How organizations and society fail Black women

It's not a diversity problem, it's an exclusion problem: how workplaces bully, gaslight and force Black women out of space.

Fresh out of completing my postgraduate degree, I was ecstatic to take on the job market. Oozing with zeal and the typical-20-something year old desire to "leave my mark on the world", I confronted the job search head on. 12 months later, I was still out of work. "It's because of your social science degree" was a recurring response I heard when I expressed my discontent within close circles. This reasoning did not ease my exasperation seeing as a number of former classmates landed enviable roles and displayed their eye-catching job titles on LinkedIn like trophies on a polished cabinet. Another common response was "It's because you do not speak Dutch". I was aware that my A2 Dutch was nothing short of underwhelming, but this reasoning also didn't suffice due to the fact that I was applying for roles that did not require Dutch fluency. My mind traveled the various corners of itself, searched under its different lobes as it tried to understand why, in a good Dutch economy, I was struggling to find work with two degrees, four languages and an untamable eagerness. 

I soon unearthed the rancid answers to my questions. Being a Black woman, I long understood how labor markets have been designed to not favor nor reward non-whiteness. My position as a Black woman saw me bearing two identity markers that have historically not been celebrated nor exalted. I congregated with other Black women that I knew and our experiences were worryingly indistinguishable: I cannot find work yet my white peers can. Some not even granted an interview. I refused to believe a system, that I had studied in depth throughout my adult years, was actually being played out, with me as the leading actress. What exacerbated my concern was that every "meet our team" page I inspected, I was confronted with white faces, male faces, no Black faces. It was beyond discernible that Dutch workspaces renounced diversity and preserved homogeneity. I attributed this pattern to biased panelists and invidious recruitment processes that obstructed the access of non-whiteness to workspaces. I persuaded my tired mind that the hurdle rested in access, and that once I was in, I would be fine. Despite this realization and the accompanying disillusionment it brought, I continued to job search, despite my weaning energy. 

I got the job! 
Alas! A job appeared. 397 days later. I was ecstatic. Beyond ecstatic. I was exultant. My family and friends congratulated me as tears of elation interrupted their sentences. Finally, the hunt was over. The company was a research and education association, not particularly up my alley, but they had a project based in the continent of my birth, therefore I instantly felt magnetically drawn to their work. I was finally in, I thought. Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, I started my dream job virtually. I wasn't too upset at this arrangement as it allowed me to ease into a new role with the stability of home still very much around me. I signed a contract hurriedly and reorganized my dining table to accommodate my new beginnings. 

"You obviously weren't the most qualified for this role"
Day 1, surviving on six hours of sleep and undiluted excitement, I met my new team virtually. My fingers slowly became familiar with my new laptop and accompanying devices, while my mind explored document after document, welcome email after welcome email. I was seven hours into my new role when a panelist at my second interview and now my project manager casually admitted that I "obviously wasn't the most qualified for this role" during our first one-on-one. The remark precipitated the beginning of a five-month ordeal whereby this Project manager, a white woman, bullied, embarrassed, demeaned, and micromanaged me, at times in the virtual presence of others. Trivial matters, such as how I opened up an email, came under undeserving scrutiny from this very manager. Simultaneously, my output and contributions were neglected and constructive feedback remained scarce. The polarity between my experience and that of another new recruit, a white woman, fostered an unnerving, yet conversant fear. Following five months of continued distress, I determined that enough was enough and conjured up sufficient courage to escalate the bullying to HR, hoping the objective party could ameliorate what I believed to be a targeted attack to my person. 

A few weeks after my initial filing, HR finally arrived at a decision. Despite me writing a detailed email documenting all the incidents, times, dates, how they made me feel, HR concluded that the Project manager was not in fact bullying me and that I should take the necessary steps to reconcile with her. I was livid. Enraged. I felt betrayed by an organization I had poured my being into. Other managers gaslit my experience and created false narratives around the fact that I was the one that had a problem with being managed. A menu of poisonous excuses was used to alleviate the blame from the bully and place it on the bullied, me. "It's cause she's French", "She is very stressed", "It's cause she's energetic", "She was probably having a bad day, why didn't you see that?", "You probably took it the wrong way". Clearly sides had been taken, and I was the only inhabitant on mine. For weeks after HR's verdict was delivered, I foraged through the winding trails of the Internet as I tried to find answers behind what was happening to me. One day I was being bullied, and the next, it was decided that I wasn't.  

