Month: September 2016

I’ve lately been fielding questions from non-black founders and hiring managers looking to diversify their teams. They sense the need to acknowledge the risk inherent in uprooting a person’s life when pursuing new opportunities, and acknowledge the challenges faced by blacks when competing for roles. The subtext of the questions are, “how do I show black people that I really care without being perceived as patronizing?”

I think this line of thinking is misguided. Black people don’t need special treatment.

What candidates (who happen to be black) want is the truth. They want to know what they’re getting themselves into. They want to hear the heart of the founder and what she stands for. They want to know that they’re not simply a row in a spreadsheet or the fulfilment of a quota or a token hire.

And from that perspective, the conversation isn’t about what black people need. It’s about the kind of companies and environments we’re looking to foster.

This isn’t to minimize the effects of racism and discrimination that anchor many of my fellow black countrymen to diminished levels of achievement and success. On the contrary, when I look at what black folks have overcome and continue to fight, my instinct is to reframe the conversation as one of opportunity and access rather than accommodation.

This thinking has significant economic implications, and the real question is this: how do we engage the 80-90% of the population that didn’t graduate from an elite school, doesn’t have relevant work experience, and who are completely overlooked by companies looking to win the “war for talent”?

An experience on the train last week made me think of the capacity for empathy and understanding that many people who hold historically disenfranchised identities hold. An older white man slowly hobbled in on a wooden cane, with a Batman t-shirt, a straw hat, and a simple request. “Any chance I can get a seat?” he said to no one in particular. Two black women seated closest to him sprang to their feet, vacating their bench.

Winners in the new economy won’t just look to Stanford and Harvard for bright-eyed recent graduates willing to grind out 80 hour weeks, they’ll also look to the Harlems and Detroits and Oaklands of the nation for a generation of leaders who can usher in a new era of innovation and creativity, in ways that we can scarcely imagine.

When we start to strip away our biases, look each other in the eyes, and begin to understand what life might be like for others, the empathy and compassion fostered by this radical (and simple) act of humanity will transform our experience of the world around us. A new rubric is needed for evaluating non-traditional talent, and it’s imperative that we aggressively share notes and discuss what’s working.

Abernathy is the leading online magazine for professional black men, and this is an excerpt from a recent newsletter. Subscribe for full and early access.

My first job out of college was with a company that currently employs more than 375,000 human beings. Since disconnecting from the Matrix, my professional life has been organized around much smaller (and often distributed) teams. I’ve had great managers, hard-working teammates, and wise mentors. But none of this prepared me for a head-on collision with my own ignorance last year as the diversity panel where I was speaking drew to a close.

When the floor opened for questions, a woman asked about how she should deal with a (male) manager who had demonstrated sexist behavior. A woman on the panel responded first, and I was surprised by the emphasis on carefully navigating the politics and considering the repercussions of speaking up.

By contrast, I encouraged her to immediately contact HR. And as it turns out, my response illustrated the problem. As a man, I benefit from the patriarchal structure of most work environments. I’ve never had to worry about my opinion being discounted, I’ve never had to assume secretarial duties in meetings, and I’ve never felt harassed or uncomfortable in work environments because of my gender.

Horror stories from women who had reached out to HR under similar circumstances spilled from the audience. I was appalled to learn how common it is for women to experience vicious professional repercussions. The topic ignited the previously subdued crowd, and the ensuing conversation had to be curtailed to clear the stage for the following panel.

I failed to spot my own male privilege despite being a black man surrounded by strong and outspoken feminists. I had the luxury of being oblivious. That’s a humbling thought for me.

This is why we publish so much writing by women in Abernathy. Sometimes the most important thing we (as men) can do with the microphone is to pass it.

Abernathy is the leading online magazine for professional black men, and this is an excerpt from last week’s newsletter. Subscribe for full and early access.

I started my first Fortune 500 internship in 2005 with Convergys Corporation in Jacksonville, Florida. The work had precisely nothing to do with my Information Technology degree program, I was making $5/hour less than my peers at the same company (a fortune to a college sophomore), and at no point in my life had I ever envisioned beginning a career in outsourced customer care.

Those small issues aside, it was a tremendous learning experience for me. I secured the internship through INROADS, a non-profit organization whose mission “is to develop and place talented underserved youth in business and industry, and prepare them for corporate and community leadership.” When I reflect on the lifelong friends I made, the professional development training I received, and the trajectory that those summer internships put me on, I feel extremely grateful for having been introduced to the program.

Among the more sobering lessons I learned that remains with me to this day is how black folks are perceived, regardless of how we’re dressed. I don’t recall who imparted the wisdom, but they implored me and my fellow interns to consider how jarring it might be for people who have never worked with many minorities to suddenly see and interact and work with dozens of bright-eyed, Type-A young people from completely different backgrounds.

This is especially true for large black males like me—I’m 6’3 and I’ve clearly never missed a meal. And so I developed an acute awareness of how my size and presence makes others feel in the workplace. But this doesn’t just apply when I’m wearing a suit and tie.

It applies when I’m in elevators and coming around corners. When I’m on the subway. When I’m walking up to the building where I live. When I’m driving through fancy neighborhoods. When I’m sharing a cab. When I’m on the subway. When I’m saying hello to a stranger on the sidewalk.

I make sure to scuff my shoes on the sidewalk or sing when I’m about to pass someone on the sidewalk at night. I make myself smaller when I’m in an enclosed space with women. I refrain from making sudden movements and eye contact if it’s dark outside and I pass someone. I’ll cross to the other wide of the street proactively…

Code switch verbally? I code switch physically. Subconsciously. I could list a hundred more things, but you get the joke.

We’re all carrying something, no matter what we look like or where we came from. And if I’m not constantly decentering the privileges afforded me as a tall straight black male—considering, for a moment, what it might be like to be someone else—then I’m not trying hard enough.

What might you be carrying? What adjustments do you make for others to be comfortable around you? What assumptions might I be making about your lens?

I’m fortunate to be surrounded by people who walk the talk of feminism and anti-racism, of queer-friendly politics and respect for diverse world views. Yet these examples remind me of how blind we can all be to our own biases. Even when we’re trying.

Abernathy is the leading online magazine for professional black men, and this is an excerpt from a recent newsletter. Subscribe for full and early access.