IJEOMA OLUO: Thank you so much
for coming out and hearing
my talk.
Just so you guys know,
what I'm going to do
is I'm going to briefly
read just an introduction
from my book, which
I think actually ties
pretty well into
what we're going
to be talking about today.
And then I'm going to
talk a little bit about,
as was said before, why it is
so tough to talk about race.
And then, why do we still
kind of have to do it anyway.
And then I'm going to open
up to questions and answers,
and hopefully you will be
inspired to ask questions now
that you've learned
why we need to be
talking about these things.
Now of course I
expect that we will
be kind to each other and
respectful of each other,
and when we ask these
questions that we
will be considerate of the
feelings of people here,
especially people who are
living with the realities
of racial oppression
everyday and whom
this discussion will always
take a little bit more out of.
So I'm going to start reading.
As a black woman,
race has always
been a prominent
part of my life.
I have never been able
to escape the fact
that I am a black woman in
a white supremacist country.
My blackness is woven into
how I dress each morning, what
bars I feel comfortable
going to, what music I enjoy,
what neighborhoods
I hang out in.
The realities of race have not
always been welcome in my life,
but they have always been there.
When I was a young child, it
was the constant questions
of why I was so dark
when my mom was so white.
Was I adopted?
Where did I come from?
When I became older, it was the
clothes not cut for my shape,
and the snide comments
about my hair and lips,
and the teen idols that
would never, ever find
a girl like me beautiful.
Then it was the clerks who
would follow me around stores,
and the jobs that were hiring
until I walked in the door
and then they were not.
It was the bosses who told
me that I was too loud,
the compliments that my hair--
the comments that my hair was
too ethnic for the office,
and why, even though I
was a valued employee,
I was making so much less money
than other white employees
doing the same job.
It is the cops I can't
make eye contact with,
the Ubers that
abandon their pickup,
driving on instead of
stopping when they see me.
When I had my sons,
it was the assumptions
that they were older
than they were,
and that their roughhousing
was too violent.
It was the tears they
came home with when
a classmate had repeated
an ignorant comment
of their parents.
But race has also been
countless hours spent
marveling at our
history, evenings
spent dancing and
cheering to jazz and rap
and R&B, cookouts with
ribs and potato salad
and sweet potato pie.
It has been hands of
women braiding my hair.
It has been reading the magic
of the words of Toni Morrison,
Maya Angelou, and Alice
Walker, and knowing
that they are written for you.
It has been parties filled
with jollof rice and fufu,
and Nigerian women wearing
sequined covered gowns
and giant geles on their heads.
It has been the nod to
the black stranger walking
by that says, I see you, fam.
It has been pride in Malcolm,
Martin, Rosa, and Angela.
It has been a room full of
the most uninhibited laughter
you've ever heard.
It has been the
touch of my young son
as he lays his hand over mine
and says, we're the same brown.
Race, my race, has been one
of the most defining forces
in my life, but it
is not something
I always talked about, certainly
not in the way I do now.
Like many people,
most of my days
were spent just
trying to get by.
Life is busy and hard.
There are work and kids
and chores and friends.
We spend a lot of time
bouncing from one mini
crisis to the next.
Yes, my days were just as
full of microaggressions,
of the pain and oppression
of racism as they are now,
but I just had to keep
going on like normal.
It is very hard to survive as
a woman of color in this world,
and I remember saying once
that if I stopped to feel,
really feel the pain of
the racism I encountered,
I would start screaming
and I would never stop.
So I did what most of us do, I
tried to make the best of it.
I worked 50% harder
than my white coworkers.
I stayed late every day.
I dressed like every
day was a job interview.
I was over polite to white
people I encountered in public.
I bent over backwards to
prove that I was not angry,
that I was not a threat.
I laughed off racist jokes as
if I didn't feel the sting.
I told myself that it would
all be worth it one day,
that being a successful black
woman was revolution enough.
But as I got older, as the
successes I had reached
for slowly became a
reality, something inside me
began to shift.
I would try to make my voice
quieter in meetings and I
couldn't.
I would try to laugh off the
racist jokes and I couldn't.
I would try to accept my boss's
reasons for why I could have
my promotion but not my
raise, and I couldn't.
And I started talking.
I started to question, I started
to resist, I started to demand.
I wanted to know why it was
considered a bad thing that I
was opinionated.
I wanted to know what exactly
it was about my hair that
was unprofessional.
I wanted to know what exactly
it was about that joke
that people found funny.
And once I started
talking, I couldn't stop.
I also started writing.
I shifted my food
blog into a me blog,
and I started saying all the
things that everybody around me
had always said were too
negative, too abrasive, and too
confrontational.
I started writing down my
frustrations and my heartbreak.
I started writing about my fears
for my community and my family.
