on such initiatives began almost immediately after Trump began his second term; on January 21, 2025, he signed an executive order reversing the federal government’s position on affirmative action and other diversity-focused programs and directing federal agencies to terminate contacts with any groups continuing them.

A month later, the Department of Education issued its now-infamous “Dear Colleague” letter, which threatened to slash federal funding for any colleges or universities that failed to comply with the administration’s order. The letter read, in part, “The Department will no longer tolerate the overt and covert racial discrimination that has become widespread in this Nation’s educational institutions.”

It’s still not clear whether this pressure campaign on higher education is legal; several lawsuits are currently working through the courts alleging they violate constitutional protections. Nevertheless, Emory University, along with several other Atlanta universities, has largely opted for compliance. In the past year, universities across Atlanta have stripped references to DEI from their websites, shut down offices that led diversity efforts, and removed many identity-specific programs.

According to students and faculty from two metro-area universities, the overall impact has been a systematic chipping away at the resources and programs that support students from minority groups on campus—which, for many of them, were a major draw to the university in the first place.

Photograph by Lynsey Weatherspoon

“It feels like we’ve pretty much been told, ‘We don’t want you here. We don’t need you here,’” says Amy West, a senior at Kennesaw State University (KSU) and communications director for the Kennesaw Pride Alliance. “It feels like we’ve been kicked to the curb.”

After Sears’s announcement, Emory’s changes were swift: Among other overhauls, the university’s Black Women’s Initiative and Black Male Initiative were rebranded to remove race, and the Emory Writing Center scrubbed all references to DEI on its website, including a statement of its commitment to anti-racism, equity, and inclusion. Additionally, based on an analysis of a range of current open faculty positions, it appears university departments have stopped calling for diversity statements in hiring.

In her message, Sears acknowledged the positive impacts of DEI in education, noting that she herself is “someone who reaped the benefits of the needs these programs were meant to address,” but told the university community that, frankly, they couldn’t risk the funding hit. “We live in a time of changing expectations and new requirements,” she wrote. “The standards are clear, and we must act accordingly.”

Students don’t see it so simply.

“President Sears says that cutting the programs doesn’t question what’s in our DNA and our values,” says Elizabeth Brubaker, an Emory University senior and student government leader. “But I think the fact that we’re not able to stand up for those values kind of shows where our chips lie. And I’m disappointed in that.”

Brubaker says Emory’s leadership has so far declined to clarify how the school defines DEI, what programs have been affected, and whether more resources will be removed. Emory University officials declined to be interviewed about the status of DEI programs on campus, and university spokesperson Laura Diamond did not directly answer questions about how the school defines DEI or what laws led Emory to make the changes, instead citing Sears’s September 3 announcement. Diamond said identity-based centers that exist on campus today, including the Center for Women, the Emory Black Student Union, and the Office of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Life, would remain.

While they don’t fear retaliation themselves, some students feel their professors have been muzzled, preventing them from speaking out in support of the once-championed DEI practices, and fear that the goalposts set by federal mandates will continue to shift. “You’re toeing a line that you can’t see,” says Asmita Lehther, Emory senior and student government member.

Meanwhile, public universities—which are likewise beholden to anti-DEI policies passed in the past few years by the University System of Georgia’s Board of Regents—have also moved to end diversity-focused programs and groups. In February, Georgia Tech dismantled its LGBTQIA+ Resource Group, the Women’s Resource Center, and a center called Black Culture, Innovation, and Technology.

In May, over intense opposition from many faculty and students, KSU administrators ended the university’s Black Studies major, citing low enrollment, and announced plans to “restructure” six of the university’s identity-based centers. The Women’s Resource Center reopened as the Bridge and Belong Hub; the LGBTQ Resource Center is now the Pathways to Success Hub; and the Global Village, which served as a group for international students, became the Connected Campus and Trailblazers Hub, redirecting its support to out-of-state and other “nontraditional” students.

Students were told that any identity-specific programs would have to be run—and funded—by them.

