Eight authors share their insights on the struggle to heal after the senseless tragedy
On the eve of the 10th anniversary of the Emanuel AME massacre, eight authors—journalists, historians, poets, and family members, whose books tell the stories of unfathomable heartbreak, survival, and forgiveness—share their insights on the struggle to heal after the senseless tragedy and where we are as a community a decade later.
This month marks 10 years since the Mother Emanuel shootings. It’s impossible to take a community-wide pulse on where healing and reconciliation may stand today versus a decade ago and equally hard to assess how the current Mother Emanuel congregation grapples with this unwelcome anniversary. The tragedy reverberates in our public life and in private, uniquely personal ways for those who in some way or another, or in multitudes of overlapping ways, have been impacted by the horror of June 17, 2015.
On Mother Emanuel Way along Calhoun Street, beeping horns and the thump of heavy machinery signal progress as construction crews near completion of the Emanuel Nine Memorial. A preview of the installation, designed by Michael Arad, is anticipated this month. But on sidewalks, in church pews, and in our homes, offices, and parks, there remains choking silence as grief and disbelief still well up. Time goes on, but does time heal? And can it heal such a deep, egregious, and hateful wound? We invited eight authors, who have spent years researching and reflecting on the tragedy, to share their insights on where we are, 10 years hence. (The responses have been edited for clarity and length.)
Thousands of people paid their respects, leaving memorials in the form of flowers, notes, poems, and pictures.
As we approach this anniversary, what are your foremost thoughts on what it means to heal from such an unthinkable tragedy? And where are we, as a community, in the process?
Kevin Sack, former New York Times journalist who covered the murders and the trial for the paper and author of Mother Emanuel: Two Centuries of Race, Resistance, and Forgiveness in One Charleston Church (Crown, June 2025):
My focus has largely been on the healing process within the congregation itself, which, not surprisingly, has been challenging and uneven. Mother Emanuel is forever changed, now both a house of worship and a shrine, which makes healing more complex. I do think they’ve settled into some normalcy in recent years, certainly by comparison to the first tumultuous ones. But there remains a real tension between commemoration and continuity.
It’s hard, even during Sunday worship now 10 years later, to not recall what happened one floor below, in a room scrubbed of blood but otherwise remarkably unchanged. The mood is somber and reflective; the dead are always present. I can’t look across the aisle at Sharon Coakley and Blondelle Gadsden in their usual seats and not think of them as the sisters of the late Myra Thompson, or lean back over the pew to gossip with Willi Glee and not remember that he is only there because he skipped Bible study that night to grab a bite at Ruby Tuesday. Every sermon, prayer, and hymn now is received through the filter of June 2015. There is deeper meaning, for instance, when the congregation sings, as it regularly does, “Lift Every Voice and Sing”: “We have come over a way that with tears has been watered/We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered.”
Bernard Powers, historian and coauthor of We are Charleston: Tragedy and Triumph at Mother Emanuel (Thomas Nelson, June 2016):
Your question refers to this “unthinkable tragedy,” but those are bygone days. Sadly, this is far from unthinkable—we’ve seen it repeated in Pittsburgh and El Paso, in Buffalo, New York. We bear scars that may never really heal. But we’re also not the same community we were in 2015. So many people have moved away, and many, many others taken up residence. Most newcomers will never know the pall that settled on the city back in the summer of 2015. I fear that the more time that passes, the event will only be remembered as one among other tragedies that took place in our city, but it wounded this city like no other event in memory. It must be commemorated as such—it’s too important to become a mere episode in Charleston’s long history.
(Left to right) Kevin Sack and Jennifer Berry Hawes
Herb Frazier, journalist and coauthor of We are Charleston: Tragedy and Triumph at Mother Emanuel:
So many new people are relocating here. I hope they will join the ongoing efforts to move the community closer to healing. But I’m also concerned, because the healing process requires making systemic changes to root out the lingering legacy of slavery that contributed to this tragedy, which means digging into painful history. I fear it might be too uncomfortable for some to stay focused on what’s needed to bring about generational change. I hope I am wrong.
