This commentary is by Marybeth Redmond of Essex, a former state representative and assistant majority leader in the Vermont House. She is an ordained interfaith/interspiritual minister.
Moral outrage is in vogue these days, and it’s not hard to understand why. From climate collapse to white supremacy and threats to our democracy, there is much to rant about in service to transformative change.
So many Vermonters rally for a fairer, more equitable future, and we cling to our strong visions in order to temper our smoldering despair.
But I’d like to pose that there are instances in which we social justice activists and other people with loud voices go about change-making in thoughtless and even destructive ways.
“Burning down Rome” in the name of revolution and instant progress has become an increasingly misguided, simplistic approach, and it is wreaking havoc among people and further traumatizing our communities.
Activists have investigated deeply the issues of the day, and our righteous certitude is all-pervasive and sometimes downright obnoxious. “We know more than you,” and our egos require the immediate affirmation of others, so we take to social media spaces to whip up the masses.
The latest example, in my view, involves a recent incident at an Asian restaurant in downtown Burlington where the owner refused admittance to a customer’s service dog. (Full disclosure: I know the business owner and consider her to be an incredibly generous contributor to our community.)
This situation presented an unfortunate circumstance all around, as the Americans with Disabilities Act, a body of federal law established in 1990, requires public accommodations for people with disabilities, including the allowance of service pets inside eating establishments.
As Bor Yang, executive director of the Vermont Human Rights Commission, said in recent VTDigger coverage, “There’s only really two questions that a place of public accommodation could ask a person, which is, ‘Is that a service animal?’ and, ‘Is it specifically trained to do a task for you?’”
Should the Burlington restaurant owner have known the law? Yes. Then again, there is widespread knowledge that folks acquire “paperwork” online and pose their pets as service animals without official documentation of a disability. Though ADA law is absolute, store and restaurant owners can find this difficult territory.
The bottom line is that the restaurateur later did the right thing by taking responsibility and apologizing, both personally to the spurned guest, as well as to the community at large on Facebook.
But not before the angry customer uploaded the videotaped rejection to TikTok, where the post went viral, attracting millions of views. Then every Tom, Dick and Harriet weighed in on all social media channels, sharing their moral outrage and outright hatred from coast to coast.
To the customer’s credit, she took down the viral post and tried to stem the “review bombing” of the establishment. She herself then became a negative target for local commenters who cherish the eatery, while the restaurateur was castigated mercilessly online long after her genuine apology.
In the wake of this latest situation, I must ask: How are we using our precious voices for real change? Have we become so cynical that we can’t accept an apology at face value? Are we adding to conversations that build community, where relationships and reconciliation are the paramount values? Or are we so traumatized ourselves, our personal egos lacking in self-awareness, that spewing anger and frustration everywhere is all we know how to do?
Here’s another example from my own experience. In my early days as a legislator, I recall one specific House debate where a representative from the opposing party made several comments that were racist in nature; they were captured on audiotape for all Vermonters to hear.
I perked up in my House seat and began wildly texting colleagues, “Someone needs to say something on the floor right now. We need to call this out, counter it, do something, anything, to put him on notice. Should I say something, and if so, what?!”
I was apoplectic that no immediate action was taken. I certainly didn’t say or do anything despite being sensitive to the well-being of my “neighbors” in the chamber, two legislators of color. I wasn’t sure what to do, but my first-flush reaction was to get on my high horse and “go public.”
A few days later, I happened to raise this unfortunate incident with one of the women legislators on the original text chain. She told me that she had already approached the errant legislator one-on-one, quietly over a coffee, and had begun to build a relationship with him, inquiring about where his perspective came from and sharing concerns about his comments offensive to her.
Yes, I thought, that’s it, that’s an approach that may actually create change. Her priority became centering and valuing the relationship rather than publicly “outing” or correcting his transgression. Besides, I thought, what would “calling out” anyone in full view of their colleagues really achieve? As humans who cling strongly to our opinions, we’d just hunker down more faithfully than before.
I learned something important that day, for which I am grateful: the value of pausing and allowing spaciousness before responding, commenting, uploading or acting. And the centrality of cultivating relationships with people we might despise from afar — to increase mutual understanding and perhaps make deep change.
There are a variety of ways that could have played out during last week’s situation.
