Are There Limits to Inclusion?

How challenging is it for you to be inclusive?

If you’re reading this post, chances are you’re liberal. You’re on a journey toward inclusion that you have chosen. You are always growing, but it’s probably not too hard for you to be open to different gender, racial, sexual orientation, and other identities.

But what about politics?

I’ve been thinking about this because Fletcher Consulting is in the planning phase with our law school clients, discussing the orientations we’ll be facilitating for incoming students.

As you may know, several law schools drew media attention this past year when students prevented people from having a platform due to their political positions. Whether by disrupting their presentations with heckling and chanting or by establishing a policy not to invite certain people at all, they expressed their political opinions by trying to silence conservative ones.

When I was in college and law school, I would have been among the protestors. As much as I value inclusion, I have a strong reaction to hate speech. I feel it is important to express my opinion and to raise awareness.

But what about the workplace? Should my desire for inclusion extend to work colleagues whose views I find totally loathsome?

When I lead a DEI workshop and a conservative participant disagrees with a core idea, I tell them that I am not trying to change their belief system. Instead, I say that the workshop is focused on creating behavioral norms and implementation of organizational values. If the organization values inclusion, employees (particularly managers) need to behave in ways that help to create an environment that is inclusive of all people, even if all of our beliefs don’t align. So we ask our conservative colleagues to be inclusive of employees who have historically been excluded.

For some of them, this is challenging.

For those of us who view ourselves as liberal or progressive, what’s challenging is being inclusive of people with conservative political beliefs.

Practicing inclusion isn’t always easy. At some point each of us will encounter someone who we would rather not include because of their beliefs and/or behaviors.

But if I understand where it’s hard for me, it might help me understand why it’s hard for those who disagree with me. And that empathy can provide opportunity for growth and discourse.

I’ve always connected with the idea expressed by novelist and activist Robert Jones, Jr. (aka Son of Baldwin): “We can disagree and still love each other—unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression, and denial of my humanity, and right to exist.”

This is the bar for me. If we can respect each other’s right to be, then we can co-exist. But I have to draw the line with those who believe in their own supremacy and deny the humanity of others. For me, inclusion does have its limits.

Whose independence?

I like fireworks. I love getting together with family and friends. And a long weekend is always welcome. So on the whole, the July 4 holiday is okay with me.

As for Independence Day—the reason we take July 4th off of work—my feelings are mixed.

On the one hand, I honor the epochal fight that the American colonists waged for freedom from colonial rule. Their victory signaled an era of Enlightenment ideals about human rights and democracy moving closer to reality.

And yet, those ideals have not become reality. Despite what many of us were taught in school, they weren’t even fully expressed by the men we credit for founding this country.

Yes, the Declaration of Independence that Thomas Jefferson wrote says that “all men are created equal.” But of course, he and the other property-owning white men in Philadelphia had a very different definition of “all” than we have today. One that would not have included me.

So, along with the cookout, I will spend some of this holiday reflecting on all who were excluded from that declaration. Every woman on the continent. Every kidnapped and tortured African. Every human being living on the land before the Europeans arrived with disease and violence. According to the revolutionaries we celebrate on the 4th, none of these millions of people had inalienable rights endowed by their creator. I honor those whose independence went undeclared in 1776.

And I see that year as only part of the story of our country, a prelude to the Constitution these same men would write a decade later. This hallowed document wrote the rights of a majority of people out of existence—and set a trap that would block these rights for centuries. The framers constructed a process that could broaden the group included in the protections of the Constitution, yes. But it stacked the odds, requiring an Amendment to be approved by Congress and ratified by two thirds of the states.

Conservatives and their Supreme Court judges say they want to return to the ideals on which this nation was founded. They are succeeding. We have a republic that preserves the life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness of the founding fathers and those like them. And it leaves the rest of us unprotected and unbelonging.

So, this Fourth of July, I will enjoy the fun and community. And, like the great American Frederick Douglass, I will also mourn the cruelty and narrowness of the “independence” we settle for while remaining hopeful of our ability to create change and achieve the promise of an America for all of us.

Falling down the hole of assumptions

I love it when I catch myself making assumptions.

Recently I was thinking about succession planning for a volunteer position that I hold. I had thought of someone who would be good to succeed me, and I was getting ready to call her to see if she would be interested.

Just before I did, though, she sent an email to our group announcing that she was pregnant with twins.

My immediate reaction? Twins?! That’s a lot to handle. She’s not going to want to do it. Who else can I ask?

Then it hit me: there was something familiar about this situation: a story about an employee who isn’t invited on a business trip because she just had a baby, and the boss assumes she wouldn’t be able to take the time away. Out of thoughtfulness, the boss doesn’t ask her.

It’s a case study in bias—an illustration of ways that we make assumptions that end up denying opportunity to people unfairly.

A case study I had used in a workshop just a few weeks before.

And I fell into the same trap. Or I almost did.

Just because I think taking care of twin infants would be overwhelming doesn’t mean someone else does. Decisions about staffing should be based on objective criteria, not one person’s assumptions.

After sitting in the hole for a while, I decided to ask her anyway. I spelled out the responsibilities in an email, and even acknowledged that I had hesitated but realized she should have the chance to consider it for herself.

She wrote back in minutes, enthusiastic. “I would love to do it! I’m so flattered you think I’d be good.”

I was thrilled—both because she will be terrific in the role, and because I had caught myself making assumptions. Every time I do this—not infrequently—I view it as a growth opportunity. It reminds me that we can re-train our minds. Every mistake is a sign that that process is underway.

Maybe you’ve read Portia Nelson’s poem from 1977, called “Autobiography in Five Short Chapters”:

Chapter I

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I fall in.

I am lost ... I am helpless.

It isn't my fault.

It takes me forever to find a way out.

Chapter II

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don't see it.

I fall in again.

I can't believe I am in the same place.

But it isn't my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter III

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it is there.

I still fall in ... it's a habit.

My eyes are open.

I know where I am.

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

Chapter IV

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

Chapter V

I walk down another street.

So many people are afraid of making mistakes, or beat themselves up after making one. I’ve learned to feel the opposite.

The more holes I fall into, the faster I can find new streets to walk down.