Speaking with Atlanta on the condition of anonymity out of fear of reprisal from university administrators, one KSU faculty member says the dismantling of “vital” resource centers has raised concerns about students’ and staff members’ mental health. “Morale is at an all-time low, and principled leadership is sorely needed,” the faculty member says. Tammy DeMel, assistant vice president of KSU’s communications office, did not return multiple requests to interview university leadership, or provide comment.

Sebastian Harriman, another KSU senior involved in Kennesaw Pride Alliance, says he believes that not having a dedicated resource for LGBTQ+ students sends an ominous message: “[It] sets a precedent that the school doesn’t want students like us around.”

For their part, university administrators say they can’t afford to defy the Trump administration’s attack on DEI.

Atlanta’s major universities receive millions of dollars in federal funding every year, primarily used to fund student aid or bankroll research grants. In 2024, Emory reported receiving more than $488 million from the National Institutes of Health to fund research. 

During his annual institute address in September, Georgia Tech President Ángel Cabrera warned his staff that failure to comply with federal guidelines could further jeopardize crucial federal funding for the school, which has already been adversely affected by cuts to federal grant agencies. Between January and June 2025, Cabrera noted, the Trump administration cancelled 46 of the school’s research projects that were worth a combined $15 million.

Photograph by Lynsey Weatherspoon

“We need to be extremely alert to changing rules and committed to full compliance,” he said. “I can’t stress enough how much we all must do to do our part to minimize risk, to stay vigilant, to understand our own accountability in these matters . . . Each of us needs to do our part to comply.”

McAfee, the Emory University professor, sees Emory’s quick acquiescence as a similar   attempt to avoid attracting the Trump administration’s ire and risking federal funding. “There are no laws calling for this,” she says. “It’s just capitulating rather than fighting.”

Even as university officials follow marching orders from Washington, many students and faculty are pushing back to protect the programs supporting minority groups on campus.

Last October, Emory student leaders organized a referendum for students regarding the university’s changes to DEI. More than 89 percent of participating students voted for full reinstatement of programs and initiatives that were culled; Brubaker says the university has yet to respond to the results.

After KSU’s LGBTQ Resource Center was rebranded, the Kennesaw Pride Alliance opened its own center this fall in the nearby First United Lutheran Church of Kennesaw. The new center has served as an ad hoc meeting space for some of the university’s now-shuttered groups, including the Hispanic/Latino Outreach and Leadership in Academics organization and the Women’s Resource Center. “Is it super organized? No,” says Kat Folk, First United Lutheran’s vicar. “But we all absolutely have each other’s back.”

It’s unclear if identity-based centers will make a comeback at KSU, should political tides turn. For now, dismantled websites offer remnants of what were once thriving corners of campus life.

“Sorry,” reads a message on the now-defunct page for the Women’s Resource Center, accompanied by the school’s mascot, Scrappy the Owl. “This page has fled the nest!”

This article appears in our February 2026 issue.

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Photograph courtesy of the Atlanta Jewish Film Festival

The 26th Atlanta Jewish Film Festival will unfold across the city between February 18 and March 3. Over the course of two weeks, the AJFF will screen 25 narrative features, 24 documentaries, and 16 short films from 20 different countries across the world. 

Intent on showcasing an array of intellectually stimulating movies, regardless of genre, the AJFF’s desire is for viewers to be provoked, challenged, moved, and entertained by what they’ve watched. Recurring themes of the festival include the exploration of the global Jewish experience, the history and impact of the Holocaust, stories from the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, as well as rom-coms, documentaries, biopics, and dramas told from a Jewish lens. 

The AJFF kick-offs on February 18 with the Atlanta premiere of Once Upon My Mother, a French comedy set in 1963 based on the autobiography of Roland Perez. Born with a clubfoot, his Sephardic Jewish mother was determined that his disability wouldn’t hold him back. Perez will be in attendance to help kick off the festival.

