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- Herausgeber: John Wiley & Sons
- Kategorie: Fachliteratur
- Sprache: Englisch
WALL STREET JOURNAL BESTSELLER NATIONAL BESTSELLER Reimagining what inclusion can look like in our organizations starts with understanding why these 13 DEI myths are not true--with practical and effective strategies for implementing transformative inclusivity. In Reimagine Inclusion, veteran DEI leader Mita Mallick debunks 13 myths that hold us back from transforming our workplaces. She delivers powerful storytelling combined with practical and hands on ways for us to be more inclusive leaders. She teaches us that when we show up as more inclusive leaders, we have the power to change our organizations, ultimately creating a ripple effect across our ecosystem. You'll learn: * How to understand, confront, and mitigate your own biases as you commit to do the work that starts with yourself. * How to coach future leaders and to be intentional about how you lead in your organization--both in public and behind closed doors. * To become an active participant in building your workplace's culture. Reimagine Inclusion walks you through how to: understand the leader's journey in your organization, interrupt bias at every key decision point, and transform your organization's systems, processes, and policies to improve inclusivity at every level. This is a must have resource for managers and executives, founders and CEOs. Reimagine Inclusion is for anyone with a stake in building more inclusive, empathetic and resilient organizations, where each and every one of us can thrive.
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Seitenzahl: 354
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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Table of Contents
Cover
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Introduction
MYTH 1: Of Course I Support Black Lives Matter. Why Are You Asking If I Have Any Black Friends?
Who Are Your Friends?
We All Have Biases
How to Start Building Cross‐Cultural Relationships
Notes
MYTH 2: I Always Allow Everyone to Speak in Meetings. Of Course I Am an Inclusive Leader.
Do You Know What It Feels Like to Be Excluded?
Start by Providing Access
Amplify Voices
Be an Advocate
Notes
MYTH 3: It's Time to Have Some Courageous Conversations on Race. Let's Ask Our Employees of Color to Lead Them.
Who Is Actually Being Courageous, During a Courageous Conversation on Race?
When's the Last Time You Had a Courageous Conversation on Race?
How Can You Reach Out to Colleagues Who Have Experienced Trauma or Pain?
Notes
MYTH 4: I'm All for Diverse Talent. As Long as They Are Good.
Do You Believe There Is a Limited Pool of Black Talent to Recruit From?
Remember That Language Matters
Finally, Here's How We Can Partner with Recruiting to Make Impact
Notes
MYTH 5: We Protect the A‐holes Because Our Businesses Wouldn't Run Without Them.
What Is Harassment?
What Is Bullying?
Enact a Zero‐Tolerance Policy
Dismantle Your Performance Review Process
Address Conflicts of Interest
Reimagine Your Investigation Process
Treat Your Exit Interviews Like Customer Reviews
When You See Something, Say Something
Notes
MYTH 6: Why Are You Asking for a Raise? You and Your Husband Make More Than Enough Money.
1. Communicate Your Pay Equity Measures
2. Challenge Leaders on Who They Reward
3. Consider a No‐Negotiating Salary Policy
4. Ensure Mothers Aren't Penalized
5. Address Women's Concerns Before They Resign
6. Finally, Don't Be So Quick to “Celebrate” Equal Pay Day
Notes
MYTH 7: We Need More People of Color in Leadership. Let's Launch a Mentorship Program!
What Makes a Sponsorship Program Work
Notes
MYTH 8: Of Course We Support Women! We Just Extended Maternity Leave.
2. Do You Really Have Equitable Internal Promotion Processes?
3. Do You Consistently Ask Women What Support They Want and Need?
Notes
MYTH 9: These DEI Efforts Don't Benefit Me. My Voice as a White Man Doesn't Count Anymore.
1. Let's Stop Shaming and Blaming White Men
2. Help Educate White Men on the Statistics
3. Create Spaces for White Men to Learn and Grow Together
4. Show White Men the Benefits of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion Efforts
5. Give White Men Concrete Ways to Help
Notes
MYTH 10: No One Can Question Our Support of the LGBTQ+ Community. Look at How Much Money We Invest in June Pride Month! We Aren't Diversity Washers.
Do You Understand the Issues Facing the Community?
Have You Asked Your Employees How They Feel?
Is Your Brand or Company the Right Ally?
Why Don't You Just Sit This One Out?
