How This Woman’s Voice is Reshaping Charlottesville’s Fight for Justice
by Marquan E. Jones | Photos by Eze Amos
When Tanesha Hudson walks into a room, she owns it. It’s not arrogance—it’s a lesson learned from mentors who taught her that belonging isn’t granted by the makeup of the room, but claimed by the confidence you carry into it. And in Charlottesville, where she’s spent her life advocating for the marginalized, holding power accountable, and fighting for Black children who “just don’t know any better,” that confidence has become her greatest weapon.
For Hudson, activism isn’t a path she chose—it’s simply who she is. “Activism to me is embracing the gifts from your ancestors because they couldn’t speak,” she explains. “I vow to use that gift of speaking and moving and shaking in rooms in ways that they weren’t able to do. It would’ve cost them their life. I’m able to do it now and walk out with a smile on my face.”
Roots in Resistance
Growing up in Hardy Drive during the 1980s and ’90s, Hudson witnessed a reality that could have easily consumed her. “There was no rougher time than growing up in Hardy Drive in the eighties and nineties,” she recalls. But what set her apart was an expanded imagination—a refusal to let her environment define her future.
“What I saw never consumed me,” Hudson says. “I knew that there was a life outside of Hardy Drive and Run Street. I think if we can get kids back to doing that in a more positive light—take the music away, take the tablets away, take away social media—we got to think beyond our horizons.”
That imagination was fueled by education, books, and travel. But it was also fueled by something Hudson believes might be hereditary—a family ethos of resistance and advocacy. “How I was raised drew me to activism,” she explains. “How my family operates, I believe it could be hereditary.”
Her formative years at Charlottesville High School from 1996 to 2000, where she played point guard on the basketball team under coaches Edward Brooks III, Harry Terrell, and Gary Bloxsom, shaped more than just her athletic prowess. “I was a point guard at heart, so I speak loudly and naturally,” Hudson says with a laugh. That commanding voice—the one that directs plays on the court—is the same voice that now directs attention to injustice in city council chambers, school board meetings, and courtrooms across Charlottesville.
“I am who I am because I just always knew I wanted more. I vividly pictured myself as being more than what I came from.”
Standing on the Shoulders of Giants
Hudson’s activism didn’t develop in isolation. She credits her foundation to powerful mentors, particularly Dr. M Rick Turner, former dean of African American Studies at UVA, and his wife, Mrs. Tamyra Turner, an educator at PVCC.
“Nobody was as powerful as Rick Turner when I was a teenager,” Hudson remembers. “I would see this man walk into rooms and speak with a passion and with a power.” The Turners taught her a lesson that would become her signature: “When you walk into a room, you walk into that room and you act like you belong there even when the makeup doesn’t look like you. Have confidence that you belong there and you always speak up no matter what.”
That lesson stuck. Today, Hudson walks into IEP meetings, disciplinary hearings, city council sessions, and senate sub-committee hearings with the same unwavering confidence, demanding accountability and speaking truth to power.
Her faith also anchors her work. As a member of Pilgrim Baptist Church on Albemarle Street, where her cousin, the late Reverend R.A. Johnson, served as the founder and pastor, Hudson draws strength from a foundation that has sustained Black communities for generations. “Without faith, where would we be as a people?” she asks. “Faith has definitely been one of the foundations of anything that I’ve ever worked on.”
Fighting on Every Front
Hudson’s activism touches nearly every corner of Charlottesville life. “I don’t think there’s one level that you can’t say Tanesha Hudson hasn’t touched in this community,” she says, and the evidence supports her claim.
In the education arena, Hudson serves as a fierce advocate for Black students and their families. She represents families in IEP meetings, disciplinary hearings, and even expulsion proceedings—keeping kids in school and ensuring they get the services they need to succeed. “I’m making the school be accountable and holding them accountable to meeting those needs for those students so that they have what they need so that they can flourish,” she explains.
Her live videos on social media have become an unexpected tool for change. Though she may not always see immediate engagement, the impact is real. “When I go out in public, someone says, ‘I saw your live video, and it really helped me. I was able to contact the school to ask questions about my child’s IEP,'” Hudson shares. “People might not hit a like button, but they are listening.”
The tangible differences she’s making are everywhere: kids going from failing grades to passing grades, students getting into college and trade programs, families successfully navigating systems that were designed to exclude them. “The reward is seeing kids go off to college, graduate, be able to play sports, turn their life around, go from failing grades to passing grades, get into programs and learn how to do stuff and earn a trade,” Hudson says. “That’s the reward and that’s the tangible difference that I can say I’m grateful to be a part of.”
