With the growing calls for equity and social justice sparked by the #MeToo and Black Lives Matter movements and the surge in attacks against people of Asian descent, awareness of systemic racism has never been higher. Like many designers of color, during the course of my professional career I have been subject to acts of discrimination—acts that I inherently believe were racially motivated. That’s the challenge of covert racism: It’s hard to prove the reason or reasons behind these microaggressions, which is why so many of us suffer in silence.
I am sharing my experiences here for several reasons. I hope to empower others who find themselves in a similar predicament to recognize the signs of discrimination and to know they are not imagining these issues. I also hope others will not have to internalize the burden of being a victim.
Among many incidents in my career, three stand out. After working at a firm for several months, I asked my supervisor if opportunities were available to be involved with projects in the design phase. “Unfortunately, that’s all that is available right now,” was the dismissive reply, referencing the construction drawings I was slated for. I later learned in conversations with three other colleagues who started at the same time—and who happened to be white—that they had been specifically asked by their supervisors about their project and work preferences. During my entire tenure at the firm, I was never given this consideration.
The second incident was regarding a major client presentation. Two of my peers and I worked around the clock for two weeks straight. Because of skills I had gained from prior work experiences that my peers did not have, I was singularly responsible for creating the physical base model, 2D renderings, and 3D massing images.
The evening before the presentation, we convened with the team leaders to review the agenda and rehearse. My name didn’t appear anywhere on the script—I was the only one among my peers without a role in the presentation. Trying to hide my disappointment, I asked a team leader if I should be in the room for backup. “Unfortunately, there aren’t enough chairs,” was the reply. It sounds as egregious now as it did then. Despite my performance, this manager did not want me at the client presentation—or invite me to the client dinner afterward with the rest of my peers. I later learned I was excluded from other client meetings. This was when I began to realize that no matter how well I performed, I would always be treated as a second-class employee because I didn’t have the right “look.”
The third incident led me to resign from a job. The company had mandated annual performance reviews of all employees to be completed by a set deadline. Being a hard worker with a strong skill set, I submitted a letter requesting a salary increase to human resources along with a positive preliminary review from my direct supervisor.
The manager conducting my official review had been the source of several transgressions. When those incidents occurred, I had kept my mouth shut because I still believed that I could be successful if I just continued to work hard.
The weeks passed with no word from the manager. Other peers began discussing their reviews and raises to my growing frustration. When I followed up with a call to HR, I was simply told to be patient. In order to avoid the inevitable salary conversations at the time, I took to eating lunch at my desk alone.
Finally, a month after the company’s deadline for reviews and still with no word from the manager of a forthcoming appointment much less the actual performance review itself, I resigned. In my one-line email, I made up an excuse that I was leaving due to a family illness. I did this to allow the manager to save face. I did this to bury my pain and to avoid having to admit they got the better of me.
I know these accounts are one-sided. I also know that the other parties involved may not remember me. I wish I could say the same and simply forget all of this. I hate myself—I absolutely hate myself—for not speaking up then. But I know that if I continued to stay quiet, nobody would ever know about these incidents or how they can take a toll on one’s aspirations.
Writing this has been cathartic. I don’t want anyone else to suffer in silence or isolation as I did. It took me years to speak of these events, and only now can I say, “May the bridges I burn light the way.”
If you are dealing with covert or overt displays of racism or discrimination, the time has never been more appropriate to speak up and effect change. Tell HR, document everything, and use the power of your voice to change the course of action today. The passage of time alone will not dissipate your memories or heal your wounds. This I can assure you.
The views and conclusions from this author are not necessarily those of ARCHITECT magazine or of The American Institute of Architects.
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