Notes
MYTH 11: Our Ad Wasn't Racist. It Was Simply a Mistake.
Accept What You Have Done
Immediately Reach Out to Your Employees
Then Treat This as a Crisis
Educate Yourself on Why This Was Racist
Watch Out For Diversity Propping And Diversity Dressing
Finally, Listen to the Whispers, They Are the Loudest
Understanding Why Consumers Call Out Content and Products for Being Racist
Notes
MYTH 12: We Aren't Apologizing. People Need to Stop Being So Sensitive.
1. Why Should I Apologize?
2. How Should I Apologize?
3. What Should I Say When Apologizing?
How to Help Your Company Apologize
Notes
MYTH 13: We Can Work from Home Now. The Future of Work Is Inclusive.
How Will You Ensure the Ways in Which Employees Work With Each Other Is Inclusive?
Notes
Conclusion: Now That We Have Debunked 13 Myths, Here's What Comes Next.
1. How Will Your Organization Stay Committed to Your DEI Efforts Long Term?
2. How Will You as a Leader Stay Committed to This Work?
Notes
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Index
End User License Agreement
Guide
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Introduction
Table of Contents
Begin Reading
Conclusion: Now That We Have Debunked 13 Myths, Here's What Comes Next.
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Index
Wiley End User License Agreement
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REIMAGINE INCLUSION
DEBUNKING 13 MYTHS TO TRANSFORM YOUR WORKPLACE
MITA MALLICK
Copyright © 2024 by John Wiley & Sons. All rights reserved.
Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey.
Published simultaneously in Canada.
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Cover Design: WileyAuthor Photo: © JWJ Photography
For my parents:
Satya Priya Mallick & Manjula Mallick
“I love you big like the sky.”
Introduction
My entire life I have been chasing inclusion. Because I have never really felt that I belong.
I am the proud daughter of Indian immigrant parents, who left everyone and everything they knew behind in Kolkata, West Bengal. My younger brother and I were born and raised in the United States, in a time and place where it was not cool to be Indian. I was the funny looking dark‐skinned girl with a long, funny looking braid, whose parents spoke funny English. We listened to funny sounding music and ate funny smelling food. Until it wasn't funny anymore.
Growing up, I was bullied by my peers, both verbally and physically. They let me know every single day that I didn't belong. While I didn't feel included in our small and mostly white community, I also didn't see myself included in the greater world around me. Not on the small screen or big screens, not in books and magazines, and not on the shelves of our local grocery store.
I quickly began to understand that I was different. And yet I desperately wanted just to be included, to be part of the community like everyone else. So I thought studying hard and studying some more, achieving straight As and extra credit, winning awards, and receiving accolades would be the key to being included. I knew my capabilities, and I knew I was capable of more. And I believed my relentless drive to learn and make an impact would be the key to my success in Corporate America.
I quickly found myself struggling as I started my career as a marketer. I was eager to learn the technical aspects of the job and picked those up quickly. Although I enjoyed the actual work, I was completely overwhelmed by what Michelle Obama once described as the “everyday paper cuts” so many of us who look “different” experience on a daily basis. Every single exclusionary act, small and big ones in the workplace building on top of one another, left me questioning if this was the organization I was meant to work for. Because just as I had during my childhood, I didn't feel included. I didn't feel valued, seen, or recognized. I left one organization for another, in search of better bosses, better titles, and better development opportunities. All along, I was chasing inclusion.
After close to two decades of working across sectors and industries, for large and small public and private companies, it took me too long to realize this: I had been trying to thrive in workplaces that were never built for people who look like me. And these structures, processes, and systems didn't just magically appear. They were predominately built by people who didn't look like me. Leaders who for most of their lives had known what it felt like to be included in their workplaces. In some cases, they didn't regularly experience, see, or understand what exclusion was.
So, I transitioned from a successful career in marketing—where I had fought to ensure people who looked like me were included and represented in products, services, and content—to working in the field of diversity, equity, and inclusion. Once again, chasing inclusion. This time not just for myself, but what it means for leaders on their journey to be more inclusive. What it means for organizations on their journey to build more inclusive cultures. And finally, the ripple effect organizations can have on the greater ecosystem—the positive impact they can make when they actively practice inclusion, and the consequences they have to face when they don't understand the harm and hurt exclusion can cause.
