Black Women Will Save the World, page 8
Biden emerged from this controversy a different man and a better leader. As of this writing, President Biden is leading the most ambitious effort to advance racial equity in the nation’s history. To paraphrase the late poet and activist Maya Angelou, when you know better, you do better.
To reward her allyship, Bottoms’s name was tossed about in the vice-presidential ring as a potential running mate for candidate Biden. She belonged to a cohort of Black women to vie for the position, a group that included Susan Rice, Karen Bass, Stacey Abrams, and Harris. Looking back, I was skeptical that a Black woman would be chosen to be the Democratic vice presidential candidate. After all, as Black women, we are used to being used—discounted, dismissed.
Biden had said he would nominate a Black woman to the US Supreme Court (a promise he kept in early 2022, when he selected Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson, who was confirmed as a Supreme Court Justice in a bipartisan vote). However, he never promised the vice presidency to a Black woman. Talking to a source very close to Biden, I did not expect a Black woman to be on his presidential ticket because “he does not work that way.” Keep in mind, there were impressive white women on Biden’s mind too. Some of them were among the most recognized and accomplished figures in the presidential primary season: senators Elizabeth Warren and Amy Klobuchar.
Behind the scenes, I had honest talks with political commentator Bakari Sellers, who said it was a done deal: it was Harris. Ultimately, Harris and Rice were the top picks for the job because of their experience. However, I couldn’t get my conversation with Biden in Detroit out of my mind. As for Rice, the embassy massacre in Benghazi, Libya, in which the US ambassador and three others were killed, was disqualifying.
I will never forget that day at Andrews Air Force Base, where I observed the peaceful transfer of the remains of those who had died in that deadly attack. I stood there as a pool reporter and watched one of the most solemn moments in our nation’s history. Former Secretary of State General Colin Powell was also there. On the Sunday news shows, administration officials all said that the tragedy in Benghazi was the result of an intelligence failure. But the news shows blamed Rice for the crisis. Once again, it was a Black woman who bore the brunt of the fallout. That difficult experience may prevent her from being elevated to a Senate-confirmed position or an elected office.
Sellers was right. If I had bet money, I would have lost. The announcement came and it was a Black woman, Kamala Harris. She was more than qualified and the moment of racial reckoning called for transformation from a transformational figure. That was Kamala Harris, now Vice President Harris. As a Black woman who wants examples of greatness for our younger generations, I find it amazing to see her. It is important for the Black women of today to know that we are now seen.
With the good comes the not-so-good.
After the days and weeks of wrangling, Biden was confirmed as the president-elect, and Mayor Bottoms was ostensibly positioned for greater things. However, the Biden transition team’s decision about her appointment did not sit well with her. It was time for Bottoms to walk the tightrope.
She was not given a cabinet seat. Rumor had it that she was up for heading the US Department of Transportation. As head of government in Atlanta, Bottoms oversaw the largest airport in the nation. She had worked with top-tier Fortune 500 companies that called Atlanta home and headquarters. Still, presidential transition officials juggled names and seats to find the right fit. Ultimately, that seat went to former presidential candidate and former South Bend, Indiana, Mayor Pete Buttigieg. Next, Bottoms was in line for the role of Small Business Administration administrator. However, Bottoms decided she was more than qualified to have “Secretary” in front of her name. She decided that she was out of the running. Many close to Bottoms resented the administration’s attempts to sit her at the “kids’ table.”
It was a bold move to turn down the role of SBA administrator. The conventional wisdom in the Beltway is if you are asked to serve, then you serve. While it is not unheard of to turn down a position in government, it’s rare. Bottoms’s thought process went against the convention. She said “no” and never looked back. The move to Washington, DC, and the cost of uprooting her family just weren’t worth it. She decided to stay in Atlanta and contemplate a potential reelection run. That decision was short-lived. It was upended by the increase in crime nationally and in her hometown. She did not run for reelection.
Bottoms is considered a sweetheart in politics. She works with a firm hand and kind smile. She enjoys support from so many sectors, including that of her sorority Delta Sigma Theta Sorority Inc., one of the most powerful sororities in the nation.
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Black women have always grappled with the expectation that they should operate in the background, that somehow we are expected only to serve and be subservient. While we have made huge strides in political representation, especially in the last five years, that expectation continues to weigh down Black women, even as we climb to reach the highest echelons of political power.
It’s critically important to evaluate in context the contributions of the most powerful Black women in the United States. In just a few short years, Black women have gone from being the unsung heroes of the Democratic Party and the civil rights movement to playing a starring role in both—from the vice presidency to the Black Lives Matter movement, Black women are powerful.
