If you’ve been paying attention to craft beer in any capacity over the past decade or so, you’ve probably borne witness to a number of industry-rocking controversies.
Some have been driven by incidents of racism (like Founders Brewing Company’s discrimination lawsuit), others by workplace harassment and discrimination (like at Boulevard Brewing Company), while still more have centered on businesses choosing to defy pandemic restrictions (like Mike Hess Brewing). Most recently, the numerous stories of gender-based violence in beer, shared on Instagram by Notch Brewing’s production manager Brienne Allan, have caused a new reckoning for the industry.
Despite their varied scope, these crises have unfolded in a relatively linear fashion. Typically, an accusation is made publicly or anonymously, pressure builds, an apology of questionable sincerity and effort comes out, and a chorus of voices calls on the Brewers Association to do something about it. That’s usually where it stops.
But in the wake of Allan’s initiative, a sea change in accountability seems to be occurring in real time, and perhaps for the first time. High-profile members of the global beer community, including Søren Parker Wagner, owner of Denmark’s Dry & Bitter Brewing Company; Jean Broillet IV, owner of Tired Hands Brewing Company in Ardmore, Pennsylvania; and Jacob McKean, co-founder and CEO of California’s Modern Times Beer, have been removed or stepped down from their leadership positions in light of accusations against them. Employees of Modern Times also announced a freeze in production as they collectively assess steps to “build safer spaces” for everyone, and the staff at Tired Hands has publicly apologized, as well as stated their intent to build “a safe and inclusive culture that not only will make the brewery a better place, but also will achieve the ultimate goal of becoming better people.”
Meanwhile, a number of organizations, including the Maine Brewers’ Guild, have announced new bylaws that would allow them to remove brewery members from their rosters, while the Cicerone Certification Program shared that it had suspended an accused member pending further investigation into the allegations against them. The Master Brewers Association of the Americas is in the process of forming a coalition with the American Society of Brewing Chemists, the Craft Beer HR Professionals Group, the Brewers Association, and the Pink Boots Society to “explore how our organizations can collaborate to provide the resources and support that businesses and individuals in the brewing industry need to create and maintain a culture of safety, inclusion, and equity.” Even the Brewers Association (BA) itself has spoken up in condemnation of acts of “assault, harassment, violence, bigotry, discrimination, or inequity” in a recent post on its website titled “A Community Call to Action,” which included a discount on a sexual harassment training program and reporting platform.
But skepticism still abounds in regards to whether such organizations will move beyond mere statements of solidarity in pursuit of lasting change. The BA, for one, has demonstrated a repeated lack of interest in commenting on or curbing member behavior in the past, other than passively condemning offensive beer labels or names by not reading them aloud at awards ceremonies. If that precedent is anything to go by, expecting the BA to make significant changes in response to any negative actions of its members feels short-sighted.
That leaves plenty of other state, regional, and local trade organizations to hold accountable for member misbehavior, and to take on the responsibility of punishing bad actors. But let’s momentarily set aside the question of should these organizations answer for the sins of their members and begin with a simpler one—are they even allowed to?
The short answer is: it depends, especially on the type of organization in question.
“A 501(c)(3) is a charitable, tax-exempt organization. Trade associations are not usually 501(c)(3) organizations, but rather are 501(c)(6) organizations. This is a pretty important distinction,” explains Joshua Sutin, chair of the Employee Benefits practice at Chamberlain Hrdlicka, a tax-focused law firm. The Brewers Association is a 501(c)(6) not-for-profit trade association, as are most state and regional brewers guilds. This structure allows organizations to lobby on behalf of their members and industry at large, but does not grant them the same charitable tax structure as 501(c)(3)s like the Pink Boots Society (PBS). Neither of these tax structures has any bearing on whether an organization decides to implement and enforce mandatory codes of conduct for its members; rather, they give an indication of an organization’s larger purpose.
