Being a Black Employee in the Midst of a Revolution

Growing up, I always heard my grandmother stress the importance of having a nice life, developing my career, and working hard. Though she had these things, her metrics for success weren’t fancy cars, a nice home, or material possessions but, rather, stability, faithfulness, and joy. In her lifetime she saw some of the nation’s greatest sins firsthand as a young Black girl growing up in rural Mississippi, then, as a career woman in Oakland, California.

My grandmother, Edna Davis, and I at my college graduation, 2014.

In 2014, I graduated from college, I got my first car and had a wonderful job in a rural part of Northern California. It was the beginning of my career and I knew that I would get to shape it however I’d like, as long as I worked hard. Summer of 2014 brought the death of Eric Garner, who gasped for air as he cried out, “I can’t breathe.” Fall of 2014, Tamir Rice — a child — was shot dead for playing with a toy gun in a park. Naturally, our communities went up in flames — Oakland protested and rioted, as did most of the nation. I specifically remember being in the office, about an hour away from Oakland and the heart of many protests, feeling very confused and lonely. I heard a coworker say they didn’t understand why people were protesting and that they would have run them over if they were in their way.

I was the only Black employee in the office.

Only one person spoke up to them.

I spent the next few years consuming every video that came across my timeline regarding police brutality against Black people. I spent the next few years searching for a way to escape the horror. I spent the next few years traumatized and afraid.

Being a Black employee during this time is exhausting. You truly don’t know if your non-Black coworkers are folks who are standing with you or against you. You have to show up to work haunted by the images of Black bodies that, quite frankly, look just like you or someone you’re related to, slain in the streets. You have to navigate trying to find hope in the midst of despair and peace when there has never been a solution. You have to show up carrying the weight of pain, grief, sorrow, and hopelessness — a heaviness with no place to lay it down. You have to show up doing just as much work, if not more, than your counterparts, knowing that your efforts will never amount to the same success they will achieve in their lives, in terms of titles and compensation.

I’ve been the only Black employee on my team. I’ve been the only Black employee on my team and the only one laid off during a reorganization. I’ve been the only Black Employee on my team and paid significantly less than others for doing the same role.

Imagine carrying that, every single day you show up to work, as your nation is in unrest by a genocide recently provoked by occupants in the White House.

There are two groups of people reading this: Those who feel seen because of all too familiar shared experiences and those who are learning from another person’s story.

To those who feel seen by reading this and have to show up to work pretending you are okay:

1. I see you. Your presence is so valuable and you simply showing up is an act of active resistance. Showing up to work during this is enough. Rest in that.
2. Pick one thing that you can realistically accomplish today. Do that, then celebrate. Your “one thing” can be writing an email, making it through the day, not breaking down, or not snapping at your rude coworker. If that’s all you can give, that’s all we can ask you to do right now.
3. Take care of yourself. I haven’t mastered this yet, but recognize that you may be experiencing high levels of trauma and anxiety and it is okay if you need some time off. If you don’t have unlimited PTO, see what kind of leave you can take or if your employer will support and work with you towards a solution.
4. Hold your company accountable for change. If you realize you’re the only Black person in a lot of different contexts, call it out. If you don’t have any Black leadership, call it out. If you are paid less than your non-Black counterparts, call it out. The responsibility to make the change is not on us, but we have to speak up when we are not being treated equitably in the workplace. And don’t let microaggressions slip — engage in corrective, private conversations with others and stand firm in your need for them not to be repeated.
5. You may be feeling a number of things right now — all of those are okay. Anxiety, sadness, a general heaviness, and maybe even an unnamed feeling are valid feelings. We may not have the right language to assess this, but it’s trauma living in your body. If you can, find one thing to do that may help relieve some of it.

To those who are learning and think, “what can I do to support my coworker(s) or direct report(s)?”:

1. See your coworker. Ask them what they need from you. We’re not a monolith and every Black person is different. Empathetic and humanizing statements recognizing them and their feelings can go a long way. But understand not all Black employees want to talk, or feel comfortable talking, with you about how they’re feeling. That’s okay, too. We’re navigating something you will never fully understand. The bigger issue of office inclusivity and hiring practices needs to be addressed, but at this moment, focus on your hurting coworker.
2. Give the option to suspend any mentally exhausting tasks for your Black employee(s). Performance reviews, tight deadlines, or stretch projects are likely not the right items for you to be engaging in with your employees at this moment. Direct one-on-ones should start with time to engage in meaningful conversation about how your employee is doing and feeling, if they are open to discussing it with you. If they are, I’d suggest leaving enough space to fully talk through their feelings, and then working with them to re-establish priorities and projects. Provide resources from the company, such as days off or company-paid therapy. Most importantly, lead with empathy.
3. Do your research and be human. We are in a potentially pivotal moment for America — no one has the right words and we’re not asking you to. But your silence is not an option: do something. Create spaces for conversation, then listen. Don’t dominate the discussion or ask obnoxious questions; provide a space and listen. If your employees don’t want to or don’t feel comfortable talking to you, find resources that address how to make your workplace more inclusive and how you can unlearn problematic behaviors.
4. Don’t place the responsibility of White Guilt or any other emotional labor on us during this time. White Guilt is on the spectrum of privilege. Oftentimes, after people realize their privilege, they feel guilty and dump on the wrong people. To make this statement short, I once read a sign in a restaurant that said, “resist the urge to make it about you right now.”
5. Be ready to be uncomfortable. Black people are uncomfortable and we’ve been uncomfortable. When we show up to work in the midst of this, we’re uncomfortable. We are working through trauma that should have been resolved generations ago, yet we’re here witnessing firsthand the impacts of a wound that never healed, a sin that was never atoned for. When you’re being a friend to another, your conversations won’t be comfortable. You’ll have to address biases you still hold, you’ll be forced to acknowledge experiences that you don’t share and systems that you benefit from that place your Black counterparts at a disadvantage.

We are all in such a weird time as Black people. Tensions are high, emotions are raging, and these things are justified. My grandmother still tells me to this day that my responsibility is to live a good, faithful, and stable life and to lead with love and compassion; so that’s what I’ll do.