Jennifer Berry Hawes, journalist and author of Grace Will Lead Us Home (St. Martin’s Press, June 2019):
To me, healing is about resiliency. It doesn’t happen in a day, or even a decade. It is now part of a lifelong journey for so many in our community, especially those most intimately harmed by the tragedy. The racism that motivated the shooter hasn’t vanished. If anything, after a period of improved reflection on our nation’s legacy of racism and the disparities that persist as a result, I worry that we are backsliding. But there are many harmed by the shooting who are forging new paths, whether through finding more meaningful work-related missions, memorializing the legacies of their loved ones, or mending relationships. That’s healing through resiliency.
Are there things you’d approach differently in your writing and processing of this story from the perspective of 10 years out?
Marjory Wentworth, former South Carolina poet laureate and coauthor of We are Charleston: Tragedy and Triumph at Mother Emanuel:
Good question. Our collaborative writing process worked so beautifully, but I wish we’d had time to interview a greater number of friends and family members impacted by the tragedy.
Bernard Powers: We had a very tight timeline to write what was the first book on this tragedy, and that limited what we could do. Our main task was to contextualize the event and those who comprised the background and the heart of the story. Now a decade out, we might define triumph [from the title] differently, with higher and more rigorous standards given where we are today and what we have seen and endured as a nation.
Jennifer Berry Hawes: I think I would dig into the anti-DEI [diversity, equity, and inclusion] movement to better understand the ways our country still grapples with, or fails to grapple with, racism and its deep roots in our history.
Marcus Amaker, former City of Charleston poet laureate and committee member of the Emanuel Nine Memorial:
In 2015, I wrote a poem using “we” and “us” without pausing to ask how I was feeling. I didn’t yet know how to process my own heartbreak; I was too busy trying to hold space for everyone else. Now, I understand the importance of sitting with my own emotions, of acknowledging the “me” in the midst of the collective “we.” That’s something I would have brought into my earlier work—an honest confrontation with my own grief. Because healing isn’t just communal; it’s deeply personal, too.
Grace and forgiveness have been prominent themes related to Mother Emanuel, both in the immediate days after the shootings, in years since, and even in some of your book titles. Has your understanding of these terms changed over the years?
Marjory Wentworth: I wrote the chapters in our book about forgiveness, and I learned so very much from the Mother Emanuel families about the subject. It was one of the great gifts I received, and it has stayed with me. I also understand how very rare true grace and forgiveness are. It might be one of the only true miracles I have witnessed in my life.
Herb Frazier: What I understand now is that forgiveness should not be mistaken as forgetting the tragedy. I remain in awe of those who offered forgiveness. I’m not sure I would have had that capacity.
Kevin Sack: I interviewed each of those who spoke of forgiveness, as well as other family members and survivors. I also read and interviewed widely about the meaning and place of forgiveness in Christianity and other faith traditions, particularly in the Black church. The statements made in the immediate aftermath—and please remember that those folks did not speak for everyone in the church or even in their families—were not meant in any way to absolve this remorseless mass murderer from criminal or spiritual responsibility for his sins, or even really as a prayer for his soul. Survivor Felicia Sanders, who wished God’s mercy upon [Dylann] Roof at his bond hearing, also condemned him “to the pit of hell” in testifying at his trial. I understand forgiveness in this context more as a device that helped the victims loosen the perpetrator’s hold on the remainder of their lives.
In my book, I characterize it as “a timeworn survival mechanism that has helped African Americans withstand enslavement, forced migration, captivity, indentured servitude, segregation, discrimination, denial of citizenship, and the constant threat of racial and sexual violence with their souls still, somehow, intact.” I use Emanuel AME’s long story as a vehicle to explore those centuries of mistreatment all under one metaphorical roof.
(Left to right) Bernard Powers, Marjory Wentworth, and Herb Frazier; Marcus Amaker
The Reverend Anthony B. Thompson, pastor, activist, and author of Called to Forgive: The Charleston Church Shooting, a Victim’s Husband, and the Path to Healing and Peace (Baker Publishing Group, June 2019):
I was one of those who forgave Dylann Roof at his bond hearing. I sensed God calling me to a new purpose in His kingdom, a new beginning, a new mission in Christ to spread the gospel of forgiveness. And since the Emanuel Nine massacre, I have been spreading the gospel of forgiveness across the United States and abroad, on news shows, podcasts, in documentaries, and through the One New Humanity Charleston foundation I started.