Beyond education, Hudson has been instrumental in police accountability efforts, working closely with former mayor Nikuyah Walker to demand transparency from law enforcement. She’s a constant presence at city council meetings, board of supervisors sessions, and school board gatherings—always ready to challenge officials and demand better for her community.
Perhaps most impressively, Hudson successfully testified at a senate sub-committee hearing on a housing bill she introduced to combat racist retaliation and treatment from homeowners associations. The bill passed 5-0 with one abstention—a legislative victory that directly addresses the systemic racism she’s long fought against. “HOAs are so deeply embedded in racism and most legislation tied to it is so old fashioned that it still bleeds racism,” Hudson explains. This win came after she felt “brushed off” by local media when trying to bring attention to the issue—proving that when the press won’t tell the story, Hudson will write it herself in legislation.
“This work is not for the weak. It’s draining, it’s heartbreaking, it’s stressful, but the reward trumps all of that. The reward is greater.”
Creating Spaces for Black Joy
Hudson’s vision extends beyond holding systems accountable—she’s actively building alternatives. In 2023, she graduated from the Sorenson Institute for Civic Leadership, a political leaders program, where she met Lakeesha “Klu” Atkinson. That connection led to the creation of Stop the Violence 434, inspired by the work of Monica Atkins and Klu Atkinson’s Stop the Violence 757 chapter.
Stop the Violence 434 raises money to keep kids off the streets by paying for AAU teams and positive programming. “They’re paying for kids to get out the street, to get on AAU teams and just all positive things,” Hudson explains. “They raise money and they put kids in programming so that they can stay out of the street.”
She also founded Legacy Unbroken, an organization dedicated to documenting Black stories in Charlottesville. Currently, she’s working on a documentary about the Martinsville Seven, ensuring that critical histories aren’t forgotten.
Made in Charlottesville, an event Hudson created in 2019 as part of the Unity Days following the events of 2017, was a resounding success. When asked to move the event to a different location, Hudson refused, insisting on keeping it in a Black space. “I think we need to latch on to the Black events that are for us by us and keep those events flourishing,” she insists.
Hudson is unapologetic in her belief that Charlottesville needs to do more for its Black residents. She’s been a vocal advocate for free events and resources—”Black people deserve free. We deserve free stuff around here,” she declares—and points out the disparity in how the city supports different communities.
“Richmond has a jazz festival. Richmond has an R&B festival. Hampton has a jazz festival, R&B festival. Portsmouth, Chesapeake, you name it. These places have their own weeks of Black festivities, and Charlottesville has yet to give us a week,” Hudson notes. “They got Tom Tom, they got Gay Pride. They have all of these festivities for people that don’t look like us. And then when Black people want to do something, it’s a problem.”
Her upcoming projects include gaming events with Upscale Event Center and plans for youth programming, though she’s mindful of current safety concerns. “With all this area violence, it’s just one of those things where it’s like, do I punish all the kids because some kids don’t know how to act or do I still do it?” she wonders. “But I’m a firm believer that safety’s first.”
The Price of Speaking Truth
Hudson doesn’t shy away from discussing the very real costs of her activism. She’s been terminated from jobs “because I’m Black and they don’t like the way I talk.” She’s received hate mail and threats. Her car was shot up—she still doesn’t know who did it. There are things she’s been through that she’s never shared publicly.
“You’ll get it from all sides. You’ll be targeted. They’ll target your kids, you’ll get hate mail, you’ll get threats,” Hudson says frankly. “These are real results of things that will happen to you and you got to just keep going. You can’t stop.”
She’s also keenly aware of how Black women activists are perceived. “Black women can be seen as ‘angry birds’ or angry Black women when they are just passionate about topics,” she explains. Hudson wants people to look past how she’s saying something and focus on what she’s saying—the substance over the style. Yet she refuses to change her tone to make others comfortable. “Change does not get complacent,” she reminds us.
“I wouldn’t be who I am if I had listened to everybody. ‘Oh, you need to change your tone. You need to do this.’ No, be you. I am who I am. I’ve made it to where I am being exactly who I am and never compromising who I am for anyone and I refuse to.”
