Diversity, Equity and Inclusion Work is More Critical Than Ever Before.

Over the past few months, I’ve been hearing from some friends that they are confused by the current state of the United States and that they are still unsure of why people (especially Black people) are so “angry”. As a Brown Desi person, I can’t speak for Black folks and I know what is historically and currently true -there is a long and well-documented history of violence and abuse of Black people in this country. We, myself included, as academics are a big part of creating the myth of White superiority. From enslavement to eugenics and non-consensual medical experiments to systemic exclusion, our country has institutionalized and rationalized inequitable treatment of Black people (along with Indigenous communities, transgender and gender non-conforming folks and people with disabilities and various marginalized groups) for centuries. 

Growing up in a Desi immigrant family, I know I received many anti-Black messages in the form of colorism (discrimination based on skin tone and standards of beauty connected to Whiteness). Though my family only came to the US in the 80’s, I remember experiencing a longer history of colorism within my family in India.  My siblings and I received messages of “Don’t stay out too long or you’ll get dark” to “Why do you look so dark? You would look more attractive if you used ‘Fair & Lovely’” [skin whitening cream] from conversations with near and distant relatives. When I began to hang out with friends in middle and high school, I remember being told not to hang out with “bad people” which from years of training I knew to mean Black and non-Desi Brown People. Growing up in a sea of Model Minority performativity of suburban Connecticut, it was not until college and 9/11 that I began to understand the impact of being racialized by dominant communities and media as anti-American and evil.  

I remember experiencing blatant racism in ways that I was not conscious to earlier as a graduate student in Burlington, VT. A quick visit to the local Urban Outfitters for some new clothes became a lesson in not belonging. As soon as I walked in, the (White) manager looked me up and down. As I was perusing various things in the store, I noticed his presence right behind me. At one point he asked, “Can I help you?” and I replied, “No, I’m just browsing”. “Well, if you’re not going to buy anything, you need to leave” was his only response. I wasn’t sure what had transpired until I was processing with some friends later that day and realized that this was and is a regular occurrence for Black people, especially Black males and gender queer folks not only in VT, but elsewhere.  

While I’ve always been proud of being Desi, it was not until I was living in a state that was 92% White that I realized what it meant to be a person of color in this country and face direct acts of racism. I will never know how enduring racism in the form of anti-Blackness is internalized as trauma; a journey and reality that Black folks probably embody as personal and ancestral trauma, but that incident has stayed with me for nearly fifteen years.  My journey of understanding my own racial identity in the context of colonization, immigration and ancestral struggle teaches me that dissecting and dismantling misperceived inferiority and experienced racism is my work. And in doing so, I also need to understand and examine how anti-Blackness, caste, White supremacy and the Model Minority Myth interplay to complicate how I show up. In all identities and intersections where I face marginalization, I still need to acknowledge the privilege and access given by these assumptions and positive stereotypes assigned to me that are not afforded to Black people in this country.

As a diversity equity and inclusion strategic planning consultant, I believe this is the time our collective  work  in equity, diversity and inclusion for individual and systemic change is most critical. When we are raw, when we are shaken, when we are seeking meaning this is the time to build solidarity and use our privileges to push our communities and organizations forward. Two months after George Floyd’s murder, many people continue to organize, protest and resist the status quo. I believe and am working with others to support this work and impact my own spheres of influence. This is the time for conversations on naming the history (and current reality) in which we exist, acknowledging our collusion with systems of oppression and developing strategies to unravel anti-Blackness and internalized colonialism within ourselves and our communities. Clearly this is a life-long journey, one that will continue to be uncomfortable. As an educator, I strive to create spaces for myself and others that are comfortably uncomfortable. How do we create comfortable spaces to gather folks at the same table? Especially knowing the privileges and agency I have that others may not, how can I use that to foster discussions that call-in people beyond the choir of social change advocates? Next, we have to be ok with being uncomfortable. Discomfort is a sign up a learning edge. A beautiful gift, even if it doesn’t feel good in the moment. Those of us who hold privileged identities a conversation can benefit from being more uncomfortable and exploring our own resistance to the feelings. Without friction we cannot have fire. And for too long the burden of our comfort has been on the shoulders who we oppress, individually and systemically.  Existing in the both/and of being gifted with lots of melanin while benefitting from structural and individual alignment with Whiteness requires a constant questioning and exploration. 

I continue to learn that an important tool for this personal and communal journey is grace. I screw up, all the time, even several times a day. And that means I’m human. How can I learn when someone gives me the gift of feedback? How can I genuinely apologize and offer reconciliation of the relationship? How can I name when someone harms me or simply gets stuck in their own stuff? I’m finding I need to take a deep breath, acknowledge that we are human and share a common goal of wanting to live in a better world and honestly explore how to do better, to be better. There’s also a difference between giving grace and allowing oppression to be repeated. For instance, I get misgendered all the time. Usually the first time I give grace but if someone continues to misgender me I lean into the situation and engage in a deeper conversation about intentionality and impact. This requires trust and investment in the relationship and a deep awareness of my own safety and power dynamics of the situation. 

While the conversation often seems Black and White, it is not and I believe there is a role for those of us in the in-between to support and uplift utilizing our privilege to push for progress. This work is more important than ever and requires all of us to be engaged. Our work together is now, every day. As the Australian activist Lilla Watson states, “If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.”