Storytime: How The Collective Identity Began
Just give it a year. You have to stay at least one year.
This became my daily mantra on my drive to work, at times accompanied by tears and at others with a lot of prayers. I started my dream job, turned nightmare, on March 1, 2019, and by August 2019, my only goal was to make it one year for the sake of my resume. My new nightmare was a nonprofit agency that provided permanent and supportive housing to the chronically homeless. A social issue of particular sensitivity to me, as I grew up chronically homeless in Los Angeles both as a child and teen.
It all began in the interview when the executive interviewing me said they wanted me to meet with the CEO for the next round of talks. Then in a casual and almost affable tone, they told me: "I just want to let you know that the last person that we hired was also African-American, and he didn't work out, so that's what you're up against."
Not exactly sure where this interview was going, I asked, "Well do you think that would stop him from hiring me?"
"Oh no," they replied, then added: "But he is human." Driving home, I contemplated if I should say something to the CEO or not. I knew that if I told the CEO what the executive had said to me during the interview, it would be my word against the managers, and really, what were the chances that the CEO would believe me? Besides, I really wanted this job and so did my bank account, which said that I needed this job. Rent was due, and I was 1,500.00 in debt to my therapist, working on this same trauma from my childhood. So, I decided to say nothing.
I accepted the job, and I loved everything about the work itself. Fundraising came easy to me, which was made clear when I secured a 100K donation within my first 90 days of employment. What didn't come easy to me was handling the racism that I experienced at my job. It wasn’t the sort of racism that is par for the course for many Black women like me, that come in forms of implicit-bias and microaggressions. I learned that racism is different because the hate is palpable and I simply was not ready.
After one too many insensitive and racially charged comments, I reported the manager to HR. It was pretty much downhill from there. The manager had it out for me, and it was clear. HR became like a revolving door, continually reporting one new instance of retaliation after the next to no avail.
Every time this manager rerouted a donation to another manager to negatively impact my numbers, I filed a complaint. I searched for a mentor to help me navigate this new world because I still wanted to be successful. I was more than disheartened when I learned that I would have better luck finding Tupac than finding another Black woman to mentor me in the workplace, and I searched. I could not find a nonprofit that offered mentoring services specifically for Black women, by Black women. It baffled me that no one thought Black women in the workplace could use a mentor.
There was nothing exceptional that one August morning, as I drove to work reciting my morning mantra, weaving my way through Los Angeles traffic, using music as motivation to help me set the tone for the day. Nipsey Hussle's The Marathon Continues had become a regular in my rotation.
As I made a right turn onto Clinton, one lyric changed my path: "With no collective identity, it's every man from himself," and just like that, I created the Collective Identity Mentoring. Fueled by desperation and inspired by Nipsey Hussle, I took my first step towards my purpose and began creating a 501c3 that mentored Black girls. I planned to have a new job lined up by March 2020, but what I didn't anticipate was that I'd be exhausted from my current job and the hostility I was facing every day. By early February 2020, I'd learned that racism was a full-body experience, made evident by my doctor placing me on stress leave. I'd had enough and found two fantastic attorneys, Sarah Bloom and her mother Lisa, to take my case.
Like most of you, my 2020 did not go as planned. March 2020 was not what I'd expected it to be whatsoever. In March 2020, Los Angeles went into full lockdown because of a global pandemic. I filed a legal claim against my job and was remanded to my home for an indefinite amount of time. I stood in my kitchen and asked God, What am I going to do? And the answer was The Collective Identity. I realized that if I'd made them 100k in the first 90 days, then I could do it for myself.
As 2020 progressed and civil unrest took over our nation, I did not sit idle. I shared my experience of workplace racism at a virtual press conference with Sarah and Lisa Bloom. I searched LinkedIn and found four exceptional Black women who believed and supported the mission of a stranger who sent them a message online. In 2020, I met Erika Tate, Kristina Wilson, Abyah Wynn, and Sienna Jackson, who became the founding board members of The Collective Identity Mentoring. With their help I’ve created a fantastic organization and have met some amazing people nationwide who have committed their time and expertise to The Collective Identity Mentoring.
2020 was a game changer for us all and I’m happy to say that my game changed for the better. I promoted equality and change by simply using my voice, and most importantly, I found my purpose despite it being hidden in racism. And now that I’ve found it - as Public Enemy said, it’s going to take a nation of millions to hold me back.
I’m excited to share all that we’ve created and what we have planned for 2021. If you’d like to hear more about my experience, check out the link below to the press conference I did last summer.