(Illustration by Nyanza D)
“When one door closes, another door opens.” So goes the popular adage. But if the door is a metaphor for access and opportunity, then an implicit truth of this adage is that a new door does not open for everyone.
On March 25, 2021, Georgia State Representative Park Cannon was arrested and dragged out of the state capital when she knocked on a closed door, behind which governor Brian Kemp was signing a voter restriction bill largely aimed at making it more difficult for people of color to vote. The simple act of knocking on the door brought her a charge of obstruction and disruption of the general assembly. Meanwhile, the governor, seated in front of a picture of a former slave plantation, and the white men protectively standing on each side of him smiled as they posed for pictures. Did the governor gatekeep? Use the door to keep Cannon from exercising her right to advocate for the constituents who voted for her?
I am a Black woman working as a cabinet (C-suite) executive at a nonprofit organization. I work for an organization that believes in “opening doors of opportunity” to those who are underserved, marginalized, and disproportionately trapped in systems—that is, designed to keep people trapped in cycles of child welfare, juvenile justice, mental health, and/or substance abuse. In my role, I contribute to the reimagining of how our organization advocates for clients to interact with these systems in ways that support growth.
The door of diversity has been open, yet I still must make decisions grounded in survival that affect my current freedom in the workplace. We are not talking about the forced choice of life or death that plagued my ancestors. We are talking about the subtle pervasiveness of racial prejudice in the workplace.
The following is my experience as a Black, female, C-suite executive trying to navigate the culture in an organization, where a white executive weaponized the simple act of closing a door to show her dominance and used it as the impetus for her racist behaviors.
What Is Up With the Door?
I arrive at the office by 7:30 a.m., and I am the only person in the building. So, I close the door to my office. Coming in early used to be joyous. I had the opportunity to prepare for the day, to become grounded and centered before beginning the arduous work of interacting with systems that more often than not keep people in traumatic cycles of violence, poverty, and abuse.
However, my employer, a white woman, had a strong reaction to seeing closed doors in the executive suite when she arrived at work. She had a history of exerting her dominance by making passive-aggressive comments or violently flinging my door open, yelling, “What have I said about doors being closed on the floor?” Such was my life in the C-suite, working for a so-called liberal white woman who was clear that she would not tolerate other people’s boundaries. It did not matter the reason, especially if it made her uncomfortable.
Although I worked for a nonprofit organization that served Black and Indigenous people of color, the senior leadership and board of directors were white. As one of a few people of color in the cabinet, and as the highest-ranked, senior-level leader, I found it mind-blowing that a closed door appeared threatening to my boss, the company’s CEO. Didn’t she know that the work we did with survivors of systemic abuse was emotionally and spiritually taxing? Didn’t she know that I had a long commute each day, and to be at my best, I needed to recharge? Didn’t she respect that I came in early to work? What was the root of her frustration?
Let us take a closer look at how the simple, benign act of closing an office door creates a weapon to perpetuate racial prejudice and assert dominance in organizational culture.
The Unconscious Perpetuation of White Supremacy Culture
Sociologist and outspoken anti-racism activist Neely Fuller, Jr., has said, “If you do not understand white supremacy, what it is and how it works, everything else that you understand will only confuse you.”
At the time, I did not know the characteristics of white supremacy. I did not have the language to explain why a simple door—which signifies potential entry and openness—created so much chaos.
In Dismantling Racism: A Workbook for Social Change Groups, grassroots organizers Kenneth Jones and Tema Okun describe the characteristics of white supremacy culture as “ideas and attitudes that perpetuate internalized racial superiority through white supremacy and impact Black, Indigenous, and people of color in ways that increase internalized inferiority.” They explain that these can show up unconsciously in organizational values and standards, like perfectionism, sense of urgency, defensiveness, either/or thinking, fear of open conflict, and right to comfort. All these norms contribute to the toxicity of the environment. I also think that because I did not have the language to describe what I was going through as a form of white supremacy culture, surviving at work became exceedingly difficult.
