O P I N I O N
THE SOAPBOX
Stand up. Speak up. It’s your turn.
On Tuesday, May 19, 2026, I attended a public comment meeting at Manchester City Hall to speak on behalf of sidewalk accessibility and pedestrian safety in the neighborhood where the nonprofit I volunteer with operates. I had never participated in this type of civic process before. I expected passionate discussion, but I did not expect to leave reflecting so deeply on how public institutions respond to visible emotional distress.
Several people spoke that evening about deeply painful subjects, including veteran suicide and police brutality. These were not abstract policy discussions. People were carrying lived trauma into a room governed by procedural rules, time limits, public scrutiny, and emotional tension.
It also struck me how differently society tends to respond to different forms of visible pain. Conversations surrounding veteran suicide are often immediately understood through the lens of trauma, grief, and emotional suffering. Yet, when communities impacted by violence, brutality, or systemic harm express distress publicly, that same grace is not always extended so easily.
That evening, one speaker was discussing the death of a young Black man in Manchester whose shooting by police remains under investigation. Regardless of where individuals stand politically, it should not be difficult to recognize that conversations surrounding death, violence, fear, and institutional distrust carry profound emotional weight for the people directly affected by them.
If we are capable of recognizing trauma in one context, we should be careful not to become selective in how we extend empathy, restraint, or understanding in another.
At one point, I witnessed a confrontation escalate in real time while seated beside a frightened 9-year-old child who had come simply to advocate for safer sidewalks and accessibility in our city. What stayed with me afterward was not only the escalation itself, but how quickly emotionally visible pain became treated primarily as a disruption to contain rather than distress to recognize.
That distinction matters.
When people repeatedly feel unheard, harmed, or dismissed, emotional rupture becomes more likely. Institutions should be capable of recognizing distress without automatically defaulting to containment-through-force, humiliation, or adversarial escalation.
Especially because history shows us that some communities learn over time that calm procedural participation often changes nothing unless disruption occurs. That creates a dangerous cycle: people feel unheard, distress escalates, institutions focus on the escalation itself, and the underlying grievance becomes secondary once again.
What I personally witnessed was a room where pain, frustration, civic procedure, public emotion, intimidation dynamics, institutional response, and fear all occupied the same space simultaneously. And perhaps most importantly, a child witnessed all of it, too.
If the outcome of a public interaction leaves a child frightened, a community further polarized, a distressed person arrested, and the underlying pain still unresolved, then we should be willing to ask an uncomfortable question: what exactly was protected?
Public institutions absolutely need structure, boundaries, and safety. But ethical use of power is not only about enforcing rules. It is also about discernment, restraint, de-escalation, and understanding when forceful responses may intensify rather than stabilize an already emotionally charged situation.
Especially in communities carrying grief, fear, trauma, or distrust, the question cannot only be: “How do we regain control?”
It also has to be: “What would actually help prevent this cycle from repeating?”
Trauma does not always emerge politely or neatly. And grace is not distributed evenly in public life. Race, gender, class, tone of voice, perceived professionalism, emotional expression, and social comfort all shape who is interpreted as “understandably upset” and who is immediately interpreted as dangerous.
That does not mean all behavior is beyond accountability. It means context matters.
Sometimes harm is not only physical. Sometimes it lives in provocation, intimidation, escalation, and the unequal ways people are expected to carry trauma in public spaces.
Suffering reproduces suffering unless interrupted. We all have choices in how we respond to emotionally charged moments, especially when others are already visibly overwhelmed.
If we truly care about vulnerable people in civic spaces, then that concern cannot begin only after situations visibly escalate. It must also include asking why distress reached that point in the first place, what systems failed beforehand, and whether our responses ultimately reduce harm or simply restore surface order while leaving deeper fractures untouched.
Kira Morehouse is a communications professional and community volunteer based in southern New Hampshire.
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