I had started to see myself, and
once you start to see yourself,
you cannot pretend anymore.
It did not go over well.
My white friends-- having
grown up in Seattle,
the majority of my
friends were white,
some of whom I'd known
since high school--
were not happy with the real me.
This was not the
deal they had struck.
Yes, they would rage
over global warming
and yell about
Republican shenanigans,
but they would not say a word
about the racial oppression
and brutality facing people
of color in this country.
It's not my place, they'd
explain when in frustration I'd
beg for some comment.
I don't really feel comfortable.
And as I walked
around my town and I
saw that my neighbors were
not really my neighbors,
as I saw that my friends no
longer considered me fun,
I began to yell even louder.
Somebody had to hear me.
Somebody had to care.
I could not be alone.
Like dialysis, the old went
out and in came the new.
Suddenly people I had
never met were reaching out
locally and from all across the
country, in person and online,
just to let me know that
they had read my blog post
and in reading, it
they felt heard.
Then, online publishers
started reaching out to me,
asking if they could
republish my work.
And locally, isolated and
invisible people of color
started reaching out, showing
me that I did have neighbors
after all.
I was talking and writing at
first for my very survival,
not for anybody else's benefit.
Thanks to the power and
freedom of the internet,
many other people
of color have been
able to speak their
truths as well.
We've been able to reach
out across cities, states,
even countries to
share and reaffirm
that, yes, what we are
experiencing is true.
But the internet has
a very white audience,
and even though we were
writing for ourselves,
the power of the hurt
anger, fear, pride, and love
of countless people of
color could not go unnoticed
by white people,
especially those
who were genuinely committed
to fighting injustice.
While some had chosen
to turn away, upset
that this unpleasantness had
invaded their space of cat
videos and baby pictures,
others drew closer,
realizing that they had
been missing something
very important all along.
These last few years,
the rise of voices
of color coupled with the
widespread dissemination
of video proof of
brutality and injustice
against people of color has
brought the urgency of racism
in America to the forefront
of all of our consciousness.
Race is not something people
can choose to ignore anymore.
Some of us have been
speaking all along
and have not been heard, others
are trying out their voices
for the first time.
These are very scary times for
a lot of people who are just
now realizing that America
is not and has never
been the melting pot utopia that
their parents and teachers told
them it was.
These are very scary
times for those
who are just now realizing
how justifiably hurt, angry,
and terrified so many people
of color have been all along.
These are very stressful
times for people of color
who have been fighting
and yelling and trying
to protect themselves from
a world that doesn't care,
to suddenly be asked by
those who've ignored them
for so long, what has been
happening your entire life?
Can you educate me?
Now that we're all in the room,
how do we start the discussion?
This is not just a gap in
experience and viewpoint.
The Grand Canyon is a gap.
This is a chasm you can drop
entire solar systems into.
But no matter how
daunting, you are here
because you want to hear
and you want to be heard.
You are here because you know
that something is very wrong
and you want to change.
We can find our
way to each other.
We can find our
way to our truths.
I've seen it happen.
My life is a testament to it.
And it all starts
with conversation.
So I'm going to leave it there.
I didn't quite realize how
long my introduction was.
So I'm here to talk about race.
And I know that you're here
because at least perhaps you
might want to hear
me talk about race,
even if you don't want to
talk about race yourself.
I don't like talking about race.
I can't stand it.
I do not enjoy a minute of it.
I would rather be talking
about plenty of other things.
I have to talk about race.
And I want to make
progress on issues of race.
It's funny that I titled my
book "So You Want To Talk About
Race?" because I
don't really know
a lot of people who actually
want to talk about race.
But I would guess
saying, so you have
to talk about race sounds a
little odd to put on a book.
So why is it so hard?
Race is not a new topic.
This is not brand new.
This doesn't seem that obscure.
We have people of
different races.
Why can't we talk about it?
Why has this been such
a difficult subject
for hundreds of years?
There's a couple of reasons why.
One of the main reasons why
is because we are deliberately
denied the tools we
need to talk about it.
And I say deliberately.
I really firmly believe this.
We must first understand that
race is a system of power.
It is a system designed
to benefit some
at the expense of others.
By sheer convenience,
when you need
to pick a group of people
who can be singled out,
if they look different
from another group,
that's a pretty easy
identifier provided
you're in the group
that wins when
you're setting up this system.
One of the reasons why
it has been so lasting
is because it is very
hard for black people
to no longer be black people.
Now, because this is
a system of power,
and it is a system
of power that does
a lot of harm, brutal, inhuman
harm to a lot of people,
and because fundamentally
the vast majority of us
do not want to sign onto systems
that brutalize and murder
fellow human beings,
it is very important
that we are unable to
accurately describe
what is happening in this
system in order for that system
to continue.