The characteristics of white supremacy identified by Jones and Okun that personally resonated for me were the fear of conflict and the right to comfort. My boss craved attention and was notorious for interrupting important meetings to announce inappropriate thoughts that randomly came to her, which often made people feel uncomfortable and disruptive. For example, I could be leading an appointment with my direct reports, and she would barge into the meeting to comment about someone’s hair or complain about another coworker.
Because of the CEO's inability to respect boundaries, I closed my door, as a way to manage her toxic behavior—in addition to supporting my safety. As a clinician, I learned that time spent supervising a person is sacred and should be undisturbed so that you can be fully present with them. My boss, however, was unable to communicate why she was uncomfortable with my closed door and instead resorted to blaming, shaming, and projecting her displeasure. So, continuing my extra labor of “managing up,” one day I asked her why my closed door frustrated her. “You are just standoff-ish,” she replied accusatorily. “No one else closes the door.”
Because she failed to take account of her behavior and actions, we could not have a meaningful dialogue to get to the root of this problem. Instead, my boss believed that she had a right to access my physical and emotional space without complaint or regard for whether I had the emotional capacity to support her.
And that assumption—the assumed freedom to infringe on others’ spaces and bodies and time—is white privilege at work.
Managing White Feelings
At times, I even wondered if my sole purpose on the job was to be a nanny to my boss—whether caring for and managing her emotional well-being was not only a part of my job but more important than any of my other duties. Jones and Okun explain that the assumption of the right to be comforted lies in “the belief that those with power have a right to emotional and psychological comfort (another aspect of valuing logic over emotion).”
For example, the morning after the police murder of Philando Castile, I sat in my office with the door closed, trying to prepare for the day despite my being overwhelmed, exhausted, and unable to comprehend yet another senseless police shooting. I needed this time because—while I refused to watch the video of the murder—the sound of the constant replaying of the incident on the news, the conversations I overheard on the train about people’s shock, and the image of my husband’s expression in reaction to the news, etched into my mind’s eye, traumatized me. The pain of having to say, “Here we go again,” to express the frustration and heartache of yet another Black person killed by the police was just draining.
While processing my thoughts and feelings, my boss opened the door without knocking and began to unload her feelings about the shooting—how she was sad and unable to sleep. She even started to cry. It was overwhelming to be on the receiving end of her feelings, as if I were a receptacle for her white tears rather than a Black woman who experienced this police violence acutely and personally. She never once asked me how I was doing or how I was feeling.
And, on top of it all, when I mentioned that I felt helpless and wanted to do something, she replied, “You? What could you possibly do? You are not Black enough.”
The audacity and insensitivity to my feelings—and to my Blackness—knocked me off my seat. What did she mean that I am not “Black enough”? Did my skin color somehow change while we were talking? Did my life journey as a Black woman born to Black parents somehow get dramatically revised when she walked into my office with her privilege and grief?
After this disturbing experience, I made it a point not to share the exchange with my colleagues because I was too shocked, too numb, and too embarrassed to express the pain I felt by my boss’s words. My job, I learned, was to manage the emotional well-being of my boss first before taking care of myself. Never mind that as a Black woman, I was struggling with feelings of despair. I could hardly function the rest of the day—and you better believe my door remained closed.
Shutting the Door to Move Past Survival
After about four years of working within a racist culture, I decided to leave the organization.
My honeymoon phase was over, and I was tired of being the scapegoat on the team or the only one to disrupt the groupthink during meetings. My colleagues experienced racist behaviors from my boss in the form of microaggressions and blatant belittling. (“Can I touch your hair?” “You are such a good speaker!”) Behind closed doors, my colleagues, white and other people of color, would share how our boss’s racist behaviors affected them emotionally. But, because I was the unacknowledged recipient of the CEO’s wrath, people were afraid to speak up. It was easier for the organization to let me bear the brunt of it. And I was praised for being “strong,” even though I did not feel strong at all.
I had internalized a lot of racism, which made me question myself and my worth—that maybe I was the problem. Isn’t it supposed to be more comfortable the higher that you climb in leadership ranks? No one knew my struggle or the pain I held inside. I also stayed longer than I should have because I had internalized the belief that I could not get another C-suite position, and I thought that she had the power to destroy my reputation or career.
