The Stories We Tell - Hidden Histories
I was in college, working on a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature, when I first heard someone talk about important changes in the way that history and literature were being researched and taught. At that time, in the early 1990s, scholars were questioning the literary canon, and the completeness of the history that had been passed down to us. And the arguments seemed to come down to a couple of crucial question: Are we getting the whole story? And if we’re not, then what’s missing?
I heard these questions asked for the first time in courses that focused on feminist criticism of literature, courses on African American writing, and on Native American stories, from oral traditions to modern novels. I read amazing works that gave me access to a different perspective, and a different history. And then I graduated, and life moved on. I’ve written about this before, in writing about privilege. As a white male I had the option to leave those stories behind, and “get on with life”. But what if getting on with life requires hearing those stories, and others, and reckoning with the fundamental humanity that can be expressed through different lenses of culture and experience? What if the stories that we tell, and that we hear, form a pathway to a deeper respect and empathy for others in our lives, and in our places of work? What if the work of diversity and inclusion means opening myself to histories that I was never taught in school, and never even realized existed?
In the last several weeks, I’ve found myself exposed repeatedly to fascinating stories that I’d never heard before, through songs and podcasts and books. I learned about Sputnik Monroe, a professional wrestler in the 1950s who was a villain in the ring, and a friend to the African American community in Memphis. He was a huge draw, and he used the economic influence that it gave him to demand that promoters desegregate the venues in which he wrestled.
“There used to be a couple of thousand blacks outside wanting in,” Monroe said. “So I would tell management I’d be cutting out if they don’t let my black friends in. I had the power because I’m selling out the place, the first guy that ever did, and they sure wanted the revenue.”[1]
I learned about Henrietta Lacks, who died of cervical cancer in 1951, but unknowingly provided the scientific community with tissue samples and DNA that survived and thrived outside of her body. These samples, and the cells that they produced, were foundational to the creation of numerous medical breakthroughs – from the polio vaccine to chemotherapy drugs. (Note: It's Ms. Lacks' photo at the top of this post.)
And I’ve started reading "The Price for a Pound of Their Flesh: The Value of the Enslaved from Womb to Grave in the Building of a Nation", by Daina Berry. The book is full of stories – documented histories of enslaved people at all stages of life - to which I’ve never been exposed, and that are causing me to better understand some things I was taught as a child, and that I’ve never questioned before.
I offer these examples because these are the things that kept popping up in my podcast feeds, practically demanding that I take a closer look, or a more intentional listen. The stories have been educational, and have had an impact, both intellectually and emotionally. They are leading me to want to learn more, and to think about the selective history that was handed down to me during my youth.
I also had a nagging sense that this idea of others’ stories has a connection to the work of Diversity & Inclusion (D&I) practitioners. Righting the wrongs of academic curricula is social justice work, and work that needs to be done. But how does it relate to making a business better? I think that, ultimately, it’s connected to opportunity, and the types of leaders and behaviors that we choose to raise up for employees to emulate and adopt.
Recently, New Orleans has been in the news, as Mayor Mitch Landrieu moved to enact plans that the citizens of that city had discussed and voted for – plans to remove monuments memorializing soldiers and generals who had fought for the Confederacy in the U.S. Civil War. There has been an outcry from many, who see the removal of these monuments as a removal of vital historical reminders. But Landrieu and the citizens who voted to remove the monuments saw it differently. In a recent interview with Jonathan Capehart of the Washington Post, Landrieu argues that New Orleans was never a Confederate stronghold in the Civil War, and that there are other achievements and individuals who should be lifted up as examples of what New Orleans has given to the world. He also talks about the exclusionary nature of having these memorials in prominent public spaces, saying:
They were designed not to honor the men…They were put up to send a message [about] who was still in control…Now that’s intimidating, and the consequence of that was that people who didn’t feel comfortable here left. So how can you have a great city if all of your intellectual capital, all your raw material, all of your raw talent like Wynton Marsalis, and Louis Armstrong and other various and assorted businessmen and artists leave with the great migration, and are taking all your valuable stuff and not bringing anything back. What’s left for the people who are there?
It's an interesting counterpoint to outcries from others, saying that Confederate history must be maintained as a reminder of what our country has experienced collectively. To that, Mayor Landrieu asserts that the citizenry of a place have the right to tell their story, and to choose the things that they will set forth as symbols and examples. It’s about creating a narrative that seeks to honor the past while supporting the future.
I bring up New Orleans because Mayor Landrieu’s words resonate, for me, with the D&I business case that my company has put forth. We see an investment in D&I making the business better because it allows us to attract, retain, and develop talent from a vast diversity of perspectives. And we believe that inclusion is a driver of innovation and engagement. But how, despite our best intentions, are we being unintentionally exclusive? What do we put forth each day as an example of how the company views achievement and greatness? Do those examples tell a complete story of how we’ve been successful in the past? And how do we open ourselves to more examples, new examples, in which employees can see themselves reflected and represented?
In other words, what are our “monuments”, and are they an accurate reflection of who we were, who we are today, and who we are striving to be? It may be that there are three separate answers to those three questions. Maybe the examples that we hold up for our employees do reflect who we were, but they don’t fully reflect who we are striving to be.
We need to think about the stories that we tell, and the messages that they send. And we need to tell stories that reflect the global diversity that makes our organization so strong. And once we’ve determine what stories we tell, we need to look at how we tell them (and who is doing the telling). But that is another discussion.
Next week, I’ll post part two of this short series – The Stories We Tell: Changing Narratives (and Narrators). In the meantime, please feel free to comment, and offer your thoughts. This is a big topic, and I’d love to get your perspective.
[1] “Sputnik wrestled against prejudice”, The Washington Times, December 2, 2006
