It’s that ol’ devil called internalised oppression again…

I was at a virtual meeting the other day. I’d been looking forward to it – I felt it was a pivotal meeting for us and could help us make a significant difference in our work. I was neither organising it nor running it, though, just participating. But the quality and quantity of my and others’ participation would be a key factor in our success.

Originally it was to be an in-person meeting but, as is so common in these Covid days, it had to go online. I was disappointed, but trusted the facilitator to make an excellent job nonetheless. At the outset of the meeting, we discussed ground rules. I found that refreshing. I used to be a trainer and, in every session, participants agreed ground rules for working together. Not that I anticipate all meetings starting with ground rules, that would be absurd. But they can help us all to recognise and respect what others need to make the session work for them.

One of the features of virtual work meetings is the yellow hand. When a colleague asked that it be suspended for the duration of the meeting. I noticed a hesitancy in myself, despite intellectually agreeing that it would be a great thing just to have a normal conversation and let ideas flow. There is something really stilted about hands up. When I chair meetings, I prefer to let things flow and for people to put their hands up only if they feel they want to say something and can’t get in. But I know that I am not good at finding openings in conversations. Some 20 or 30 years ago, I had a few sessions with a fabulous voice coach working on how to make myself heard in meetings, using words starting with ‘c’, ‘p’, or ‘t’. In person, that generally works. But virtual meetings are different. The other day, Amy Fleming, quoting Edward Slingerland in the Guardian, highlighted the problem:

“You’re not in the same room. There’s often a subtle time delay that may not seem like very much, but it’s hard for people to know when you’re done talking, when it’s OK for me to start. It’s impossible to relax into natural, really positive social interactions that have spontaneity to them.” These days, I can’t hold my physical hand up for more than a few seconds either. I expressed my unease at not using the electronic hand, but was prepared to see how it played out for the sake of better conversation flow.

As the meeting progressed, we came to a bit where I really wanted to say something. I tried several times to get in but each time someone else started speaking and I stopped.?

I began to feel excluded. It was fascinating. I knew exactly what was going on – all those past experiences of being excluded were being anchored by this relatively minor incident. But I couldn’t stop it happening. I couldn’t focus. Fortunately, it was just before a break, so I texted one of my colleagues who was helping to facilitate and explained briefly. We agreed I would use the yellow hand if I wanted to speak. It wasn’t entirely satisfactory, but I don’t honestly know what would’ve been. The problem was not the suggestion that we shouldn’t use the yellow hands, or other people speaking at the same time as me. The problem was the messages I had absorbed growing up: disabled people shouldn’t get in the way, should always give way to non-disabled people, have nothing of value to contribute. It was the resulting sense of inferiority that grips the gut and stifles the breath at just the wrong moment. Intellectually, I know it’s nonsense. I was an equal in that meeting with a view that was as valid as everybody else’s. But all it takes is an echo of past experiences to trigger the feeling. I hope young disabled people today don’t get those messages or it will be a long haul to equality.

As leaders, we need to recognise that this is happening to people day in, day out. The reason and reaction will vary from person to person, but the distraction from doing their best work won’t. If we think someone is reacting inappropriately, they may well be reacting to that past echo, triggered by what we said or did. It doesn’t mean it’s any less real for them. If, having examined our behaviour, we don’t understand what’s happening, it’s worth asking (discreetly and compassionately). Meanwhile, perhaps I should just get someone in my NLP practice development group to help me reframe!