Over the last several years, I have seen the growing interest in diversity, equity, and inclusion efforts. I have watched leaders and organizations spending billions of dollars on diversity, equity, inclusion, justice, and belonging, all while arguing over the meaning and order of those words. Many have hired Chief Diversity Officers, only to then cut this work, reinvest in it, and then cut it again. They are blaming the lack of diverse pipelines for not being able to increase the diversity of representation of their workforce and pressuring Employee Resource Groups to do more. Confused as to why there aren't more people of color in the C‐Suite. Some of these same leaders, who are white men, struggle privately or publicly with Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) efforts, feeling that their voice simply doesn't matter anymore. And finally leaders scrambling on what major event, devastation, crisis to address, when and why, asking this question: Is this about politics or is this about human rights?
As I have been chasing inclusion over many years, I have developed deep expertise in this space. I have coached hundreds upon hundreds of leaders. I have led organizations through many a DEI crisis. I have been the confidante to many a CEO, founder, and board member. I have participated in countless keynote speeches, fireside chats, and panels. I have worked with both large and small companies. I have shared my thought leadership in social media platforms, on my own podcast and other podcasts, and in major publications and news outlets. And yet, I am not a self‐proclaimed DEI expert. Because I don't believe, in a world that changes so quickly, that we can be experts anymore. I just have deep DEI expertise.
As I continue to build my expertise, I approach this work embracing humility, a constant drive to gain more empathy and understanding for experiences that aren't my own, and a commitment to meet leaders where they are in their inclusion journey, in hopes of moving them further along in their journey during their time working with me. My hope is that this book helps more leaders and as a result more organizations make meaningful progress in actually transforming their workplaces.
As you read this book, I also know there are a number of good books that have been published and are currently being published on the topic of DEI. Given my expertise, I wanted to tackle the one thing I haven't seen others address head on: the myths that we hold on to in our workplaces that prevent us from making meaningful progress in DEI efforts. We have all grown up with myths, stories that are based on tradition. Some myths we can point to being tied to factual origins. Some myths are completely fabricated, simply made up. They can explain to us why we are here, give us a sense of purpose, reassure us, guide us, and even become part of our traditions and embedded into our families and our greater community.
In this book, I'll share with you the 13 myths, which, over the many years doing this work, I have watched leaders cling to, believe, and share with others as if they were factual. These myths can spread quickly within an organization, taking over how we individually think, operate, and the decisions we make having consequences at scale. These 13 myths, if not debunked, will have a devastating impact on our workplaces. Reimagining what inclusion looks like in our organizations starts with understanding why these myths are just that—myths.
In debunking the first three chapters, Myths 1, 2, and 3, we tackle some of the foundational skills we need to continue to develop on our journey to be more inclusive leaders. We talk about the work we need to start doing outside of workplaces and starting at our kitchen tables, with practical ways to practice inclusion on our teams, and the role we need to play in having courageous conversations on race. In Myths 4, 5, and 6, we tackle some of the ways in which we can influence and help build systems and processes in our organizations that are fair and equitable. We discuss how our own biases undermine the efforts to build and uphold inclusive infrastructures. We also discuss the importance of language in DEI work and remembering our responsibility to educate ourselves on language that is constantly evolving.
In Myths 7 and 8, we tackle the unintended consequences of believing that we are doing everything we can to support our employees, including examples like launching mentorship programs and offering maternity leave. In Myth 9, we tackle how white men feel excluded and how we must include them in DEI efforts. In Myth 10 and Myth 11, we tackle pride washing and diversity washing in products and content and discuss in‐depth racist ads in the marketplace. In Myth 12, we tackle the importance of both personal and public apologies and what we can do to continue to rebuild trust after we apologize. And finally, in Myth 13, we tackle what we need to do to ensure the future of the work is indeed inclusive for us all.
You will find that each myth starts with a story. Many of these stories may sound familiar to some of you, something you may have experienced or witnessed at work. We examine the myth and spend time debunking it. Then we discuss practical ways in which you can start to transform your workplaces. I leave reminder tips at the end of each myth to help you think about how, starting tomorrow, you can show up at work differently.
As you read this book, I encourage you to take notes, come back to sections that made you uncomfortable, and review concepts you didn't understand when you first read them or you disagree with. Invite colleagues to read this book with you. Discuss these myths and do the work together to hold yourselves accountable. Treat this as a leadership handbook, as your personal resource guide you can come back to when you are in doubt of something you are facing in your workplace.
