What Are The Limits of Solidarity?
Like many people, I thought the summer of 2020 was going to be a watershed moment for both the country and the computing discipline. Following the horrific murder of George Floyd and the groundswell of support for Black Lives Matter, it seemed like people were finally ready to admit what Black folks in this country had been saying since…well…we were brought here against our will: white supremacy has been and continues to be a problem across every part of society, from healthcare to housing and yes…even in computing.
Black scholars, students, and staff began sharing their enraging, yet common experiences with white supremacy via #BlackInTheIvory, and the greater STEM community seemed to finally acknowledge the problems within the disciplines as well as the work environments (how many non-Black scholars did you know who participated in #ShutDownSTEM?). On college campuses across the country, there were new commitments to anti-racism that appeared, and events designed to bring more awareness of these issues to the community.
But it wasn’t just universities who made commitments. In the days following May 25, 2020, The Plug tracked the companies releasing Black Lives Matter statements and commitments to racial equity and justice. One that always stood out for me was Google’s announcement of $175M to support Black businesses and communities, as well as a company-wide commitment to increasing the representation of people from groups historically underrepresented in computing in senior leadership roles by 30% by (checks calendar) 2025. Something else the CEO proudly announced they were eliminating was their badge-checking policy. For those who are unaware, this was a company policy that encouraged employees and security to ask anyone on the Google campus to display their badge if they were unsure of who they were or what they were doing(as an alleged means to prevent unauthorized access and keep areas “safe”).
Thing is, this policy they boasted about ending should’ve never been a policy at all. There were numerous complaints from Black and Brown employees and interns of being asked to display their badges to another employee while waiting for lunch, walking around, and…basically…working while Black/Brown. My students and I discuss every semester how these policies were analogous to the “policing” of Black people walking in neighborhoods, entering/exiting their homes, shopping in stores, or visiting homes for sale. It shouldn’t have taken the summer of 2020 to realize this was a bad idea, especially when there are not only historical contexts, but also internal complaints apparently. I digress…
That summer of 2020 seemed to be something different; something that I never thought I’d see in my lifetime but was cautiously optimistic about where it could lead.
Then came December.
Dr. Timnit Gebru (then co-lead of Google’s ethical AI team) began tweeting she’d been abruptly and unfairly fired from Google. This set off alarms in the greater computing community. A few days later, April Christina Curley, former recruiter for Google, tweeted that she too had been fired in August of that same year (less than two months after all the commitments to Black Lives Matter and increasing representation).
Two Black women publicly disclosed how they were mistreated by the same tech company. So, what did the greater CS community do? Many rallied in support of both women, tweeting #IStandWithTimnit and sharing their disappointment with Google executives via social media (and email). Computing faculty across the country (and even Googlers) collectively signed letters calling for her reinstatement.
Fast forward to this week, and it was rather surprising to read that when asked how he vetted companies like Google who have histories/allegations of discrimination, Morehouse president Dr. David Thomas responded they didn’t say they couldn’t work with Google because of the bad press received “because they fired this person who was supposed to be looking at how their software reproduces the biases in our society.” Instead, they were only willing to work with the company if they were going to invest in the university in a way that built capacity.
This sparked responses from Dr. Gebru (who wasn’t named in the interview, but was clearly the person referenced), April Curley, and others (myself included) who took issue with this statement for a myriad of reasons.
First, the reduction of what Dr. Gebru experienced into a “one-off” case of one person being fired is another example of how Black women’s experiences are minimized or ignored. I’ve shared my own negative experiences with Google, so no need to rehash them here. However, I will say that the decisions both Timnit and April made to publicly disclose their experiences is not something to take lightly. Computing (both the technologies and academic/professional environments) is not safe for Black women. This is common knowledge among Black women in computing. We’ve talked about it within our safe spaces for decades, knowing that speaking out had the high likelihood of causing more harm (e.g., losing a job, promotion, and/or tenure; or not passing a class), especially when we are one of the few (if not the only) who look like us in our classes/departments. Timnit speaking out was a risk. She already knew that. She did it anyway, and it cost her. I viewed April’s quick follow up with her own experience as both a message to Timnit and the rest of us Black women watching: You’re not alone. Solidarity. What they both did emboldened so many others to do the same. That cannot and should not be trivialized.
Second, it begged the question of where and when do we draw the line? This has been a growing question in the CS education community especially, given the ways in which many of those 2020 “commitments” became more of the same: companies deciding it was easier to donate to an organization that already focuses on racial equity and justice instead of doing the necessary work internally to create systemic change. But here’s where we all should be paying attention and taking stock of what’s really happened. Dr. Shuchi Grover raised this important question only two days ago on Twitter: How does the CS education research community square Google’s initiatives to increase representation of Black and Brown students in computing with their documented patterns of discriminatory practices. To add to Dr. Grover’s question, are we still standing with Timnit? Or did time allow us all to forgive and forget (like most things on social media), because it didn’t directly affect us (this time)?
To be clear, I fully understand that there are a LOT of factors that most of us know must be acknowledged when asking this question. There’s the history of Predominantly white Institutions (PWIs) getting tons of funding for decades from these companies (simply because it’s a day that ends in “y”) versus institutions like Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) being forced to jump through several hoops to not only get pennies, but also get their students opportunities that are overflowing at PWIs. There’s the issue of many great people who work for these companies doing important and great work; but still being affiliated with a company with a history of problematic practices. There are also the ways in which some researchers had to rely on these pennies (especially in computing education research) because it wasn’t always easy to get funding to pursue the work they wanted to do.
It’s also important to note that, in addition to the firings of Timnit and April, Dr. Margaret Mitchell (former co-lead of Google’s ethical AI team with Timnit) was also fired. Earlier this month, the company reached a settlement with Chelsey Glasson (who filed a 2020 pregnancy discrimination lawsuit) and April Curley filed a discrimination lawsuit against them.
But this problem is not Google-specific. There are plenty of organizations (and people) who have purported to be committed to equity and inclusion in computing, yet consistently demonstrate how harmful they are to people from minoritized groups. Despite this, people, institutions, and organizations still choose to engage with them in a variety of ways. What is the message we’re sending as a community (especially to those from minoritized groups) when this happens? How do we decide when someone has demonstrated they’re walking more than talking? What if they never do? As it stands right now, it doesn’t seem that many of these organizations (or people) have any reason to collectively do better, because there’s always someone who will rationalize engagement with them.
So, the question becomes: What are the limits to our solidarity, especially when presented with an opportunity that looks and sounds good?
For the longest, Black folks especially in computing had to do these cost-benefit analyses to rationalize working with/for companies like Google; all of us believing that our work (along with the work of others) would help usher in the change we all knew they needed to make. I began engaging with Google because of two amazing Black women in the education and recruiting arms who were extremely intentional about their efforts. Even when I experienced my own issues with the company after those women left, I continued relationships with the company because another Black woman (April Curley) joined the team that was working directly with us at Howard. I even received a small seed grant in the summer of 2020 to grow my research in cultural competence in computing (research that was honestly quite marginalized in the computing education research community at the time), again because I believe the person I was working with “got it.” However, once Timnit and April shared their stories, it became clear that I had to make a decision. Would I keep complaining about an organization (yet continue working with people in different parts of it who were uninvolved), or would I “show up” for the Black women who already risked so much (including online harassment) in coming forward?
I made the choice to stand in solidarity. Will that cost me? Probably, in one way or another. I made that decision in December with zero clue how I’d fund my research, with the hope that a proposal due the following month would provide a much greater opportunity. Regardless, I knew I couldn’t believe Black women only when it was convenient. Not only did I owe it to them; I owed it to myself.