Photograph courtesy of the Atlanta Jewish Film Festival

Singer-songwriter Regina Spektor will also be at the festival to mark the world premiere of My Friend Sam, a documentary about her friendship with Holocaust survivor Samuel Marder that screens February 23. Producer Nancy Spielberg, the sister of legendary director Steven, will be present for the documentary A Letter To David. An ode to David Cunio, one of the Israeli hostages taken on October 7, 2023, this updated version of the 2025 film includes footage added after Curno was freed in October following two years in captivity in Gaza. 

Photograph courtesy of the Atlanta Jewish Film Festival

The 25th anniversary of Kissing Jessica Stein, the acclaimed indie rom-com, will be celebrated on Saturday, February 21, with a special screening and Q&A featuring writer and star Jennifer Westfeldt. Olympic swimmer Michele Kupfer will also debut her documentary Parting The Waters, which she directed. A member of the 1980 Israeli Olympic swimming team, it tells the story of Kupfer’s return to competitive swimming for the 2022 Maccabiah Games after suffering huge personal loss. 

Photograph courtesy of the Atlanta Jewish Film Festival

Other highlights include the Atlanta premiere of the Oscar-nominated Animated short Butterfly To Screen; documentary The Day After, about Israelis and Palestinians traveling to Northern Ireland to try and learn lessons from the Irish peace process; and the Atlanta premiere of the SXSW winner Fantasy Life. Written, directed, and starring Matthew Shear, who will be interviewed after the screening, the romantic comedy tells the story of a young lawyer and out-of-work actress bonding together. It also stars Amanda Peet, Judd Hirsch, Andrea Martin, and Bob Balaban.

Photograph courtesy of the Atlanta Jewish Film Festival

Mahler In New York, a documentary on composer Gustav Mahler’s final years in New York, will also fascinate Atlantans, as it includes contributions from the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra. Director Hilan Warshaw will follow the film’s Atlanta premiere with a question and answer session. 

The Atlanta Jewish Film Festival’s screenings are held at Sandy Springs Performing Arts Center, Plaza Theatre, Tara Theatre, and The Spring Cinema & Taphouse. Cinephiles unable to get to these locations will be able to stream the films at home between March 6 and March 15. 

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Photo by Andrew Thomas Lee

A far cry from your garden-variety gift-shop keychains and mugs, these souvenirs are made by hand and epitomize the culture and history of the places they were created. Some represent crafts that have been passed down for generations, like the sweetgrass baskets of South Carolina’s Lowcountry or moonshine from the hills of Kentucky, while others capture a region’s natural bounty, like shell art from Sanibel Island, Florida, and sumptuous peach cakes made with central Georgia’s most famous crop. Explore these special destinations, meet the makers, visit their shops, and take a truly memorable piece of your travels home.

Photo by Stacy Allen

Handmade quilt from Gee’s Bend
Alberta, Alabama

“Quilting is ingrained in our blood,” says Joeann West, a quiltmaker from the remote horseshoe curve in the Alabama River known as Gee’s Bend. For generations, the women of Gee’s Bend have brought new meaning to Alabama’s nickname, the Cotton State. They’ve stitched together cast-off pieces of clothing, scraps, and flour sacks to create vibrant, improvisational quilts that have been displayed in museums around the world (including the National Quilt Museum and the Whitney). The central Alabama community itself sits on a former cotton plantation where the quilters’ ancestors were enslaved. There, the nonprofit Freedom Quilting Bee Legacy (a continuation of a 1966 quilting cooperative formed to provide the women with sound employment) maintains a museum, community center, and gift shop. It also offers year-round workshops, tours, and exhibitions, including the Airing of the Quilts Festival in October, when the women’s dazzling tapestries decorate laundry lines and banisters in a patchwork of color and history. While West creates her own works (she often uses her grandson’s old blue jeans), she also found many in storage after her mother, Quinnie Pettway, passed away in 2010. Some were incomplete; others, like this one (hanging behind West), needed a complete restitching. “It brought back so many memories working on these,” West says of her quilts, which start at $500. “It was like I could see her hand as my hand making the stitch.”

