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IDEAS

Writer's picture: Fletcher ConsultingFletcher Consulting

I remember election day in Jamaica, where I grew up. It was massive. Everyone went to the polls as if their livelihood depended on it. It basically did for many Jamaicans. If their party won the vote, they would have greater access to jobs and resources. If they didn’t win, the converse would be true. The stakes were high.


Here in the U.S., voter participation rates are skimpy in comparison. I think part of that is because our democracy is stable enough (most of the time) that the outcomes don’t lead to dramatic changes that overturn people’s lives overnight. The majority of Americans could plausibly believe that the results don’t affect them personally.


Now, you don’t need me to tell you that we still have a responsibility to vote—even if your day-to-day life feels mostly the same no matter the outcome. But what I do want to highlight is that the stakes are not the same for everyone. If you have identities that make up the majority or dominant groups in this country, complacency is a tempting option. But for many people, the results of each election do make a difference.


How personally you feel the ripple effects of last week’s midterms depends on the intersections of your identity. For example, if you live in Florida or Texas and you are part of the LGBTQ+ community, your rights have been up for virulent public debate. And now that Ron DeSantis and Greg Abbott have been re-elected governors in these states, the debate has come down against you. If you are a person who can get pregnant, the composition of the congress is hugely important now that the Supreme Court has overturned Roe v. Wade. If you are a person of color, we depend on our local and national legislators to protect our rights (to vote, be admitted to college etc.) from further erosion.


DEI practitioners often recommend to managers that they check in with employees after something horrific has happened, such as an incident of police brutality or a natural disaster. The wake of last Tuesday’s vote is another important moment for a temperature check.


It’s not about whether Republicans or Democrats scored more points. Ideology transcends politics, and some people were running on platforms that attack identities that are primary and significant to our colleagues and neighbors, like sexual orientation, gender and race. When those platforms are granted power, the fear of what might happen next is real.


So if you think that this could be a tough time for one of your employees or colleagues, check in with them. Allow your people space to talk and vent. Don’t be surprised if people aren’t on their A game.


And, if you are less directly affected by the perilous state of our democracy, don’t get complacent. We all need to continue to work together through the political process to make sure that no one needs to worry about their basic rights every November.


At last week’s microaggressions workshop, I heard a white participant muttering, “With all these words I’m not supposed to say anymore, maybe I shouldn’t say anything.” I made sure to say emphatically: “If you are afraid the word police are coming to get you, that is one hundred percent not the message of this workshop!”


Honestly, though, I understand their concern. Words have always have been fraught. It’s just that now there are spaces where the people who have been hurt can be heard.


And, language seems to be changing a lot right now. Terms I grew up believing were offensive (“queer”) are now mainstream; and phrases I used to think nothing of (“Hispanic”) are now out of favor in some circles. At the same time, new terms (“BIPOC,” “Latinx”) are ascendant among activists and academics, while plenty of my Black and Latin American friends don’t feel connected to them at all.


English has always been fluid. You could also say it’s been “colonizing.” We have absorbed foreign terms like entrepreneur and schadenfreude, alongside ones like “pow wow.” But Native Americans use “pow wow” to describe a sacred ritual which makes using it to describe any old meeting disrespectful; whereas I doubt anyone would find the use of the term entrepreneur offensive, perhaps just fancy..


With both context and current events affecting the rules, how do we know the right things to say? The simple answer is, by paying attention and trying to stay current. And if/when you say the wrong thing, listen and learn from the feedback that you get. Being called on something offensive is usually worth it. A client once told me that she had said “Someone went off the reservation on that one” during a meeting. A junior member of the team told her that the phrase is rooted in the United States’ ethnic cleansing of Indigenous people. She appreciated the feedback, and the education, and she took it out of her vocabulary. Why would she want to evoke that history in casual conversation?


You can also be proactive. Think about the type of work you do in your organization. Are there terms you use that you want to let go of? Can you read up on marginalized groups whose members you serve or employ? And can you provide resources so that folks aren’t on their own to figure it out? One of our clients, Social Finance, created a comprehensive guide to inclusive language for their employees to use. Alongside the no-nos, each of which was linked to an explanatory source, are positive tips to build effective habits of communicating inside and outside the company. It is an incredible resource.


In the end, the goal shouldn’t be purity. None of us would pass that test—and even if we did, new words will come into favor and trip us up before long. It’s not productive to judge each other for every mistake, because until you know, you just don’t know. (Persisting even after you have been informed is another story.)


And it’s never too late to learn. A woman who was talking to me on a plane once took a linguistic wrong turn and said “colored people.” I had to tell her, “We don’t say that anymore.” She looked at me with an embarrassed expression, and I said, “It’s okay. I’m a diversity consultant.”

Writer's picture: Fletcher ConsultingFletcher Consulting

When someone says or does something that invalidates you based on your race, gender, or other identity, you have to make a choice. Is it worth responding in the moment? If you are flooded with emotions, it will take energy and focus to formulate what to say. And the conflict might escalate, depending on how defensively the offender reacts. How do you decide if it’s worth it?


This triage can happen even when you are asked legitimate questions. It’s not inappropriate for someone to ask me about bias or culture—I’m a professional diversity educator, after all. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a drain on my energy, particularly if I’m not working. I know I’m not alone in this. Repeating explanations of things that touch on one’s belonging and safety can become frustrating after a while. And if the other person is skeptical of your answers, or interrogates you as a “devil’s advocate,” it can move into microaggression territory and become exhausting.


For me, which choice I make depends a lot on the relationship I have with the person. If I have an investment in the long-term health of our connection (for example with a friend or a colleague), I’m more likely to respond. It’s worth it, because I would like our relationship to grow. Also, it might lessen the chance that it will happen again.


On the other hand, if I’m never going to see the person again, I might guard my energy and let it go. Take a breath and move on with my life.


I was talking about this in a recent workshop, and a Black man shared that he felt the opposite way. He said it is tougher for him to speak up when he is in relationship with someone, and easier when he doesn’t know the person. He gave the example of chastising a patron at a restaurant who was being rude to a server. I asked why he bothered, and he said, “I hoped they wouldn’t do it again.” For him, it was worth using his energy, and the privilege he had in that moment, to stand up for the server.


The drain is going to be different for each one of us. But if you witness a microaggression or bias, and the target decides to let it go, remember that it might be a cost-benefit calculation. Everyone in a marginalized group has a burden of “otherness” to carry. Their emotional batteries may already be too drained to take on the extra burden of explaining that burden to someone else.


In times like these, it might be especially valuable for someone in the dominant group to pull their weight. Speak up, ask a clarifying question, interrupt the direction of the conversation. Or, if you are asking a person from a marginalized group for information or advice, remember they might be drained too. Not just around racial issues—I imagine trans people might not appreciate invasive questions about the process, the journey, or their body. Someone who “looks exotic” to you, might be tired of explaining where “they are really from.” Next time you have a question about something, think about whether you really “need” to know and, if so, where else you can get that information. (Hint: Google.)


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