Leadership Looks Different For Black Women By Design

A Black woman streaming service executive admits her shiny title doesn’t afford her the power she thought it would in Netflix’s She’s Gotta Have It. After recruiting Nola Darling into earWave, she realizes white supremacy limits her leadership role. She trembles, light draining from her eyes and her smiling waning with the realization that being senior does not equate to being heard.

She tells the artist she would have protected her “If I had the kind of power like I thought that I had.”

This fictional admission represents real dilemmas Black women face daily in the workplace. I have experienced this in my own career. After receiving titles that implied autonomy, I was aggressively micromanaged in ways my predecessors weren’t. This shouldn’t have surprised me as we have all watched Black women, including Tamron Hall, Jemele Hill and even the great Beyoncé, get gaslit in the workplace.

To be a Black woman in leadership is to be undermined and underfunded, while people continually question the excellence that put you in the rooms where your voice is never quite good enough to convey the final word. Senior, Director, Head of, the title doesn’t matter. Heads swivel towards us to explain racism and sexism, but our voices are less valued later.

Being falsely empowered and propped up as sacrificial scapegoats is part of our daily lives. We were never afforded the access and autonomy we were supposed to get with the next level.

A study at the Harvard Kennedy School found that “Black women are the only race-gender group whose turnover and promotion are negatively impacted by the racial composition of their coworkers.”

This type of subtle discrimination happens across industries. A Black creative director might find themselves with a third of their predecessor’s budget, a Black healthcare professional might be criticized for how they use their approved budget, or a veteran senior reporter might find themselves unable to choose their own subjects the way their predecessors did. We can’t take risks, and we can’t be creative the way our counterparts can. We are micromanaged and overtasked.

Somehow, everything is our responsibility, but nothing is our choice.

Millennials grew up watching women who appeared to be at the top of their game, but story after story of how the shattered glass ceiling is anchored with an invisible dome. There’s no wonder Gen Z has a drastically different approach to the business of doing business. When what you have to look forward to is intimidation and gaslighting, the top doesn’t look that appealing. Hustle culture isn’t giving what it was supposed to and who can feel excited about the prospect of marching off of a glass cliff? 

Claudine Gay, Taraji P. Henson, and Antoinette “Bonnie” Candia-Bailey are not alone in understanding that we are not inheriting a legacy of implied credibility.

We are not given the space and time to carve out best practices to do jobs we have earned. Our judgment is constantly questioned despite the track records we build by working twice as hard to achieve as half as much. A simple typo turns into a tidal wave of mistrust and accusations when a Black woman commits it. There’s no grace for us. There is no understanding.

Our wins are considered aberrations no matter how forceful or frequent they are.

We are the pets who became threats and we must be kept in our place, even if that means shifting an entire landscape to confirm our inferiority. Metrics are moved with every step we take forward, that brass ring floating just out of reach. I have watched the meaning of buzzwords like “engagement” shift rapidly from year to year, the once concrete definition morphing whenever it suits the person with the most power in the room.

Sometimes, our biggest tormentors can be the women in the mirror. Some of us are so determined to cling to the perceived safety of corporate America that we ignore our sisters in peril no matter how loud they cry. They get the headlines for making us the first, then discard us and reach for another without a second thought.

Someone who will toe the line and do as told.

Despite the ways that we have doubled down on our contributions to the institutions that we grace with our resilience and commitments not designed for us to thrive, we are still not considered bankable. A scarcity mentality can foster resentment and frustrations even in spaces where we are the majority.

ABC News reported that Candia-Bailey tried to communicate her concerns about the way that she was treated in the workplace and was stonewalled. They published an excerpt from a letter she wrote to her superior. “I couldn’t even finish the meeting because you didn’t hear me. I left in tears. You intentionally harassed and bullied me and got satisfaction from sitting back to determine how you would ensure I failed as an employee and proud alumna,” she wrote.

When we voice our concerns about the culture’s impact on us, we get met with praise and platitudes about how strong we are, or dubbed a troublemaker. The current of corporate opinion can crackle with judgment before a single complaint is filed thanks to smear campaigns that travel across whisper networks.

We go to HR only to be met with retaliation. We reach out to mentors who are afraid to rock the boat by standing for what’s right. We create our own spaces just to be chastised for not centering others facing their own struggles.

Some of us suffer in silence, some get tossed aside, and the luckiest among us get to simply walk away, trading in the pursuit of Black excellence for peace of mind, but what if we didn’t have to?

What if there was oversight so that the perception of our accomplishments could not be poisoned? What if organizations were equipped to prioritize people over productivity? What if the system was less important than the spirit?

A study published in the Education Review observed the “vacuum of understanding” faced by Black women in the workplace. Perhaps that vacuum can be filled with a layer of checks and balances that prevents a rift in a relationship from becoming a break in the spirit.

Want to know how you can support Black women leading in the workplace?

Stick To A Standard

Transparency helps eradicate bias. Before setting a budget for a project or doling out the acceptable hours for support staff, review other projects and their requirements. Do not assign ownership to Black women over projects that are not being resourced at the same rate as other projects led by other people. Business needs change routinely, but to assume that a Black woman won’t need support is to set her up for failure.

Make it clear how success is measured and apply those standards consistently. Don’t give feedback that is more centered in a Black woman’s disinterest in discussing 90 Day Fiancé on Slack than it is connected to her competence.

Ask Yourself Why You’re Pushing Back

Before criticizing or questioning a Black woman in leadership, ask yourself if you would do the same of anyone. If you deferred to another leader in a similar role as an expert, give a Black woman that same courtesy. Focus on the details of the project and not how you feel about their abilities or breadth of knowledge. Do not assume they have not taken something into consideration or that their decision lacks strategic thinking. If their experience is the basis for the decision, accept that.

If there is no pushback when another colleague drops something to prioritize to

If you have specific questions to be addressed that you would have for anyone, deploy those respectfully.

Intervene On Their Behalf

Awareness of stereotypes can potentially limit the way Black women can communicate in the workplace. Their efforts to communicate effort effectively can be misinterpreted. If you see a Black woman being unjustly questioned or interrupted, make space for her. Turn the attention back to her. Highlight her expertise. Say her name so that she can be acknowledged.

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