If you are a white leader reading this book, some of what I say might surprise you, make you pause, question what you are reading, or make you feel unsettled and uncomfortable. I hope you can work through the discomfort to unlearn some of the things you believe to be true about DEI. Your organizations are counting on you to think about how you can show up differently at work and make an impact. And if you are someone from a historically marginalized community reading this book, much of what I say might not surprise or unsettle you, or make you feel uncomfortable. For most of your career, you have likely experienced the things I share. The burden is not on you to educate your colleagues. And if you are looking for new ways to reach them, I hope this book offers a different way to do that.
Finally, I'm often asked why I continue to do this work. Why even write this book? I continue to do this work for one simple reason—for my children, Jay and Priya. For my nieces, Emma, Lily, and Julia, and my nephew, Zachary. I do this work for all of our children in hopes they never doubt that they belong. So they won't have to reimagine what inclusion looks like because they will know what it's like to be included from the very beginning: to be valued, seen, and recognized. And in return, they will include others in whatever they choose to do in life because we all deserve to be included in our workplaces, in our communities, and in our greater world.
MYTH 1Of Course I Support Black Lives Matter. Why Are You Asking If I Have Any Black Friends?
“I need your help posting this image on LinkedIn,” a senior white leader I had worked with said to me, repeatedly tapping at an image on his iPhone. “And how do I do the hashtag? Black Lives Matter…?”
I stared at the image. And looked at him. I stared at the image again.
“This image says Stop Killing Us. Black Lives Matter. Is this the image you would like to post?”
“Yes, I want people to know I support those efforts.”
I paused and let the silence creep in for several seconds. “Have you considered using a different image? And what would you like to say? Because this image says Stop Killing Us, and I don't think—”
“I don't know,” he interrupted me. He sighed, growing increasingly more frustrated with our conversation.
“Have you thought about what your Black friends and colleagues would like to hear from you? Have you talked to them about how you can be supporting them?”
“Oh, this is ridiculous!” he shouted at me. “I just want to get this posted before my next meeting. And of course I support Black Lives Matter. Why are you asking me if have any Black friends?”
He stormed out of the room. I sat there, staring at a crooked frame on the wall, which proudly displayed the company's values. “Integrity. Positive Impact. Commitment. …” Hmm. Well, I technically never asked him if he had any Black friends. Did I?
In the days, weeks, and months following The Diversity Tipping Point™1 (as coined by Diverse & Engaged as the period beginning May 29, 2020, when Corporate America acknowledged Black lives DO matter), I was inundated with requests from mostly white leaders on what they should say and what they should do in the wake of George Floyd being murdered. And, of course, could I help them quickly post something on their LinkedIn or Twitter accounts so they could let people know they cared?
In my time coaching over hundreds of leaders on diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) topics, I have come to realize this one singular truth. Inclusion doesn't start at our conference room tables; it starts at our kitchen tables. It starts in our homes, in our extended families, and in our communities. I have spent time with white leaders, many of whom genuinely wanted to be an ally for the Black community and to loudly say that “Black Lives Matter.” Some of these leaders pause in conversation with me, think for a bit, think some more, and then quietly confess, “Well, no, I guess I don't have any close friends who are Black.” Because many of us continue to live self‐segregated lives. We are afraid to say this part aloud. And this is the myth we have to debunk: It's hard to say you genuinely support the Black community if you actually don't have a meaningful relationship with someone who identifies as Black.
Who Are Your Friends?
In September 2019, I remember my social feed being inundated with the biggest piece of news ever: The Friends twenty‐fifth anniversary. I was overwhelmed by the headlines: Friends hits big screen for twenty‐fifth anniversary! The Top Ten Ross Gellar Moments! 25 Things You Didn't Know About Friends! Friends: 13 New Behind‐the Scenes Stories! A Pottery Barn Friends Collection is coming!
The show debuted on NBC on a Sunday evening in 1994, and quickly took American culture by storm. Critics raved how relatable the characters' lives were—how the cast become so close. How these lovable characters even became friends with their viewers.
Rachel. Chandler. Phoebe. Monica. Ross. Joey. Six friendly white faces staring back at me with big, wide smiles. I had never watched the show; they were not my friends. As I stared at their photos, all I could think was: is that what everyone else's friends looked like? Where were all the friends who looked like me? Where were the Brown and Black faces? Where were all the people of color?