Instead, I needed to keep reminding myself of my worth. As pointed out by Jones and Okun, racist behaviors exist unconsciously to keep people of color, particularly Black women, in leadership, consequently making them question their ability and worth in the organization.
Decolonizing Workplace Culture
After George Floyd’s murder last year, many organizations came out with a statement denouncing racism and making some attempt to commit to ensuring that “Black Lives Matter.” I think that the proverbial “door” is open to dialogue about healing, justice, and liberation. We need to seize this time to decolonize organizations of white supremacy culture.
I offer three solutions that can help organizations during this time of racial reckoning. First, white people must commit to learning how to comfort themselves. We all come into the workplace with our issues. We must try to support others with the emotional maturity and intelligence to manage our feelings without dumping them on others. Hire a therapist. Learn the history of whiteness and the privilege that your whiteness affords you. Work is not the place to get your insecurities addressed, explained, or validated by people of color. I should not have to listen to and provide you with the cheerleading you need for every thought that comes out of your mouth.
Second, run to conflict, not away from it. Conflict is a natural part of life. In her book Conflict is Not Abuse: Overstating Harm, Community Responsibility and the Duty of Repair, writer Sarah Schulman discusses the use of inflated accusations of harm to avoid accountability. Let us deal with the dissonance head-on by creating spaces safe enough to allow people to be brave. Use your power for good by addressing things upfront. Listen to others' perspectives and know that it does not mean you are the only right person because you are in control. Also, please stop using over-engineered phrases like, “I feel uncomfortable about this conversation,” or “I am feeling very threatened.” Learn to tolerate discomfort through emotional regulation skills, including breathing skills. Emotional regulation skills are essential because pain is inherent in the learning process. And support Black women in leadership by providing space to share their "truth" without consequence.
Finally, respect people’s boundaries. They are not personal insults or attacks against you. Dividing lines help you to understand a person’s limits. You do not have the right to cross the line or become out of order repeatedly, and then believe that you can receive transparency and trust. Be aware of the subtle and not-so-subtle ways that the characteristics of white supremacy can show up in an organization, and do everything you can to set up process, practice, and pathways to call it out until these characteristics are no longer present.
‘When One Door Closes, Another Door Opens’
As I reflect on my time spent in an environment of high toxicity, I recognize that my retention in the organization meant that I would need to have different values, which I was no longer willing to compromise. The door became a tangible object used to control. When the door was open, all was right in the world. When the door was closed, there was hell to pay. My office door became the center of ongoing conflict. It is a constant reminder of the subtleties of racism, and my education, personal will, and professional licensures could not rid the organization of its cultural norms rooted in white supremacy.
Racism exists. Organizational racism exists. Opening the door to a person of color cannot be a box you can check off to fulfill your diversity and inclusion initiatives. Tokenism is not acceptance. White people can function as allies for people of color, especially Black women. We need your support, your expertise, and your openness to learn from other Black women. Becoming educated about the characteristics that can unconsciously emerge in organizations that cause chaos, harm, and lead Black women to leave an organization is necessary to keep doors open to dismantling racist behaviors.
As I think about my ancestors and the doors that were repeatedly closed to them so that I can walk through doors of possibility, I am humbled and filled with gratitude. Knowing that I come from strong, resilient Black people helps me understand that I have a responsibility to call out racism. I also must invest in self-care so that my challenges due to internalized inferiority that stems from the destructiveness of white supremacy culture do not further perpetuate the racist culture.
“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.” Poet and civil-rights activist Maya Angelou’s words not only encapsulate my experience but speak to all of us. We all can do better. To combat racism, we will need everyone to do their part to dismantle the characteristics of white supremacy that infringe on justice, equity, diversity, and inclusivity. It just takes a willingness to throw down racists norms and walk through the door of change.
Support SSIR’s coverage of cross-sector solutions to global challenges.
Help us further the reach of innovative ideas. Donate today.
Read more stories by Jennifer Outlaw.