This cannot be real life, but it is: a lesbian bar, Last Ditch Bar and Arts Venue, in Greenfield, Massachusetts, relaxed its masking rules on August 31, and all hell broke loose. You think you’re reading a parody, but no. The owner was accused of being ableist and, at worst, a pure eugenicist. Some hoped the establishment would be firebombed for putting the immunocompromised at risk. The online mob beat down the bar into issuing an apology, but that poured more fuel on the fire. Why? Because it didn’t provide a way for the visually impaired to read it — I’m not kidding. 

It started with three women at the helm, though only one, Jackie Matellian, remains. The bar was struggling to stay afloat, so they decided to relax this masking rule, in concert with the state’s gay Chamber of Commerce, which I had no idea existed. It was meant to draw more customers. There was a mediation attempt, and even that was a disaster (via Boston Globe):

“It is with love we inform our immunocompromised disabled divas we will be opening Saturday nights as mask optional,” wrote Last Ditch.

Previously, patrons were required to wear a well-fitted KN-95 mask “or better” at all times.

The new policy was not received land well.

“Just say you’re being complicit in a mass disabling event and get it over with,” wrote one commenter.

“people like you kill disabled people in the name of your own leisure and convenience,” posted another.

“I hope your venue gets firebombed for robbing my fellow immunocompromised people of their Saturday plans just to scrape extra revenue from ablists [sic],” wrote a third.

[…]

Last Ditch posted an apology. “We are sorry for our passive and dismissive tone of our change to the norms and schedule impacting the most intersectional of us,” management wrote on Instagram. “We understand everyone faces different intersections and we are always working to consider all needs fully.”

Instead of defusing the situation, the apology seemed to make things worse. The bar had erred: it posted an Instagram card without providing alt-text for the visually impaired. This set off a fresh round of accusations of ableism.

“This is not an accessible post,” wrote one user. “It indicates the lack of care or interest in Disability intersectionality.”

[…]

There are some 10 people, seated in a circle on the dance floor, all wearing masks: Matellian, a handful of volunteers, some bar patrons, and two designated mediators who will facilitate conversations between parties who disagree. Another 10 or 15 people join the meeting via Zoom. The plan is to go clockwise, sharing views on the masking decision and the financial future of the bar. Each person has two minutes to speak. It begins with a calming breath exercise.

Almost immediately, the proceedings are derailed.

One of Last Ditch’s most vocal critics, the head of another queer COVID-conscious collective in Western Massachusetts, a performer and artist who goes by Soe Noire, has been posting complaints about Last Ditch for days. Now, Noire joins the meeting on Zoom. He and other critics begin to flood the Zoom chat with irate messages, which are dutifully read aloud to the group.

When it comes time for one of the mediators, a licensed therapist, to speak, she takes a conciliatory tone.

“I love that you are here online,” she says. But “these platforms alienate us from each other. I’m talking about social media.” She asks whether participants can try to remove themselves from “places of righteousness.”

“I would love to get to a place where we all know each other’s face, where we all know each other’s name,” she continues.

“It’s messed up that the mediator is dismissing those attending virtually. That’s not accessibility,” someone responds in the chat.

“A lot of people are calling for an acknowledgment of harm and I’m hearing a WHITE therapist ... center[ing] the feelings of a majority white and white adjacent staff,” writes Noire, who is Black.

Moreover, the Zoom attendees speculate that the mediator’s licensed status makes her a mandated reporter — an agent of the state, akin to police. One person going by “Moss” asks if the mediator could have them hospitalized against their will, adding that her presence is “wildly unsafe.”

I don’t know who Noire, a “gender-expansive lesbian,” is, but holy hell, man. And yes, this bar is anti-police; cops not welcome. When it was Matellian’s turn, she shared her struggles, admitting that this is not a passion of hers, and that she’s not really good at running the business. She never wanted to run a bar alone, as two of her housemates who initially signed on, left when things got tough; one enrolled in clown school (again, I’m not kidding), and it was met with just woke brutality:

Matellian tells the group her credit score is trashed. For six months, she lived in her truck because she was pouring money into the bar. She is working four different jobs. She is responsible for paying off the $50,000 loan the three took out to launch the business.

The online critics are unmoved. “[Y]ou chose to use your time to spill tears and center your feelings,” Noire posts in the chat. “This is incredibly racist and deflecting behavior.”

Eventually, after 3½ hours of discussion, the meeting wraps up. Noire has more to say, but when someone suggests he come to the next community meeting, he refuses. 

“There’s a lot of emotional and physical labor that goes into this, so for you as a white person that asks for me to stay for another meeting for free,” he says, is “incredibly disingenuous and racist. I’m not doing that.”

“Then I think, unfortunately, this meeting has failed you,” replies a facilitator, “and I’m sorry.”

Greenfield hasn’t recorded a single COVID case in two months. But for a community that’s supposedly inclusive, well, this sounds like a prison, hell on Earth.