Friends. Sex in the City. Girls. And Greta Gerwig's Lady Bird. Our screens are filled with stories of white communities, white friendships and relationships, and white joys and struggles. Much has been written about the lack of diversity behind and in front of the camera, whitewashing of stories and experiences. And it starts with the storytellers.
“I really wrote the show from a gut‐level place, and each character was a piece of me or based on someone close to me. And only later did I realize that it was four white girls,” said Lena Dunham,2 creator of the popular HBO series Girls.
Dunham's comments were honest, candid, and revealing. There was no whitewashing of experiences or stories here. On screen, she brought to life her predominantly white existence, a life likely surrounded by the comforts of white friendships and white relationships.
Unlike Dunham, Greta Gerwig has remained largely silent on the criticism she received for her award‐winning film Lady Bird on being glaringly white. Gerwig's attempts to include people of color in the film, two specifically, falls into the stereotype of how people of color have historically been portrayed on the big screen; silent and watchful, there to highlight and support the journey of the main white character. Ironically, the film is set during 2002 in Sacramento, the same year in which Sacramento was named America's Most Diverse City,3 and yet this diversity was noticeably not reflected in the film.
In interview after interview, Gerwig has said the movie is loosely based on her life, but far less autobiographical than viewers realize. Gerwig never had anyone call her by a different name and never dyed her hair bright red. She did, however, grow up in Sacramento. Elizabeth Bergman of Time magazine wrote about Lady Bird: “In Lady Bird, on movie screens from Sacramento to Brooklyn, women and girls are seeing themselves reflected in all of their warts and glory.” It is clear that it is white women and white girls who saw themselves reflected in Gerwig's whiteness and her largely white experiences.
Guess Who the Baby Is?
As I was reflecting about Friends, and the sharing of stories of white experiences, I was reminded of a significant moment in my career. We were preparing for the long‐awaited launch of baby products. To celebrate the launch, colleagues decided to create a game for their division called “Guess Who the Baby Is?”
On a very large wall, individuals were encouraged to bring in their baby pictures and post them on the wall. Picture after picture, cute, cuddly, and crying babies lined the wall. On the surface, it seemed like a wonderful way to create internal momentum and excitement for a big moment for the company.
“I am uncomfortable putting my picture up there,” confessed one of our Black colleagues to me one morning. “There's only a handful of us on this floor. What should we call this game? Guess who the Black Baby is?”
They were right. A sea of cute, cuddly, and crying white babies lined the walls. My picture, or anyone else's Black or Brown baby picture, would have disrupted the sea of whiteness, and it wouldn't have been too difficult to win the game: Guess who that Black or Brown Baby is?
And yet this simple game, created by white colleagues, reflected their own childhood experiences and upbringing. They didn't see anything wrong with the game or understand why anyone would not want to participate. For them, it was as simple as identifying babies who all looked like them growing up, smiling white faces framed with golden locks secured tight by a bonnet. That baby game serves as a reminder of how a simple game based on our own upbringing and experiences of being surrounded by those who look like us can lead to our colleagues feeling excluded.
As I go back to the experiences in coaching white leaders on their urgent need to publicly show up for #BlackLivesMatter, it leaves me with this question as we all scramble to create inclusive work cultures: How can we expect to show up and be inclusive leaders in our workplaces if we live the majority of our lives in communities surrounded by people who only look like us? In the United States alone, we spent about $8 billion dollars4 on diversity training. Educating leaders on issues of diversity, equity, and inclusion has certainly come a long way since the late 1960s and 1970s, when training started being held in corporations as a reaction to and to protect against expensive civil rights lawsuits. Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 19645 was a landmark civil rights and labor law in the United States, which made it illegal for organizations to discriminate in hiring, termination, promotion, or compensation based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin.
According to Dr. Rohini Anand and Mary‐Frances Winter, in their paper on the history of corporate diversity training, “most training during this era was primarily a recitation on the law and company policies, a litany of do's and don'ts and maybe a couple of case studies.”6 For most organizations, the trainings were a one‐time event, ranging from an hour to four hours. There was no discussion on how changing behaviors, on how being a more inclusive leader, could lead to better business results.
In 1987, Workforce 2000,7 a book published by the Hudson Institute, was one of the main catalysts for the diversity industry being born. Workforce 2000 accurately forecasted the changes organizations would see in their workforces as the demographics of the United States shifted. It was the beginning of understanding what workforce diversity would mean and how organizations would, in their journey, either tolerate, celebrate, or simply reject the diverse backgrounds and life experiences people would carry with them into their workplaces.
