Reflections on the Miller Brewery Shooting
This article was originally published on LinkedIn
Today marks one year since the shooting in our Milwaukee brewery. I don’t think I’m alone in feeling like we never really had the time to grieve… Individually, or as a company. Our entire sales organization was in Houston at our annual distributor conference last year when we heard the news. We sat crowded rooms, learning about our new brands, laughing with each other and feeling optimistic. When our phones started lighting up with notifications, we expected it was just a work email. We lazily checked our screens, only to be met with words we couldn’t quite comprehend. Hearty laughs turned into silence. Smiles faded into furrowed brows. Heads turned, looking for answers in each other’s faces.
We all watched in silence as our CEO took the stage, choking back tears in front of a thousand people to deliver the news I imagine he never thought he’d have to give, “There was a shooting in our Milwaukee brewery.” He left on a plane shortly after and the rest of us filtered out into the empty halls of the convention center. Frantic phone calls were made to our coworkers in Milwaukee. Calls for safety, calls to hear a familiar voice, and ultimately calls for answers. Eventually, all the calls to make were made and we were left with ourselves. The worried voices silenced into a dull buzz of fear between our bodies. We all wanted to do something, but there was nothing to do.
We were one thousand miles away, feeling helpless, hopeless, and lost. We didn’t know that our co-workers in Milwaukee were locked down inside our corporate office, hiding under their desks for hours. We had no idea what they were feeling, who was hurt, or where the shooting even took place. We just knew we weren’t there.
In the coming days, some questions were answered – the shooting happened on the brewery floor. An employee shot five of his coworkers and then killed himself. The shooter never went into the corporate office that day, but all corporate employees were locked inside for 5+ hours, and only allowed to leave after individual briefings with the FBI. Rumors swirled, but the “why?” behind it all was never fully uncovered.
Two weeks later, we were told to pack up our desks and work from home. A pandemic was sweeping the nation while grief and confusion was still sweeping our halls.
Crisis after crisis kept coming. As a country, as a company, and for many individuals as well. We shifted our grief from the shooting, to the pandemic, to losing loved ones. After a while, our grief couldn’t live in just one place - so we spread it like a thin veil across so many aspects of our lives that had vanished in 2020. The shooting became one battle in a year full of chaos.
One year later and it still almost doesn’t feel real. Especially for me, who was one of the employees a thousand miles away, who wasn’t hiding under their desk, who didn’t lose a family member… I know it’s not logical, but I feel unworthy of feeling the grief of that day, since I was so far away. I think of all the people who it affected more… I think of the people who saw their loved one for the last time that morning. I think of my dear friend who called me to decompress after speaking with the FBI that day. Or the other workers on the brewery floor who had to walk past their coworkers’ bodies on the way out the door.
That image may be severe and abrupt. Reading it probably made you uncomfortable, and frankly, it should. It’s a harsh and brutal reality to stomach. That six people died that day. At work. At a place they felt safe. Their bodies didn’t just disappear. Someone had to scrub blood out of the concrete floor. Someone still hears gunshots in their sleep. Someone still panics when they walk past that building. And the bitter truth is, this isn’t the only story like this.
According to the Gun Violence Archive, a nonprofit research group that tracks shootings and their characteristics in the United States, there were 417 mass shootings in the United States in 2019. In 2020, that number increased to 615 mass shootings, resulting in 521 death and 2,541 injuries, for a total of 3,062 victims – a number that would fill the Chicago Theatre. As horrific as these victim numbers are, they do not include who else was there, who witnessed the atrocities and were lucky to come out of them physically unscathed. They do not include the people who lost loved ones during these events, and how their lives were forever changed. They do not include the mental trauma that is endured by survivors and witnesses, by the paramedics and police officers on the scene, by the people who had to clean up the aftermath of the bloodshed. The effects of gun violence ripple through so much more than the just the people who were killed.
The amount of trauma we’ve experienced as a company from all this is undeniable. I can’t imagine the toll it has taken on the people who were in the brewery that day. I can’t imagine what the families of those six individuals have been going through. I can’t imagine what it was like to be locked down in your place of work. I can’t imagine being in a leadership position here and having to find a way to navigate this personally and professionally at the same time, and as soon as you’re figuring it out, then trying to navigate a pandemic on top of it all. I don’t envy that position in the slightest, but I am so grateful for them. Our leaders have dealt with this tragedy with grace and humanity every step of the way. They’ve made our employee resource programs abundant. They’ve prioritized our mental health - hiring counselors and therapists for us. We’ve had sessions to debrief with colleagues and leadership. We’re working diligently to build a culture of diversity and community, and I think we’re making great progress. As anyone who’s ever worked here, or worked in the beer industry knows, we’re a family. When one person hurts, we’re all hurting. And we’re all still hurting.
The shooting at the Miller Brewery in Milwaukee is one story of many. My tangential reflection on this day is one story of many.
Something needs to change.
Thoughts and prayers are not the answer. Holding your loved ones tighter is not the answer. Increased security and police forces are not the answer. Catastrophes like this should not have to personally affect every single person in the country for serious action to be taken. We need gun reform. We need it now. We needed it 10 years ago. Go to therapy and go vote. No one else needs to go through this.
(I’m not sure if I have to put this disclaimer, but I will just in case: all of my thoughts written above are my own and should not be interpreted as a stance held by the company, MolsonCoors. I’m just an employee reflecting on and speaking about my own personal experience and thoughts.)