05/20/2021
In 1997, I was one of the early entrants into South Africa’s new democratic workplace. South Africa was a fledgling democracy, and for the first time in our history, we all had equal opportunity to participate in corporate South Africa. I was a young, fresh-faced commerce graduate, eager to contribute and develop my skill set.
As a woman of color, I am often the “only” in the room, and in those early days in South Africa, seeing people who looked like me was even more uncommon. Straight into the door, I started to notice that I was quickly becoming the de facto person to ask about all things diversity-related. From casual inquiries about how to pronounce specific names to more pointed questions about how to make the workplace more accommodating to people of color, I was the go-to person.
A few weeks into the job, my boss excitedly approached me with an enthusiastic grin.
“We have a great opportunity for you! We are forming a Diversity Committee, and we need someone like you.”
I was immediately filled with trepidation. I was a commerce graduate looking to build my skills in a particular area of expertise. I was not a diversity and inclusion practitioner. It was a massive ask of me. But the fear of saying no loomed over me.
He was, after all, positioning this as a great opportunity. Would I be seen as unhelpful if I said no? As a woman of color, I was already becoming aware of how vulnerable I was and of the bias in systems that worked against me. So, the genuine fear of saying no, and being indirectly penalized for doing so, loomed over me.
I reluctantly joined a group of seven “volunteers” who were all either Black or people of color. The burden of being on the committee was huge. In addition to carrying out our day jobs, we were now expected to carry an additional responsibility with no upside other than vague hope that our efforts would somehow result in a better workplace for us.
As a marginalized group member, I was aware that in the ordinary course, our performance would be judged more harshly than dominant groups and that we would have to work harder to prove that we belonged. So, the system was already stacked up against us, and now we were being asked to take on more responsibility in addition to the weight of what we already had to achieve.
I was the only South African Indian person on the committee, and the stress of having to speak on behalf of my entire community constantly weighed on me. Even though I was of Indian descent, this fact hardly qualified me as the authority on everything related to my community. What if I said the wrong thing or offered advice that was not representative of my community? Would my entire community be judged on what I would say?
As we worked through some of the issues in our organization, often late at night or over weekends, it was apparent that the problems were systemic and structural and required a more serious look into policies, leadership, and culture across the organization.
But we were very aware of our vulnerable positions and of our limited authority. We were being asked to speak up on issues we ourselves were subjected to and speak out to senior members of the dominant groups without a sense of psychological safety in place. If we pointed out these systemic issues, the genuine fear of backlash loomed over us. We were placed in an impossible double bind. Every month we would all meet over a weekend and cautiously craft out a presentation that attempted to get our views across in the most diplomatic manner without risking being penalized in some way.
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