Almost a decade later, in 1995,8 implicit bias, or unconscious bias, was defined by psychologists Mahzarin Banaji and Anthony Greenwald. Banaji and Greenwald also created the IAT (implicit association test), which allowed everyone to assess their biases, and at the time it was revolutionary. The duo introduced the now well‐known term implicit bias, which referred to “any unconsciously held set of associations about a social group.” The marketplace for diversity training then over time morphed into Unconscious Bias Training for all.
When I coach leaders, I remind them that unconscious biases are learned stereotypes that are deeply ingrained, automatic, and influence our behavior. We learn these stereotypes from a young age from our families, our communities, and in our schools, like famous storytellers Lena Dunham and Greta Gerwig did. We learn these stereotypes from watching Disney Movies, from both CNN and Fox News, and from TikTok and YouTube influencers. We learn these stereotypes and internalize them based on one single interaction we had a very long time ago with someone who doesn't look like us or who isn't from “our community.”
We store those memories away in our brain, compartmentalize, and categorize groups of people. When we are multitasking, when we are stressed, and when we are short on time, our unconscious bias kicks in and we make decisions influenced by our bias. We pull upon a single memory, a single story, a single conversation that has formed our stereotypes. And then make a decision influenced by our deep‐seated biases, many of which are hurtful and painful to read or say aloud:
Black women can be angry and overly aggressive. Black men may not have as strong a work ethic and can be lazy. Hispanic/Latina women can dress inappropriately at work and speak Spanish better than English. Latino men can have explosive tempers and have illegal immigrants in their families. Asian men can't be very strategic and do not succeed in non‐technical fields. Asian women can be modest, deferential, and don't have strong social skills.
White men play golf, can be less qualified, and steal credit from all to get ahead. White women can be self‐absorbed, shallow, and will shove women of color aside to get a rung ahead on the corporate ladder. Mothers can be less committed to their jobs. Gay men can be flamboyant and effeminate. Lesbian women can have masculine leadership styles and have their own bias against men. Veterans can be unstable and unreliable, suffering from post‐traumatic stress. An individual using a wheelchair can't be in a sales role because they aren't able to travel as easily. And how can anyone who is visually or hearing impaired work in a technical role?
And remember that stereotypes we harbor aren't always negative. In fact, stereotypes can be positive. And yet these positive stereotypes continue to tell false stories and perpetuate a false narrative about a community and group of people and be just as damaging as negative stereotypes.
Mothers are superheroes. Gay men are more creative and are impeccable dressers. Women are kind and empathetic. Asians are great at math and engineering. Black men are great athletes. And Black women—well they are simply #BlackGirlMagic. (P.S. Black Girls aren't magic, they are simply human.)9
We All Have Biases
It's undeniable and indisputable that each of us have unconscious biases. We walk into our workplaces every day carrying them with us. We rush to the next meeting while quickly sending that email to our boss and responding to those two other texts, while scrambling to meet the noon deadline—we all make decisions as quickly as possible, influenced by our unchecked unconscious bias. Imagine the devastating consequences that can happen within an organization when our collective unconscious bias goes unchecked. This can have system‐wide ramifications.
We hire people who graduated from the same college we went to because we fundamentally believe our school builds the very best leaders. We coach people informally as we catch a Sunday football game together and connect over our love of the NFL. We promote those who remind us of ourselves, because we know for certain they will be as successful as we are.
Well, the solution becomes a four‐hour training on Unconscious Bias Training. We ask some questions; we make some effort to participate. A basic training may cover some of the following: What does unconscious bias mean? Are there different types of biases? When does bias show up at work? How do I know if I have unconscious bias? Wait, are you sure we all have bias?
If we are fully engaged and not on our phones, we have some aha moments. We might think about it as we log off, or on the commute home, and wonder what's for dinner. We then go back to our homes, and our communities, surrounded for the most part by people who look like us.
We have no real opportunity to break through our biases, practice and apply what we have learned (because we don't have enough meaningful cross‐cultural relationships allowing us to erase stereotypes), or get to know individuals, one‐on‐one, on a human level. We continue to rely on one article we skimmed on our phone, one show we binge‐watched on Netflix, and one interaction we had in a virtual happy hour.
