Excuse me... Do You Work Here?

The following is a true story. It is my true story. One I’ve only shared with friends and family. It is uncomfortable for me to recount the events that took place that day late last year. Partially because it leaves me extremely vulnerable, and partially because it may come off as a complaint, rather than a perspective to learn from, as I intend it to be. I am not complaining, nor am I seeking sympathy. I share this in pursuit of empathy, greater understanding, awareness, and action. Action towards a more inclusive and equitable America… including Corporate America.

Last year I was keynoting a tech conference in eastern North Carolina.

I arrived at the resort with several hundred books, with the intention of unloading, checking in, and getting ready for soundcheck. When approached by the bellman, I told him I was there for a conference and had several cases of books to unload from my sedan and take to the ballroom.

I’m not sure what he assumed my role was in the conference, but he suggested I drive around back to take the books in that way. I assumed this happens normally and that there would be people back there to assist. That was not the case. It was a literal loading dock with trucks everywhere. It reminded me of a shipyard. 

A person came out and rudely asked why I was there.

I explained.

They told me I should find my client to see if they could help. I went in the backdoor and found my client in a conference room.  

After explaining the instructions I had been given, the client, a white woman, said “Absolutely not. Drive back around and tell them they need to unload your books and bring them to us in the conference room.”

 At this moment it finally clicked to me that what happened shouldn’t have.

After driving back around and relaying the message, the bellmen grudgingly unloaded by books and luggage. They clearly weren’t happy, even though this is clearly their job.

I brushed it off and went to park my vehicle for check-in.

As I stand in line to check-in, already not feeling it, I see white men being greeted with great enthusiasm and cordiality. “Finally, some nice people here,” I thought. When I walk up to the counter for check-in, I am barely greeted. Tolerated might even be a stretch. 

At this point, it is apparent that I am not welcomed here. 

This, too, I brush off and take my key to visit my room. Soundcheck is in half an hour. 

When I get to my room and look at myself in the mirror, I feel very uneasy being here, but I have a job to do. I try to push out these feelings and get my head in the game.

Soundcheck was great with the client staff and the audio/visual team.

“Ok… all is well, Raven. The worst is done. Just relax,” I tell myself.

I return to my room to get dressed, as my keynote is soon approaching.

[An hour later… it’s show time]

My bio is read and I take the stage.

Crushed it!

I’m spotlighted on a stage in a dark room for 50 minutes, delivered an engaging and impactful message to a few hundred people and it resonated with many. I could tell from the live response. My alma mater was kind enough to sponsor books for all attendees, so my pretty little smiling face is also at every spot at every table. My hair was the exact same as it is in my author pic. All of this info will matter in just a moment.

 I come off stage and am approached by several audience members who’d like to chat (I love this part). After about 30 minutes, I make it to my product table on the porch leading to the lawn where the networking reception is taking place. I chat with a few more folks and sign a few books before deciding to join in on the networking fun. 

I grab a glass of wine and begin chatting with some of the attendees. It’s dark out, but there is light enough to see one another. 

As I am talking to a group of people, a white male taps me and says “Is that where the trash is?” 

I slightly turn my head to him. He then says, “Oh, wait, you don’t work here... sorry.”

I gulped. My face turned red. I look around and I’m the only black person in sight. 

I’m offended. I’m angry. I’m embarrassed.

In my head, I’m thinking “I just stood in front of you for 50 minutes. The only person speaking for 50 whole minutes and you just ‘confused’ me for the help in front of tens of people!?” 

I didn’t know what to say or do. I could tell those around me who heard it were uncomfortable as well. No one said anything. 

I couldn’t say what I wanted to say because I’m the keynote speaker, for God’s sake! I’m also a black woman who would immediately be deemed the “angry black woman” even though I had every reason to be angry at this moment.   

I simply replied “No, I don’t,” and continued with my conversation.

But my mind was no longer there. I was infuriated. 

After about 20 more minutes of trying to be there, but not, I pack up my product table and return to my room. I barely opened the door before I burst into tears.

I’ve done so much, I thought. I’ve overcome so much. I do so much. Yet I am still second tier, unworthy of proper service, and undeserving of the decency and respect that I have earned. After all of the accolades, folks still can’t handle me being in a position of authority because I am black. In rural North Carolina, 2019... I can’t live without being reminded of “my place,” according to the white supremacist culture embedded in the DNA of this country.

