Calling In vs. Calling Out

Have you ever been called out? Something you said or did was offensive, inappropriate, or insensitive, and someone else labeled that behavior in a public way?

It’s an awful feeling—embarrassment about causing harm at the same time as defensiveness about being criticized in front of peers. It can be hard to focus on understanding our mistakes with so many judging eyes on us, no matter how much we want to avoid making the same mistake in the future.

But calling out happens a lot. A decade or so ago, a young activist named Ngọc Loan Trần observed the phenomenon in social justice spaces, and diagnosed its downsides. They introduced an alternative approach: “calling in.” And Professor Loretta Ross expands on the idea in her book Calling In the Calling Out Culture. (I first heard it from a client Carlen Arima at the New England Aquarium—thanks, Carlen!)

When I first heard that phrase, it resonated with me immediately - I love it. It evokes closeness rather than separation, strengthening relationship rather than division. It helped me see why, for me, shaming people is not an effective approach to diversity and inclusion challenges. I don’t like to do it to others, and I definitely don’t like it when they do it to me.

Both “calling in” and “calling out” arise in a situation where harm is committed in the presence of others. We have all been there. But often we are not satisfied with the actions we took in the moment. In our workshops, we look at case studies to analyze the different roles people play in these scenarios: you may be the speaker who caused harm; you may be the recipient of the harm; or you may be a bystander.

A common impulse in these moments is to identify someone else as the cause of the tension. The offending speaker might say to the offended person, “You’re being too sensitive.” A bystander might point a finger and say, “You’re being racist.”

We encourage people to think about the role they’re playing when a conversation goes sideways, instead of pointing fingers to call out others. After all, your role is the only one you have control over in that moment.

If you have been severely impacted by offensive behavior, calling someone out may be a necessary step. But if there is a context of trust, calling in can be a powerful tool to strengthen a group’s culture. Rather than shining a light on their flaws, you can share how you feel about the impact of their words, and invite them into a conversation about how to do better next time. When we tell somebody what they’ve said has an impact they didn’t intend, we’re doing them a favor.

Last summer, the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court Standing Committee on Lawyer Well-Being invited me to facilitate a virtual workshop. There were over 300 participants in the Zoom session. It went very well and we ended the formal part of the program with enough time for questions. Someone asked if the interrupting bias tools I had shared could be used with family members. I said, “Absolutely! We all have a crazy uncle who we know will say something inappropriate during Thanksgiving dinner. That is an excellent opportunity for interrupting bias.” I said it in a lighthearted way and several people laughed with me.

When it was over, I stayed on Zoom with the two organizers, Heidi Alexander and Gavin Alexander. Heidi said that a participant sent them a message in the chat, asking them to tell me that I shouldn’t use the term “crazy uncle” because it could cause harm.

I felt defensiveness rising in me. I didn’t remember saying it. I even think I responded, “That doesn’t sound like something I would say.” But when Gavin reminded me of the context in which I said it, it all came back to me.

I felt ashamed, but also grateful at the same time. And as time has passed, my appreciation for the kindness that that participant showed me has increased exponentially. They could have called me out during the program, in front of hundreds of people, shaming me publicly. Instead they chose to call me in. They got the feedback to me and I absorbed it.

Twice in the next month, I caught myself about to say the same phrase. Thankfully I stopped myself in time. Now I only say it when I’m using it as an example of what not to say. Their call in had the desired effect.

Calling someone in makes it possible for the person who has caused harm to focus on the part they play. Rather than grappling with their learning and trying to save face at the same time, they can have the gift of receiving feedback with compassion.

Over time, giving and receiving grace in this way forms a culture of honesty and respect within groups. Ultimately, that’s a more sustainable route to inclusion than pointing fingers.

The cost of saying nothing

We spend some time in our unconscious bias workshops talking about action. Once you learn you have biases and the negative impact they have, what can you do to make things better? One important skill we focus on is what to do when you observe bias in other people. We talk about “interrupting” bias rather than eliminating it, because sometimes all it takes is a change in the tone or direction of a conversation for a person to see their own bias, or for others to find an opening to correct a statement.

