SPRING
WAS
IN
the
air
as
people
arrived
Saturday
at
Luther
Place
Memorial
Church
to
celebrate
the
life
of
Wanda
Alston,
a
D.C.
mayoral
cabinet
officer
who
police
say
was
stabbed
to
death
by
a
crack-addicted
neighbor
on
March
16.
The
sunlit
scene
on
the
church
steps,
starkly
contrasting
with
the
grief
that
brought
us
there,
showed
how
integrated
the
gay
community
has
become
in
the
life
of
Washington.
Television
news
crews
and
a
Washington
Post
reporter
were
on
hand,
as
were
four
members
of
the
D.C.
Council
and
the
president
of
the
Board
of
Education.
The
police
were
out
in
force,
led
by
members
of
the
Gay
&
Lesbian
Liaison
Unit.
I
had
last
seen
Wanda
eight
days
earlier
at
the
opening
of
the
GLLU’s
new
headquarters
on
Dupont
Circle.
Sergeant
Brett
Parson,
head
of
the
GLLU,
had
been
scheduled
to
attend
an
advisory
committee
meeting
with
Wanda
early
on
the
evening
of
March
16,
but
was
called
away
to
a
homicide
at
3808
East
Capitol
Street.
He
left
her
a
voicemail
saying
he’d
have
to
miss
the
meeting.
After
hanging
up,
he
thought,
“Wait
a
minute.
That’s
where
Wanda
lives.”
THE
REST
OF
us
are
blessed
not
to
have
the
memory
of
the
murder
scene
that
he
and
Stacey
Long,
Wanda’s
partner
who
found
her
body,
carry
with
them.
Wanda
was
an
energetic
director
of
Mayor
Anthony
Williams’
Office
of
LGBT
Affairs.
The
fact
that
her
death
did
not
appear
to
be
a
hate
crime
was
of
little
comfort
to
her
hundreds
of
friends,
colleagues
and
family
who
were
called
together
by
Rev.
Abena
McCray
of
Unity
Fellowship
Church.
District
Mayor
Anthony
Williams
spoke
at
the
funeral
two
days
later
at
All
Souls
Unitarian
Church,
but
we
needed
this
time
on
Saturday
to
comfort
one
another
and
share
memories
of
her.
The
sanctuary
was
a
healing
retreat
from
the
social
and
political
battlefield,
which
for
most
does
not
involve
physical
violence
but
is
nonetheless
never
a
safe
space.
Fighting
for
change
rocks
the
boat,
makes
people
uncomfortable
and
violates
protocol.
WANDA,
SEVERAL
MOURNERS
testified,
was
a
fighter.
She
was
scrappy,
tough,
strong-willed,
tenacious.
She
was
a
fiercely
competitive
tennis
player.
In
her
final
moments,
her
wounds
show,
she
fought
for
her
life.
At
the
best
of
times,
activism
takes
its
toll.
Someone
who
“never
settles,”
as
many
of
Wanda’s
friends
said
of
her
—
who
is
restless
and
always
pressing
for
reforms
and
urging
people
to
do
more
—
such
a
person
is
not
an
easy
friend.
Those
of
us
with
this
calling,
if
we
are
lucky,
find
a
soulmate
who
sees
past
our
eccentricities,
or
loves
us
for
them.
Wanda
had
found
Stacey,
and
they
were
going
to
be
married.
She
had
given
Stacey
a
ring.
At
the
memorial
service,
when
School
Board
President
Peggy
Cooper
Cafritz
said
that
Wanda
had
recently
talked
to
her
about
having
the
wedding
next
year
at
Peggy’s
home,
the
sobs
that
rose
up
from
the
front
row
were
heart-rending.
Several
weeks
ago,
Wanda
convened
a
meeting
where
we
briefed
community
leaders
on
the
details
of
the
Domestic
Partnership
Equality
Act
of
2005,
which
would
equalize
District
laws
on
inheritance
as
well
as
providing
for
things
like
alimony
on
the
responsibility
side
of
the
ledger.
“But
I
don’t
want
to
pay
alimony!”
Wanda
said,
half
in
jest.
If
she
were
serious
about
that,
she
could
have
gotten
the
equivalent
of
a
prenuptial
agreement,
which
the
bill
also
provides
for.
Alas,
the
man
who
took
her
life
ended
all
such
questions
in
a
way
Congress
never
could.
“We
don’t
need
murders
to
bring
us
together,”
Cafritz
had
said,
but
this
wrenching
loss
certainly
made
a
gathering
necessary.
More
than
all
the
words,
it
was
simple
hugs
that
meant
the
most.
We
left
the
safe
space
of
the
church
to
carry
on
the
fight,
bolstered
by
the
example
of
our
sister
warrior’s
life.
As
she
demonstrated
right
up
to
the
end,
some
things
are
worth
fighting
for.
