The Only Black Girl In The Room When.... Intersectionality Is Missing
A female-centric workplace is the dream, right? We always say if women ran the world that we’d have like zero problems, most toxicity would vanish, and stuff would actually get done. Which, true. But.... yes, there’s a but, that can’t happen if only some women’s voices are heard. Intersectionality is essential. And if your feminism isn’t intersectional, then darling, question how feminist you truly are.
It's always fun, as a Black woman, when the tide shifts from, “we love you, you’re amazing,” to “you’re not a team player,” with that barely hidden undercurrent of, “you’re not doing enough for us, so we’re not prepared to offer you basic human decency, sorry!” I’m willing to bet it’s happened to a lot of us Black women in the workplace (see: The Fates from my upcoming novel) when we’ve tried to protect ourselves and our mental health. Black female athletes like Serena Williams, Simone Biles, and Naomi Osaka have been outspoken on how perception of their personalities, their responses, their facial expressions have impacted their wellbeing and confidence under the gaze of a predominantly white media apparatus.
When was the last time you were called aggressive? Was it warranted? Probably not the last time, but one of the most notable times for me, was when I asked a question in a meeting, and was complained about to not one, but two, supervisors. I asked what the purpose of a meeting was, above and beyond one we already had scheduled. A white woman did not like that question and complained. I was then told that people were feeling sensitive and that I should just watch what I say, because it could be misinterpreted. I was so shocked in that moment, though I shouldn’t have been based on previous experience, that I didn’t say anything. Of course ten minutes later I was like Issa from Insecure in the mirror, pulling out the H.R. handbook and all of my knowledge of how the angry Black woman stereotype is coopted into everyday life, ready to come in hot if anyone tried me again. They didn’t, at least not in that way, and I didn’t have the courage to speak up yet. (Now is a different story, I’m a little spicy).
It's still hard though. When I’ve called out inequalities in the workplace, or a grad program, or a social situation, I’m often perceived as ungrateful. It’s like, well, you’re here so how bad can it be? Or, maybe just let it go for now and we’ll address it later. I’ve been yelled at, snapped at, tone policed, all for doing what I believe is right to make a situation better for myself and the people coming after me. But God Forbid I don’t smile in the meeting where I do it, oof. That’s super uncomfortable for people. My (your) bad.
Also, I haven’t been totally honest. I wasn’t necessarily called aggressive in the aforementioned situation. I don’t actually know what I was called, because the person who pulled me aside about the complaint felt it was too awkward to actually tell me. Thus, I infer. But know that whatever was said could have been much worse. All of that because I said, verbatim, “what is the point of this meeting above and beyond the other meeting we have scheduled?” I feel like I have to repeat that because it’s so absurd. It’s a question, one that anyone in any workplace could ask anywhere, but someone didn’t like my tone, so I was reported.
Racism is inherently ridiculous. That is what so much of my upcoming novel is about (and there’s romance!!). It sounds insane when you hear about it, or like it absolutely can’t be true, because what?? Black people have got to be making this up, like why would people outlaw your natural hair? Or sanction your murder? Or follow you around in a store? Or try to get an H.R. violation on your record because they didn’t like a question you asked, and wanted to get you in trouble. It’s very easy to look away, or ignore it, or say that people like me are overreacting. But the thing about it is, of course I’m going to react. I’m human. You’d react too. You’d freeze, or cry, or fight, or leave, or do so many things you can’t imagine if you haven’t had the lived experience. It sounds so silly when you hear about it, or even in my book, where there are incidents upon incidents sometimes, and it seems like no way could all of those happen. But they do, every day. They happen to the only Black girl in the room. They’ve happened to me. Talking about it doesn’t give those people power or energy, it brings the situations into the light. It maybe starts a conversation. Someday, maybe it even stops it from happening.
But, what do I know? I was the fourth person to report racism to an institution in a single year. They changed nothing, and all of the Black employees left. We went on to better things, and we tried. We tried to make things better, but we didn’t. The people in charge just made it more white, which is what they wanted all along.