Tech Conferences

The Attendee

I’ve gone to my fair share of conferences as an attendee, and nothing is more exciting than spending time with people who share your passion for technology. These are our tribes, and when we’re brought together, it’s amazing.

But for me it did not start out that way. I can remember going to conferences alone, hoping to join the party, only to find that conferences can be a bit cliquish, composed of subgroups that roll in tight circles. My first taste of feeling like an outcast came during a conference lunch; I felt like the kid who’s just transferred to a new school halfway into the school year. I was without my support system, no one knew who I was, and all the cool kids seemed to be having tons of fun without me.

Over time I learned to just jump in, work the room, listen in on conversations I found interesting, and then break the ice with a question. Turns out, most conference goers love to talk, and if you ask a somewhat relevant question, people will talk to you for hours. I took the power of nerd sniping and used it for good.

After a few events, I came to understand that most people are nice, welcoming, and willing to talk to you — but it was up to me to jump in. With a little experience under my belt, I now seek out people who look like my formerly shy self and make them feel welcome, mainly by asking questions and listening. I don’t wait for my chance to respond; I actually listen, and I learn from them. It’s amazing how much people at tech conferences have to share, even if they have less experience in the conference topic than you.

The Speaker

I started speaking at conferences about five years ago. I got my start speaking at a local Python meetup in Atlanta, where I gave a talk comparing the implementation of list comprehensions in Python and Haskell. I chose such a complex topic because I felt I had to look smart. This is something I would later learn is unnecessary; some of the best presentations I’ve seen come from beginners sharing something they’re excited about.

After a few more meetups, I built up the courage to submit my first talk proposal to PuppetConf 2011, “Streamlining Workflows With Puppet Faces”. The talk was a success! I overcame my fear of public speaking, despite sweaty palms and butterflies, and got a few laughs along the way. Shortly after that talk, I landed a job at Puppet Labs. I still consider that talk one of the best interviews I’ve ever given.

After PuppetConf, I went on to speak at a few more meetups and small conferences. As a speaker, I felt I had finally made it. But in some cases, I felt I had landed talks as the token black guy. To be honest, I didn’t care — opportunity is opportunity — though I do worry about the speakers that were rejected in the name of inclusion. Nevertheless, I figured I owed it to the community, my community and to the rejected speakers, to not only accept the speaking slot, but to go out there and earn it.

I’ve largely overcome my fears around submitting a CFP (Call for Papers), but I’ll never forget what it’s like to feel unqualified, or believe that an event won’t accept an outsider from an underrepresented group. Even to this day, when I see a CFP pop up, the first thing I do is check out the speakers from previous years. If I don’t see someone who looks like me, I immediately assume I’ll be fighting an uphill battle, and start questioning what makes me so special that I’ll be the first black person given an opportunity to speak at their conference. Representation matters, and it’s the main reason I accept so many speaking opportunities: I want to be the reflection some people are looking for.

The Conference Chair

Two years ago I was approached by O’Reilly, and was offered an opportunity to become a co-chair for OSCON 2016. After disconnecting from the initial call with Gina Blaber, the vice president of conferences, I did a few victory laps around my apartment, thinking,“I have just received one of the highest honors a member of the tech community could ever receive!” I’d been entrusted to help shape what continues to be a legendary event, not just for open source, but for all the communities born from it.

Rachel Roumeliotis, who I consider to be the Queen of OSCON, showed me the ropes and taught me everything I know about being a conference chair. Not only did Rachel teach me how to sort and rank talk submissions, she taught me how to think about each talk in relation to the entire conference. She taught me how to be a professional conference contributor.

I’ve also had the pleasure of working with Scott Hanselman as my OSCON co-chair. In short, Scott is extra dope, and is the biggest advocate for inclusion I know. Scott doesn’t go around giving out speaking slots, but goes above and beyond to ensure no one gets overlooked. Scott taught me how to dig deeper and find those hidden gems that reviewers often miss. Not only did we end up giving new speakers a chance, we gave attendees something new, something refreshing, and new faces to attach it to.

I’m also fortunate to co-chair KubeCon this year, and to get a chance to incorporate what I’ve learned from OSCON. So far, the most challenging aspect of being a conference chair is rejecting talk submissions. I know how much time it takes to put together a CFP, and how much courage it can take to actually submit it, so it pains me to have to reject even a single talk. As a conference chair, you get to analyze every CFP, and you quickly realize that many submissions overlap, so great proposals often have to compete with each other. This is actually a good thing, but then you need to determine how to break ties. Do you optimize for new speakers, inclusion, and balance, or do the big names always win?

Some may suggest a blind CFP review and selection process. I can’t see how that works, unless your CFP attracts a balanced set of submissions from all groups. One way to foster inclusion is to encourage underrepresented groups to submit a CFP, and more importantly, offer assistance for putting together the best proposal possible. It also helps to keep in mind that gender is not the only form of inclusion. Some claim success because the number of female speakers at their event reaches some percentage slightly greater than terrible; this is a bit short-sighted, and leaves out many other underrepresented groups. But beyond inclusion, remember that content is king. Most people go to conferences to learn something, so the talks must meet that expectation, even if your goals for inclusion fall short.

I’m still pretty new to this whole conference chair thing, and so far I have learned there’s no one-size-fits-all when it comes to conferences. Fairness requires hard work from the organizers, rooted in respect for both the speaker and attendee — and putting together a tech conference give us the opportunity to do just that.