This commentary is by Allie Breyer, a resident of Montpelier.
Working in public service is not for the faint of heart. As someone who has worked in government for the last eight years, I’ve received my fair share of harassment and threats from the public. But the tone has taken a frightening turn in recent years.
During Covid, I received my first death threat and a myriad of disturbing messages. In our hyper-polarized national climate, most public servants, people who run for office, and elected officials will likely recount similar incidents.
To create healthy, inclusive public spaces for both government officials and community members, we must focus on improving civility, holding our systems and individuals accountable, and supporting mental health and well-being.
Many people run for office or serve, understanding that the pay will be minimal (or nonexistent), the hours will be long, and they will encounter a reasonable level of negative exposure and incivility. But, despite all that, public servants are called to the field because they sincerely care about their communities. And they do this, typically, without complaint.
In recent years, however, society is also increasingly demanding that they endure threats to their mental and physical safety, harassment and violence as standard fare. In a 2021 National League of Cities Report, 87% of surveyed officials have noticed escalating levels of threats, violence and harassment. More than eight in 10 local officials have been the targets of such incidents. This upsurge in problematic behavior has increased burnout, stress and resignation from the field.
Attacks on public officials, however, don’t impact public officials equally. Officials with marginalized identities, especially those with intersecting identities, are disproportionately targeted — specifically women, LGBTQ+, Black, Indigenous, and other people of color.
Vermont is not an island. People with marginalized identities are the direct targets of harassment and threats when running for office, serving in the Legislature, or working in government. As a result, they may leave or choose not to run for office.
Just recently, Rep. Kate Donnally stepped down from her seat in the Vermont Legislature, partly due to the threats and harassment she received as a queer person during her service.
I was also told this story by a woman who served on the selectboard in a small town in Vermont. Unfortunately, she had to step down due to safety concerns:
“I was so excited when I won my seat on the selectboard. I was passionate about serving my community and excited for the opportunity to get involved in the operations it took to run the town. I was the only woman on my board for the first year. It was the first year of the pandemic, and we worked hard, long hours for a very small stipend. We were proud of our work, and the urgency of the moment kept everyone focused.
“The second year, another woman joined, and our board took up the controversial topic of an ATV ordinance on town roads. The other woman and I held opposing views on the ordinance, but it never once affected our work relationship. Instead, a small section of the townspeople took the opportunity to harass both of us verbally.
“Those for the ATV ordinance went after me. I had men twice my size screaming at me in public meetings. The other woman — who was for the ordinance — had townspeople against ATVs sending her nasty and disrespectful emails in which whole groups were cc’d as though to humiliate her publicly.
“My male colleagues didn’t experience any of this disrespect. Nor did they come to our defense when we made ours public.
“Ultimately both the other woman and I had to resign. I didn’t feel safe attending my own selectboard meetings, and the board reverted to all males.”
Those who stay — by choice or circumstance — experience physical and mental repercussions. For example, this selectboard chair from a different small town in Vermont recounted the following:
“It’s the chair’s role to keep decorum, but of course, when you do that, especially if you’re a woman, it causes backlash. I was not a chair who suffered fools, and unfortunately, a lot of them came to our meetings. While I know I could have struck a better tone, I was unwilling to tolerate disrespect, harassment and outright misogyny. I fought back, as diplomatically as I could manage, and paid for it in many ways.”
There are undoubtedly countless more stories not being told; many may choose not to speak out for fear of indifference, aggression, retaliation, or ostracization. This fear is a genuine concern in small communities where officials may be considerably more exposed.
There’s also no accountability for the perpetrators who hide behind the guise of free speech to spread hate, incite violence, create conflict, cause suffering, and circulate misinformation. A culture with no accountability de facto celebrates hateful ideas and disruptive people while simultaneously giving them a platform to spread extremist viewpoints, run for local office, and win. As a result, our precarious democratic institutions are continuing to erode.
A culture that tacitly accepts attacks on public officials also inhibits the ability to improve diversity in government, resulting in leadership not wholly representing the communities they serve. For example, in Vermont state government, people of color are underrepresented at all levels. Locally, most selectboard members and town managers are white men over 50.
To actualize our American ideals, we must ensure all voices are heard and respected in the public forum while guaranteeing safety and dignity for public servants.
First, municipalities and government organizations should model civil discourse and create virtual and in-person meetings and events that allow for the constructive, respectful exchange of ideas.
Organizations can help achieve this by establishing a mutually agreed code of conduct founded in principles of inclusivity. A code of conduct delineates what is and is not acceptable behavior by officials and community members during public meetings and events, emphasizing specific rules and norms.
A code of conduct is beneficial for everyone. For example, in a volatile meeting space, community members may feel uncomfortable showing up or speaking out.
Second, officials and community members can be well-versed in de-escalation strategies and techniques. For meetings that may be contentious, officials can prepare before, remain calm and empathetic during, and debrief after challenging incidents to create healthy public spaces. Community members can learn how to use bystander intervention and defuse conflict to support public officials in creating this space.
Third, we can hold our systems and harmful individuals accountable. Accountability may look like ensuring our public officials uphold civility and the community’s agreed-upon values. It may also look like removing constituents from a meeting, developing other venues for people to voice concerns, utilizing restorative justice, or — as a last resort — civil or legal action.
Finally, government leaders can support staff and officials’ mental health and well-being by building more trauma-informed workplaces and public spaces. A trauma-informed organization understands trauma and its adverse impacts on employees and the communities they serve and seeks to lessen those effects. Leaders should also develop a safety plan for when threats and harassment will inevitably occur.
Public servants deserve safety and respect. Community members deserve public spaces that are healthy, inclusive, and welcoming. With great power comes great responsibility (and accountability). And we have the power to do both.