Anxious & Working In Corporate America | Journal Entries - Saturday, 13 June 2020

I'm typing this at 5:15 am in my phone notes app, wanting to give this writing thing another shot. Hello, dear dear friend.

It's been officially a year since I've graduated from college and hit the ground running in the official work world, Corporate America. How majestic she is. How passive she is. Unless marketing and or Human Resources require a statement.

Not saying I’ve mastered the art of being employed or well on my way on my ‘career path,’ but the experiences have definitely matured me in a way that has me value work culture and respect more than ever now.

Coming from the US raised perspective initially in college, of equal opportunity and shooting for the stars, I realized real quick that dream and privilege belonged to white men, was fought over viciously by white women, and scraped together with what was left for the POC community. But before this self epiphany came about or was confirmed of, I was what James Baldwin best refers to in those old-timey westerns. Where the white cowboys fought Native Americans but implying there was a white narrative, having a general audience generally root for the cowboy. However, this whole fucking time the POC community, allow me though to hone in on the black community, has been the Native Americans this whole time. It's their world, not ours, especially in the workplace.

“BuT wOrK iS oUtsIde Of PoLiTiCs; LeAvE iT aT hOmE. We’Ve CoMe SuCh A lOnG wAy AlReAdy.” Well, [I don't know what generic phrase to use for this particular adversary, wanting to put in their two cents, defend a toxic work environment that benefits them, and tells me to sit down and stay in my place--but insert it here nonetheless.] fuck you.

Aaaaah, we’re just lifting weights off the shoulders right here! My back isn't only because of my previous scoliosis; it's also because of social pain and anxiety.

I used to think this may be just me. But earlier having attended a Black History Month panel at a work function and meeting other black co-workers, I affirm that this is very well prominent, especially when a company has very few chocolate chips in the cookie. It's their world, not ours. Like it's one thing to have camaraderie on historic oppressions, but for none POC folks, imagine a camaraderie or mutual subtextual understanding of current oppression and micro-aggression on a daily basis. I hope that makes sense. Like me, a black woman, seeing another black person, and we may or may not connect in seconds on our representation in the office, just by looking at one another. No words have to be said even. That's how I as well as some of my black friends would feel as we make a nod of an alliance to another black person in the office. A nod of understanding, a nod of ”we are in this bitch, but we are in this bitch together. I see you.” Aaaaaaaah, I’m feeling weightless.

Going into common examples I thought was only on television or at least major news to then ‘quickly punish and discourage’ and certainly not ignore or undermine it [hahaaahaaaaaa, I was so young/naive/set the bar too high] in today’s world. Let’s name a few I’ve encountered. Note, I worked in various positions, and these experiences, few of many, are what accumulated throughout these various positions. Not all in one office.

Black hair. Black hair is always a common sensitive and awkward subject for people, who don’t know well about black hair, have. I normally wear my hair as an afro proudly, especially at work which is predominantly white. Most people there see me as the girl with the afro. I’m not trying to be the center of attention in the office; the big hair is just who I am amongst other things. But for late January and February, I get braids to protect my mane. For those who have never seen me other than with my hair all out and about, this may or may not be shocking. It was for my co-workers. Second looks. Third looks. Now just stares.

“Oh, Madison, it’s you!” “Oh, Madison you changed your hair.” Starring continues as if there wasn’t any further protocol on the diversity manual on how to interact with black people. And then in passing, another black woman in the office who I knew generally from getting coffee at the same time in the kitchen in the mornings.

“Oooh, I love the braids!” she said nicely to me for the office to overhear with her then continuing on her way. It then felt it clicked for my co-workers on how exactly to respond. “Yeah, nice braids, Madison,” followed the co-workers by me.

Ghetto. Ok, so I don’t understand how the word ghetto is still being thrown around by caucasian for the most inappropriate reasons. When I worked for a handbag licensee, I heard it amongst my white co-workers, using it as an adjective to a bag or material cheaply made. It was said always by this one young caucasian woman who always stopped by our row of cubicles to gossip, but whenever she wanted to describe something not up to par or cheap-looking, she called it “ghetto.” Like as if it was the only word she knew. With me being the only person of color in this row of cubicles with all other blonde females, including this woman, I first felt uncomfortable speaking out about her choice of words. So in the first occurrence, I got up, looked directly at her, and left for my lunch break. I remember leaving and hearing the ignorant woman ask, “was I being rude?” She didn’t return to our cubicle for a couple of weeks after that which was strange because she always likes to gab with our cubicle set of co-workers. She did eventually return, more sheepish at first until jokes rained in, and she was loud like nothing had changed. As soon as she spilled the first “ghetto” phrase though, I spoke up, saying “hey, choose another word, you’re being offensive.” I then walked away, having to talk to another person on the other side of the office anyways. I didn’t want to argue with stupid anyways. I remember being sweaty as fuck because I felt I was speaking out of turn. I know I was speaking up for myself, but it still felt confrontational. I need to learn that just living and thriving as a black woman will always be confrontational; so, I might as well keep at it and own it.

