Another world is not only possible. She is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.

—Arundhati Roy

Like most people living in Seattle at the time, I took a few photos during the George Floyd protests. Over a year later, I find myself looking at them and thinking about what that summer stood for. I've noticed something that didn't quite catch me then. With the right filter applied, these photos could have been my parents and their friends at protests in the sixties and seventies. As a child of activist boomers, I was brought up with the stories of how that generation championed the rights of those who were considered “outsiders” in race, gender, custom, and belief. Growing up with these stories, decades ago, was inspiring.

Now, though, looking at protest photos from 2020, I'm reminded of a phrase I learned when I was working in international development: constructive impatience.

Nobel laureate economist Amartya Sen coined this term decades ago, in his book, Development as Freedom. He continues to praise the “virtue of impatience” in discussing global inequality today: “I think impatience is the most important virtue that we have to cultivate. I think [we have] suffered a lot from being super-patient with inequality and injustice on one side and absurdity on the other.”

This quote from a speech Sen gave in 2019 loops in my head as I look at photos and headlines from 2020's summer of unrest. The protest signs could have been taken straight out of my parents' storage. The corporate statements of solidarity could have been from years ago. I find it hard not to wonder if the photos we will take 10, 20, or 30 years from now will document the same costs of untimely patience. Will we still be trying to politely train our way out of bias? Will companies be copying and pasting today's PR statements? Will another intern, like Sanaika, be wondering, “How is the world going to progress?”

I thought back to that dinner in Chicago. Walking out the door, when you don't know what's on the other side, or what tools you'll need to be successful, is scary.

We have the tools now.

What else will it take?

Walking Away

Something happened after I left that dinner in Chicago that I wouldn't find out about until years later. I got a call one day from a woman who had been at the table that night. We'll call her Erin. She said she had seen the TED talk and wanted to reach out to tell me something.

“That night, after you walked out…I don't know if anyone ever told you this, but I walked out too, after you. I thought I might catch you, but by the time I got outside, you were already gone.”

“I had no idea. I wish I had known,” I told her.

“I just…I didn't know how to tell you without it sounding braggy, and I wish I had stood up when you did. But, honestly, I don't think I would have walked out if you hadn't done it first.”

The conversation veered into talking about past employers and how similar—and stalled—their DEI initiatives had been. When we were working for them, we didn't see anything wrong, maybe because our employers hadn't provoked a “Chicago dinner moment.” We knew now, though, that the same dynamic had been playing out there. It was just more subtle and consistent. They had all been stuck in some version of DEI samsara, moving through the same motions of recruiting underestimated individuals, encouraging them to lean in, and training employees to be reborn unbiased. The fact that it didn't work never seemed to matter. The cycle would start all over again. Because no one knew any better, this approach was “enough.” We settled for it.

“It was like DEI Groundhog Day,” Erin joked.

We had both also witnessed times, though, when someone would have their “stand up and leave the table” moment. While they weren't usually as dramatic as the evening Erin and I experienced, they all shared a similar sentiment: “I'm not even sure what's on the other side of this door, but let's find out what else is possible.”

We talked about wishing we could discover what that common element was, the change agent that summoned enough constructive impatience to push open the door. What could activate that in others?

Beacons

People fell in love with the 2016 Cubs and the 2002 Oakland Moneyball A's for the same reason: They pushed our perceptions of what was possible. Billy Beane didn't just give us a fun baseball data trick. He showed us a new, practical way of doing things that could push an entire team, as a collective, past their own ideas of what they thought was possible. Watching them push past their limits made us want to push past our own.

I've seen individuals—and organizations—have the same impact when they walk away from outdated approaches to DEI that they know aren't working. Erin realized that she didn't have to stay at the table when she saw someone else walk away first. She had an example to follow. Markon Solutions set another example. They're a change agent—a beacon.

A 300-employee government contracting firm, Markon pairs professional services with large government and defense projects. Their profile isn't usually what people think of when they hear “DEI Champion.” Markon Vice President Ray Carney and his team knew that they couldn't perform at their best, though, if they were leaving people out. They launched their GEN certification efforts just before the pandemic hit the US. We continued working together remotely, through the lockdown, and they never let up. It wasn't always easy. Because they were taking a systemic approach, there were more change management challenges than other DEI initiatives had presented in the past.

