LEWISTON, Maine – Lewiston City Council President David Chittim sent a note to fellow councilors Thursday evening portraying the council chambers as a pressure cooker, and councilors as the ones forced to absorb “often unwarranted criticism” from residents they’re barred from answering in real time.
“Greetings,” Chittim began.
“In our jobs as City Councilors, we frequently deal with issues that become contentious and emotional. Passions can run high, particularly when we are subjected to often unwarranted criticism by a select few speakers at nearly every meeting and we are proscribed from responding.”
Chittim continued by framing conflict on the dais as inevitable, and, in his view, healthy, because “eight unique personalities and perspectives” won’t always “see eye to eye.”
“The eight of us on the dais have eight unique personalities and perspectives. It is inevitable that we will not see eye to eye on many topics,” he wrote. “This is to be lauded, for without a variety of perspectives we cannot function effectively as a deliberative body.”
He urged councilors to welcome opposing viewpoints and to listen respectfully “with the goal that, when the dust settles, we have looked at a problem or issue from as many angles as possible.”
“We should all welcome differing viewpoints with the goal that, when the dust settles, we have looked at a problem or issue from as many angles as possible,” Chittim wrote. “Listening respectfully to others’ thoughts and opinions is difficult, especially in today’s polarized world…”
But for many in Lewiston, the “polarization” isn’t the story, the shooting is. And critics say Chittim’s message reads less like leadership and more like a scolding deflection as the city continues to wrestle with unanswered questions in the aftermath of the Lewiston mass shooting.
The problem isn’t “tone.” The problem is what the city lived through.
Lewiston isn’t a normal city coming to a normal council meeting to debate normal politics. It’s a community still carrying the weight of a mass-casualty tragedy: grief, trauma, injuries that didn’t end when the news cameras left, families living with empty chairs, survivors trying to function while their bodies and minds are still stuck in that night.
So, when Chittim writes as if the major challenge facing the council is being “subjected to often unwarranted criticism,” it doesn’t land as empathy. It lands as self-pity.
If you’re the council president, your first job isn’t to protect the feelings of the dais. Your first job is to protect the public’s faith that their leaders understand the moment they’re in, and are capable of meeting it.
Victims say the disrespect is coming from the dais
That frustration boiled over at Tuesday’s meeting when Lewiston shooting victim Benjamin Dyer, shot five times, came before the council to speak about the tragic night and his struggle with recovery. During that exchange, the victim asked Councilor Scott Harriman to look at him while he was speaking, a moment that underscored, for many in the room, just how raw and personal the aftermath remains for those who survived.
And it didn’t happen in a vacuum. Residents have been complaining that Harriman, during public comment sessions, has been seen doodling and avoiding eye contact, looking down instead of acknowledging the people standing at the podium. You can call it “body language.” The public calls it contempt.
This is where Chittim’s email becomes more than a generic “let’s all be respectful” note. Because if he’s truly concerned about respect, his focus shouldn’t be on residents’ “unwarranted criticism.” It should be on the basic expectation that elected officials look constituents in the eye, especially survivors, and treat their testimony like it matters.
The $1.9 million question Chittim won’t touch
At the center of the outrage is the Lewiston-Auburn Area Response Fund and its distribution decisions, specifically, why 29 nonprofits that were not affected by the shooting received $1.9 million.
Residents have repeatedly demanded accountability and transparency. Chittim’s critics say he has been reluctant to seriously investigate the distribution decisions, even as questions have grown louder and more specific.
And the conflict-of-interest concerns aren’t going away.
It is widely known, and widely discussed in the community, that Chittim has a conflict of interest because he is friends with Rebecca Conrad, the chair of the steering committee that directed money to the nonprofits — a relationship that residents say should have triggered aggressive transparency, not stonewalling.
Here’s the reality: when a community raises conflict-of-interest concerns in the handling of tragedy-linked funds, the answer isn’t to lecture people about civility. The answer is to overcorrect with transparency. Disclose. Recuse. Invite independent review. Put everything on the table so the public doesn’t have to wonder who got paid and why.
Instead, residents see a council president who wants to manage the room, but won’t manage the scandal.
Hard question: If Chittim doesn’t understand Lewiston’s trauma, why is he leading?
This is the moment where the leadership question becomes unavoidable.
If Chittim truly doesn’t understand why emotions run hot in those chambers, why people are angry, why survivors demand to be seen, why residents won’t drop the $1.9 million issue, then he’s not misreading a meeting. He’s misreading the city.
And if the council president can’t grasp the pain Lewiston is still living with, he is not in the right role.
Because the job isn’t to calm the public down. The job is to earn their trust back — through accountability, humility, and a seriousness that matches the tragedy.
Lewiston doesn’t need a hall monitor. It needs a leader.
So the question many residents are asking is the one Chittim’s email can’t answer: If he has time to lecture everyone else about “respect,” why won’t he show it where it counts, by confronting the money questions head-on, addressing the conduct on the dais, and treating survivors like the center of this story instead of an inconvenience to the meeting agenda?