Photo by Andrew Thomas Lee

Traditional steel Cajun triangle from Studio Aubé
Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

The triangle—or ’tit fer, short for petite fer (which means “little iron” in Acadiana, Louisiana’s Cajun country)—rings out above an accordion or fiddle, making it an essential percussion instrument in Cajun music. But while the tunes play on, the traditional craft of making the instrument is a fading art. ’Tit fers were historically formed from the tines of old hay rakes, but welder Brandy Aubé hand forges them from coldrolled steel in Breaux Bridge in St. Martin Parish, the heart of Cajun country. “I’m the only one I know of making them consistently,” says Aubé, whose day job is with the St. Martin Parish tourism office. “We’re actively trying to keep these traditions alive.” While Aubé’s ’tit fers, with her signature loop and scroll, make for fine wall decor, they’re meant to sound good, too. And she would know about that: She’s a musician herself, and her sister and cousins comprise a trio, Sweet Cecilia, whose Cajun album was recently nominated for a Grammy. In Breaux Bridge, find Aubé’s ’tit fers in local shops, including the funky Louisiana Marketshops at the 115. You might also catch one in action during a two-step at a fais do-do (Cajun dance party) at one of the oldest Cajun dance halls, La Poussiere.

Photo by Andrew Thomas Lee

Chef Virginia Willis’s peach pound cake from Pearson Farm
Fort Valley, Georgia

Acclaimed cookbook author and chef Virginia Willis grew up in the middle of the Peach State, one county over from peach royalty at Fort Valley’s Pearson Farm. For 140 years, five generations of Pearsons have sold handpicked peaches grown in the area’s loamy red clay; when they asked Willis to create a peach pound-cake recipe for them, she says it felt like a homecoming. “I went to high school with the Pearsons,” she says. “I ordered their peaches when I cooked lunch for President Clinton with Martha Stewart. I’m a huge fan.” In summer, visit the historic packing house and farm store, order a peach soft serve, and watch the fruit gingerly tumble down the belts to be sorted and packed. Then nab one of Willis’s pound cakes, baked in small batches in the farm kitchen, just like at home. “The base is my mama’s pound cake,” she says, “very buttery, very solid, and then just packed with peaches. We have not skimped on peaches.” Willis’s pro tip: Toast a slice in the skillet with butter and serve it up for breakfast.

Photo by Zee Anna Photography

Shell-encrusted keepsake basket by the Sanibel Shellcrafters
Sanibel, Florida

Shell collectors flock to the island of Sanibel, which arcs into the Gulf of Mexico like a sand shovel, scooping up the myriad seashells sweeping northward from the Caribbean. Conchs, whelks, kitten ears, junonias—hundreds of varieties wash up constantly on the white-sand shores (some hotels even provide shovels, buckets, and wash stations for collectors). The decades-old Sanibel Shellcrafters community crafting group knows how to put those treasures to good use: Every Monday morning, the group gathers at the Sanibel Community House to create crafts with the found shells. In the free classes, which are open to the public, skilled artists and visitors alike form flowers, mirrors, ornaments, boxes, and more using the spent shells like little jewels. “Most of them we find just walking the beach,” says Cheri Bailey, who heads up the Shellcrafters. “And some we take from donations from others who love collecting. We’ll even take broken shells and make designs with them.” The group hosts sales of their wares once a month (which benefit the Community House), but the true showstoppers are created for the annual Shell Show & Festival in March. Eighty-eight-year-old Barbara McClure has been meeting with the Shellcrafters since 2009. The cornucopia of shells she used in her basket were donated by community collectors. She says the “sheer beauty” of the shells is what captivates her about the craft: “Each one is different; there is so much variety and so many different colors. They’re just magnificent.”

