1 Stop Looking for Discrimination
If you believe that discrimination exists, it will.
- Anthony J. DâAngelo
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Spoiler alert: this book isnât about discrimination. I never wanted to write about the labels and prejudgements that get made about people â those who look different, think differently, behave differently to whatever is the ânormâ for that role, that lane, that environment. In the words of Michelle Obama, those viewed as âotherâ.
Do I believe that people face discrimination and bias in their careers because of gender and race? I do. Have I prejudged others because of their gender, race, physical disability, sexual preference or other stereotype? Iâm sure I have. Unfortunately, we all do it, some of us more consciously than others. And while we all prejudge and stereotype, the differences in power and influence mean that in the corporate world â where white, straight male is the accepted face of what leadership looks like â bias and discrimination can have more of a negative effect on those of us who donât fit that mould.
Because Iâm an eternal optimist and a true Pollyanna at heart, this book isnât about to focus on discrimination and what to do about it. Iâll leave that to the researchers, journalists, and HR professionals deployed across the globe who continue to call out the structural inequalities that need addressing.
This book is about smashing it and smashing stereotypes in the process. In my humble opinion, your best chance of smashing the stereotype of you is to stop focusing on inequalities and start doing something amazing. Be the best version of yourself and show people with your actions.
I believe we are at a unique moment in time, with the field of all possibilities open to those that donât fit long-held norms. A black model with vitiligo can now grace the cover of Vogue. An openly gay man can be the CEO of one of the worldâs biggest tech companies. A black African man, who hasnât opted for a western-sounding first name, can become the first black CEO of a FTSE 100 company. An Asian-American girl, raised by an immigrant family in working class America, can become the first female CEO of a major telecommunications company. Thanks to Winnie Harlow, Tim Cook, Tidjam Tiam and Anne Tow.
Stop and Think Before You Criticise Other People Like You
When my brother qualified as a dentist some years back, he told me the hilarious yet sad tale of a black friend of his who, on hearing that my brother had passed his final exams, said to him, âYeah, I donât think I would go to a black dentist, you know.â
Iâm sure the individual meant no disrespect to my brotherâs achievements, he was simply voicing an internalised bias that my brotherâs new profession had made him aware of. An internal bias which said that black people werenât good enough to be dentists, even if they were qualified. An internalised bias that inherently limited the options and opportunities for black people, including himself.
When we criticise others who are like us, with no factual basis, we might be well-served by examining whether we have an unconscious bias sitting just below the surface, that judges others, and in doing so also places limitations on ourselves.
As a woman, how do we judge other successful females in the workplace; those who are doing well while also running a household, with or without a nanny, cleaners and other helpers? As people of colour, how do we react when we see someone else of colour get promoted? Do we celebrate it or question whether there is tokenism or positive discrimination going on?
I have a long-held belief that, because of the media bombardment of racial and gender stereotypes, many of us hold, to varying degrees, unconscious biases against minorities. Itâs just a fact. You canât spend 40 years watching Hollywood films and not believe, even if just a little, that black men are more likely to be thugs than lawyers, or that the definition of female beauty is a Caucasian woman who is slightly underweight, or that females of colour are⌠well, invisible. Which, of course, has its advantages and disadvantages.
What We Focus On We Become
I remember watching the now famous 2014 Stanford interview with Oprah, where she was asked how she feels about being the only black person, at times, and whether she feels alone. Oprahâs response is that when faced with being the only woman in the room, and often the only person of colour, she is âthrilledâ because she doesnât see
people through colour and didnât get to where she is by looking at the colour of peopleâs skin, focusing, rather, on the content of their character, as counselled by Martin Luther King.
Does this mean that Oprah Winfrey fails to call out racism, sexism or discrimination? Absolutely not. What it means is that she does not focus on differences based on gender and colour when she is conducting herself in business, nor does she allow others to do the same to her. She rises above it, naturally, because she is Oprah. But Iâm sure even when she was still known by her full name, she had the same steadfast approach to getting her ideas across, which didnât involve any element of self-doubt or self-analysis based on colour, gender or any other difference to the rest of the people in the room.