I have met a lot of very
committed racists in my life,
but I have yet to
actually come face
to face with someone
who says, I want
to solely be responsible for
the mass imprisonment, murder,
and terror of people of
color in this country.
Even at that extreme, calling
it what it is is very difficult.
Now, the reason why it is kept
is not because everybody's bad
and everyone's
trying to lie, it's
because the system needs us
to continue to do nothing.
And in order to
do that, in order
to stifle what would be
our outrage at how unjust
our system is, we have to
not be able to describe it.
It has to be the vague
nothing that cannot--
you can't make any progress.
So often, people come up to
me and they say, it's too big.
What can I do?
I'm just one person.
It's too much.
You can't change a system
that's been around for so long.
But think of how
long you've been
told you can't change the
system without actually
being told what the system is.
It's like Voldemort,
you just can't say it.
If you say it, then
it will be bad.
But nobody knows what it is
that they're so afraid of.
Now, the good news is the
thing that we actually
are so afraid of is an economic,
cultural, and political system.
Not that scary.
The thing we are afraid of
is a collection of decisions
we are making every day.
Where we spend our
money, how we vote,
what we expect from
our elected officials,
what we deem as professional
or unprofessional,
or valued as unvalued.
This collection of
everyday decisions we make
turns into a system of race.
It upholds a system of
race that in the end,
even if we don't know why it
is we're participating in it,
has a hefty payout
for a very select few.
And it is in their interest
that we never stop and question
what race actually
is in this country
and what racial oppression
is in this country.
So if you don't have
the words for it,
think of how often in school
you were given the words for it.
Even if you did that exercise
where like half your class have
blue eyes and half your
class had brown eyes,
were you then given the
words to actually talk
about race in your house
or with your friends?
Were you actually
given the words
beyond, this makes people
feel bad, as to what
the impact that has on society?
On, let's say, the
employment outcomes
for people of color
in this country?
Throughout every one of our
efforts to get forward on this,
we kind of stop
at the whole, stop
doing mean things
to people of color
because it hurts their feelings.
And then we wonder why
we don't get anywhere.
Which brings me to one
of the other reasons
why it's so hard
to talk about race.
Because we want this
to be about intentions,
we want to be good people and we
want to be seen as good people.
And we all know that
racism is bad, right?
We've been told this forever.
And it is.
I'm not here to, like, shock
you and say, it's good.
That part's true.
There's just a lot more to it.
Our idea of a racist
is someone who
can't stop shouting the n-word.
Or yelling that Mexicans are
coming to take all your jobs.
Or it's someone on
horseback, lighting
a cross in someone's lawn.
These are people with
hate in their hearts
who want to do harm.
Now this stops us from
being able to talk
about race because when someone
says, you did this thing
and it was racist
and it hurt me,
you don't want to
be in that group.
You, yourself, have never
said the n-word in your life.
You are a good person.
You don't want to
be a bad person.
But that's not the
way race works.
The personal outcomes for
people of color in our society
is not built upon how many
racial slurs have been hurled
at them in their lifetime.
It is not black
households in this country
have 13 times less net
worth than white households
because they were called
the n-word this many times,
and every time, their
bank account dropped.
That's not how race works.
Furthermore, there
are plenty of people
who would shout racial
slurs at me all day,
and outside of that moment of
terror, which it does have,
they have no other
impact on my life.
There are plenty of people who
dedicate their lives to racism
who aren't registered
to vote, who
don't hold any positions of
social power, who kind of stick
around with other white people
who hate people of color
and never leave that
weird little hovel.
They are impacting
me nearly as much
as someone who has a Black Lives
Matter poster in their window,
but then votes for tighter
policing because she's
a little scared about
the way the demographics
of her neighborhood is changing.
When it comes to my safety
and my ability to live,
she is making a much bigger
negative impact on my life
and the life of my family
and the life of my friends.
And that's where
we have to realize
that in a system that only
requires that you do nothing
in order to continue
to perpetrate itself,
your intentions
don't mean squat.
So if you did not
mean to harm someone,
it does not mean that
the harm wasn't done.
And it does not mean
that you then hate them
and you must be discarded.
But it also doesn't mean
that they must immediately
forgive you and act
like it never happened.
But it's very hard
to talk about race
when we can't update
our ideas of what
racial oppression
actually looks like,
and what racism looks like
when it hits people of color.
It's also really
tough to talk about
because we never
actually say what
we're trying to talk about.
What we're doing when
we're talking about race,
usually, is we have people
who are trying to come
to their own personal goals.
And usually people of color
coming to talk about race
are trying to get other
people to understand
what is harming them.
And very often, white
people come to--
come to talks about
race to try to make sure
that the person
they're talking to
knows that they are not the
person who is harming them.
