Dear Black [woman] Boss,

by Sunny Nakae

Perspective taking and reflection are critical tools for antiracism and equity practice.  Identities are informed by experiences, and perspective taking can expand our views by giving us an opportunity to engage in compassion for self and others.  Curiosity is an essential element in exploratory reflection. As Sonya Renee Taylor writes, “When we liberate ourselves from the expectation that we must have all things figured out, we enter a sanctuary of empathy. (2021)”  This essay comes from that “sanctuary of empathy” borne out of an exercise of reflection and the acceptance that equity practice is often imperfect, and becoming antiracist should include vulnerable reflections of our own failure and growth.

In this essay I imagine what a White colleague may have learned through critical self reflection about having a Black woman boss.  As a biracial woman who presents as Brown (read: racially ambiguous) and is part White, much of my learning has come from listening, witnessing, and experiencing racism through a unique lens.  I was raised performatively White, while my physical body is outside that norm.  Growing up as ‘both and neither’ made perspective taking a requirement for survival, because belonging took effort.  I invite you to consider perspective taking as a tool of curiosity and empathy as part of your personal equity practice.

Dear Black [woman] Boss,

Black [woman] boss, as your [White] colleague I am amazed by you.  I am in awe of the decorum and respect you show everyone when it is almost never fully reciprocated.  I cannot fathom how you keep your cool in the face of endless questioning, disrespect, and criticism.  I do not know what it feels like to be harshly punished for simple mistakes, or no mistakes at all.  I do not know what it feels like to have people bristle when I walk into a room.  I do not know what it feels like to suppress my anger and rage and smile in the face of oppression because my career or livelihood depends on it.  All of this has been happening every day under my gaze, and until now I have failed to grasp the essence of your struggle.

I am sorry for failing to recognize the weight of racism that you face daily in nearly every context and institution you abide. I am sorry for not seeing how deep and pervasive the minefield of intersections are for you amid sexism, racism, elitism, homophobia, etc.  I am sorry for dismissing your perspective by equating it to my own.  I am sorry for not understanding how racism may have shaped your leadership style and your professional identity.  I am sorry for labeling your vulnerability as paranoia.  I am sorry for interpreting your caution and restraint as fear and insecurity.  I am sorry for failing to consider how quickly information and rules are weaponized against you.  I am sorry for demanding that you trust me without first demonstrating I am worthy of your trust.  I am sorry for assuming the system that works for me will also work for you. 

I am sorry for criticizing you for not doing enough while simultaneously contributing to the interpersonal and institutional dynamic that undermines your ability to be effective.  I am sorry for expecting you to be tough, while simultaneously not respecting your authority.  I am sorry for being afraid to speak with you because of my own racism and anti-blackness.  I am sorry for perpetuating racism by voicing my criticism of you without regard for how it would permeate the culture of an already predominantly racist institution.  I am sorry for letting White supremacy and anti-blackness invade my thoughts when you speak or show up late.  I am sorry for interpreting your exhaustion as antisocial behavior.  I am sorry for seeing your humor as aggressive. I am sorry for focusing on my own pain and discomfort without considering yours.  I am sorry for not seeing how regularly you are silenced and scapegoated.  I am sorry that I did not notice, name, and own all of this sooner.

I know apologies are best when they lead to transformation and change.  I commit to continually engaging and striving to be antiracist.  I will lean into my own discomfort instead of avoiding it, and I will ask myself the hard questions.  I will give and demand deference and respect for you because you deserve it.  I will always ask myself the question, “How is racism showing up here?” and I will implore my colleagues to do the same. I will show up, speak up, and advocate for antiracism and equity in all places.  I will not allow you to be scapegoated for conflict or labeled as angry or aggressive.  I will ensure you receive the grace and benefit of the doubt that everyone in our professional realm is afforded.  I will be the colleague you deserve.  I will support your vulnerability by being prepared and communicating effectively.  I will accept that I still have much to learn from you and about you.  I will listen for your truth before I speak mine.  I will give feedback with understanding and awareness of the way information and criticism are often weapons of racism and sexism. 

I recognize that you do not need me to do any of this.  You have succeeded despite colleagues like me passively allowing racism to flourish. I now know that focusing on change in myself and my [White] colleagues is my responsibility.  I also recognize that my privilege as a [White] woman enables me to speak this way and say these things without repercussion or retaliation.  When I talk about racism, I am usually praised for being woke, and when you talk about racism, you are usually punished for being disruptive.

Through all these challenges you have endured, succeeded, and become a leader.  You rise, over and over, despite the noise and naysayers.  Society often characterizes you as difficult and hard to work with.  I realize that not explicitly rejecting and counteracting these notions means that I tacitly accepted and promoted them. Today is a new day of accountability for me, and I will no longer accept oppression in my professional orbit in any form. 

[Black] woman boss, I imagine some days that just showing up takes courage, a reserve of which you must have in abundance.  I am proud to be your colleague.  I am sorry that in the past I failed to appreciate your strength, conviction, and brilliance.  Keep rising, and from now on, Black [woman] boss, I will have your back by owning my racism and doing better.

Love,

Your [White] colleague

Sunny Nakae, MSW, PhD, is an associate professor of medical education and Senior Associate Dean for Equity, Inclusion, Diversity, and Partnership at the California University of Science and Medicine, and an adjunct clinical associate professor of social medicine, population, and public health at University of California-Riverside School of Medicine. She has previously served in administrative positions at the University of Utah School of Medicine, Feinberg School of Medicine at Northwestern University, Loyola University Chicago Stritch School of Medicine, and University of California-Riverside School of Medicine. She is the author of Premed Prep: Advice from a Medical School Admissions Dean (Rutgers University Press, 2020)

Reference

Taylor, Sonya Renee. The Body Is Not an Apology. 2nd ed., Berrett-Koehler, 2021.