It’s all so new, so new in fact that we still navigate double standards. Society is still learning to accept our power and to create space for us in which we fully wield it. We are expected to be strong but not too strong. We are expected to play a prominent role in national life but not too prominent. We are expected to hold the powerful accountable and to speak truth but not speak too forcefully or be too critical, lest we earn unwelcome criticism of our own. Harris is navigating this difficulty correctly as the administration slow-walks its commitment to voting rights—perhaps the defining issue of our time. Vice President Harris is on the record1 for pointing out the vital importance of voting rights and yet, there is only so much she can do before she risks slamming the door behind her.
Here’s an excerpt from “Recognizing Workplace Challenges Faced by Black Women Leaders”:
White women are stereotypically seen as communal: pleasant, caring, deferential, and concerned about others. Their leadership challenge, therefore, is to avoid being seen as so communal as to be an ineffective leader without being seen as so agentic as to be unlikable. Black women face a very different challenge. They are not stereotypically seen as communal but rather as assertive, angry, and “having an attitude.” Their challenge, therefore, is to avoid being seen as so angry or assertive as to be unlikable without being seen as so subservient and compliant as to be lacking in strength and independence.2
This is an important point. Both white women and Black women face “lose/lose” scenarios in the workplace. Nevertheless, a Black women’s predicament is more acute. If a white woman is viewed as too communal to lead, she may be ineffective but she’s still likable. In this analysis, at least, the white woman is unthreatening if impotent. But if a Black woman is viewed by her colleagues as angry, she is not only viewed as untenable as a leader but also as unlikable and, quite possibly, hostile or even a threat.3
Race plays a particular role too. In the workplace, white women and Black women both struggle under the weight of gendered norms. For all our progress, society still affirms and skews toward masculine behavioral norms. This effectively levies a behavioral tax on all women as they navigate a society that doesn’t always respect, elevate, or reward feminine models of contributions in the workplace. But Black women must also conform to dominant white behavioral norms too. As a result, Black women are under pressure to dress a certain way, wear their hair a certain way, or speak a certain way—all in an effort to appear less “Black” or “ethnic.” Survey after survey shows that even the most successful Black women, such as graduates of Harvard Business School who go on to huge careers in corporate America, report that they struggle “to be themselves” at work. Once again, Black women walk a tightrope that balances fitting in at work with being authentically themselves.4
The bias that Black women face in their work adds up to hold them back in their careers. Below are findings from an article5 that describes how Black women leaders are evaluated more negatively than Black men, white women, or white men in a struggling organization because of the “double jeopardy” effect:
On a seven-point scale, men are perceived as more effective leaders than women, with scores of 4.52 to 4.11 points on average, respectively; and white individuals are perceived as more effective leaders than Black individuals, with scores of 4.44 and 4.17 points on average, respectively.
On a seven-point scale, women were also perceived to be less typical leaders than men. Black individuals are perceived as less typical leaders than white individuals.
Under conditions of organizational failure, Black women are evaluated more negatively and as less typical leaders compared to both Black men and white women.
Black women in leadership are easy scapegoats when things do not go well at work because they are almost always viewed by their peers as “atypical” leaders. Because of bias, Black women in leadership do not fit the “norm.” Therefore, when things go poorly at work, many default to the mental shortcut to blame a Black woman because they are the “atypical” colleague at work. That white men always score more favorably, even when the organization is struggling, affirms the power of fitting the “norm” of “typical” leadership: white and male. That white women and Black men score in between Black women and white men underscores the privilege of gender and race that white women and Black men enjoy, respectively.6
That doesn’t mean Black women aren’t asked to lead. Indeed, Black women usually find themselves in less desirable leadership positions—taking on the hardest assignments, putting themselves and their careers in jeopardy while doing so. Here’s an excerpt from “Leading While Black, the Experience of Black Female Principals”:
Black female principals also tend to be relegated to the most segregated and poorly resourced schools in the country. These discriminatory practices create unique challenges for these women and their ability to thrive in their jobs as school leaders.
According to the National Center for Education Statistics, just 10 percent of principals are Black and 80 percent of public-school teachers are white. These demographics highlight the isolation Black women principals often experience, as well as the structural nature of their exclusion.7
When Black women lead and things are going well, we usually struggle to be recognized for our work and our achievements. The contribution of women in the workplace, especially Black women, is largely invisible and taken for granted. This is a phenomenon that unfolds, unchecked, in the world of work because the contribution of women is usually conflated with assumptions about “what we’re naturally good at,” “interested in,” or “passionate about.” Here is an excerpt from “Women Leaders Took on Even More Invisible Work During the Pandemic”:
Women are not rewarded for capacities and concerns deemed to be intrinsic. Therefore, when a woman manager provides team members with emotional support during a time of societal crises, it can be overlooked as “caretaking” instead of being recognized as strong crisis management. When a Black woman manager hosts a panel on anti-racism in the wake of racial violence, she can be applauded for her “passion” but not rewarded for her time, leadership, or DEI acumen. . . . Since recognition and reward are the markers of valuable work, that women leaders’ efforts are going unnoticed and unrewarded effectively renders it low status.8
On the biggest stage in the world, Kamala Harris has experienced the hard truth of working and leading while Black and female. Her experience mirrors the journey of Black women everywhere toiling to climb to the highest altitudes of our respective professions: it is not just lonely at the top; it can be hard to breathe at all.
