The Time For Silence Is Over!

I am Derith Jarvis, and for those of you who don’t know me, I lead the JLL Research and Strategy team in the South-Central Region, which covers Dallas, Fort Worth, Kansas City, Austin, and San Antonio. I am also a father to four amazing Black children: Christopher, Ayanna, Jayden, and Jackson. I am a husband, I am a son, I am a brother (the oldest of eight), I am an uncle, I am a Black man.

In May, the world was horrified by a video that also affected me personally in unexpected ways. In many respects, the news was nothing new for me as a Black man: Trayvon Martin, Dontre Hamilton, Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Laquan McDonald, Tamir Rice, Walter Scott, Freddie Gray, Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, Stephon Clark, Sandra Bland, Botham Jean, Atatiana Jefferson, Ahmaud Aubrey. These are just a few of the names that have been burned into my soul. But George Floyd’s death was different — this was a truth we could not escape. The video we’ve all seen showed a callousness, a disregard for life, and a hatred that can’t be written off as some random act from which we could turn away or forget. For 8 minutes and 46 seconds, we all watched a white police officer kneel on the neck of a Black man until the very life, his last breath, left his body. Why was it different? Why was it different for me? I don’t pretend to have all the answers just yet. I must admit that, even while I’m writing, I’m still processing. Could it be because of the way the officer knelt with his hands comfortably placed in his pockets, with his sunglasses casually sitting on top of his head? Could it be because of the comfortable look, almost smirk on his face as he ignored the cries from the man under his knee? Could it be the indifference he showed to being filmed in an age where videos end up on social media for the world to see, as if to say he didn’t care who saw it? The answer is yes to all of it!

For context on how I felt and how it affected me, I’ll share this. On Wednesday, May 20th, my second day back in the office in Dallas, my phone rang at about 3:00 p.m. It was my cousin calling to tell me that my little brother had just passed away in Louisiana. He had died from a seizure from which he could not recover. Days later, I flew to Louisiana to help my family with funeral arrangements and then we buried my brother on May 27th. For the health and safety of my immediate family, I spent the next 14 days quarantined in a Dallas hotel room not far from my house. So, as you can imagine, I had a lot of time to reflect. In the days following George Floyd’s murder, it seemed that the tears would not stop. As I watched the coverage and thought about our family’s recent loss, I wept, and I wept often. I also felt this sense of extreme paralysis. The enormity of the problem was just too big to confront. I reflected on all the times before where I had done nothing because of the same feeling. I felt the guilt from years of pretending that because I’d “made it,” because I had a good job in commercial real estate where I stood out because of the color of my skin, because I could slip between these two very different worlds with ease, that maybe this wasn’t my problem to fix. I had silenced my voice in fear. Fear of losing my job, fear of upending my false sense of security, fear of reprisal. These fears may seem unfounded to some, but those who have experienced them know exactly what I’m talking about. But a couple days after I checked in to that hotel, I started to notice a change — not only within me but also from my colleagues, including white coworkers. They were genuinely concerned about how I was feeling, and they encouraged me to speak. After many years, I feel as if I have found my voice once again.

During the last several weeks, I’ve had the opportunity to lead, participate in, and listen to some very uncomfortable, yet powerful conversations. And yes, the conversations are uncomfortable for us, too. I am extremely grateful for the courage of those people, especially our allies, who refuse to shy away from this dialogue. My hope is that the conversations will continue and that they will lead to action — both within JLL and in the communities that we are so privileged to be a part of. I’m often asked how we should turn thoughts to action and while there is not enough space to get to it all, here is what I’ll offer:

·      We must be committed! It will be easy as the days and weeks go by to allow a complacency that takes us back to the status quo. We must resist it. To affect change, we’ll need a focus on diversity from senior leadership on down. It won’t be easy. There are many parallels between the ways Black people have been affected by systemic racism and social inequalities — economic, education, and justice — in this country and the lack of Black representation in the commercial real estate industry as a whole (i.e. generational wealth, lack of diversity, obstacles to entry).

·      We must be bold! I was listening to a podcast recently about the 15% challenge. This is a movement started by New York City designer Aurora James in which she challenges major retailers to carry Black owned brands on 15% their shelf space. Blacks make up about 15% of the population. Sephora was the first national retailer to accept the challenge; bold idea, lasting impact. There are minority firms we can engage across this country and I’m not talking about in the trades or facilities. I’m talking peer companies and service providers within and across each of our industries. We must start thinking bigger and bolder. We should be a foundational part of creating an economic environment that allows these firms to thrive.

·      We must educate! So many times, our conversations about diversity and inclusion focus around recruiting and hiring. But it’s so much deeper than that. As a Black man, I can tell you that many of us have never seen Black property owners or investors. There is a lack of understanding about this industry in the Black community. We must do our part to change that so that young Black children can embrace these opportunities as fully as their white counterparts.

We have come a long way but there is so much more to do. I am encouraged today by the support that I feel from my family, friends and teammates, and I’m thankful to have this platform. I hope you feel as encouraged as I do. I am no longer voiceless and paralyzed!