This commentary is by Kate Donnally, a licensed clinical social worker who operates a trauma-informed private practice in Morrisville, and lives with her wife and young children in Hyde Park. She is a state representative for Belvidere, Hyde Park, Johnson and Wolcott.
I was there when Elliot Smith played Higher Ground. It was either 1999 or 2000, back when Higher Ground was a hole in the wall of a forgotten strip mall in Winooski.
The dates are fuzzy, but the memory is clear. I knew then, at 18, that it was rare to witness an artist of Smith’s magnitude on such an intimate stage. I went with my mom. I knew this was a story I would pass to my own children.
This is the space that Higher Ground has held for me: a conduit, transporting me into a realm of profound intimacy with the music that has marked my life. Music is not just a love of mine; it is a salve, a vehicle for healing. When music is treatment, music venues are temples. Sacred spaces where we go to heal together, as a community.
This month, I learned that the owners of Higher Ground fostered a culture in which workers have been subjected to sexual abuse and harassment. When a former manager attempted to make changes that would have created a safer work environment, her efforts were blocked by ownership and her role was restricted.
At best, ownership has passively participated in the creation of a toxic, unsafe culture; at worst, it has perpetuated that culture and actively prevented relief from abuse. A space that, for me, was a refuge of healing and transformation has been the source of trauma for people in my community. This revelation has shaken me.
It’s hard to describe how close this all feels for me: I am a social worker specializing in trauma therapy; a state representative, tasked with ensuring the protection of my community; Alan Newman, one of the co-owners of Higher Ground named in these allegations, is a family friend; and, I am a survivor of years of sexual abuse in my adolescence that went undetected and unreported.
I kept this abuse from the adults in my life out of fear that their response would not center my healing and humanity. It’s easy to question my decision to stay silent even as this trauma ravaged my body, contributing to years of chronic pain and stress. But it was clear to me then as it is today: In our culture, disclosure of abuse is often a gateway to further dehumanization and trauma.
We need look no further than the recent headlines in Vermont to find stories of sexual harassment and assault with minimal intervention. From the Burlington art community to Brattleboro Union High School to the sidelines of today’s youth soccer games, women and youth have been subject to known abuse without relief. I think of my therapy clients who told trusted adults about abuse only to be met with inaction and minimization.
Over and over, we fail to adequately respond to abuse in real time. We center our own comfort, self-protection, power and ego at the expense of those who have been most harmed.
I cannot adequately convey the psychic pain that is created when the violation of your body is treated lightly. The impact of this pain is linked to every major chronic health condition that strains our medical system; it shortens life expectancy; it leads you to believe that you are nothing. But I am someone. Just as every employee of Higher Ground is someone. We are full humans worthy of protection from abuse.
We are in the midst of a cultural reckoning. There is a growing movement of survivors reclaiming our humanity. Slowly, we are recognizing that it is not the stories of abuse that must be silenced, but the power of abusers.
If Alan Newman, Alex Crothers and leaders across our state wish to be entrusted with positions of power, they must seek guidance from those who are willing to speak hard truths and ask: “Do I currently have the skills to create, protect, and lead safe spaces for all, including BIPOC, LGBTQ, and women-identified people?” If the answer is no, they must immediately step back from active leadership and seek to acquire these skills.
If we wish to transform our culture to one that ensures safety for all, we must ask: How do we move beyond retroactive apologies toward a culture that responds to harm with immediacy in a manner that ushers in safety and facilitates healing for all?
Such a culture will be led by those who can be entrusted with our collective safety, who are able to wade through the messiness of human pain and carry us to a place of collective healing. If the leaders of today are unwilling or unable to create a culture of safety, then it is time for them to step aside and make room for those who elevate humanity above privilege and transformative healing above all else.