I remember speaking about forgiveness at a predominantly white church in Mount Pleasant, and at the end of the service a young, white mother with her two sons beside her admitted that she was a racist but repented of racism and asked for my forgiveness. Her words astounded me. I had never heard a white person say that before, especially in Charleston. After that, more white people in the congregation stood up and talked about growing up in racist families, confessing and repenting of this sin. People like that mother, who exemplified Christ in front of her children, have given me a deeper understanding of the profound effect grace and forgiveness can have on our families, cities, and nation.
Jennifer Berry Hawes: My understanding of forgiveness in this context comes from something Felicia Sanders told me. Felicia survived the shooting with her young granddaughter by playing dead in the blood of their loved ones. Her son, Tywanza, was killed beside her. I cannot imagine the pain Felicia and her husband, Tyrone, have endured. Felicia also is one of the victims’ loved ones who spoke of forgiveness quickly after the murders. She explained to me on several occasions that she did not forgive the shooter for his sake. She forgave him for her sake, so that malice toward him did not fester in her own heart. This made so much sense to me.
Malcolm Graham, Charlotte City Council member, brother of victim Cynthia Graham Hurd, and author of The Way Forward (Palmetto Publishing, March 2025):
For me, the journey has been different. I did not forgive then, nor do I forgive today. This stance is not born out of vengeance, but rather a profound understanding of the gravity of the attack—a racially motivated act of terror against the Black community, an assault on the Christian church, and a personal tragedy that took the life of my sister, Cynthia.
Over the years, I’ve come to see forgiveness as a deeply personal decision, one that cannot be dictated by societal expectations or timelines. I don’t believe that forgiveness is a prerequisite for healing or for advocating for justice. In fact, my refusal to forgive has been an essential part of my journey, allowing me to focus on the broader fight against systemic racism and violence.
Ultimately, I see forgiveness as a call to action. It’s about demanding accountability and striving for a future where such tragedies are no longer possible. Grace, in this context, is about finding strength in community and faith, and using that strength to advocate for meaningful change.
Ten years since that June, our country and community have been through a lot: the killing of George Floyd and other Black people; the pandemic; extreme political division; and the current removal of words like “racism,” “Black,” and more from federal agencies. What role do you believe the Mother Emanuel tragedy plays or how does it fit amid this broader horizon?
Herb Frazier: It’s now all the more important that the Emanuel story is told to speak the truth of what happened in June 2015 and to remind Charleston and the nation that throughout its history the church has stood against injustice.
Marjory Wentworth: What happened at Mother Emanuel will always be a touchstone in terms of our country’s tragic history of racist hate crimes, but the broader tragedy is that the lessons learned have not been applied. Dylann Roof, for example, was radicalized on the Internet, yet no one who created the racist content that he came to believe in was ever charged with a crime. He, in turn, influenced others who committed hate crimes and attacks. Although the large-scale racial conflict Roof hoped to inspire never materialized, our country continues to be plagued by racially inspired violence at the hands of domestic terrorists.
Bernard Powers: It’s a cautionary tale. After the shock wore off, the national and local responses were optimistic and sometimes even self-congratulatory because Roof’s intent of causing race riots had been thwarted. The Confederate flag came off the statehouse grounds, and I never thought I would see the Calhoun statue removed from Marion Square, but it happened. Today, though, those responses seem shallow and fleeting as institutions cave to the anti-DEI sentiment orchestrated from the White House. To me this suggests that on a personal and institutional level, far too many white Americans lack the commitment to a sustained effort to promote racial justice. The rising threat that white supremacist organizations pose to American democracy has been demonstrated by recent FBI reports, and Mother Emanuel seems to have been the proverbial “canary in the coal mine.”
Marcus Amaker: This is where I still wrestle with language. Because on one hand, Mother Emanuel was an earthquake—a singular horror. And on the other, it was a continuation of something deeply embedded in America’s foundation. To me, Mother Emanuel sits alongside every other moment when Black life has been devalued in public, in policy, in perception. It is so devastating that I am witness to a pain that will be passed down to my daughter’s generation, just as my parents passed down their pain to me.