Section II
The Price
What We Endure, How We Overcome
Chapter 4
Our Fight
Would you want to trade places with me?
April Ryan
The Warning
I don’t know how it is that the nation has forgotten what took place in Charlottesville. I was invited to the Twenty-Third Annual Virginia Festival of the Book to discuss my book At Mama’s Knee. The timing could not have been better. Only months into the Trump presidency, I was already wrestling with a growing uneasiness: this isn’t normal. The new administration found it too easy to lie, to mislead, to obscure the truth. Unlike his predecessors, our new president did not govern for all America. His hostile tone and a fast-and-loose relationship with facts demonstrated the truth that he arrived at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue to fight for only some Americans: the “forgotten” white male.
I experienced the hostility of the new administration every day at work. Under this president, in just a few short months, the White House pressroom changed. Gone was the respectful tone and professionalism that President Obama and every prior president in the modern era established and maintained. This president was adversarial. In the very first press briefing, we debated the actual size of the crowd at the new president’s inauguration. From that moment on, it became increasingly apparent that this administration viewed you as either friend or foe.
Just two short months into the new president’s term, I found myself exhausted. The 2016 election had been grueling. It was a divisive and ugly campaign, and covering candidate Trump demanded an unusual level of vigilance from the press corps that was extraordinary and taxing, even by presidential standards. Daily, Trump broke norms and news. His appetite for coverage, any coverage, was insatiable. His recklessness and narcissism spilled over into the chaotic first days of his presidency.
As one of the few Black women in the press corps, I was particularly affected by the behavior and culture of this very different White House. From jump street, my identity made me a target. My reporting has always focused on the human rights and daily struggles of everyday Americans left behind in a country marked by growing inequality, and the nature of my reporting only intensified the hostility from the administration. Only a few months into a new presidential administration, I was left feeling empty.
Do I really have four more years of this?
My exhaustion was real and I felt guilty because of it. As a member of the White House press corps, I was blessed to participate in the pinnacle of my profession. Even so, my gender and race invited a near-constant barrage of hostility because for all her progress, America still grappled with the sickness of discrimination and bias. Whether you are a reporter stationed at the White House, a nurse serving in a hospital, or a teacher instructing in a classroom, in America you are a still a Black woman—uniquely burdened and specifically targeted by a society and a system that struggles to fully embrace your humanity.
I also experienced guilt because I had sacrificed so much to reach this point in my career. The life of a reporter, especially at this level, is not an easy one. On the campaign trail especially, you spend countless days and nights away from your home—distant from loved ones and disconnected from your community. Black women in journalism have to give up so much to establish themselves in the profession. Journalism isn’t unique. It’s well-chronicled the extent to which Black women pay a higher “price” for their achievements—from our education to our career to our health and even our families, we “trade” more to get a little less than everyone else. The life of the Black woman is partly characterized by the endurance of inferior treatment, distorted expectations, and an uneasy sense that we’ll never fully belong.
For much of my life, to achieve my goals, I have compartmentalized the pain of mistreatment. To refashion the old saying about working “twice as hard to get half as far,” I have worked 400 percent harder to reach the pinnacle of my profession. Instead of savoring this stage of my career, I felt only heaviness and the burdens of responsibility in the Trump White House: If I didn’t ask these questions, who would? If I didn’t represent our people in that pressroom, who would? Who could?
Promoting a new book offered a reprieve from the grind. Even in normal times, I looked forward to interviews and speaking gigs. Publishing is a blessing in my life. It provides me the chance to break out of the DC bubble and escape the twenty-four-hour news cycle that dominates our political culture. Books empower their authors with the opportunity to connect with their readers on issues important to both of them. Directly connecting with your audience in person is a little like drinking a glass of cold water on a hot summer day. It’s refreshing. It’s nourishing. And unlike political journalism, which obsesses, perhaps to a fault, on “who is up and who is down,” a good book invites conversation and facilitates deeper understanding for all involved. After what felt like a lifetime in the bubble of the White House press corps, I was ready to step back from the pressures of my day job and reconnect with America and her people.
In late March 2017, I accepted a speaking opportunity at the Virginia Festival of the Book in Charlottesville. For a couple of days, I would leave my worries behind and my two teenage girls at home and supervised. I took off.
