Cinnabon Fires Worker After Viral Rant—Is Free Speech Under Attack Again?

Paul Riverbank, 12/8/2025A racist outburst by a Cinnabon worker in Wisconsin ignites outrage, prompting swift corporate action and community reflection on racism, belonging, and the challenges facing Somali Americans in today’s divided climate.

It was mid-afternoon at the Bay Park Square Mall. Muffled mall noise, the usual bustle, and then a sharp exchange: a Somali couple, visibly unsettled, started filming a Cinnabon worker. What happened next is difficult to chalk up to a fleeting lapse in judgment. She, young and unruffled, hurled a string of slurs, even the most notorious—then looked directly at the camera, grinned, and declared, “I am racist and I’ll say that to the whole entire world.” No hint of shame, just a brazen self-assurance.

You might think, surely that’s where the moment ends. But the video, relentless, keeps rolling. There are sneering hand gestures, more insults, another “suck it,” all before mall security ever arrived. It apparently started simply—a thoughtless jab at the woman’s hijab, according to the person who posted the video. “You’re not going to be working here,” the man quietly warned his harasser. She fired back the same crude line as though she were daring the world to watch.

The world did. Within hours the story was everywhere: first on local forums, then national feeds. Cinnabon responded fast—almost surprisingly so for a company that sells cinnamon rolls. Their social media posts took a hard line: “We’ve seen the video, and we don’t condone this behavior.” The worker, as many predicted, was out of a job on the spot. The company apologized, stating twice for emphasis that every guest deserves “a welcoming experience.” They kept saying that phrase. It cannot, however, erase what people saw.

But the episode refused to fade. Soon, people started crowdfunding pages—ostensibly to support the fired worker. One brought in over a thousand dollars; another appeared, then vanished after public outcry. That drew even more controversy. To some, the fundraisers symbolized something dark—a deepening gulf not only around questions of race and bigotry, but about who gets heard and helped in public squabbles touched by ideology.

And all this is unfolding in a region with a history—recent and raw—around Somali American communities. In both Minnesota and Wisconsin, the climate has grown tense. In Minnesota, home to the nation’s largest Somali population, mere rumors have created chills. In the same news cycle, President Trump, addressing what he called COVID-19 relief fraud, blamed Somali immigrants directly—“destroyed our country” were his words. He didn’t stop there. He lobbed an insult at Rep. Ilhan Omar, herself born in Somalia, and then let the backlash swirl.

That same week, federal immigration agents appeared, targeting Somali communities around the Twin Cities. Reports from the ground say Somali Americans—including legal citizens—feel besieged. Linus Chan, who teaches law at the University of Minnesota, said his phone had been buzzing. “I’ve had a number of people reach out to me who are actually U.S. citizens and are wondering, ‘Could my citizenship be revoked over a traffic ticket?’ Or, ‘How do I prove I really belong?’” These are not anxious newcomers. Some have raised families here for decades.

Bringing it all back to Ashwaubenon: no corporate statement or swift firing will fix a wound that’s far older than any one video. But the forceful local response did matter. Community leaders, local residents, people who have no stake beyond their daily dignity—many condemned what happened and reminded neighbors that decency is not optional, and respect should not depend on what language one speaks or what clothing one wears.

The video keeps circulating, for better or worse. For some, it’s a warning—words can wound as surely as anything physical, and the memories linger. For others, it’s a rallying cry. This single spark has revealed fractures, to be sure, but also points to the possibility of healing—if there’s a will to confront the cracks, rather than just cover them.

An ordinary visit to a Cinnabon kiosk in Ashwaubenon, Wisconsin, turned remarkably ugly last week, pulling the wider community into an emotional debate over race, belonging, and how much further the nation still has to go. If you’ve seen the video—there’s little chance you haven’t if you’re anywhere near the Midwest—you’ll know what I mean.It was mid-afternoon at the Bay Park Square Mall. Muffled mall noise, the usual bustle, and then a sharp exchange: a Somali couple, visibly unsettled, started filming a Cinnabon worker. What happened next is difficult to chalk up to a fleeting lapse in judgment. She, young and unruffled, hurled a string of slurs, even the most notorious—then looked directly at the camera, grinned, and declared, “I am racist and I’ll say that to the whole entire world.” No hint of shame, just a brazen self-assurance.You might think, surely that’s where the moment ends. But the video, relentless, keeps rolling. There are sneering hand gestures, more insults, another “suck it,” all before mall security ever arrived. It apparently started simply—a thoughtless jab at the woman’s hijab, according to the person who posted the video. “You’re not going to be working here,” the man quietly warned his harasser. She fired back the same crude line as though she were daring the world to watch.The world did. Within hours the story was everywhere: first on local forums, then national feeds. Cinnabon responded fast—almost surprisingly so for a company that sells cinnamon rolls. Their social media posts took a hard line: “We’ve seen the video, and we don’t condone this behavior.” The worker, as many predicted, was out of a job on the spot. The company apologized, stating twice for emphasis that every guest deserves “a welcoming experience.” They kept saying that phrase. It cannot, however, erase what people saw.But the episode refused to fade. Soon, people started crowdfunding pages—ostensibly to support the fired worker. One brought in over a thousand dollars; another appeared, then vanished after public outcry. That drew even more controversy. To some, the fundraisers symbolized something dark—a deepening gulf not only around questions of race and bigotry, but about who gets heard and helped in public squabbles touched by ideology.And all this is unfolding in a region with a history—recent and raw—around Somali American communities. In both Minnesota and Wisconsin, the climate has grown tense. In Minnesota, home to the nation’s largest Somali population, mere rumors have created chills. In the same news cycle, President Trump, addressing what he called COVID-19 relief fraud, blamed Somali immigrants directly—“destroyed our country” were his words. He didn’t stop there. He lobbed an insult at Rep. Ilhan Omar, herself born in Somalia, and then let the backlash swirl.That same week, federal immigration agents appeared, targeting Somali communities around the Twin Cities. Reports from the ground say Somali Americans—including legal citizens—feel besieged. Linus Chan, who teaches law at the University of Minnesota, said his phone had been buzzing. “I’ve had a number of people reach out to me who are actually U.S. citizens and are wondering, ‘Could my citizenship be revoked over a traffic ticket?’ Or, ‘How do I prove I really belong?’” These are not anxious newcomers. Some have raised families here for decades.Bringing it all back to Ashwaubenon: no corporate statement or swift firing will fix a wound that’s far older than any one video. But the forceful local response did matter. Community leaders, local residents, people who have no stake beyond their daily dignity—many condemned what happened and reminded neighbors that decency is not optional, and respect should not depend on what language one speaks or what clothing one wears.The video keeps circulating, for better or worse. For some, it’s a warning—words can wound as surely as anything physical, and the memories linger. For others, it’s a rallying cry. This single spark has revealed fractures, to be sure, but also points to the possibility of healing—if there’s a will to confront the cracks, rather than just cover them.