And so I believe that the lesson from Oprah, Martin Luther King, and all the other âfirstsâ in their fields, is that even if you are deemed to be âotherâ â the only ____ in the room â donât let it consume you. Donât let it diminish your brilliance. More than the colour of your skin and the body you were born into, you are the content of your character. You are a magical combination of your strengths, weaknesses, vulnerabilities, passions and everything in between. As someone a lot wiser than I am once said, labels are for tins of food, not people.
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2 Find Your Cheer Squad
Surround yourself with the dreamers and the doers, the believers and thinkers, but most of all, surround yourself with those who see greatness within you even when you donât see it yourself.
- Edmund Lee
There is that famous saying, apparently originating from an African proverb, that it takes a village to raise a child. When thinking about our own potential, successes, failings and everything in between, itâs easy to believe that itâs all about us: I make my own fortune; I capitalise on each opportunity; I am the one who sweats blood and cries tears to get to where I am. And if youâre reading this book, youâre probably thinking not only is this true, but you also have the disadvantage of a lack of access to cheer squads that other people in the room have, such as the old boysâ network and connections because of privilege.
You can do it all on your own if you choose to, and some people do. But they really are the exception rather than the rule. Behind every successful man or woman there is a plethora of individuals who have supported, encouraged, challenged, championed, coached and nudged along the way.
Aged just 18, with questionable dress sense and an insatiable shoe habit, I walked through the huge glass doors of the Ernst & Young (EY) office â the combination of the recently merged firms Ernst Whinney and Arthur Young â which was to be my corporate home for the next seven years. I felt unstoppable, proud to have chosen a real job in my chosen career over a further stint in an academic straitjacket (my perception of university).
An exchange with a primary school teacher had already worked its magic on reframing my view of what was possible for girls like me. This conversation was a pivotal, life-changing moment, where a steely determination not just to succeed, but to exceed, was ignited.
âWhat do you want to be when you grow up?â asked Mr Singh.
âI donât know,â I replied.
âWhy is it you black girls donât have any ambition?! How about becoming a doctor or a lawyer?â
In the 1970s, growing up in urban Britain, the only role models I had seen up close were my hard-working, financially savvy grandmother, several of her friends, who were nurses, and the few black female characters on TV shows like Empire Road and Angels. I admired the uniformed, caring nurses, unaware of their struggles with racism and the vital role they played in propping up an overstretched NHS over the previous decades and thought maybe my future lay in nursing. I couldnât see all the career options available to me.
Enter my Maths teacher, Mr Singh. What that teacher said, in his own clumsy, non-PC but brutally honest way, had a profound impact on this girl, who was then just nine years old. He raised the expectation level that I had set for myself and for others. He instilled in me a burning desire to reach my full potential and to encourage others to do the same.
Mr Singhâs chastisement, which I saw as a challenge, was that we should all aim as high as possible. That I was capping my potential because of what I had seen, or more accurately had not seen, as possible for me, like so many others of my generation and ethnic background.
I had another teacher who had a less direct but nevertheless major impact. Mrs McDonald, at least I think she was married, was a very professional, black teacher, aged around 35. Iâll never forget how she chastised me and another black girl. We were both aged about eight at the time and, when she overheard us speaking patois, imitating our older Jamaican relatives, she told us to speak âproperlyâ, rather than like âold washerwomenâ. Iâm actually laughing as I write this. At the time, I felt she was a little harsh (she always seemed to go harder on us than the other children), but in a mainly white school â there were just two other black girls and a handful of Asian kids â Iâm fairly certain that she was trying to help us, looking out for us and setting a positive role model. Like many other people of colour, she was probably trying to instil in us the âtwice as goodâ mentality.
These early life encounters created a laser-like focus that would, for many years, frame my entire outlook â that anything was possible, and that it was down to me to make it happen. It would eclipse the fleeting thoughts that I might be on the receiving end of discrimination or other unfair treatment. Instead, I believed that everything I achieved or didnât achieve would be down to something I had or hadnât done.