Photo by Tim Robison

Deer mask by Cherokee woodcarver Billy Welch
Robbinsville, North Carolina

A citizen of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, Billy Welch grew up inside the Qualla Boundary, a land trust held for the tribe in the Smoky Mountains. There his grandmothers told him of the seven matrilineal Cherokee clans and their roles in the community (loosely: healers, hunters, gatherers, messengers, protectors, peacemakers, and medicine makers). He later became a well-known woodcarver, using a knife and chisel to shape wood he collected in the forest and adding vibrant splashes of color with his own natural dyes. In 1994, Harrah’s Cherokee Casino Resort commissioned him to carve a set of seven clan masks like those that would have been worn in traditional ceremonies. Masks have since become one of his signatures, and he sells them at his shop, Hunting Boy Wood Carving, a veritable gallery of Cherokee crafts. This deer mask carved from a single piece of wood represents the deer clan, who are historically known as fast runners and hunters. “They wore masks in a ceremony before the hunt, and after the hunt to celebrate the meat and the hide,” says Welch, who has displayed his work at the National Museum of the American Indian in New York. “All the masks I carve have meaning to the Cherokee culture and history of my people.”

Photo by Andrew Thomas Lee

Bourbon-barrel aged moonshine from Neeley Family Distillery
Sparta, Kentucky

Royce Neeley’s 11th-great-grandfather arrived in Pennsylvania from Ireland in 1740 with a copper still and whiskey-making know-how. His family has been distilling ever since, making their way to the hills of Kentucky generations ago, where the limestone-filtered water and fertile soil for growing corn make it a ripe spot for slinging spirits. The bootlegging Neeleys earned a notorious reputation during Prohibition, and it wasn’t until 2015 that they took the business legal: Royce and his father Roy officially launched Neeley Family Distillery in Sparta. The family’s history (including brushes with the law) is on display at the museum-like space, where tours showcase their centuries-old copper stills, photographs, newspaper clippings, and memorabilia, including a 1941 Chrysler that once ran the ’shine. The Neeley libation is made using the triple-pot distilled moonshine recipe of Royce’s great-grandfather Old Pap Neeley (see his likeness, circa 1980, on the label), then aged five years in Kentucky bourbon barrels. “Traditionally, moonshine isn’t aged,” says Rebekah Neeley, Royce’s wife and the distillery’s singlebarrel coordinator. “The recipe dates to a time when it wasn’t even legal to make. So, you’re not going to find this anywhere else.”

Photo by Andrew Thomas Lee

Ceramics from McCartys Pottery
Merigold, Mississippi

McCartys Pottery has Mississippi roots that run deep as dirt. Since 1954, when Lee and Pup McCarty threw their first pots with clay dug from a ravine at William Faulkner’s estate in Oxford, McCartys has created legendary ceramics. The studio, housed in an old mule barn in tiny Merigold (95 miles southwest of Oxford, population 379), churns out wheel-thrown stoneware in an earthy trio of glazes—jade, cobalt blue, and nutmeg brown—which Lee, a former chemistry teacher, developed himself. Lee and Pup, sweethearts throughout their lives, turned their legacy over to their godsons: Stephen Smith, who runs the business, and his brother, Jamie, a potter who “Unc” Lee trained from childhood. A visit today will find Jamie behind the wheel in the barn, adjacent to terraced gardens, a restaurant, and a rustic but elegant showroom offering functional pieces like this jade Delta vase and wavy vegetable bowl, as well as whimsical works like the April bunny and the “bluebirds of happiness” (which Lee once gave every child who visited).

Courtesy Mount Pleasant CVB

Sweetgrass basket by Gullah weaver Lynette Youson
Mount Pleasant, South Carolina

Enslaved West Africans brought the craft of coiled baskets to the rice plantations of the Lowcountry 300 years ago. Their descendants, the Gullah, continue the tradition on the sea islands of South Carolina, weaving baskets of sweetgrass, pine needles, palmetto, and bulrush, now as functional works of art sold in markets around the region. One such artist, Lynette Youson, has been creating baskets for as long as she can remember, selling them daily at the Sweetgrass Cultural Arts Pavilion in Mount Pleasant (they start at $650). “My grandmother and her friends used to sit under a tree and weave, and I’d pick up the pieces they were dropping and imitate them—until one day they took the time and showed me how to do it,” she says. Now she is passing down the craft: “It came over with my ancestors from Sierra Leone, and I’d like to continue the art with my grandkids and new generations.” Youson’s rice fanner basket—originally made to separate rice from the chaff by tossing the grains in the air and letting the lighter husk fly away and the heavier grain fall back into the fan—has a place in the Smithsonian.

