We Can Change. We Must.
One of our core values as a company is transparency in our communication. We seek to be open and honest with our clients, our colleagues and ourselves.
The murder of George Floyd and subsequent national movement for justice has sparked some important, transparent conversations within our team and with our clients. We spoke candidly with one another this week about how we can play a part in effecting positive change. We talked about how we can be better, the difficult conversations we’re having (and need to have) with friends and family members, the responsibility to confront our own privilege, the things we need to learn and unlearn.
We also talked about how our core team is made up of five white women and that we will never know what it is like to be black. While we do not and cannot fully understand, we can and will stand with the black community in the fight against racism. Black lives matter to us. But it is not enough to say this on paper or to stand together in spirit. We know there is more we must do with our time, talents and treasure to be not only non-racist, but to be anti-racist.
We have gotten uncomfortable, and we realize that is the point. Black people are consistently made to feel uncomfortable in our society—and that is the least of what they endure.
We’re formulating our plan of action. We’re making time for this work. We know we should have been paying closer attention before, and for that we feel deep remorse. Our team is committed to doing better.
We didn’t want to wait to make a public declaration of our support until we had everything we’re going to do to all neatly tied up in a bow. We are working on identifying the ways in which we will actively support anti-racism through pro-bono work and helping to make changes within the middle-market M&A industry. We have made donations. We have signed petitions in the fight for justice. We are reading, learning, discussing, challenging, acting. We don’t have some nice, shiny solution to offer because there is no nice, shiny solution. The fight for equity for black people is an ongoing battle waged on a million different fronts—in our homes, in our workplaces, in our communities and in our hearts. Know that we will not stop at this blog post.
Our colleague Tricia Forbes wrote a personal reflection about the moment in which we are living. We wanted to share it with you, as we feel it represents much of what is on our hearts and minds at this time.
This is White Privilege
By: Tricia Forbes, Vice President, MiddleM Creative
Listen. Read. Educate yourself. Get better. Repeat. This is the white person's task.
This should have been our task all along, but many of us are just now realizing this is our task. I am mortified to say I am one of those people.
I mistakenly thought that being non-racist in my heart and mind was enough. It is not. I must be anti-racist in my words and actions.
There is so much to learn and an equal amount to unlearn. It is not the responsibility of our black neighbors and friends to educate us. Asking black people to tell us how we can help is not ok. It is our responsibility as white people to learn, grow, change, speak up and act.
I always knew that racism was bad, I just never thought about how it systemically benefitted me. How the opportunity cost for my opportunity was the lost opportunity of a black person. This is white privilege.
White people created these problems—these systems—and white people have to be part of repairing them. We who, by default, benefit from systemic racism have to be active participants in dismantling the institutions and challenging the people and changing the practices that perpetuate it. We MUST challenge other white people in private conversations to do better. We have to stop being silent bystanders.
Black lives matter. Saying so does not threaten me as a white person. This moment is NOT about "all" lives. This moment is about black lives. This moment is about good and evil, right and wrong, non-racist and racist. This moment is long overdue.
While we have tragically seen many black men and women murdered before, this time feels different. I feel the hearts and minds of many white people changing. I see businesses that normally don’t talk about “sensitive topics” stepping up to actively denounce racism. I’m having conversations with friends and family that I’ve never had before. I have more compassion for my black friends and neighbors. My heart is growing.
It is devastating that it took this police officer being caught on camera blatantly murdering George Floyd for us to acknowledge centuries of wrongdoing. I’m ashamed I wasn’t paying closer attention before. The best I can say now is that my eyes are open, and I am committed to doing better—to being an ally to black people every day.
It goes without saying that I have enjoyed the benefits of white privilege all my life. You can see that I am white, which means I have white privilege. This does not mean my life has been without pain or problems. No one is saying that. What it means is that I have not lived the black experience, and I will never understand what that is like. It goes without saying that I don't fear for my life when I'm pulled over by a cop. I am white, so everyone knows that. It goes without saying that I can ask a cop for help. I am white, so everyone knows that. This is not true for black people in our country. And that should make you REALLY angry. I wasn’t angry about this before, because I had the option to choose not to think about it. This is white privilege. This is what waking up feels like.
In a former job, I worked at a non-profit school in one of Atlanta’s poorest neighborhoods. 100% of the students at that school were black. 100% of the students came from single caregiver households. 100% of the students were below the poverty line. 100% of these students were beautiful souls.
One day I was riding in a van heading back into the city from Alpharetta, a suburb north of the city. We were on our way back from a field trip to an office building where the students met and thanked some donors to the school. As we came upon Buckhead, one of the kids shouted, “WOW!” when they saw the skyline. They had never seen the skyline of their own city because they had never left the few square miles of their neighborhood. This is a perfect metaphor for the opportunities they might never see because of the color of their skin.
Thinking back on that moment makes me think about how I never saw my city in the way that black people are forced to see it. I never saw my country in the way that black people are forced to see it. I never saw systemic racism the way that black people are forced to see it. I never saw myself the way black people are forced to see me. This is white privilege.
The view is changing. My eyes are open. Black lives matter to me, and I hope they matter to you, too.
White people need to talk to each other about racism. We need to listen to black voices and read about black experiences, and then go back to our white friends and family to process things together. Thank you to the friends who have talked with me about these issues this week. Thank you for having an open dialogue to help educate one another.
I have heard many black voices say they are tired of trying to explain things to white people. We should not expect them to do so. We should let them know that we love them and support them—and not burden them with our white guilt when they are already burdened enough.
I have taken several action steps that I feel are a start in the right direction (donating, signing petitions, reading, discussing, etc.). I will not stop there.
White friends and family: I hope you will challenge yourself to take a step in the right direction. Be curious before you get defensive. Be loving before you get angry. Prioritize concern for lives over concern for property. Try to imagine how you’d feel if you were born to a black mother. Wouldn’t you feel differently about what you’re watching on the news then? Soften your hearts.
Equality is not the same as equity. We must do better, be better and expect more of ourselves and others.
Loving black people is not a threat to your life, but our continued ignorance and silence is a threat to theirs. We can admit we have been wrong. We can change. We must.