The only real way to shatter stereotypes in our head is to expand our social circles. A long‐standing theory in the field of social sciences referred to as “contact hypothesis” says just this: connecting and building relationships with those of other races can help you gain a better understanding of someone else's experiences and to help you act on their behalf. So it's no surprise then that studies show10 that white individuals building relationships with Black individuals directly correlates to white individuals supporting, and then actively becoming involved in, the Black Lives Matter movement.
So when I coach individuals, here are some of the questions I ask them regarding their social circles. I specifically ask them to observe who else is around them in these scenarios:
Where do you live, and who are your neighbors? Do you socialize with them?
Who cuts your hair? Where do you buy your groceries? Where do you go out to eat?
How do you spend your weekends? Who do you spend them with? What activities do you do?
Who attended the last community celebration you can remember? A birthday party, a wedding, or a funeral celebrating a loved one's life? Can you picture who was there?
Who is in your trusted circle? Who are your closest five friends you rely on?
If they all look like you, act like you, and think like you, you are self‐segregating.
According to the Public Religion Research Institute's 2013 American Values Survey—the most recent comprehensive study of race and social circles—data shows that a full 75 percent of white Americans have “entirely white social networks without any minority presence.”11 The same holds true for slightly less than two‐thirds of Black Americans.
“This country has a pretty long history of restriction on inter‐racial contact and for whites and Blacks, even though it's in the past, there are still echoes of this,” said Ann Morning, an associate professor in the department of sociology at New York University, of a 2013 Reuters/Ipsos poll that showed 40 percent of Americans and 25 percent of non‐white Americans have no friends of another race. “Hispanics and Asian Americans have traditionally had less strict lines about integrating.”12 It is clear that we all need to travel beyond our current networks and social circles and break out of our self‐segregation.
How to Start Building Cross‐Cultural Relationships
As you start to build cross‐cultural friendships, here are some key “watch‐outs.”
Stop Being Color Blind “I'm color blind,”13 a colleague had confidently proclaimed to me several years ago while we were meeting. “I'm color blind, and I don't see you as any color at all,” she boldly claimed again, sitting right across from me and staring me straight in the eyes. All the while slowly sipping her cup of coffee. I stared blankly at her “First Coffee, Then Slay” gold mug.
“I just don't see color.”
Color blind is the infamous get out of jail card, a free pass, a VIP status, to buy, pass go, and collect your $200 Monopoly‐style and to let everyone know there's no possible way that you see color. The first “watch‐out” is let's stop being color blind. If you proclaim to be color blind, you can't have any meaningful cross‐cultural relationships.
When you use the words “I am color blind,” you completely shut down any possibility of having a conversation with me around race. Because I am Brown. As a Brown person, I don't have the privilege of saying I am color blind. I know when I walk into my workspaces and workplaces, my Brownness has entered the room before I have even had the chance to sit down and say hello. I wear my Brownness every single day of my life.
And for many people of color, race has defined us since the day we were born. Because for us, being color blind is a privilege we cannot afford.
To invest in cross‐cultural relationships, you have to see and embrace who people are. You have to see color. Because to not see color is to deny the person their identity and their very existence. So please stop being color blind. Please start to see color. Please start to see them and hear them.
Stop Thinking Having “One Friend” from Another Community Is Enough
The second “watch‐out”—having one friend who identifies with another race, culture, or community—just isn't enough.
“My dentist, who I love, is Indian.”
“My neighbor is Mexican, from Mexico. He has a green card of course.”
“My best friend from fifth grade is Black.”
“My grandchildren are half Asian.”
“Did I mention my college sweetheart was Colombian? So I can't possibly be a racist. And I am one of the most evolved, open‐minded people you will ever meet. I live in Manhattan, after all.”
I had a white colleague who would always talk to me about her dentist Raj, who was Indian. Dr. Raj celebrated some festival with lights. Dr. Raj once had round, white Indian sweets in his office, ironic for a dentist. Dr. Raj spoke another language, started with the letter G, she couldn't remember, hopefully it would come to her. Did I happen to speak another language with a letter G, she would ask me inquisitively. I would shake my head no.
“Do you know Dr. Raj?,” she asked me on more than one occasion. Because all Indians apparently within a 25‐mile radius should know each other. I thought about asking her if she knew my dentist Dr. Richard, who also happened to be white, but I didn't have the energy to start that conversation.