Courtesy Music City Leather

Pair of custom cowboy boots from Music City Leather
Nashville, Tennessee

From his one-man shop in Nashville, Wes Shugart of Music City Leather has crafted custom cowboy boots for some big names in country music (including Marcus King), but he says he couldn’t care less about the bright lights and big stage. “Stardom doesn’t matter to me,” says Shugart, who grew up on a cattle ranch in northwest Georgia. “In fact, boots I make for true cowboys get pushed in front of CEOs and music stars.” Shugart reckons he’s the only full-time, fully custom bootmaker east of the Mississippi, and he makes boots the way they were crafted over a hundred years ago, using a 1931 single-needle sewing machine he calls “Edith.” His boots, which start at $3,200, are no ordinary honky-tonk clodhoppers: He sources leathers like hippo, alligator, python, and ostrich in bold colors and creates whimsical stitching and playful inlays and overlays (think: a drum set, a music note, a chef’s knife). This pair, in French calf and kangaroo leather, features a pink-, yellow-, and blue-flecked inlay design he picked up during an apprenticeship with the legendary McGuffin boot-making family in New Mexico.

Photo by Andrew Thomas Lee

Letter opener from A.G. Russell Knives
Rogers, Arkansas

This bench-made letter opener with a green box elder–burl handle reimagines the fierce push daggers favored by 19th-century riverboat gamblers. (Quicker to pull than a pistol, no chance of a misfire.) The renowned late Arkansas knifemaker A.G. Russell conceived of its new—and considerably more peaceful—life as a desk accessory. “He was a real history buff,” says his widow, Goldie Russell, now president of A.G. Russell Knives—a workshop and knife store in Rogers, outside Bentonville. “He loved the romance of it.” Arkansas has been known for its blades since the 1830s, when blacksmith James Black forged a knife for famed fighter and frontiersman James Bowie in the southwestern part of the state. But what began as a symbol of the state’s pioneer history has evolved into a tradition of fine knife craftsmanship that doesn’t exist anywhere else. A.G. Russell founded the knifemaker’s guild in northwest Arkansas in 1970, and the American Bladesmith Society was founded in the state a few years later. Now 10 percent of all master bladesmiths call Arkansas home, with some of them now teaching the trade. “People come to Arkansas from all over to learn,” Russell says. “We’re seeing a resurgence of true handmade knifemaking.”

Photo by Andrew Thomas Lee

Wood-turned peppermill from Mount Vernon
Mount Vernon, Virginia

Mount Vernon is dotted with majestic trees that have stood since the days George and Martha Washington strolled the verdant grounds of their home in northern Virginia. But sometimes, these pieces of living history come down amid storms and disease. When that happens, every effort is made to repurpose the prized wood in a meaningful way. The trunk is used to repair the estate’s fencing and floors, and the green wood goes to Virginia woodturner Doug Dill, who carefully crafts small specialty goods for Mount Vernon’s shop—bottle stoppers, ornaments, pens, and this hand-turned peppermill. “It’s a way for people to take a piece of Mount Vernon home with them,” says Merrill Margueron, the estate’s assistant director of retail. This peppermill was carved from a circa-1780 white oak that fell during heavy rains in 2018. It was the last of three trees that bore carvings by Union soldiers—a five-pointed star and a Latin or Greek cross—making it a true witness to history. “My intent was to create an item that was desired as not only a usable item but a keepsake from the estate of our first president,” Dill says. “The wood is the real treasure.”

