Newly elected Sylva councilmember shares experience, values and vision
Perry Matthews won his election to be seated on Sylva’s town council in November.
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At any given moment, Perry Matthews — caterer, culinary instructor, homeschool curriculum-builder and veteran chef of upscale restaurants — was juggling enough responsibilities to fill an entire resume. Then along came November, and with it, another new role.
After a sweeping victory in last month’s municipal elections, Matthews became a newly minted member of Sylva’s town council.
But despite his long list of accomplishments, Matthews’ candidacy was not motivated by a desire to achieve any unrealized potential. Rather, when approaching this next chapter, the recently elected councilmember demonstrates a quality he’s applied to every profession, no matter the title: a firm dedication to his town and its people.
Matthews, who is unenrolled but of Eastern Band descent, was born and raised in Sylva. These facts created a profound tension by mere coexistence.
In 1830, President Andrew Jackson signed the Indian Removal Act. The Trail of Tears — the brutal and life-threatening expulsion of 15,000 Cherokee from the Southeast to present-day Oklahoma, leading to a death toll of 4,000 — while enacted under President Martin Van Buren, was a direct consequence.
Sylva is located in Jackson County, named for Andrew Jackson. It is intersected by U.S. 74, also known as the Andrew Jackson Highway.
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In 2021, Matthews heard about a proposal — initially passed as a tribal resolution before becoming a discussion item among commissioners — to change the namesake of the county. Instead of the late president, the county would pay tribute to EBCI Principal Chief Walter Jackson, who had served eight terms.
But there were “no Cherokee people in there to have that conversation or try to push, and the vote went in the direction of just keeping [the namesake as] Andrew Jackson,” Matthews said.
The councilmember cited this event as simply one instance of “listening to people’s voices and about things that were being voted on, then watching votes go in other directions.”
The failed Jackson County renaming — and the absence of elected officials who looked like him and would advocate for respecting indigenous voices and history — left Matthews disheartened. Furthermore, it inspired an important question: what if he were to run for office?
Though when Matthews threw his hat in the ring for elections, he aimed for town council, not county commission. After all, through presence, experience and the front-facing hospitality industry, he’s already a familiar face to many in the small town.
Matthews’ restaurant work offers unexpected opportunities to connect with all sorts of people, including local board members and government officials. His employers tend to use open kitchens, inviting conversations with customers that sometimes serve as the catalyst for 15- or 20-year friendships.
“I have some friends of mine now that — now they have a daughter … I made their first meal on their first date at the restaurant,” he recalled.
Matthews said feedback regarding his cooking remains a vital aspect of his interactions with diners. But over time, those experiencing his cooking witness more than culinary improvement.
“It’s a long road that, [customers have] watched me grow — not just as a chef, but as a person,” he said.
Regarding his position on Sylva town council, he told The Smoky Mountain News, “I hope I have the [electoral] support because people know how I am as a person, and my self-worth that I have, and the care that I have for all of those who showed me the same care in this. And I just want to move forward with them.”
Visions and tensions
Matthews said in his new position, he plans to meet with public works, Sylva police and the town director “to get ideas of what is needed through those different departments.”
The town trusts in this leadership, evidenced by election results that were overwhelmingly in his favor.
But the councilmember still sees remnants of the “old” Sylva, which didn’t always value him. As part of a small Indigenous minority, “for years, it seemed like I was told, ‘We’ll do better if you just go back here,’” he said.
He said the “new” Sylva — partially thanks to a complimentary Washington Post article that encouraged newcomers into the town — reached its peak right before COVID. Then everything slowed down, and even now, the momentum hasn’t quite caught up with the loss. For example, he described the treatment of his Indigeneity as parallel to the municipality’s current discussions of LGBTQ+ issues.
Though September marked Sylva’s fifth annual Pride Festival, it was the second without an accompanying parade, terminated in 2024 by the town board. Matthews said while some commissioners framed funding the parade as a “fiscal issue,” the parade brought an influx of customers to local stores and restaurants.
And to him, it all went deeper than business and finance.
It “felt like [the decision to exclude the pride parade] was just so easily swept aside,” he said, adding that “it affected so many people, who felt unseen … they felt they had a place in this town, and we’re open and accepting. And all of a sudden it was like, ‘Well, only from a distance and behind closed doors.’”
Matthews wants to see the Pride Parade reinstated during his term.
In addition, he’d like Sylva to further welcome his own identity — by bridging the cultural and literal gap between Jackson County and the Qualla Boundary, the federally recognized home of the Eastern Band. While the Qualla Boundary is partially located in Jackson County, enrolled members eligible to vote tend to cast ballots more often in federal and tribal elections and participate less at the county and district level. According to Matthews, mitigating the disconnect between Jackson and Cherokee could begin with an Indigenous People’s Day celebration. It could also look like recognizing historical Native artifacts already in Sylva.
Matthews told SMN that he found an old map of a settlement in town by what was the former Speedy’s Pizza location.
“It wasn’t a very significant settlement, but it was a stopping point between Stecoah and Tuckasegee,” he said.
While Matthews would “want to talk to some more people and get a better understanding of what [the settlement] actually was,” he noted that he’d like to honor it with a small plaque, so folks don’t have to travel to Oconaluftee Village to see Indigenous history.
“This displacement is not good for all of us, as a people, moving forward together in the current day and age,” he said.
Finally, Matthews brought up the possibility of introducing Sylva to an outdoor drama depicting Cherokee life immediately after settler contact — and the next 500 years. Indeed, the chef has a special connection to “Unto These Hills,” performed throughout the summer in Cherokee. Then a construction worker, he helped build the drama’s set 20 years ago; this summer, to mark its 75th anniversary, he cooked an indigenous meal for the audience.
Matthews’ experiences have, moreover, shaped his vision for other elements of the community, including recreation and socializing. He remembered that in high school, “there was a place next to the bowling alley” that served as a quasi-club for kids aged anywhere from 14 to 20. It lacked supervision, he noted, making way for the inevitable: alcohol. Teenagers could also gather at the bowling alley, “but I think there was a bar attached to the bowling alley as well,” he said.
That was decades ago. Now, Matthews has a 14-year-old son, and he’s having to re-navigate the landscape.
It hasn’t changed — not drastically.
Matthews told SMN that “outside of the movies and the bowling alley, and small handful of other things” there isn’t lots to do, even now. So as a councilmember, he’s interested in advocating for more activities for that age group.
“We like bowling, but I don’t see [my son] going to be a professional bowler,” he said.