Those are two completely
different conversations
that will never meet.
Because you have one person
whose lived experience says,
you are harming me and I
need you to understand.
And you have another person
whose lived experience says,
I am not part of the
problem, I am a good person
and I need you to understand.
Because we don't
state what it is
that we're trying to talk
about when we talk about race,
you can dissolve an entire
friendship in a discussion.
And if you were to ask why of
each person in that discussion,
the reasons would be
completely different.
So we know it is tough.
We know there's a lot at risk.
And if you are a white
person in this room--
and most of you are--
and you're thinking, what
if I get called racist?
Oh, the last time I
tried a couple times,
it ended really bad.
Trust me, no
conversation on race
has ever ended
nearly as bad for you
as it ends for people of color.
So before we launch into why
we have to do it anyways,
I want to first say
if a person of color
is willing to talk
to you about race,
even if they don't seem
very friendly while they're
doing it, it's a generosity.
I asked a lot of
my friends when I
was working on my book,
what are your greatest
fears about talking about race?
And a lot of white
people were like, oh, you
know I'm just afraid of
being seen as a racist.
I'm really afraid,
you know, that I'll
get dragged on Black Twitter.
And then my friends
of color were
like, I'm afraid I'm going
to get fired from my job.
I'm afraid I will be
physically attacked.
I'm afraid I will be harassed.
And there are plenty of people
who said, I have been harassed.
I currently have a restraining
order out on someone
who I said was racist, and then
tried to ruin my entire life.
I have people of color who have
actual threats to their life
and liberty and their ability
to feed their families.
And then you have
white people who
are afraid that they
will be called racist.
So note when people of color
come to these discussions,
first off, they're already
bringing their pain,
pain that you do not know.
They're bringing a damage
that has already been done.
And they're bringing it to you
knowing that there's probably
a 90% chance this conversation
isn't going to go well,
that they're going to lose out.
They're going to be
seen as angry, at best.
They'll be dismissed
as overly race focused,
and that they will lose esteem
for you, which hurts them.
They may lose a
friend in the process
of just trying desperately to
get you to see their humanity.
So think about
how generous it is
to have a lifetime of
experience that says,
this is not going to end well
for you, and you do it anyway.
And then wonder,
should you really
be that afraid to join
them, to meet them halfway?
Should you really be afraid
to talk to your uncle
at the dinner table when he
says something a bit off?
It's something we
have to talk about.
So why is it something
we have to talk about?
First of all, we're
always talking about it.
And I think that
this is something
that people always forget.
We live in a society
with a white default.
Everything is whiteness.
Our holidays, our calendar.
What we view as professional.
Our films, our books.
The art that we call
fine art versus the art
that we call ethnic art.
We live in a world
defined by whiteness.
I understand a lot
about white people.
I grew up here in Seattle and
I was raised by a white mother.
But I will never know what it's
like to be able to walk around
in a world built for
me and never have
to say it was built for me.
To never have to recognize
white culture as white culture.
I always have to recognize
black culture as black culture
because even if I'm going
about my day in my blackness,
someone's going to make it
apparent I am doing something
that is outside of the norm.
Walking around with my hair,
people make it very apparent.
Whether it's weird comments
about how glad they
are I've embraced who I am,
or the comments about how
it's a little, oh, that's
wild, that's funky, I like it.
It's not wild or funky, it's the
hair that grows out of my head.
I don't walk up to everyone
who gets out of the shower,
comes to work and
go, wild, funky.
It's kind of stringy.
I like it.
We live in a culture
defined by whiteness.
Which means that any time
you're not talking about race,
you're talking about whiteness.
What you're basically saying
is everything is white
until I deem it otherwise.
And you're saying, here, people
of color, you navigate that.
You navigate this
culture 24 hours
a day until I am
comfortable enough
to ask if maybe it
doesn't always suit you.
If maybe I need to be
the one to step around
and try a different path.
We like to act as if it's people
of color always bringing up
race, but if I go for a
job interview and the way
that my hair grows
out of my head is not
deemed professional, I am
not making it about race.
I'm the one who,
because those doing
the interview didn't stop to
think about their definition
and whether or not it included
everyone who might show up
for job, who has to figure
out what professional means
to white people, and
then has to go and modify
the hair that goes out of my
head in a way to fit that.
I don't want to
make it about race.
I would like to just
show up in the hair that
grows out of my head.
I didn't make it about race.
And me saying, hey, I
should be able to show up
with the hair that
comes out of my head,
is my attempt to no
longer make it about race.
To no longer make
it about whiteness.
So often these issues that
you find yourself saying,
why does it always
have to be about race?
It's because it
was about race when
you decided that the only people
who needed to be considered
were white.
