Spot On Insurance Podcast Launches Insurance Conversations in Black & White Mini-Series

2020 has been a tough year so far: an unprecedented global public health crisis, economic and personal upheavals as we struggle to save lives by staying at home, and escalating racial tensions in communities across the United States. But as we hit the mid-year mark, it’s a great time to pivot and work together to finish the year with brighter days.

My parents are from the Dominican Republic. My skin tone is Black. But two weeks ago, I found out that although I was born in New York, I shouldn’t call myself African American. I should call myself Black because my journey is different from the African Americans’ journey.

I was born and raised in Park Slope, Brooklyn, in a predominantly Italian and Irish neighborhood. I attended Catholic school. My dad was adamant that we grow up well-rounded; so at an early age, I attended the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) for ballet and violin lessons. Yearly, we went to see The Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall and the Nutcracker. Operas at Lincoln Center were also part of our upbringing.

Our lives came to a shattering halt on March 19, 1978, on a beautiful Palm Sunday. I was 12 and living in Tribeca. I got ready to take the subway to Mass at my Catholic school in Park Slope. Using sign language, I asked my 13-year-old brother if he wanted to join me. He did. As we rode the subway back to the city, he asked me about the palms we were carrying; and I explained their meaning.

Later that day, my dad and sister left to collect the rent at his building in Brooklyn and to buy my requested Saturday Night Fever album. My brother went out on his bike to play handball. While they were away, our doorman rang and said there were two gentlemen in the lobby to meet with my dad. I told the doorman to let them up. They arrived at our apartment and identified themselves as detectives. They asked my age and then whispered amongst themselves. Minutes after their arrival, my dad and sister got back. She excitedly showed me our new album until the joy was abruptly stopped by Dad's wail of, “Who killed my son?”

My 13-year-old, 85-pound, deaf-mute brother was born with a heart defect which in 1965 led him to have then never-before-done open-heart surgeries at 4 months and 8 months. Doctors from around the world came to perform and watch the surgeries. My parents, immigrants from the Dominican Republic, relished the success of the surgeries and the health of their son, Junior. However, months after the surgery they faced another challenge as they became aware that Junior could not hear. He, along with many babies during that time, was born deaf, possibly due to prenatal exposure to measles.

My brother was playing handball two blocks from our Tribeca high-rise. As he walked away from playing handball in a parking lot, a white man stepped out on his fire escape and shouted, “Stop!” My deaf brother proceeded to walk towards his bike. The man went inside, loaded a Winchester rifle, and shot directly into the back of my brother's head. The shooter served less than 6 months in jail. The justice system explained that there had been too much press coverage for him to possibly get a fair trial.

I am not an activist. My friends are of every color, nationality, religious belief, and political side. But George Floyd’s murder has made our family relive Junior's murder. The systemic lack of justice for black and brown people is once again hurled at us.

After my brother's murder, I continued my life's journey ... with a bit more callousness. I became a mom at 14 (yes, you heard that right). I attended one of New York City’s most prestigious high schools, Brooklyn Tech, where I took on the grueling major of aeronautical engineering. Starting at 15, I spent my evenings telemarketing magazines. I was the best salesperson in an office full of 30-something and older, so my boss, a well-to-do Italian, had me training all new hires. Balancing school, sleepless nights due to a baby, and work was definitely challenging!

At 17, I joined Chemical Bank’s Finance Division as a secretary. My boss, Edward Berkun, the bank’s Deputy Controller, had gone through numerous secretaries. I was told by members of the department that I probably wouldn’t last long. Over the next six years with Mr. Berkun, he took the time to explain why I shouldn’t eat from the hot dog stands, taught me how to use Lotus 1-2-3 so that I could prepare the Profit & Loss reports for all the departments that reported to him, and promoted me to Junior Accountant where I handled the banks’ overnight trading transactions for intracompany loans.

At 22, I joined Minet’s Risk Consulting Division as an administrative assistant. I loved everything about my job. At some point I asked, “How do I move up in this organization?” My managing director told me that if I attended the College of Insurance and obtained my ARM, positions would open up for me. So I did. I went on to become an Assistant Vice President and head up Licensing & Compliance. In 1997, after Aon purchased Minet, I opened my first business, Insurance Licensing Services of America, Inc. Aon became our first client.  ILSA now handles compliance for some of the world’s largest carriers and agencies.

I get that my journey is different from those of many persons of color. I respect that. But if I only now understand the subtle distinction between Black and African-American, how are we to expect our white brothers and sisters to understand all the intricacies and nuances of racial and ethnic identity?

Ted and I have never used our platform to be political or religious, nor for activism; however, I think we can’t be silent on this issue. If we can use our Spot on Insurance platform to keep the conversation alive and hold each other accountable in our commitment to ensure that change takes place, then it is our responsibility as citizens of this planet to do so.

That’s why we are launching a new podcast bonus series, Insurance Conversations in Black & White. Each episode, we will share examples of the systemic oppression of Black people -- whether intentional or not. It doesn’t stop there, though. We want to focus on positive changes taking place in the insurance industry (i.e. apprenticeships targeting minorities, mentorships, boards seeking Black representation and resources, etc.)

I hope you will choose to join us each Thursday AND become involved in this vital discussion yourself.