The rules to become a member differ from group to group. For instance, to become a member of the women- and non-binary-centric Pink Boots, you must agree to abide by its Code of Conduct, which outlines expectations ranging from very specific to somewhat vague. Members must agree to “treat all individuals respectfully,” but also “uphold the law,” “refrain from solicitation or sale of goods or services at Pink Boots Society Sponsored events,” and “avoid conflicts of interest.” Members who fail to adhere to these terms “may face disciplinary action,” including the revocation or suspension of Pink Boots Society membership and volunteer positions, or be asked to leave an event or associated activity without a refund of any paid fees or travel expenses, under the “Accountability” portion of the Code of Conduct.
Jen Jordan, Pink Boots president, believes the organization’s role must remain education first, enforcement later—if at all.
“As a nonprofit society and professional association, our scope of action is focused on our mission to ‘assist, inspire, and encourage women fermented and alcoholic beverage industry professionals to advance their careers through education,’” Jordan says. “As such, our society cannot serve as a venue for action or official advocacy nor provide legal advice, crisis counseling, or official commentary on industry employment situations.” She goes on to say Pink Boots doesn’t view itself as a trade organization, due to the fact there are no options for businesses or groups to join. “Pink Boots Society has individual memberships only, so the [members] represent themselves, as individuals, not their business or employer,” she says.
The BA’s Code of Conduct echoes many of the same values as PBS’—espousing seemingly obvious requirements like “compliance with the law,” “respect for individuals,” and so on—but notably lacks any mention of what would happen to members if they failed to adhere to the outlined rules.
In 2020, the BA introduced a formal complaint process for an internal Governance Committee to “ensure compliance with BA bylaws,” as well as “ensuring Board accountability,” and allow the organization to investigate accusations of problematic member behavior. This was quickly met with criticism based on the limitations within the process (only professional division members can even make a formal complaint, and any instances that took place before August 6, 2020 aren’t eligible for investigation). In effect, the BA is asking members to “please be nice,” but if you aren’t (or weren’t in the past), their hands are pretty much bound with ropes they tied themselves.
As a state 501(c)6 nonprofit trade association, the California Craft Brewers Association’s primary function is to “monitor legislative activity at the state Capitol and provide a single and coherent political voice that represents and protects the interests of all California craft breweries,” according to its mission statement. Leia Bailey, the former CCBA managing director who was with the organization for five years, spoke to GBH while she still held her role at the CCBA.
“We do have a very different role than some of these other organizations that service our industry,” Bailey said at the time. “Most of the time, consumers don’t really know that we exist and we’re not really promoting any breweries specifically. You can be part of our organization, as long as you meet the criteria in our bylaws, which primarily have to do with size.” In short, it pretty much doesn’t matter what a brewery says or does: As long as they’re independently owned, they can be in the club.
As the oldest state brewers guild in the nation, as well as the largest, the CCBA supports over 1,100 craft breweries across California—more than any other state in the country. With billions of dollars and thousands of jobs at stake, the CCBA’s resources must remain focused on legislation, lobbying, and advocacy, Bailey noted, and not on settling squabbles among members or policing member activity, regardless of how problematic. “We do have to protect the reputation of our organization and ensure that we maintain a seat at the table, the relationships and trust and direct line of communication with these leaders at the state Capitol,” Bailey said.
But generally, the perceived credibility or reputation of brewery members doesn’t have much bearing on their ability to participate or hold a board position. “I think that there are very few and very narrow ways in which you can legally do that [revoke membership] if a business meets the qualifications of your membership. I’m sure there is a way, but I think that there are some legal concerns on how to actually even do that if we were able to do it,” Bailey said. At the time of reporting, the CCBA has not released a statement regarding any changes in the way it addresses member behavior in light of the fallout from Allan’s stories.
Regional guilds that fall under 501(c)(6) rules, such as the San Diego Brewers Guild, are often approached with requests (and occasionally demands) to monitor member activity, something that increased during the pandemic, thanks to California’s confusing and seemingly arbitrary rules on how hospitality businesses could operate. In a conversation with GBH in February 2021, SDBG executive director Paige McWey Acers said that regardless of personal opinion, at that point the Guild’s role did not extend to taking punitive action against its members.
[Disclosure: While the author is not a member of the San Diego Brewers Guild, she is a co-chair of its Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion subcommittee.]