That's what made it about race.
And oftentimes
people of color are
trying to get it back to
a place where it's not.
We have to talk about
it because right now we
are all harming other
people, because we
have spent a lifetime absorbing
incredibly harmful messaging
about people of different
races, about people of color.
That means I have spent
a lifetime absorbing
harmful messaging
about Asian-Americans,
about indigenous people,
about Latinx-Americans,
and about Black Americans,
it means everyone here has.
And when you say something
and it hits a person of color,
and they know deep inside
that that's not right,
but they're not
comfortable telling you,
you are missing the opportunity
to become a better person
and to stop hurting people.
If you don't want to talk about
it, what you're saying is,
you just continue to carry
that hurt, and the next person
after you should continue
to carry that hurt,
because the thought of
carrying my piece of it
and doing the work necessary to
stop is just a little too much.
I would rather continue
the blissful ignorance
of doing harm and having
other people pick up the mess.
I don't think that's the type
of person you want to be.
I myself personally in my work
have to constantly challenge
that because even
as a black woman,
there is a lot of messaging
I have absorbed about people
of color that in my
work requires me to face
and recognize where I
may have harmed people,
and try to make amends.
Because as much as it stings
to know I've hurt someone,
I would rather know so I
can do better than continue
to think I'm the greatest
thing since sliced bread
while I'm hurting
everyone in my path.
We have to talk about race
because it's the only way
to identify solutions.
What we're talking about here
is not just big group therapy
where we're crying and
hugging our way out of this.
I honestly don't
believe that will work,
and I really don't
want people to hug me.
I'm talking about
identifying where
we are missing opportunities
to be a part of the solution.
And that actually means
you have to talk to people
and find out where
the problem is.
And we miss a lot
of opportunities.
You know, think of
the last time a friend
of yours made a joke
that just wasn't cool,
and you decided to let it go.
Now if you are a
white person and you
hear a joke that's
not cool and you
decide to let it go because
you want to ruin the evening,
think about who never
gets the opportunity
to make that choice.
I don't get the opportunity.
My evening's ruined.
I don't even--
there's no saving it.
My evening's ruined, my
relationship with that person
is forever altered.
I don't get a chance
to say, I'm going
to not be black for the evening,
and not have that hurt me.
I don't get to say, I'm going
to wait until next month
and then maybe I'll
bring it up if they
make a joke at the expense
of my humanity again.
Then I'll bring it up.
No matter what, I'm harmed.
We have to talk about it
because what we are doing
not only causes hurt feelings,
not only causes trauma,
but it has actual
measurable impacts
in the well-being for people
of color in this country.
So if you don't understand what
the school to prison pipeline
looks like, and you
haven't heard from mothers
of black children whose
kindergartners have been
dragged out of their classrooms
by school police officers,
then you will not make
an informed voting choice
when it comes to your
local school board.
Chances are you probably
won't even vote for it.
Especially if it's
in an off year.
And you're going to leave
that 10% of the population
most at risk to fight
that battle on their own.
And then you'll wonder,
as your kid gets older,
why these black kids can't
just get it together.
Why are they always
getting suspended?
Why are they always
getting expelled?
And you'll think
it's their problem,
when you had an opportunity
four years earlier
to put in school board
members who could say,
we're going to take a look
at the way in which we are
disciplining children of
color to see if it's fair,
to see if it's in the best
interest of these children.
If you don't talk
to people of color
about how hard it is for
them to access resources
in their neighborhood, how
you vote for taxes and levies
in your city and state
that could give money
to neighborhoods that don't
even have working sidewalks--
and we do have stretches
here in the Seattle area that
don't have working sidewalks.
Kids are walking to
school on busy highways--
then you're not going
to vote accordingly.
Because your street's fine.
But you didn't want
to talk about race
and why money is kept
from these neighborhoods.
Why so much of it's
about how wealthy
the tax bracket is
for that neighborhood.
And then you wonder why
people aren't rising up,
when they can't even
get to school safely.
When they can't have updated
books in their classrooms.
When the nearest grocery
store that would give them
the nutrition they need to
be able to pay attention
for the day is a mile and
a half away and there's
good bus routes.
But we're going to keep voting
to lower our tabs, right?
Without looking
at the impact that
has on the people
who need reliable
low-cost transportation
more than anyone else.
These are
conversations, these are
solutions you come to
when you talk about race.
But there are also
solutions you are rejecting
when you don't talk about race.
It is not just something from
the heaven comes down and says,
would you like a bonus
solution for race today?
And you accept it and
you're glad for this extra.
These are responsibilities
that you're abdicating,
but no one else will pick up.
These are opportunities that you
are morally obligated to take,
that you are denying because
you don't want to have
an uncomfortable conversation.