I begin packing my things because I want to get out of this eerie plantation-like place (It literally looks and feels like a plantation). I called my best friend and she reminded me of how crazy it is to drive alone in the middle of the night through the back roads of eastern North Carolina as a black woman. She was right. I was stuck. 

Speaking to her calmed me down some. It always does. I go to bed and I toss and turn throughout the night… infuriated, offended, upset.

I wrestle with whether or not to say something the next day to the event organizer.  

But morning arrives. I wake, put on my makeup and my "face", as many black professionals have to do all the time, and join the conference to hear the rest of the speakers. Even though I’m in pain, even though it’s not right, I still have to show up and not make a fuss. 

I smile and carry on. 

As soon as the session is over, I head back to my room to pack and head home.

I’m in the lobby waiting for checkout when I see three resort employees staring at me. They were black. They whisper and smile. One of them runs behind the counter to get a book. My book.

She flips it around and says, “It is you! Is this your book!?”

“Yes ma’am, it is,” I say with a smile. They then all began to beam with pride. 

“We thought so! Someone left their copy in the room so I put it in lost and found when I noticed your picture. So pretty! I saw you and said ‘That’s got to be her!’ And you were the big speaker at that conference over there, right?” 

“Yes, ma’am, I was.”   

“Oh wow! That is amazing. You go girl!” They stand and just grin as I check out.

We bid each other farewell and for the first time since I’d arrived at that resort, I felt like I belonged. Despite all the attempts to make me feel like I didn’t belong on that stage, the look of pride on those employees’ faces reminded me that I did! For them, for me, and for you.  

I do belong. I do matter. As does every other black life in America. And it matters just as much as any other life. How we feel matters.

I share this story for a number of reasons. 

1. Humanize us. You are probably feeling all types of emotions having read my personal experience. Sadness, anger, pride, joy. Imagine living this real-time, experiencing all of these emotions real-time, and needing to make decisions about the world, about yourself… real-time. I cried as I recounted this story because it hurts to be discriminated against and treated as if you don’t belong. 
2. Provide an example of common occurrence racism, even as a professional. I realize that I am seen as one of the “good black people” in many people’s limited perspectives. I’ve been called articulate and "so poised," as if it is a surprise. As “good” and non-threatening as you think I am, I still in 2020 encounter overt racism, even as a professional. I wanted to welcome you into what that feels and looks like through this story.
3. Display a clear “microaggression” - Two parts of this story are perfect examples of microaggressions, which underrepresented populations experience daily. A microaggression is defined as brief and common daily verbal, behavioral, and environmental communications, whether intentional or unintentional, that transmit hostile, derogatory, or negative messages to a target person because they belong to a stigmatized group. The bellmen’s reactions to me from the beginning can be seen as microaggressions, and the gentleman’s comment about me assuredly being the help is another.
4. Explain what allyship could look like through example. When the gentleman made his comment pretty much asking me if I was the help after I'd just been his keynote speaker, I was clearly taken aback, offended, and at a loss for words. The bystanders, too, said nothing. Maybe they were just as shocked and didn’t know what to say. This was an allyship moment, however, to correct this man and make clear that you are aware of what he did and it is wrong. 
5. To shed light on what it is to be a black professional in America. Amidst the hostility, the emotionally abusive encounters based solely on our blackness, we still have put on a smile, do our job, act like nothing’s happening, and manage the fragility of others in the process. It is exhausting and hurtful. In addition to that, we often feel like we carry the community on our shoulders and represent all black people. For example, had I given either of those men a piece of my mind and it got around, I may very well be the last black speaker they hire for a while. That could not happen so I, the one experiencing the racism, had to turn the other cheek.
6. To remind us that representation and diversity MATTERS. People need to get used to seeing people of color, and black people in particular, in places of authority, otherwise they have an excuse to assume we are the help. We must give stages to display black brilliance and expertise beyond entertainment. Hire black speakers. (AND PAY THEM EQUALLY). Refuse to have a panel without a black face on it. Hire black professionals and staff. Not only does it challenge people’s bias, by nature, but it brings hope to young men and women who are of color. Those black resort employees were proud to see me there and I’m sure told their colleagues who also told their children. 

So no, I don’t work here. I live here...I speak here... and I belong here.

#shareblackstories #blackstories #blacklivesmatter