On the Record: Asheville City Council candidate Roberto ‘Bo’ Hess on the intersectionality of the arts, mental health and local government

Given Roberto “Bo” Hess‘ profession as a licensed clinical social worker, it seems fitting that we convene in his office’s group therapy room. Granted, instead of treatment, this meeting is a one-on-one session for Xpress’ ongoing, limited series, “On the Record,” in which I meet with an individual Asheville City Council candidate, listen to an album of their choosing and discuss the local arts scene.

The space is low-lit with plenty of chairs and clean white walls. The lone decoration is a neon sign that reads, “We Do Recover.” It hangs above a granite table that holds a box of tissues. On the adjacent wall, a whiteboard reads, “Welcome Thomas.”

Hess, who ran in 2022 for U.S. House of Representatives in District 11, sips an iced latte and turns on Erykah Badu‘s 2000 album, Mama’s Gun.

“It has themes of self-empowerment, of resiliency, of social consciousness and awareness of diversity,” he says of his selection. “Those are a lot of the things that we try to incorporate, not only in my own personal life but also in the campaign.”

As the opening track, “Penitentiary Philosophy,” begins, our conversation turns from the album itself to Hess’ own youth, a life-changing event and how his profession as a social worker informs his views on the arts and local politics.

‘Didn’t Cha Know’

“I haven’t had an easy life,” Hess reveals.

Born in Lubbock, Texas, Hess’ family moved frequently on account of his father’s service in the U.S. Air Force. In his teens, the family relocated to Goldsboro, N.C., where Hess graduated high school at 17. Shortly thereafter, he headed 300 miles west to Asheville, where he was later arrested for possession of psilocybin mushrooms, a Schedule 1 felony.

Hess went through Adult Drug Treatment Court. “Through that experience, I was able to understand how the criminal justice system works and some of the inequities and [what] we could do to improve on those things,” he says.

The charge was later expunged from his record, but Hess says the experience inspired him to go back to school. Ultimately, he earned a master’s degree in social work at Western North Carolina University and later a master’s in public health with a focus on leadership in practice at UNC Chapel Hill.

Over the past 10 years, Hess continues, he’s worked with nearly a dozen law enforcement agencies across Western North Carolina, educating departments about harm reduction and diversion programs, as well as leading trainings related to personality disorders and de-escalation techniques. “I’ve always put my actions where my beliefs and values are,” he says.

Amid this portion of the conversation, Badu’s song “Didn’t Cha Know” is playing. The pairing of the music and Hess’ retelling of his struggles and triumphs feels cinematic. Had this been an actual scene in a movie, a critic might say the song selection was too on the nose. But this isn’t a movie; this is real life. So it feels somewhat poetic to hear his story as the musician sings: “Guess I was born to make mistakes/But I ain’t scared to take the weight/So when I stumble off the path/I know my heart will guide me back.”

Connecting the dots

Not surprisingly, Hess views most things — be it politics, community or the arts — through a mental health lens.

“What art and music is for me is just connectivity,” he says. “I think that’s what’s missing so much — just that common humanity. You go to a show, and it crosses ideological lines. … [Whether you’re an] independent, Republican or Democrat, you’re all there and you’re all in that experience together, and we’re all alive.”

Which is why, Hess continues, part of local government’s role is to champion the creative sector, though he stresses that it should be accomplished through grants rather than additional fees or taxes. The intersectionality of the arts, mental health and the local economy, he notes, makes advocacy imperative.

“The arts support our safety,” he says. “If we’re connected, if we’re exchanging ideas, if we’re out and about supporting our economy and our businesses … it’s supporting [the community]. And the artists who are out playing at these venues are supporting our mental health by giving us an outlet, whether you’re an artist or a citizen.”

He adds, “I will do everything in my power, if elected to City Council, to make sure that we support the arts and make sure that we’re opening places that we can connect and exchange ideas.”

Extending these shared moments beyond festivals and concerts, he emphasizes, is crucial to the city’s well-being. “We all want the same things,” Hess says. “We want to live in safe streets. We want to be able to raise our families the way we want. We want people to love the way they want. We want to be able to follow our dreams.”

Table of power

The penultimate song in Badu’s Mama’s Gun plays. It’s called “Time’s A Wastin.” In it, she sings, “‘Cause we’re living in a world that’s oh so strange/Boy don’t let your focus change.”

So much of our conversation circles around mental health — again, the lens by which Hess views most things. In his day-to-day work, he deals with patients who are suicidal, homicidal and/or psychotic. What his profession reveals time and again is that no one is immune from such episodes and experiences.

“Every single one of us is going to have one of the DSM [Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Illnesses, the American Psychiatric Association’s reference book on mental health conditions] diagnoses at some point in our life span,” he says. “In 15 years, mental illness is going to be the No. 1 cause of mortality. We must get ahead of this. We must be taking care of our people.”

I ask him to elaborate on the factors that led him to this statement.

“In social work,” he begins, “we have a saying: ‘There’s no true justice, including mental health justice, without economic justice.’” As disparities in income continue to rise, he says, “We’re going to have more depression, more anxiety, more moms and dads that are working two or three jobs who are not with their children at different times, more trauma, more substance use, more abuse.

“And then you add in social media,” Hess continues. “And then you get to minority groups like the LGBTQIA or Black and brown folk, and you start to see how the social milieu affects health in a really huge way. And so I think, like most things, it’s multifactorial.”

His platform, he points out, addresses affordability, safety and mental health because he believes that tackling these issues is essential for a community to thrive. And that community, he emphasizes, includes Asheville’s artists.

“Mental health issues run higher among the creative community,” Hess says. “People who are in the arts — they are a little more empathetic. … A lot of artists feel like they’ve never been heard. And they go to their creativity, they go to their arts, as a way to feel seen and to be heard. And that’s what we all want as humans, and that’s really what this campaign is about. It’s about lifting up voices.”

Hess pauses before returning to an earlier point: his arrest.

“That’s why I really wanted to talk about my pathway here and that experience nearly two decades ago. Because, you know, I think we should recover out loud. I think that we should talk about our path — you don’t have to have a cookie-cutter path to be sitting at the table of power.”