Now it's not as easy-- and
please, for the love of God,
do not rush out of here,
find the nearest black person
in the office, and be like,
hey, let's have a conversation
about race.
Please.
There's a reason why there's
a lot chapters in my book.
Because we have to
do this in a way
that is not putting
even more of a burden
on marginalized people.
But it definitely can be done.
And first I would
say start Googling.
Google, oh my gosh, you guys.
Right?
Start Googling.
There is not a question you
have that hasn't been asked.
There's not a
sticky situation you
are in that someone
else hasn't been in.
Before you stop and say, I'm
going to go and talk to Letisha
and she's going to be my new
dictionary of race relations,
Google it.
Figure out what
you're talking about.
Read my book.
Get some pointers.
And then start looking
in everyday opportunities
to have conversations,
not just with people
of a different race from you,
but people in your own race.
Especially if you're
white in this audience,
please start talking to
other white people about this
because there's only
like five black people
in this entire city.
We can't have all
these conversations.
And make sure that
you're talking
to people of multiple races.
I speak as a black woman,
I write as a black woman.
My experience in this world,
though, is not the same
as it is for a Latinx woman
or an Asian-American man.
And you can't say, I
talked to a black person,
they're cool with it.
We're fine.
But come to it knowing
that as hard as it is,
it's always going to
give you an opportunity
to be a better
person and to make
a difference in this world.
And that should excite you,
because for the first time,
you may actually see an
ability to make progress
where you've been told forever
that you couldn't, that there
were just some people that
were always going to hate,
and some people like you
that were going to love.
And maybe one day,
love would win.
And then you wonder why
things aren't getting better.
You will have actual,
measurable things
you can do to make it better.
But it starts with conversation.
So that's kind of my talk.
And now-- he is walking
around so I think--
I hope there will be questions.
AUDIENCE: So when
I decided I wanted
to come to a talk
that was called
So You Want to
Talk About Race, I
was kind of sold already on that
that seems like a good idea.
One of my main takeaways
was that if I end up
talking about race with
somebody who is not white,
that they will have a bad time.
How do you reconcile those?
IJEOMA OLUO: I mean,
that's the thing
is I've never left a
conversation about race,
especially with someone of a
different race, and been like,
man, that was fun.
I want you to come
to that knowing
that the reason why
people engage with it
is because that's
how urgent it is.
So there are things
you want to do,
and there are things
you need to do.
Now that means that
there are going
to be times where, even
as painful as it is,
I am dying to talk about race.
Because I know that's
the only thing that's
going to make the
situation better,
or the only thing
that's going to make
it seem like I'm not completely
invisible to the people
around me.
It's like you're walking
around in your world is on fire
and people are
literally going, God I'm
so cold and putting on parkas.
And you're dying.
And you're like, what are you--
what are you doing?
Now you don't want to talk
about what that feels like.
You don't want to
be like, let me
explain to you for an hour
what it's like to be this hot.
But sometimes you
know, if I don't
get someone to ask, why
are you so hot right now,
I'm going to actually die.
And that's often times
what talking about race is.
Now, it doesn't mean that it
won't be rewarding in the end,
even if it's not pleasant.
Because I do think when you do
go well-- and the more of these
that do, it will shift.
Part of the reason
why it's not pleasant
is because most of the
time it goes really bad.
And so we are already
entering in talking about pain
we're going through
knowing that chances
are all of that investment
isn't going to pay off.
So part of it is
committing to be
someone who it might pay off.
Be like, hey, you know what?
I'm going to try my best
to be a little different
and listen, and
hear, and be here.
AUDIENCE: All right.
So how do I present
as someone who
is less likely to
cause somebody I'm
having a conversation with to
have a bad time without giving
everyone a minority tax.
Being like, hey,
you're a black person.
Hmm?
IJEOMA OLUO: Yeah.
You know, I would definitely say
first off always try and gauge
people's comfort level
in a conversation.
Right?
So people, of course, especially
because of the work I do,
want to talk to me
about race a lot.
In fact, sometimes
people kind of
save the conversations
they're been
afraid to have with
anyone else for me.
But when people gauge my comfort
level, say, hey, you know,
I had a question about
something with race,
or I was wondering if
maybe this was something
you wanted to talk about?
Are you comfortable?
Is this a good time?
If not, I fully understand.
Start that way.
Because a lot of
times what happens
is people get really
eager and they think,
I'm going to make a person
of color's day today.
I'm going to go up to him and
start asking him about race.
And that's just not
the way to go about it,
but it happens more
than you would assume.
And instead saying,
are you comfortable?
Do you feel safe?
Do you want to have
this conversation?
Oftentimes even that
alone, like knowing
that someone took the
time to even wonder
if I want to have
that conversation,
is a good sign to me
it's going to go better.
