To root out racism at work, we need to embrace all of Black America

He was 17, and I was almost 26. He had candy and a drink, and I had a phone in my hand at the time of his death. He was murdered in the city I lived in, and I had only been in the U.S. for five months.

Trayvon Martin's death in 2012 put many things into perspective for me. I wasn't color blind when I moved to the U.S. Racism was just not a lived experience for me in the U.K.

Trayvon's death showed me how cocooned I was to modern-day racial injustice. Watching the story unfold in my backyard forced me to realize that I, too, would be faced with navigating life in a country with a deep, dark history of systemic racism. 

My life growing up, and even the life I lead today, counters many Black racial stereotypes. Financial literacy was a skill I learned early, and I got my first credit card two years ago. My school was located in a wealthy neighborhood. As a student, I went on four international field trips. Money and access to opportunities were not a problem. I knew we owned nice property, as did my extended family. 

These facts make some people uncomfortable. People sometimes explain away my upbringing as simply a function of me not being "from here." But, one thing is certain: My privilege has not spared me from microinsults and microaggressions on account of my racial identity. (Verbal and nonverbal communications that subtly convey rudeness and insensitivity; demeaning a person’s racial heritage and identity are microinsults.)

An American coworker of color once told me, "Rachel, you lost your Black card a long time ago." 

I wasn't surprised when I heard these words, but it stung just the same. It made me question what a so-called "Black card" looks like and what entitles one to such a card. In the end, I realized that for some Americans, regardless of their racial identity, I didn't fit in. I didn't belong. I was stuck in the in-between, no matter where I looked. 

There was the time when I showed a coworker my house, and the remark was, "Is it just you and your husband who live there?" Like, I can't possibly live in a decent size, nice house without anyone else living there too.

Then there are the probing questions I get when I tell people that my family and I are British, as if I'm not really British because of my dark skin tone. 

These unfair distinctions extend to the Black American community as well. I've noticed that corporations celebrating Black History Month tend to leave out Black American immigrants and their children's experiences —those like Vice President of the United States, Kamala Harris, a first-generation Black American. For employees with backgrounds like Harris, the food their parents cooked at home, the idioms, family traditions, etc., may not be what we typically see in mainstream representations. The music they grew up listening to — likely Reggae, Calypso, or Soca — may not be the same as other Black Americans. I saw one company put out a 2021 Black History Month Spotify playlist, and it included the work of just one Reggae artist (Chronixx) on a list of 51 songs. Not one of the other 50 songs included traditional African and Caribbean music. 

It doesn’t have to be this way. We can bridge these distinctions and divides by taking a few practical steps:

• Develop awareness of the many different kinds of Black communities that exist in the United States and beyond;  
• Don’t wait until your company has a diverse representation of Black people to start developing a more inclusive culture. Building a positive corporate culture takes time, and by starting now, you’ll be more likely to have a place where everyone can experience holistic career growth;
• Create a racial accountability partner scheme. Make it creative and fun. Give employees the space to share their journeys, an avenue for them to support one another in making the workplace a safe place for all Black communities;
• Equip yourself with the coaching skills and knowledge to have conversations around race and hold leaders accountable if they're not modeling belonging; 
• And lastly, but certainly not least important, measure your own biases and assumptions. Micro-insults, micro-invalidations, and micro-assaults are all things we need to be aware of so we can call them out, correct them and model inclusivity.  

Bias has a profound impact on equity and opportunity for the Black community. I've had some phenomenal business opportunities, but am I missing out on more? Am I being overlooked as a career development consultant, subject matter expert and speaker because of my identity? Will I get a traditional book publishing deal without making race a niche focus? 

Racism restricts Black career mobility and career advancement. I know this. But I am not going to hide who I am. I don't wear my hair straight; I haven't in over five years. My twists are beautiful, and if an individual or organization can't see past my hair, I don't need a seat at their table. 

We've left out a lot of voices. It's time we — our entire society — paint a more realistic picture of what it means to be Black in America, making room for all of its wonderful variations.

This article is a part of #ConversationsForChange, a series by LinkedIn News. Join the conversation using #ConversationsForChange and follow our comprehensive coverage here.