Handblown glass water bottle from Blenko Glass Company
Milton, West Virginia

The glassblowers at Blenko haven’t changed their process since the company began operating in Milton in 1921. Molten glass emerges from the furnace as a gob on the end of a long metal pipe, which the glassblower puffs through to create a balloon of pliable glass. From there, it is hand-shaped with iron tongs and handmade wooden molds. “It’s not really about control,” says Jimbo Adkins, an apprentice working with master glassblower Ray Adkins (no relation). “It’s about reading the room, feeling the heat, making small moves that matter. You’re chasing this balance between chaos and grace.” The classic 384 water bottle, so named because it was the fourth product released in 1938, was designed to fit the narrow doors of newfangled “electric iceboxes” and is functional as a two-spout pitcher or decorative as a vase in a striking color (there are more than a dozen choices). The 384 has been in constant production since its introduction and has become an emblem of handmade glass in West Virginia. (The state was once a leading producer of glass, owing to its abundance of sandstone, which can be crushed into silica sand—glass’s primary ingredient.) Visitors can observe the blazing-hot alchemy from a deck above the hot shop, book a behind-the-scenes tour, or even sign up for a glass-making workshop, then browse the shop for small-batch pieces and seconds (discounted pieces with minor flaws) not found online.

This article appears in the Winter 2026 issue of Southbound.

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Photograph by Lorenze Davis

Atlanta has deep ties to the late Rev. Jesse Jackson, Sr. Not only was he a protégé of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., but in 1988, he delivered arguably one of the most well-known speeches of his presidential campaign during the Democratic National Convention at downtown Atlanta’s Omni hotel. Andrew Young, Atlanta’s mayor at the time, had worked in King’s inner circle. In that speech, Jackson shared his vision for the nation if he should become president, but he also detailed his tough Greenville, South Carolina upbringing. “You see me on TV, but you don’t know the me that makes me, me,” he said.

Many of those gathered at The Gathering Spot on Tuesday for the Black History Month program When HIStory Was Watching: A Fireside Chat with Ambassador Andrew Young and Torchbearers of the Civil Rights Legacy, mere hours after news of Jackson’s death broke, either knew him well or were inspired by him.

“My heart is heavy for the loss of a civil rights icon, freedom fighter, and a good personal friend,” said former Georgia NAACP president Gerald A. Griggs. “I’m just thankful that he always taught us to keep hope alive, to recognize the political power to register voters, to be one of the first to lift their hand to fight for the least of these. So my heart is heavy, but I know he’s in a better place.”

Jackson’s passing made celebrating former UN Ambassador and Atlanta mayor Andrew Young even more imperative for Griggs and others. “It made me more energized to continue to pay homage to those who came before us, but also to remember that we have not gotten to the Promised Land; we are in the process of getting there. So I wanted to hear from our dear brother Ambassador Young about how we continue this road that he and so many others were on and now have introduced us to be on,” said Griggs.

“Rev. Jesse Jackson was an icon. He was someone who was more than just groundbreaking. When I look at his runs for president, breaking that ceiling and showing that it was possible for Black men to run for the highest elected office plus everything else that he did, this is a sad day,” reflected Ryan Wilson, co-founder and CEO of The Gathering Spot.

Having Young present was also special to Wilson, who moderated the intimate and timely conversation that looked at how the Civil Rights Movement was documented and how archives are kept now. Building on his earlier statement, Wilson said: “We’re in a true moment where not only do we need to honor their legacy, but the things that they talked about throughout the entirety of their lives are more pressing than ever.”

Photograph by Lorenze Davis

“I believe that Jesse Jackson is one of the great freedom fighters of the 20th century,” shared former Atlanta Mayor Bill Campbell, who presided over the 1996 Olympics that Young spearheaded. “His advocacy on behalf of poor people, people of color, women, those who are in poverty I think highlighted a remarkable dedication to equity. He started poor and he never forgot the roots that gave him a sense of how important it was to overcome poverty, and through his entire career he always kept that at the forefront.”

The event began with a rendition of the Black National Anthem by Heiress Harris, the daughter of rapper T.I. and Xscape singer Tameka “Tiny” Cottle-Harris. On stage with Rosalind Withers, the daughter of premier civil rights photographer Ernest Withers and founder of the Withers Collection Museum & Gallery, who sponsored the event along with the Atlanta-based The Legacy Line, Young reflected on historic photographs and shared anecdotes about prominent Atlanta civil rights leaders including John Lewis and Rev. C.T. Vivian, as well as some of his experiences working in the Civil Rights Movement with Dr. King.