The disillusionment
I could not swallow the weight nor the taste of what was happening. The situation battered me both physically and mentally. Getting through meals and sleep were efforts I could no longer effectuate. Sleep became a battle between body and mind, body demanding rest, and mind embarking on a pilgrimage of thoughts, questions, doubts, realizations. I sought solace in Google searches, Twitter conversations and face to face chats with other Black women. I was not surprised when a number of Black women I knew catalogued how they had or were experiencing identical challenges. The pattern was always the same. Black woman bullied, Black woman reports bullying, excuses made for bully, Black woman gaslit into believing she made it all up, Black woman quits. Cognate to every scenario. From Trainees to Directors. After years of believing diversity was the missing puzzle piece to rectifying a 'homogeneity problem', I realized that it wasn't. Inclusion and exclusion were. The problem was not resolved by just getting in. Prejudice and inequity did not resign at the narrow threshold of access. It persisted. More subtly. Just because you were in did not mean you were in. I was still Black. I was still a woman. My words did not hold nearly as much weight as my white aggressor's. Weight meaning power, importance, authority, believability. My grievances were hastily and untidily folded and discarded into a dark hole of protection and non-accountability.

The problem
The problem is crystalline. Organizations continue to hire non-white people without changing a culture that perpetuates harm and facilitates their premature exit. Beyond not changing this culture, they refuse to reprimand it. I recall how in a particularly unexceptional one-on-one with my line manager (not the project manager), he assuredly disclosed that "we don't give a damn about your skin color". He, like most white people, was convinced of his well-intention. But all I discerned was that he was impartial to the particularity of my struggles, the distinctiveness of my experience, the motivations of my aggressor, or the weight of my claims. This culture expunges the experiences of non-white staff and collates it with white experiences, which remains poles apart. It is a culture that refuses to grapple with different lived experiences and still places value on some voices over others. My company refused to hold my bully accountable for her actions, despite the evidence I presented. Historical tropes about Black women being antagonistic and combative dictated how this organization grappled with Black femme victimhood. For them, my position as victim and non-aggressor was difficult to compute, whether consciously or subconsciously. For them, I was an antagonizer. For them, I had imagined and designed my experience within the infinite corners of my mind. Five months into my 'dream job', I started desperately looking for a way out. 

Seven months after I joined, I resigned without another job, serving a two months' notice. I could not digest the reality I had found myself in once again: jobless, only this time with weaned zeal and no confidence. The last few months of my notice, I received no exit interview, no apology from the Project manager, no support from my team and no goodbye. The way my exit was approached was starkly inconsistent with how former colleagues that departed before me had been bidded farewell. Gifts, virtual goodbye drinks, reassuring messages. The organization hurriedly announced my departure and disposed of me. I slowly began to realize that I was painted as the 'bad fruit', the aggressor, the peace destabilizer, the volatile one that couldn't last a year in her role. It was no longer a 'they' problem, but very much a 'me' problem. I shared this pain with two other Black women I knew from outside of the company. Both were the only Black people in their respective departments. Both victims of bullies that their organizations refused to hold accountable. Both resigning. 


The aftermath
The experience was a brutal lesson that confirmed to me that even if you get through that door, your space, status and permanence in the building is not guaranteed. Society repeatedly fails Black women. From the higher risk of our mortality during childbirth, to the higher possibility of our abusers being let off without reproach. Workplaces, both a microcosm and a function of society, repeatedly fail Black women. Excuses are made for our bullies and when we advocate for our rights, we are painted as belligerent and quarrelsome. In hindsight, my former company did me a disservice in more ways than one. It's almost humorous to think that just eight months ago, self-proclaimed allies, including my former colleagues, exclaimed 'Black Lives Matter' and made public promises on their various social media pages to stand up and do better. Yet, my words, complaints, grievances and peace eventually did not matter. It is of paramount importance that organizations recognize that we do matter and create safe spaces that allow us to grow and contribute. The efforts mustn't cease when the ink on the contract is dry. Inclusion is a continuous and intentional process that requires dedication and willingness. A willingness that could spare someone a horrendous and traumatizing experience. 

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Illustration by Yordanka Poleganova