Advocacy is important...and hard

I don’t know why it is so hard to advocate for yourself, your own people, but it is. It is easier for me to write about the stigma faced by the Asian community during Covid, and the misunderstanding those from the LGBTQ community face daily, than it is for me to talk about what is happening in the black community today.  I suppose it’s human nature. But the truth is, I’m scared. I’m scared for my sons, I’m scared for my friends, I’m scared for myself to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, confronted by someone with bad intentions.

For those of you that are not aware, in America the last few weeks, a number of actions have been taken against black men in public. On February 23rd, a black man, Ahmaud Arbery, was shot and killed while jogging because a man and his son decided he had committed some crime and took justice into their own hands. A police officer, purportedly placing a black man, George Floyd, under arrest, held him down by placing his knee on Mr. Floyd’s throat for five minutes while he tried to communicate that he could not breath. Mr. Floyd died minutes later. A woman in Central Park, New York called the police on a black man, Christian Cooper, saying she was being threatened and highlighting that he was African American to gain their attention. All he had done was asked her to put her dog on a leash in the park – a legal requirement in NY. The police found no wrongdoing on Mr. Cooper’s part. The woman eventually apologized after the incident went public and she lost her job.

My wife and I have been going on daily walks since COVID. One day after Mr. Arbery was killed, she asked me if we would be all right walking in the neighborhood. I did not say “of course”. I said. “Of course. People know us here. We will be fine.” I didn’t stop to think that I had to qualify our safety like that. This NYT article articulates our concern.

“The naysayers will ask, why aren’t you writing about black on black crime? It exists.” It does. There are always examples of bad apples in any group. But these actions feel more sinister, more arrogant. Brazenly executed in broad daylight while knowingly on camera, and without shame.

I share this here and now, not for sympathy, but for empathy. To understand that we wear this fear like a cloak weighing us down. We do not separate this burden when the clock strikes 7:30 or 8:00 and we start work. These concerns penetrate our virtual walls at work because places of employment are a microcosm of society, and Chevron cannot assume to be immune from that. While 99.9% of the responses I receive for my messages are supportive and encouraging, a few question why I don’t highlight the headwinds that majority groups face. My response is typically to offer to be a voice to any group that needs one. I suggest, ”let’s not focus on what they get, let’s focus on what you need, what is it that you need?”

So, what do I need? What’s the ask? I think the ask is just for a collective recognition that racism exists. It can exist below the surface, hidden behind titles and badges and smiles. It exists when you are walking in the park or jogging through your neighborhood. It can get buried in the understanding that unconscious bias is at the forefront, but conscious bias is alive and well. And it can surface in broad daylight, or in subtle ways that are more covert.

You can also advocate. Advocate for the outgroup when you are part of the ingroup. Just like with safety. If you see it , own it. If you hear it, speak it. Advocacy caries with it a dimension of credibility that self-advocacy does not. My colleague, Kat Hoffman, provides a text book definition of what an advocate looks like here.

We are fortunate to work for a company that lives its values. “Diversity and Inclusion” is the first value listed in the Chevron Way. That’s not an accident.