A Vision for the Future
What keeps Hudson going through the threats, the exhaustion, and the heartbreak? Black joy. “Knowing that you can put a smile on somebody’s face in their weakest and most vulnerable moments, knowing that you can help a kid that just don’t know any better,” she says. “I appreciate and know what those before me have done and why I’m in the position that I’m in. Because they fought so hard for me to do what I do.”
When asked where she sees the most potential for positive change in Charlottesville, Hudson doesn’t hesitate: the youth. “We’re losing our children out here and it’s a worldwide issue,” she says. “We need to pull more resources into them. We need to get them on a path early of using their imagination and figuring out what they want to be and working towards that at a younger age.”
Her vision is concrete: more youth job training programs, certifications kids can use in their future, tech programs, and hands-on blue collar workshops teaching skills like sewing, cooking, HVAC, and electrical work. “These kids learning all year long, that’s not cutting it for them. They tired of school. We got to find other alternatives,” Hudson argues.
But she wants more than just graduation rates. “Are they graduating on a level that they can be sustainable as adults?” Hudson asks. “Are they sustainable as adults when they walk that stage? That’s what I want to see more of.”
Advice for the Next Generation
For those who want to make a difference but don’t know where to start, Hudson’s advice is simple: “You just got to do it. There is no right or wrong way.”
She expands: “When you walk into a room, you walk into that room regardless of what it look like and own your space. Know that you belong there. Own it period. Don’t bite your tongue. Be authentically you. Be unapologetically you and remember your why and remember why you’re there. And don’t let nobody change who you are.”
Hudson emphasizes the importance of authenticity in this work. “A lot of people can fake this type of work. They really want to change, and then when the pressure comes, they fold,” she observes. “This work is not for the weak. You have got to know how to deal with pressure.”
And self-care? It’s non-negotiable. “I always remember the self-care,” Hudson says. As someone who describes herself as “extremely extroverted”—”outside is my middle name”—she finds renewal in networking, traveling to other communities, and bringing back ideas to Charlottesville. “Sometimes you have got to take breaks,” she adds firmly.
The Legacy Continues
Tanesha Hudson is not waiting for permission to create change. From the courtrooms where she advocates for children’s futures to the senate chambers where she shapes housing policy, from the community events that celebrate Black joy to the live videos that educate and empower, Hudson is everywhere—speaking loudly, owning her space, and refusing to be anything other than herself.
“I am who I am not solely because of where I’m from, but what I have gotten to experience and learn outside of Charlottesville,” Hudson reflects. But she’s clear about her purpose: she’s here, doing this work, because of faith beyond the horizons and a deep commitment to honoring those who came before.
When asked if there’s anything else she wants readers to know, Hudson’s response is characteristically direct: remember the work. The IEP advocacy, the court appearances, the city council confrontations, the housing bill victory, Stop the Violence 434, Legacy Unbroken, Made in Charlottesville, the Martinsville Seven documentary, the Unity Day events. “I don’t think there’s one level that you can’t say Tanesha Hudson hasn’t touched in this community.”
And she’s just getting started.
For Tanesha Hudson, activism isn’t about being liked or being comfortable. It’s about being necessary. It’s about using the gifts her ancestors couldn’t use, speaking the truths they couldn’t speak, and walking out of rooms—with a smile on her face—that they couldn’t even enter.
In a city still grappling with its racial history and present, Hudson is both a mirror and a megaphone. She reflects the pain and possibility of Charlottesville’s Black community while amplifying voices that have been ignored for too long. And she’s doing it unapologetically, loudly, and exactly as herself—just like that point guard from CHS who always knew where the ball needed to go.
The question isn’t whether Tanesha Hudson will continue fighting. The question is: will Charlottesville finally listen?
TANESHA HUDSON’S IMPACT
• Education Advocacy: Represents families in IEP meetings, disciplinary hearings, and expulsion proceedings
• Legislative Victory: Successfully testified for housing bill (HB 1895) combating HOA racism, passed 5-0
• Stop the Violence 434: Co-founder, raising funds for AAU teams and youth programming
• Legacy Unbroken: Founder, documenting Black stories including Martinsville Seven documentary
• Made in Charlottesville: Creator of annual community event celebrating Black culture
• Police Accountability: Works with city leadership to demand transparency from law enforcement
GET INVOLVED
To learn more about Tanesha Hudson’s work with Stop the Violence 434 and Legacy Unbroken, or to support youth programming initiatives in Charlottesville, follow her on social media where she continues to educate, advocate, and inspire.