But even with the limited goal of “interruption,” it’s not easy. Speaking up requires courage, because it feels like a social risk. Many people fear that there may be a cost to interrupting bias, particularly in the workplace. Many fear being seen as “overly sensitive,” lacking a sense of humor, or too strident. Some fear backlash and job-related repercussions.

There is also a cost to saying nothing. Not just a cost to the people affected by bias, but to yourself. It is the times I’ve stayed silent that tend to haunt me.

One occasion occurred as I arrived at a conference, pre- pandemic. I took a taxi to the university where it was being held, driven by a friendly driver. He pulled up to the front of the building and helped with my luggage. As I thanked him, a student who was working the registration table stepped out and started yelling at the driver. “You know you can’t park there!” he barked. “Move your car!”

I was really shocked. I stopped for a second and looked at the driver. He lowered his head and said, “Okay, okay,” quickly returned to the car and drove off.

I looked back at the student, who was racing back inside to the sign-in table. His harsh attitude was so unnecessary. It was not a busy area, and there were no other cars. Why treat him so rudely? Would he have said the same to a professor or a parent? Could the reaction be connected to something about the driver—was it a class or status thing? Or some other bias?

I had a second to intervene. But I couldn’t formulate something to say.

Then the moment passed and he was inside.

Why didn’t I say something?

I even had another chance when I reached the registration table. I saw the student a few feet away as I gave my name to someone else. I could have gotten his attention, or stepped over to him to call him in. But I told myself that the moment had passed.

This was maybe eight years ago, and yet I still remember the incident with regret. After all this time, I replay it sometimes. I could have used any of the tools we use in our workshops. Ask a clarifying question: “Is his taxi in anyone’s way?” Or just an honest reaction: “He’s not blocking anyone. Why are you being so rude?” As a conference guest, I was in a position of privilege, and I could have used that to signal that the behavior was not appropriate.

Instead, I stayed silent. The cost is the regret that continues to play loudly in my head.

The Time to Build Personal Connections is Now

June 2020. The world was quaking in reaction to the video of an unarmed Black man being asphyxiated by a police officer in Minneapolis.

After George Floyd’s murder, I talked to a Black employee at a client organization who expected a statement from their leadership. They waited for days and days. They got more and more upset with each day of silence, reading it as apathy.

The leaders finally sent out a message to the organization. They also instructed managers to reach out to their teams. As a result, this employee received a forwarded email from their supervisor with the opening line: “Leadership told me to reach out. How are you?”

This was a particularly egregious scenario, but it illustrates why these well-intentioned communications often don’t achieve their positive goals. Trying to build a connection in the midst of a tragedy is uncomfortable, vulnerable, and personal. There is very little emotional room for error.

If the first time you have a truly personal conversation with a colleague of color is after a tragedy, then it will feel opportunistic, obligatory, or forced.

The time to check in and to build personal connections is now, before the next tragedy. Ask questions and speak authentically about what is important to the members of your team. You might be awkward, make mistakes, and fumble—but you can be doing it at a time when everyone is less tense.

When bad things happen to people of color in America, many of us feel it in a way that is different from the way many white people feel when something bad happens to a white person.

Speaking for myself: I think there is a greater sense of community and connection among Black people across the nation; a shared experience even if we don’t know each other. I know people who have been profiled or mistreated by the police. I can imagine something happening to me or my children. It feels personal. I heard a Black woman on NPR describing how she felt: “I feel like we’re under attack and I’m afraid to leave home.” The cumulative effect of police killings, health disparities, erosion of rights, Confederate flags, white supremacist marches through Boston… is a heavy burden to bear.

When you work to build real connections across racial differences (or any other identity differences), you can deepen your empathy and understanding. Even if you don’t react to an event at a personal level, understand that someone on your team might. As a manager, you should be able to support everyone on your team.

So don’t wait until the next tragedy to connect with your employees. Do the work to increase your personal awareness and build relationships. Then when the news cycle calls for a reaction, you can speak authentically.

Shift from being reactive to being intentional with regard to racism (and all the other isms and phobias). Rather than responding and then dropping out of the conversation, you can be part of it.

I hope the next time you write a statement about racial violence is a long way off. But don’t wait. Reach out to your colleagues now.