Success at Markon depends on finding qualified candidates and hiring them quickly. Honoring this rapid recruiting with an equity strategy meant finding ways to attract applicants from diverse backgrounds, conduct blind resume reviews, and embrace structured interview practices, all while keeping a competitive hiring pace. There were other challenges, too: Markon's equity strategy had to comply with government regulations specific to their industry, and we needed to manage how their new processes would affect their relationships with some of their partners. Markon proved that none of these challenges were insurmountable.

Other businesses in their industry were watching. Since Markon announced their certification, we've received multiple inquiries from employers in the same industry. We asked them what made them decide to reach out.

“We heard about Markon getting certified. We weren't sure if this made sense for us, but if they did it, we should, too…and hearing that guy, Ray, talk about it made us feel like we could.”

If Markon became a beacon for aspiring equity-centered employers, Ray became an unlikely beacon of what a DEI leader can look like. In his forties, white, straight, able-bodied, educated, and married with kids in a DC suburb, Ray appears to have nothing to gain personally from a DEI initiative. I admit that I initially wondered if he was going to be personally invested enough to see this through. I underestimated him. Over time, I would come to see Ray as one of the most compelling, relentless advocates of workplace equity that I've met. In the face of pushback from skeptical stakeholders and questions from nervous employees, he consistently reasserted his belief that this choice meant raising Markon's standards, not lowering them.

I got to meet with members of the 10-person task force that Markon had assembled to tackle the certification. Four of them were white men. All of them spoke to the role that Ray played in giving them the push they had needed to support these efforts more publicly.

One task force volunteer explained, “Seeing someone like him, who in many ways is like me, be so vocal about this…it made it easier for me to join in. I knew I wouldn't be alone in it.”

After celebrating Markon's certification, I spent some one-on-one time with Ray. I wanted to understand what motivated him to push for the GEN approach so strongly, even in the face of resistance. Did he also have activist parents? Was there an event in his life that had moved him to care about this? Was he an undercover liberal in a largely conservative industry?

“Not at all,” he said. “It just made so much sense. If we didn't do this, we wouldn't be getting the most out of all our people. We'd be selling ourselves short.” Ray joked about how people are always surprised to find out he identifies as a Republican after they hear him advocate so ardently for equity and inclusion in the workplace.

To Ray, changing Markon's approach to DEI wasn't a political choice or a social stance. It was a choice to leave old limits behind. And by setting an example, Ray allowed others to see that DEI, done right, is its own lever to push an entire organization to its full potential. It is a means to finding out what else, in our collective self, is possible.

Ray boasts constantly about earning the GEN Certification. In a photo on his LinkedIn page, he beams, holding a GEN plaque, and his caption reads, “One of the proudest moments of my career…We hope to see others follow in our footsteps!”

With the processes and methods in this book, the practical steps toward equity that you can take now, you are also in a position to be a beacon for change. Before you set your own example for others, though, there is one last—and first—lever you will need to adjust.

The First—and Last—Cultural Lever

When Erin and I walked away from dinner that night, we weren't just walking away because someone had said something racist. We were walking away from a room where “no response” was an acceptable response. We were walking away from the idea that the status quo was all we were capable of, and toward the promise that something else was possible, on the other side of the door.

I didn't know that night when I opened the door, that I had just pulled the first lever. It was the same lever that Erin would pull after me, and that Ray would pull when he first reached out to GEN: We all made a choice. And others were watching.

I remember the weight of that door. I think it even crossed my mind briefly, that in heels, with a purse and coat in hand, I was about to botch the exit. Once I gave the door that first pull, though, it swung smoothly on its fulcrum, the levers in the hinges rotated, redirecting the momentum, clearing the path.

I didn't know that my choice had made it easier for someone else to walk through.

You've read the book. You have the tools. Making the choice to walk through the door is the first lever you have to pull. When you walk out of the old room, others may see you and shout, “Hold the door!”

I'll see you there.