Each of you has been closely tied to the Mother Emanuel tragedy, either through your work or experience. How has your perspective shifted? Who are you now as a result of this event?
Marjory Wentworth: As Ben Harper said in his beautiful song, “I am blessed to be a witness.” My life is so much richer because of the courageous people I got to know during the process of writing this book and the aftermath. I had worked as a human rights activist and refugee resettlement worker off and on over the years and written extensively about these topics, but the immediacy of Mother Emanuel and witnessing the manifestations of racist hate on a day-to-day basis deeply affected me. We know this kind of evil is out there, and now I am much more honest about it when I see it.
Bernard Powers: I’m a historian. Mother Emanuel showed the power of history to shape who we are. A murderer’s plans resulted from a racist conception and distortion of history. Roof chose to enact that dastardly plan in Charleston at Emanuel because of conscious choices he made based on his understanding of history. That’s why it is so important for those of us who know to convey the record of the past as accurately as we can. To paraphrase James Baldwin, the past is vital for understanding who we are and what we desire to become.
Marcus Amaker: I’ve become someone who prioritizes emotional truth, someone who understands that vulnerability is strength. The shootings also shifted how I think about storytelling and empathy. It made me slow down. It made me realize that healing work requires silence as much as sound, listening as much as speaking. It taught me to sit with pain—not to immediately try to fix it, but to witness it.
Kevin Sack: Those of us who reported on the trial will tell you that it was as disturbing and traumatic as any story we’ve ever covered. It set me off on a decade-long exploration of the AME church’s 200-year-plus history and the role that history played in the theology of forgiveness. That search certainly broadened my understanding of the depth and relentlessness of what I characterize as our national psychosis with race, and it’s reinforced my appreciation for the role of faith and the church for those who embrace it, and for its unsurpassed place in the narrative of the African American freedom struggle.
(Left to right) Rev. Anthony Thompson and Malcolm Graham
In what ways have you seen Charleston change, or not, in the 10-year aftermath of the massacre?
Herb Frazier: To me, one of the most profound changes has been the partnerships between the Charleston Gaillard Center, the International African American Museum, and Mother Emanuel to present programs that speak to cultural diversity, healing, and understanding.
Bernard Powers: In the aftermath of the murders, individuals, corporations, and government entities ramped up their financial support for the International African American Museum. This was done as gestures of goodwill and to help create an educational institution that would stand against hatred and promote racial conciliation in the community and the nation. So far, I believe it’s doing that job.
Kevin Sack: I think that as with New York and 9/11, there was the Charleston before the Emanuel shootings and the Charleston after. Though I haven’t lived here that long, my sense is that it’s a softer place in ways, more humble, more self-aware, particularly as it pertains to race. Whether those changes ever equate to meaningful progress in reducing the Lowcountry’s inequities in income, education, health care, housing, and the like may be a question for the 50th or 100th anniversary.
Rev. Anthony Thompson: From my perspective, a lot has changed. After the tragedy, the Charleston community came together in an unprecedented show of unity and resilience. Numerous interfaith and interracial dialogues were initiated, aimed at fostering understanding and reconciliation. Community leaders, religious figures, and local organizations have worked to bridge the racial divide and promote a message of inclusiveness and peace.
Many pastors of Charleston and the surrounding communities have taken a stand to confront racism and promote unity. Pastors of different denominations, colors, and creeds are exchanging pulpits, encouraging diversity and inclusion in their congregations, and holding forums on race relations.
There have been so many gestures, large and small, like the plaque installed at First Baptist Church of Charleston by Rev. Dr. Marshall Blalock to acknowledge the enslaved Blacks who were forced to sit upstairs. It reads, “In memory of the thousands of enslaved members of the First Baptist Church of Charleston whose names are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life” (Revelation 7:9). I could go on and on—these all add up.
Jennifer Berry Hawes: I see many people trying to confront a more honest past, but I also see a large segment of the country backsliding into this idea that all efforts toward diversity, equity, and inclusion are bad and rejecting the teaching of Black history. I’m not sure how we address the huge racial disparities in our state and nation if we don’t understand their roots and causes.
What would you like to see local leaders and community members do moving forward?