“I believe that our responsibility is to provide the most clear and concise information, so that people aren’t getting mixed messages about what enforcement looks like from the agencies that have the authority to enforce, which we don’t,” Acers said. “Our role as a trade association is to provide education and resources for our members to make the best decision they can for their business … Once we provide those tools, resources, and information, since we aren’t an enforcement agency, the responsibility should end there.”
For context, that conversation focused more on brewery defiance of pandemic-related mandates, including health and safety regulations on indoor dining and mask requirements, than on toxic workplace culture or assault. When asked in that same conversation if the Guild would consider creating a code of conduct to outline membership requirements beyond independent ownership structure and a San Diego location, Acers paused. “It hasn’t been discussed at the Board level, but I’m not going to say it possibly couldn’t happen,” she said.
Since then, however, following the numerous allegations made towards members of the San Diego beer community on Allan’s Instagram—including those against Modern Times, Thorn Brewing Co., and others—Guild leadership released a statement of solidarity with victims, as well as plans to implement a code of conduct, provide sexual harassment training, and launch an annual training program for members.
It can feel discouraging to realize that change so often comes only after tragedy has forced us to confront pervasive and longstanding hostility towards marginalized people. But these difficult conversations and pleas for trade organization intervention didn’t start with Allan’s revelations. The industry saw them after the Founders lawsuit. The community heard them after the Boulevard accusations. It’s happened before, and it will happen again. How useful and long-lasting these changes will be remains to be seen.
Discussions about business misbehavior and the lack of trade organization enforcement abounded during COVID-19, something Bailey saw firsthand. “These small businesses are really challenged financially and economically, and trying to figure out what the path forward is for them,” she said. “I think that strain also makes them look for leaders and for inspiration in the industry, so looking to your trade association is probably a natural result of that. But the mission and our role has to stay the same … Everyone’s looking for who to go to for what help.”
Despite craft beer’s predilection for touting its “community,” plenty of schisms existed within the industry long before COVID-19, or the outpouring of stories shared by Allan. Some purists sneer at breweries making hard seltzer, while others refuse to patronize establishments promoting movements or groups they find distasteful. Throughout the pandemic, confusing, evolving, and unclear directives from authorities pushed many hospitality and beer businesses to the brink, with huge drops in sales virtually across the board. Some breweries reopened before it was legal to do so out of desperation; others, in clear defiance, did so to uphold what they seemingly saw as their God-given right to conduct business, regardless of global health circumstances.
The San Diego Brewers Guild has kept up communication with its members throughout the pandemic in an attempt to streamline the latest rules and restrictions. On December 9, 2020, Acers sent an email titled “Risks to Defying Health Orders” to the nearly 200 brewery and affiliate Guild members, specifically noting that the Guild had become aware of some businesses defying local and state health orders. She went on to outline the fines associated with cease and desist notices from the U.S. Department of Health & Human Services (HHS), what a closure notice would cost, the possibility of jail time, and revocation of Alcoholic Beverage Control licenses. She also stated that HHS received 3,000-4,000 complaints per month, and began publicly posting a list of businesses that had been issued cease and desist and closure notices for non-compliance with the county health order.
Many breweries complied with state and local restrictions, despite the financial toll it took on their businesses. But others did not, opening their doors either on the sly or in a brazenly public fashion, as in the case of Mike Hess Brewing. In January, Hess posted on Facebook that all locations would reopen for in-person drinking and dining, despite the ordinance requiring all sales remain to-go only, with no on-premise consumption allowed. One of the brewery’s tasting rooms—in the heart of North Park, one of San Diego’s most brewery-saturated neighborhoods—sits just a few blocks from numerous other tasting rooms, including one operated by fellow Guild member Eppig Brewing. (Mike Hess did not respond to Good Beer Hunting’s request for comment.)
