Strongly Worded

Some Reflections (Belatedly) Posted in Honor of Dr. Martin Luther King

Right after I finished college, I ran a program for “non-traditional” college students: 20 mothers of color, all in their 30s and 40s. They told me directly that they were not excited about a 22-year-old white girl in their midst. I agonized about this and read all about "Cultural Competency For Well-Meaning White People".

Part of my job entailed supervising Tyra, the group’s peer coordinator, who served as a paid liaison between the staff and the group members. Hoping to start off a solid collaboration, I planned our first meeting carefully, expecting to build on her ideas for the job and the future of the program.

But before I could broach those questions, she told me: “I should have your job."
I had suspected this myself, and recognized a power dynamic rupturing our so-far polite dialogue.

“I’m sure with all your experience you’ll be a huge asset to the program, no matter what role you’re in,” I said, recognizing the falseness in my tone.

I asked her about her goals and visions, and she responded with stony silence. So I turned our attention to the work I’d prepared. I had a stack of about 20 files I’d inherited from my predecessor. I asked Tyra to go through them and identify which paperwork was missing, keeping the folders in alphabetical order. Tyra watched me impassively.

“OK?” I asked her, itching to get back to my desk, which was already in chaos. I was counting on her to get the paperwork sorted out while I worked on other things.

I waited. She didn’t move.

“Is there something else you were working on before?” I asked. “Was there something else you had planned to do today?”

“No,” she said, not hostile, just matter-of-fact.

I stood up, unsure what to do. “I’ll just leave you with these then,” I told her. “If you have any questions, I’ll be at my desk.”

Rattled, I asked my supervisor if there was something inappropriate or unreasonable about the task I had assigned. She assured me there was not. An hour later, I checked in on Tyra. Papers were strewn on the table, and the folders were now unalphabetized.

Soon, I learned that her filing abilities were roughly as well developed as her writing, phone manner, and work ethic. I tried hard to forge a trusting and collegial relationship with her, and to build her skills, but she dismissed my friendly overtures, and was defensive and dismissive when I offered suggestions. It would have been difficult for any young, inexperienced manager to handle the supervision of someone so much older, but the added barriers of race and class loaded every aspect of our relationship. I felt guilty and racist when I felt disappointed by her lackluster performance and her (barely) veiled nastiness. I hated the hard, bright voice I used with her, and my gnawing mistrust of her motives.

When we got funding for a summer internship position, I asked the program director whether the job description should be circulated to the women in the program. I felt that it should; our goal was to offer professional and leadership development opportunities. But then we talked about how we needed someone with excellent writing and computer skills, and how awkward it would be if a candidate from the program was rejected in favor of a young white student from a fancier college. We discussed how poorly the roles of program participant and staff member had overlapped in Tyra’s case. Ultimately, the director decided not to invite program participants to apply.

"You don’t think any of us are qualified for the job,” Tyra said, when she found out.

It was horrible, but true. The women in the program who had office skills had jobs already. The ones who didn’t weren’t good candidates for this internship. I explained some of the reasoning behind the decision, and surprisingly, Tyra dropped the subject. I assumed the matter was closed, until a few days later, when I learned that she had circulated an inflammatory email with her spin on the situation.

“I just wanted the group to know about the opportunity,” she said when I confronted her.

“Why?” I persisted. “What good outcome could possibly come out of that?”

I wanted her to admit that it wasn’t a good outcome she was after. But she assured me she had not, in fact, gone behind my back, that she only had the group’s best interest at heart. This was patently untrue, and we both knew it.

I wish I had a wiser conclusion on the whole relationship and what it taught me. But my learning is simple: investing angst and analysis in the interplay of race and class is vitally important. I truly believe this. And yet: sometimes no amount of effort will overcome fundamental mistrust.

Also: sometimes things just take care of themselves. After the internship debacle (which blew over amazingly quickly), funding for my position ran out, and I left the agency. And it turned out that Tyra’s peers weren’t very happy with her either. Despite the fact that they were all women of color, and that their relationship with Tyra wasn't undermined by racial power dynamics, they ousted her and chose someone else to replace her.

Posted by Dori at 9:50 PM