Being mistaken for another black girl in the office. Once again, I try to stay low at this office. I don’t care to have lunch with my co-workers. But when I was at a common area eating lunch and scrolling through twitter, I was joined by a caucasian young woman I didn’t know with a “hey, girl. It’s been one hell of a day,” as if I knew the hell she was getting ready to unpack. But as soon as she actually looked at my face and realized I wasn’t who she thought I was, I saw the tea drain from her face into embarrassment. But she was still trying to play it cool.

“Is everything alright?” I asked.

“Oooh yeah, great. It’s nothing.” She said. She continued to sit by me and look at her phone.

“Well, have a good one.” I say packing up my lunch and returning back to my desk.

Well-spoken. I receive a good amount of compliments, saying I’m so well spoken or am so articulate. This phenomena is best explained by Yannick Marshall (2020) from Black Perspectives. “The observation, and especially the pleasantly surprised tone in which it is usually offered, reveals that the speaker subscribes to a way of thinking that holds that Black people are typically inarticulate. “Articulate” Blacks are therefore a welcome exception to the rule. Subject to the delusion that a person’s vocabulary reflects their intelligence or cognitive power, they hold that the articulate (in standard English) Black person is evidence that not all Blacks are illiterate or incapable of speech. Their being witness to this proof, while white, is the compliment on offer.”

Skin-tone. I’ve honestly been Mean Girl referenced at work, where someone found out I lived in Israel as a kid. Someone responded sincerely but ignorantly with “but if you lived in Israel, why are you black?” I won’t bore you with my response, but it involved educating the person on intersectionality amongst various nationalities in the Middle East as well as it being very common for Americans to be deployed there as expatriates with the option of bringing their family. I was being nice; I didn’t have to do that. But it was draining. It’s draining everyday to deal with folks’ ignorance, but apparently that’s black people’s job, I say sarcastically.

With the recent movement of entities finally recognizing--or being forced to identifying--their fat ass elephant in the room, their complicities and brazen support of everyday racism, police brutality, and other institutions of oppression, I'm drained of watching the corporations and influencers’ social media feeds aspiring to change, despite their environments and action saying quite the opposite in previous.

I am drained of seeing this battle of explaining the livelihood, institution, and everything racism is built on followed by the white fragility that is always quick to fight or object. How do you tell a fish they live in fucking water?

I am drained of the oversight and assumption one has where if black people act proper, are educated, and are nice enough will be seen differently from other members of the black community, being ”spared.” Because that’s a fucking lie.

We’re all still black to them.

The bar is set so low in assumption to our humanity, that Black Lives Matter is still worth debate and made mockery and negotiation of. Like it’s as if we're asking for too much.

Like even in a job interview where I, the interviewee, were to ask, “in the office setting, can I expect basic respect and healthy human development like other work colleagues without any aggression upon my projected racial inferiority?” Not saying I’m fierce enough to ring out the tough but necessary questions right off the bat, but like what does that say about the insurance and bar being set low or high I put for myself and my employer?

But when you think about it, compliance to basic human rights is actually setting the bar pretty low because it’s BASIC.

But apparently some disagree to what basic human rights apply to and then don’t want to be questioned on their decision, because it’s a fragile subject. Like why is salary such a taboo to talk about? Am I being paid less to my caucasion counterparts? Oh right, we can’t talk about that shit, because it’s a work taboo. Such ‘work professional’ fragility creates such a lack of basic human rights resulting in racial injustice with no one allowed to bring it up.

How dare the oppressed question the system, right? I don’t want to overstep and claim I should be treated like a normal human being but am left with the naive hope companies actually do instate these civil rulings—if not, I naively hope things will get better eventually. Will they change though, really will they change though? Apparently, it has to happen at the literal expense of black people’s lives.

Like shit.

It’s delirium and chaos at that point. The chaos was processed internally for many of us, but now the white community is also seeing some demise. Watching people squirm of discomfort of the thought of taking a stance lol. Lol. I’m lol-ing. Aaaah, I have no weight. Companies putting out statements of changing policies involving a more inclusive space. Company marketing teams searching for stock images of black folks and diversity. Black squares.

There’s a part of me that even wants to get on this bandwagon, pimp myself out, and post on LinkedIn, “I can be your new diversity and inclusion director to validate your business is ‘making a change,’ well at least at the surface level.”

Besides LinkedIn, I haven’t been too social on the socials. I haven't been too zoomy on the zoom parties. It’s too much, it’s so much. Danyell introduced me to a particular video from Kelly Stamps which illustrates perfectly the expense of mental health and well-being being too damn high to be fighting people and watching horrific videos repeatedly on social media. If anxiety was high then, it’s certainly high and heavier now. Things were always heavy, they’re just especially heavy as bricks now.

Delete the apps. Delete them. Chaos will still be there when you return. Do donate and vote and have a person who does connect with you with so much as to a look and understanding of the shit you’ve been through and or fighting for. It’s now 7:34 am. Happy I did this; we’ll see if this continues. Kisses.

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