A former Eppig employee, who worked at the business’s North Park location during this timeframe (and who agreed to speak with me on the condition of anonymity), describes a feeling of betrayal from someone he considered a part of his community. “It’s hard to help people, as I’m doing beer to-go only, when someone up the street is open … it definitely affected my bottom line. I’m losing tips because of the excuse of the customer saying, ‘Well, so-and-so isn’t doing that, so I’ll just go there.’” He goes on to say while he feels empathy for everyone caught in a tight spot without much (or any) help from the government, losing money simply doesn’t compare with losing lives. And while some businesses began operating covertly in a last-ditch attempt to keep their doors open, “It’s the ones that are outspoken about their lack of enforcement that makes it feel like the rest of us are literally shitting on a plate we all have to eat off of,” he says. “It’s selfish [and] it feels like, for me at least, that they never gave a fuck about us in the first place.”
According to Acers, this community splintering was made even worse by the unique circumstances the pandemic exacerbated.
“I think in the history of the San Diego beer community, people are more isolated than ever,” she said. Without the face-to-face opportunities to connect and cultivate camaraderie, people have been thrust into survival mode with extremely limited options to thrive. “The most difficult part, in regards to this defiance specifically, we have absolutely no way of knowing how the relationships in the industry have been damaged,” she said. “Being stuck at home and behind a computer screen, people feel like they have a bigger voice when they don’t have that human contact … I feel like that lack of personal connection has emboldened some people to feel the ability to call people out.”
She remains adamant that striving towards empathy is the only way the beer community has a chance to remain intact.
“It’s the first time in our history as an industry, and overall, that we’ve had such stark and dire times that people are forced to make decisions they never faced before, and never thought they’d have to face,” she said. “There is no way any of them could have ever prepared for what they’re going through.” The former Eppig employee agrees—but thinks much of this strife lies solely at the feet of failed leadership. “I wish there was more help from up top. If people were enforcing more rules and paying businesses to be closed, to be honest and not to be morbid about it, fewer people would die.” After Allan’s stories, perhaps fewer people would live in fear as well.
So, the bad news. It’s very, very unlikely many organizations have the ability, or desire, to address most instances of harmful or rule-flouting behavior by their members. In the wake of that vacuum, that leaves individuals with the main responsibility to drive change through activism and public discourse. “They [consumers] are the ones who are, I think, more responsible for really holding the community businesses accountable,” Acers told me. “They have a lot more power than they think they do. They see an organization that represents or promotes and markets a specific industry as having more authority, but I think the authority and power is actually in the hands of the consumer.”
Shifting the burden of accountability to individuals is a tough sell, especially after years of heightened political polarization and most people hitting a “pandemic wall,” described by writer Maya Kosoff as “governmental failure masquerading as personal fatigue … The pandemic wall makes the onus fall on you instead of sharing the burden with the institutions that we reasonably expect to help support us in times of abject crisis.”
Awareness of this fatigue isn’t lost on those running said organizations. “Consumers are making a lot of choices right now, and that’s exhausting,” Bailey said. “It’s draining on our community.”
But without accountability, what community can even exist? Call-out accounts like Allan’s and whisper networks have served as resistance towards bad behavior for years, allowing consumers to become aware of accusations and victim stories—if they have the time, energy, desire, and ability to find said stories. “I think that now, more than ever, the consumer reacts and the consumer votes with their dollar, and with social media you can’t do anything in the dark, right? People are going to know if you’re being a bad actor in your industry on any different level, and you’re going to be called to talk about that,” Bailey said. “I think that’s a healthy system to be in place.”
“People are definitely more conscientious when they are spending their dollar anywhere,” Acers said. “The consumer understands the power of their dollar more than they did before.”
This bottom-up view of accountability forces individuals to constantly make value decisions about whom they support, what their money is going towards, and what type of community they participate in. Without consistent guidance from above, that situation puts a lot of pressure on people to care deeply about issues they perhaps didn’t care so deeply about before the pandemic. And in the gaping void left by organizational leadership, untangling who should be held responsible for individual bad behavior remains murky.
It’s likely that many people, whether due to apathy or social justice fatigue, will not continue to care about the overall equity of the industry in a month or two. But hopefully, and just maybe, the chorus demanding accountability will overtake the silence that’s haunted craft beer for too long.
Words by Beth DemmonIllustrations by Colette Holston
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