Back to business as usual
Do we have the courage to do it all differently?
When I was in high school, I wrote a piece for our school newspaper detailing the hypocrisy of our administration. While students could enroll their children in on-site childcare, Planned Parenthood wouldn’t be allowed on campus to discuss birth control. Kudos to Chandler High School for recognizing teen moms need a support system to graduate, and shame on them for taking a page out of The Handmade’s Tale. I’m not a fan of bandaid fixes, nor do I have tolerance for fear-based decisions that marginalize women.
At 16, I wrote about this. I’m not sure who was surprised more—me or the principal who likely didn’t get a chance to approve the copy before it went to print. The Supreme Court ruled students have limited protection under the First Amendment and that administrations can censor school-sponsored publications. Despite this, my piece was published. I wish I could remember the name of my journalism teacher because I’d buy him a beer and thank him for taking that risk.
When I graduated in 1995, the principal made it a point to tell me I was lucky to walk given my shenanigans. The consequences of speaking truth to bullshit didn’t deter me then, and it doesn’t now.
I’ve lost things over the years for being so outspoken—money, friends, opportunities, respect. I’d argue that today, you’d lose many of the same things for staying silent. Certainly, the scales are still tipped in favor of supporting white supremacy culture that is found in every nook and cranny of our daily lives, from the institutions of education, healthcare, and politics, to the seemingly innocuous conversations with friends or colleagues. It’s understandable why people who benefit from white supremacy would be resistant to change, but what explains it for the rest of us?
Antonio Gramsci would argue cultural hegemony—the generational consent of everyday people who adopt the values and beliefs generated by the ruling class. They throw us bones, and we happily take them because either we believe the system works for us or we don’t believe we deserve better. Perhaps it’s a combination of both, but things are changing.
We’re at a tipping point. The people who have traditionally been in power in this country—straight, white, cis men and women—are witnessing such significant cultural shifts they will go to any length to stop our progress. We’re not buying what they’re selling anymore, so they feel justified in forcing us to play by the rules they created. This manifests itself in everything from the overturning of Roe v Wade to states rolling back protections for trans kids to gerrymandering. It’s not all political; we also can see this force being levied by the random guy who feels emboldened to attack anyone and anything threatening his perspectives.
Earlier this week, I went down the rabbit hole of Instagram to see what other brands and businesses in the outdoor industry were doing to publicly acknowledge and celebrate Juneteenth and Pride Month. I was left disheartened. Why is it that four years after the so-called mass awakening of this country, we can’t even be bothered to talk about the very real issues that impact our customers, our communities, and our employees?
Certainly, much of what we’ve seen in the past has been performative. But brands and businesses posted to IG, updated their website banners, and sent out newsletters because they thought it was expected of them. It was a thing that you had to do to be relevant, accepted, and embraced. Have they stopped because we’ve lowered the bar? Are we so busy busy with our same 24 hours in a day we aren’t paying attention anymore? Do we not care with the same fervor we did in the summer of 2020?
Fast forward to 2024 and we’re simply afraid. Afraid of saying the wrong thing when we no longer have a script. Afraid of the comments. Afraid of the backlash. Afraid of losing more money in the face of declining sales since peak consumerism during the pandemic. Afraid of learning. Afraid of unlearning. Afraid of having less. Afraid to admit they don’t see diversity, equity, and inclusion as valuable, so there’s no need to pretend anymore. And for some of us, afraid of the very real threats to our safety.
We’ve retreated, back to business as usual, because we’re afraid of what might happen when we don’t maintain the comfort of whiteness.
I try not to let fear dictate my emotions or my behavior. I’ve spent a lifetime being me and a decade at Coalition cultivating a very intentional, supportive, and loving community. What some have perceived as offputting, brash, and just a little too extra, others have experienced as honest, refreshing, and necessary. I know that to create spaces where people who have existed in the margins feel welcomed, those who have historically taken up most of the space may not. I’ve accepted that trade-off because I recognize my life’s work to accommodate the discomfort of the powerful. The unsubscribe and unfollow button are there for anyone to tippety tap tap their anger and frustration away. I don’t need their follow, their email, or their money. My self-worth and our collective well-being are all far more important.
I fully admit to and understand the repercussions of my decisions, which is perhaps why I’ve chosen to measure success differently. It certainly serves my perspective not to prioritize the bottom line. When I consider what’s been important to me as a servant leader in business, it’s about using my platform to create change, not growth at any cost.
Our inability to be satisfied—to live in a constant state of not having enough and being willing to get more at any cost—is why we still can’t get to where we need to be. It’s worked for so long and we’ve bought into it so hard that challenging and changing it seems insurmountable. But if we remind ourselves it’s all made up, we deserve better, we have enough, and we’re not alone, perhaps we’ll have the courage to do it all differently.