Because it's already
starting with listening.
It's already starting
with consideration for me
as a human.
So I'd definitely start there.
And then always
take time to pause
and make sure we're listening
more than you're talking.
And that you're stating
your intentions,
and that you're checking
in and looking for signals
that someone is
still comfortable.
If they're not,
say, I'm sorry, I
didn't mean to make
you uncomfortable.
We can totally pause, or be out
of this conversation entirely.
But a lot of times
what ends up happening
is you'll start a
conversation, and it
will veer into areas that are
no longer safe and comfortable
for people of color.
And then it becomes,
well, I thought
you wanted to end racism.
Why aren't you still
talking to me about it?
But the truth is this will
be the 20th conversation I'm
going to have today.
I need to be able to reserve
what I have left and move on.
So I would say
definitely starting
with finding their
comfort level, if they
want to talk about it
or not, and stating
why it is you want to talk
about it are going to get you
probably at least half way there
to having a conversation that's
going to be one of the ones
that actually surprises people
of color by going pretty well.
AUDIENCE: So you're a
parent, I'm a parent.
And I unfortunately
grew up in a household
where when race was brought
up, it always negative.
And I knew when I
had my children,
and even just
growing up that that
wasn't the type of
household I wanted to have.
I want to know what I can
be doing to be a better
parent to be
teaching my kids how
to have these conversations, how
to be better people as far as
how they're treating their
friends and the people
that they encounter
every day properly.
IJEOMA OLUO: It's
a great question.
I'm assuming you
have white kids?
AUDIENCE: Yes.
IJEOMA OLUO: OK.
What I would definitely
say, and I refer to this
quite often because I think
it's a really good example.
I was actually talking with
an associate awhile back.
He was asking me
about what it was
like-- this was a white man.
He was asking me what
it was like to have
to explain to my kids
about avoiding cops,
and what police
brutality is, and why
store clerks might follow
them around, things like this.
And he said, I'm so glad
I don't have to have
that conversation with my kids.
And I paused and I was
like, why wouldn't you
have to have that
conversation with your kids?
He was like, well,
you know what I mean.
I'm like, no, no,
I really don't.
Because you're grateful that
your kids have been spared
this painful conversation,
but your kids
are in community with my kids.
Why would your kids be
spared this conversation?
Why would they be spared
the knowledge of what
their friends are dealing with?
Why would they be
spared the opportunity
to lift that burden?
At least some of it.
By showing at least
they understand.
It's really important
to realize your kids are
going to be absorbing
what's happening
in the world, no matter what.
And you have to provide context.
And you have to provide
empowerment and places
of action.
So I personally-- I have, of
course, two kids of color.
And so I talk with
them oftentimes
to see outside
their own experience
to other kids of color, maybe
kids of different races.
What I like to do,
especially when
we're listening to
the news and you
hear all these awful
things happening,
and kids really feel powerless.
They feel like grownups are
kind of screwing everything up
for them, and they are.
And there's nothing
they can do about it.
So I always like to talk
with my kids about solutions
that they can help be a part of.
They have no power as to who
is President in this country,
but they have a lot of power as
to what their friends at school
are saying to other
kids at school.
Right?
They have the power to raise
their hand to the teacher
and say, hey, I don't
think that's right.
So we like to
listen to the news.
And especially my-- well, both.
My teenager kind of like thinks
he's got it all figured out,
right?
I don't know.
He's absorbing
probably half of it.
I talk nonstop and he's
like, yeah, mom, I know.
I know, mom.
I have the internet.
My 10-year-old,
on the other hand,
is incredibly
passionately concerned
about what's happening.
He's very concerned
about immigration.
Very, very concerned
about immigration.
He has friends who come home
whose parents have told them
they might have to
go away one day.
He's very, very concerned
about transgender rights.
And so these are things where
instead of saying, yeah,
man, it sucks.
The world is horrible.
Because you grow up being an
adult that just says that.
Instead I think, OK,
well you know what?
Chances are right now you
have kids in your class
who are worried about where
their parents are going to be.
So are you talking with your
friends about this issue
and letting them know
that you support them?
Are you listening
for kids who might
be saying hateful things
that their parents are
saying and challenging that?
You have kids in your class
who may one day come out
as transgender.
So are you making sure that
no one is saying anything
that would harm them right now?
Are you talking to your
teachers about the bathrooms?
Maybe there's something that
can be done about your school
bathrooms, right?
Giving them the
opportunity to know
there's always a way to be
reaching out and finding
solutions, even in
their own little corner.
And that not only
is going to keep
them being solution-oriented and
reaching out and looking out,
but it's also going to
keep them feeling empowered
so they don't enter
adulthood jaded
and feeling like there's
nothing they can do about it.