That level of single-mindedness and self-belief, without maturity and an understanding of how to interact with and respect the wisdom of others, can make a child incredibly precocious. In fact, it would be many years before I realised that life was not a level playing field for all. That environment and the presence or absence of advocates had a bigger impact on whether people could transcend their difficult childhood experiences or the adverse circumstances into which they were born.
In secondary school I was a bit of a rebel and know-it-all (âwasâ?!), constantly challenging the status quo, questioning why and pushing boundaries around rules, uniform and uniformity, time-keeping and attendance. While I still got pretty good grades, I hated the rigidity and conformity of school and the apparent irrelevance, to me, of some elements of the curriculum. My only solace, apart from Maths lessons, was a Business Studies class where I could be creative and learn about the real world.
Drawn to commerce and industry, and with a love of figures, I discovered the world of accountancy â boring to most, but exciting to me â and fixed on a career adding up numbers.
My business studies teacher, Mrs Black (the irony is not lost), was the third academic who had a major influence on my life. She was a vocal supporter who saw and encouraged potential. Itâs no wonder I ended up in corporate life and felt like I could conquer the world when I entered those doors on that first day at EY, despite the ill-fitting suit.
I was 100 percent sure of who I was right then and there. I knew what I wanted in life, or at least until I qualified, and nothing would get in my way. I was blissfully unaware that over the next 20+ years that confidence would be tested repeatedly, to the point where, in some ways, I would be less sure of myself than my 18-year-old self was. In short, I had no fear. This is not to say that I didnât get nervous when going for interviews or sitting exams, but I had a self-assurance that, whatever the challenge was, I would get through it.
Many habits are formed at this stage of life, suggesting that even if teenagers are not yet as wise as Yoda, they sometimes have a focus and grit that more of us could benefit from. They know how to make a resolution and stick to it, at least for a few weeks until the next food fad comes along. In all seriousness, teenagers go all-out when they do something because they are utterly convinced it is the right thing to do in that moment, and that their happiness depends on it.
At what point do we lose that ability to make choices based on what is right for us? When do we begin to forget who we are and make choices out of societal, peer or corporate pressure? Instead of doing things that line up with the person we are, we move to a world of constant compromise where we strive for acceptance as the person we believe we need to be, rather than the person we were born to be.
Rather than giving advice to our younger selves which is the oft-asked question, perhaps we should take advice from our younger selves. Be certain of who you are, what makes you tick, what makes you happy, what you enjoy doing, who you like to be around or what âsparks joyâ, as Marie Kondo would say.
Asking for help can sometimes feel like failure, especially if youâre an overachieving, high performer. But itâs important to remember that without that help your progress will probably be slower, your results less dazzling, and it will feel more emotionally draining. Besides, assuming you surround yourself with the right people, they will want to help you.
When Youâre Not In The Room, Who Speaks Up For You?
Having sat in way too many Board meetings and steering committees to count, I have seen how performance, and sometimes a personâs character ethics, are dissected ad infinitum in meetings. I have seen halos and assassinations doled out in equal measure, often with very little evidence supporting either; or the assignment of someone to an interesting project role based on nothing more than a hunch about a personâs ability or the all-round agreement that they are âa good personâ.
The importance of having someone speak up for you when youâre not in the room is not to be under-estimated. On one memorable occasion, someone relayed to me that a director who I had found very challenging to work for, had laid into me in a particular Board meeting, even though the project I was leading at the time was going well, had nothing to do with their area of responsibility and I hadnât worked for them for several years. Thankfully, the project sponsor, who was pleased with my work, made a point of defending my reputation.
If there is something about you that increases the risk of negative perception bias, like your gender, age or colour of your skin, then Iâm sorry to say that the risk of you being a target for unfounded or overly harsh criticism when youâre not in the room will probably be higher than when you are in the majority. Itâs just a fact of life in most large corporations. If you want to be asked to join exciting new projects, or considered for the next big promotion leap, you have to be on the radar, in a positive light, of somebody in that room.
Having someone speak up for you when youâre not in the room may sound like a daunting task. How can you, a person who often feels on the outside, get someone at a more senior level to be in your corner? Itâs real...