Commentary: Chief Judge Vickie Gipson Being Crucified for Speaking Out Against Workplace Violence is a Modern-Day Lynching: By Glenn Rodney

The views/opinion expressed in this article are those of the writer only and does not necessarily represent the views/opinions of Report Annapolis News.

"When Vickie Gipson was re-elected to the bench of the Anne Arundel County Orphans’ Court in 2022, it seemed like the next chapter in a distinguished career. Albeit a political appointment, her experience and seniority earned her the post as Chief Judge of the court—making her the first Black woman to ever hold this honor.

But what followed was less a standard judicial tenure and more an intense, public crucible: a string of ethics proceedings, internal fights, and allegations that read less like governance and more like persecution.

The disciplinary body overseeing Maryland’s judges, according to public filings, found probable cause to believe Gipson had engaged in sanctionable conduct: a “persistent course of unprofessional conduct unbecoming of a judicial officer,” among other charges.

At the same time, the record also shows that Gipson alleged that the disciplinary body told her they could not protect her safety, that she would have to independently contact law enforcement, other administrative offices involved in conducting threat assessments for the judiciary, and file with the courts to protect herself and others in the office.

Gipson apparently followed the instructions given. She reportedly called law enforcement when she opined that one of her colleague's hostile behavior disrupted the Court.  Judge Gipson reached out to administrative offices recommended—to no avail—and she filed with the courts. The escalating hostility and refusal to deescalate the situation only deepened her fear and underscored the urgency of her actions.

Filings show that Gipson was afraid of an alleged hostile colleague, who once reportedly taunted her while in a fit of rage—asking whether she felt threatened—and when she replied yes and asked for the behavior to stop, the individual towered over her while she was seated, only inches from her face, yelling angrily to the security guard in the adjacent room, “If I hit her, you can shoot me!”

This same hostile colleague was  reportedly accused of recording other court employees without their knowledge or consent. This individual was subsequently criminally charged, but later aquitted due to a technical oversight during the investigation.

Despite the irrational, hostile, and aggressive nature of the behavior toward Judge Gipson, there is a more insidious explanation for the hostility—racial and gender animus. That animus and bias is woven into the fabric of Anne Arundel County, as reflected in hundreds of years as a slave-holding county and its legacy of post-slavery servitude and white supremacy. All leading to a Black female Chief Judge being confronted with public scrutiny rather than support for following ethics protocol in complaint filings and repeatedly asking for administrative intervention that fell on deaf ears. Gipson then asked multiple times for peer review—where other judges provide guidance on how to proceed in difficult situations—which was inexplicably denied, while the behavior of her colleagues appear to be is ignored and allowed to continue without accountability or consequences.

What plays out is not merely a dispute among judges but a symbol of institutional failure: when the mechanisms of judicial discipline, stilted media coverage, and internal court processes converge to take a woman of color and place her at the center of a public spectacle.

As Chief, she attempted improvements, raised concerns about workplace violence, and sought safeguards for her staff and herself. Instead of being met with institutional support, she became the target of internal investigation, stilted media narratives, and repeated interruption by her male counterpart, who showed her no courtesy or professional respect.

Staff in an adjacent office testified to verbal confrontations, overheard shouting, and a workplace degraded by conflict.

At one hearing, a witness described Judge Gipson's tone as “passive aggressive.”

Meanwhile, the disciplinary body’s charges against her include accusations of invoking her title to advance personal interests (i.e., the court filings with her title as Chief Judge); interfering with operations; altering hours of the court to accommodate a colleague; and failing to report misconduct of others.

Each of these allegations stands on its own. But together, they form a narrative of marginalization: a woman in power who raised red flags about workplace safety, who sought protection, who was nonetheless left exposed.

The title of “Chief Judge” historically commands respect; for Gipson it became a lightning rod. The coverage and commentary that followed focused more on personality than professionalism, and more on conflict than context—reducing a systemic failure to a personal feud.

Gipson’s case invites us to ask: what happens when the institution meant to safeguard judges becomes the tribunal that exacerbates their vulnerability?

When a Black female Chief Judge speaks about workplace violence, follows reporting procedures, and then is subjected to a public ethics trial scheduled before the abuser, the line between discipline and persecution can blur. The question is not simply whether she did wrong—but whether the system did right by her.

Until the Maryland Supreme Court issues a final decision, Gipson remains in the eye of the storm. Beyond her individual fate, this is a test of the state’s commitment to protect judges from retaliatory attacks, to provide safe workplaces, and to shield minority leaders from public lynching disguised as accountability.

When the very system tasked with upholding justice cannot protect its own judges from workplace violence—when the infrastructure for safety, reporting, and intervention collapses entirely, particularly within the Orphans’ Courts—Maryland’s judiciary exposes a moral and operational failure. It shows that even within the halls of justice, the promise of safety and equality is selective, fragile, and too often denied to those who need it most.

- Glenn Rodney, Annapolis Maryland 

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