AUDIENCE: Hello.
I actually have the privilege
of having the last question.
Just FYI.
First of all, thank you so
much for putting on this talk.
You're a wonderful writer
and speaker as well.
So thank you very much.
I wanted to ask if you have
any advice for someone who
is a person of color, black
specifically, who is navigating
a white workplace.
I have worked at Google for
about a year and a half,
and I didn't know that I was
going to be like the only
black female engineer here.
And that's cool, but
sometimes I wish I wasn't.
Do you have any advice
for feeling kind of alone
and feeling like you want to be
with people who look like you?
IJEOMA OLUO: I
understand that feeling.
Before I was a writer, I
actually worked in tech
for a decade and I was
always the only black person,
except for once, I had
a black supervisor.
I know that feeling and it's
a very lonely place to be.
And unfortunately
because of the way
the world is, the more you rise
up, the more lonely you end up.
And first off, that's a
completely normal way to feel.
It definitely is.
I would say twofold.
One, personally, you
have to find community,
even if it's not in work.
And you know it's
hard because we
spend so much time at work, and
especially in fields like this.
But you got to find community,
you got to find people.
There are groups of black people
in the greater Seattle area,
especially tech focused
black people, that kind of
seek each other out.
So definitely hit
me up after this
if you have any
questions on that.
So definitely do that.
But then also I
would say always know
it's going to be harder to
change the rules of how people
engage with you later than
it is to set it upfront.
And that's something I started
learning about halfway through
my tech career when I was
in tech was there are a lot
of compromises we find
ourselves having to make--
things we don't talk about,
things we don't address--
in order to get where we are.
What I realized was
the further I got,
the harder it was to
go back and correct.
And so I had to always
weigh in smart ways,
to not get my ass fired,
how to challenge things
so that people knew
from the moment
they started doing
business with me
that I was going to be
challenging these assumptions.
So I started with a lot of
innocent questions, right?
My favorite thing to do
would be, what do you mean?
What does that mean?
I don't-- I'm sorry, I
just don't understand.
And I'm not trying to be
like, no, what do you mean?
I'm like, no, I don't get it.
What does that joke mean?
What's funny about that thing?
You know?
I always like to point out those
little things just to be like--
not like, we're going to
have a discussion about this
but like--
I remember one time there
was this thing at work that
used to drive me bonkers.
It actually still
happens to me even
as a writer online where
I would say I'm hungry
and someone would say--
someone would try
and give me cheese.
All the time, people
will be like, cheese.
I don't know what it is
about Seattle white people
and cheese.
I don't know if this is
like a Swedish thing.
I don't know.
People are like, man,
go get you some cheese.
And I'm like, I
hope you understand
the majority of black people
are lactose intolerant.
I'm like, are you trying to not
only ruin my day, but your day
because you have
to sit next to me.
And it wasn't like, how
dare you not know this?
Just like, hey, were you aware?
And every time people are
like what do you mean?
Where I'd say,
yeah, cheese isn't
going to work for me
because I'm black.
Sometimes I would leave it
at that because then people
will be like, what do you mean?
And think a little bit
is there something,
like-- yeah, no, it's magic.
Cheese.
It's my mortal enemy.
Like no, actually, the
majority of people of
color-- not just black people.
Asian people,
indigenous people--
we don't do cheese too well.
I'm like getting people
starting to think
and I would start to challenge
a lot of those things.
We would have get-togethers
after work and be like, hey,
did you know that's
not necessarily
that cool dive or you think
it would be fun to slum
in with the Confederate
flag in a corner?
Not necessarily a place
where I'm going to be safe.
And I would just constantly,
in like a very even keel,
say these things.
And I learned that
when people started
to figure out that I
was never actually going
to let those things
go but it wasn't going
to turn into a fight,
sometimes it was just like,
well, it's less annoying if
I actually start thinking
about these things ahead
of time and start really
addressing them.
But I would definitely
say find community.
Learn what compromises
you are and are not
willing to make early.
And think, if I make
it all the way to VP,
do I still want to be
ignoring these jokes?
Do I still want to be having
these horrible conversations?
Do I still want to be
acting like my needs are
being met when they're not?
Because believe it or
not, it's actually harder
when you get to
that level, to have
those conversations than now.
I hope that helps.
I mean, unfortunately
you shouldn't have
to be asking these questions.
AUDIENCE: Absolutely.
IJEOMA OLUO: And
hopefully people
listening in this
room will help make it
so that that won't be the case.
Right?
AUDIENCE: I mostly ask this
question for their benefit, not
mine, to be honest.
IJEOMA OLUO: I like
the way you think.
AUDIENCE: So thank you very much
for coming to talk to us today.
[APPLAUSE]