Herb Frazier: I would like to see the entire length of Calhoun Street be renamed Mother Emanuel Way to remind future generations of what happened at the church in 2015 and why it happened.
Malcolm Graham: I’d like to see leaders keep the faith and do the work, to remain committed to the long-term goal of creating a more just and equitable community. This means consistently advocating for policies and practices that address systemic inequalities, even when progress seems slow.
I also hope they will celebrate and leverage the diverse perspectives and experiences within the community and create spaces where all voices are heard and valued, so decision-making processes are inclusive and representative of the community’s diversity. And I hope we can foster healthy tension and not shy away from difficult conversations or the discomfort that can arise when addressing issues of race and inequality. That tension can push us to confront and dismantle systemic barriers.
Marjory Wentworth: Change the gun laws. According to Everytown for Gun Safety, the “Charleston loophole” enables illegal purchasers to arm themselves—with more than 5,800 illegal sales in 2020 alone completed without a background check. As of now, 22 states have closed [or limited] the Charleston loophole. South Carolina is not one of them.
Marcus Amaker: I’d love to see leaders fund rest and mental health with the same urgency we fund infrastructure or festivals. What would it look like to invest in healing—not symbolically, but actual, practical support for people’s emotional lives? We always talk about growth in Charleston as bigger buildings, more tourists, higher rent. But what if we leaned into the idea of growing smaller—of becoming more intentional, more soulful?
Kevin Sack: As our state and federal governments move toward willful ignorance, a whitewashing really, of the very kinds of history that Charleston has been increasingly willing to tell, I’d encourage our local leaders and community members to continue on a path that recognizes that our history matters, on its best days as well as its worst.
Is there anything else you would like to add?
Marcus Amaker: I want to talk about the quiet fear that still lingers in some of us—how the simple act of going to church now carries weight. A place that once felt safe became a place of death. We also don’t talk enough about anger—about how justified, holy, and human it is. Forgiveness and grace are powerful, but so are frustration and disappointment. And we need space to feel all of it. Not just the parts that are easy to quote or commemorate. When we say we aren’t free, we’re also saying we haven’t been allowed to fully release the pain that racism embeds in our memory, our families, our skin. I want us to talk about that. To name it. To not be afraid of our full emotional range. To be able to worship God without fear.
Author Talk
On the evening of June 3, with the release of his book, Mother Emanuel, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Kevin Sack will be in conversation with News 2 anchor Carolyn Murray at the Charleston Library Society. For tickets or more information, visit charlestonlibrarysociety.org.
On the west side of the church, the “Memorial Courtyard” features marble benches and a fountain etched with the names of the Emanuel Nine. Behind it, the “Contemplation Basin,” with a cross above a simple altar, will give visitors a quiet place to pray and reflect.
In July 2023, the Mother Emanuel Memorial Foundation celebrated the groundbreaking of the “Memorial Courtyard,” the centerpiece of the Emanuel Nine Memorial, and expects completion of phase one of the construction this year. Created by Michael Arad of New York-based Handel Architects who conceptualized the 9/11 Memorial and Museum, the design honors and commemorates the nine slain, the five survivors, “and all victims throughout the world affected by racial violence,” according to the foundation’s 2023-24 annual report. “This will be a place of contemplation, communion, and conversation, a catalyst for creating a culture where racism and violence exist no more,” it states.
Arad’s design reimagines the church grounds, converting former parking spaces into a courtyard graced by marble benches for gathering and dialogue and a “Contemplation Basin” for prayer on the west side of the sanctuary. On the east side, forthcoming phases include the “Survivors’ Garden” dedicated to life and resiliency. Foundation cochairs, the Reverend Eric Manning, pastor of Mother Emanuel AME, and John Darby, CEO of the Beach Company, have led the board in raising $19.9 million of the $25 million goal.
In addition to the physical grounds, the memorial includes an education and outreach component. “We firmly believe that learning and addressing the root causes of discrimination and prejudice can create a society where equality, justice, and unity prevail,” says Darby.
The foundation plans to open the site for viewing its progress to date during the week of the 10th commemoration. For more information, visit emanuelnine.org.
WATCH: a video about the Emanuel Nine Memorial and get links to help support its completion, as well as the church renovation project.
Click here to find information on upcoming memorial events.
