I freelance because I’m Black.
I’m not implying that freelancing is universally great for Black people…far from it. What I am saying, is that my racial experiences in the workplace are a major factor in my decision to pursue full-time independent work. The games that were played in my very small, largely Black (up to 50%) office wore on me in ways that I’m only just now realizing.
I want to walk through (or around) a few, and I ask you to pay attention not to me, but to what was being done to and around me…basically how Whiteness was functioning. As much as I thought I’d processed these behaviors and put them to rest, seeing them repeated on larger scales in the form of Confederate flags being lowered in South Carolina and subtle demands for reflexive Black forgiveness in the face of the Emmanuel AME massacre have reminded me that this culture of behavior does not stop at the barrier of business.
A Microcosm Of An Office
“Maybe one day your family can be like Megan’s!”
This was told, excitedly and happily, to another Black employee who was going on to become the first person in her family to finish graduate school.
See…I was the minority worker my manager bragged about — at first loudly and proudly; but later in whispered tones after her “praise” was met with only straight-faced stares on my part. I was the most educated. The best-traveled and most-well spoken. I was on my way to speaking three languages and every visitor my managers encountered heard about all of it. I could never quite tell whether they were trying to explain away the Blackness of the office, or making use of me as a show horse. I generally believe it was a little of both.
Regardless, their behavior was a constant reminder of my place as a tool. That was my use at first. Eventually, though, I became a threat.
A minorly successful presentation was met with public and intentionally equivocal references (that’s plural) to a “tar baby”. Praise from a CFO resulted one day in panic and one-upmanship from a manager who’d overheard, and the next in loud comments about “kicking (my) ass”. Finishing an MBA meant more frequent (and more pointless) visits from managers — something that weighed on me doubly as an introvert.
Them being threatened always struck me as curious and silly — I’ve never been one to care for titles or achievements, and they were aware of that. This though…was the biggest problem.
A system of comparisons and competition requires that everyone want the same prize…competitors and spectators alike. Once someone doesn’t, the prize looses some of its value, and that’s a problem that throws the whole system off. I was a potent threat not as a rival, but because I didn’t care about being invited to sit on panels, or mass email praise, or being seen as talented by a conniving senior executive I generally despised.
The Price Paid
The woman whose family could eventually “be like mine”? She was known across the company for shoddy work…she had a history of poor reviews and multiple project managers openly refused to work with her because she simply didn’t do anything. (I mean literally stopped coming to work.)
When it came time to lay people off, I went before her, as I knew and had told others I would.
I’m quite sure it’s because she was comfortable. She might not have been a good worker, or an average worker, or even a bad worker…but she made the White female managers feel smart. She made them feel sophisticated and educated while they corrected her grammar and accent…like good mothers and lucky wives when she came to them for advice on domestic life, and childbirth, and dealing with her husband. She was more than willing to do so to stay “safe”.
People talk of Black people having to work hard to achieve twice as much…and they talk of how we are expected to play our role in society as comforters of Whiteness. I hear much less talk of the cost of that balancing act. I think it’s higher than we imagine.