Just before the walk through history featuring some of Withers’ 1.8 million photos, Young recalled that he was last at The Gathering Spot for an event with 2024 presidential candidate Kamala Harris and spoke of the missed opportunity to elect her. “This is not a study of the past,” the civil rights icon said of the program featuring Withers’ photos.

“I still remember and cherish many of those moments because it reminds us of how far we’ve come,” he continued. “But it should also remind us that we can go even further if we have the same vitality, energy and vision that you see in these photos. So we’re not studying the past, we’re creating the future.”

Reena Evers-Everette, daughter of assassinated civil rights leader Medgar Evers, also shared the stage with them, as King Library & Archives assistant archivist Malikah Berry, Eric D. Tidwell, who serves as licensing manager to the King Estate, and Laron Walker, co-founder and CEO of The Legacy Line, which uses technology to bring historic images to life. Collectively they spoke of preserving and controlling Black history, as well as family legacies.

Privately, Young, who turns 94 on next month, shared some of his thoughts on Jackson’s passing at the age of 84. Young fondly recalled first meeting Jackson, who was then just a year out of college. “I met him in 1965. He came up to me one night after a demonstration was over, saw that I was tired and said, Look, if you need to go get some rest, let me hold this watch for a while, and it’s been that way since 1965.” That was in Selma on the Edmund Pettus Bridge during the Selma to Montgomery March that resulted in the introduction and passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

“I almost don’t believe in death,” Young said, comparing Jackson’s passing with his experience of losing Dr. King. “It’s been years since I saw Martin Luther King shot, but there hasn’t been a day in the last 50 years that I haven’t felt that we’re close.”

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Courtesy Of Waymo and Uber

Because she’s legally blind and doesn’t drive, Lee Rogers has always used rideshare to navigate the city. A Candler Park resident, Rogers has been enjoying a new experience: being alone in the car, ferried to her destination by a driverless Waymo. The autonomous vehicles, which have been available through the Uber app since June 2025, cover about 65 square miles of intown Atlanta. Rogers has come to prefer Waymo to traditional rideshare options, citing benefits such as safety, cleaner cars, no small talk with a driver, and no tipping. She appreciates the solo ride—a first for her.

“I think a lot of people who drive are afraid of self-driving cars because they don’t have control,” Rogers says. “But I’ve never had control because I’m blind.”

Atlanta is among the first cities in the country to offer Waymo, along with San Francisco, Los Angeles, Austin, and Phoenix. Though the software company has its own app in certain markets, it’s been using Uber as a platform to introduce Atlantans to Waymo; an option in the app’s settings allows users to opt for the autonomous ride. Waymo’s Atlanta fleet consists of about 100 vehicles, and the company plans to add more over the next few years.

Courtesy Of Waymo and Uber

“Waymo chose Atlanta almost two years ago because of the rideshare demand,” says Ethan Teicher, a spokesperson for Waymo. Teicher says Miami is the company’s next target market, with launches in other major cities soon to follow.

Midtown resident Cator Sparks chose the Waymo option on Uber out of sheer curiosity. He’d been seeing the cars around town and was happy to discover they were clean and quiet. “I thought the Waymo was easy to operate,” he says. “I touched my phone to the door to unlock it and picked 1940s jazz out of the music options.”

Still, some experiences with autonomous vehicles have resulted in frustration, and Rogers and Sparks say there’s room for improvement. “Waymo didn’t register that it had new passengers,” Sparks says of one recent ride. “We had to call for support, step out of the car, and give it a minute. Meanwhile, it blocked other cars from entering the parking lot.”

Nationwide, Waymo cars and other autonomous vehicles have come under scrutiny for failing to adhere to road safety laws such as stopping for school buses; some state legislatures have considered tougher restrictions on driverless cars.

Rogers acknowledges that the driverless ride still isn’t perfect. “But if I have a choice between an Uber and a Waymo,” she says, “I’m taking a Waymo.”

This article appears in our February 2026 issue.

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