You Gotta Work Twice As Hard: How Cultural "Survival Tactics" Implicitly Perpetuate Cycles of Unworthiness and Exploitation, Pt. One

One day, Lauren and I were just talking like we do, and somehow we drifted onto the story of Amy Cooper and Christian Cooper (no relation) and their bird watchin' situation in NYC's Central Park a few weeks back. At the time of this conversation, Amy had just had her job and dog snatched and it had become public. I said to Lauren, “All these [racist] white people are losing their jobs because they weren't taught how to keep them. We [black people] are typically taught what we need to do to keep our jobs, especially if it’s a “good” one.  If we lose our job over some foolishness, it was usually part of the plan.” That brought us to an even longer conversation. And later on, after that call, when I was by myself, it brought me to deep introspection.

***

The Past

I grew up hearing sayings like, “Lil’ Andy, you're gonna have to work twice as hard to get a piece of what they've got.” Or, “Always do your very best.” My favorite was coined by my hardworking grandfather, “Take care of your job and it'll take care of you.” I'd make a ‘B’ on my report card and my father would say, “If you made a ‘B’, son, you can make an ‘A’. My well-intentioned, working class family has always championed hard work and the pursuit of excellence, and raised us with those values. They are beautiful values, but definitely contain traces of trauma, probably stemming from first-hand accounts of being over-qualified and passed over and not wanting the same fate for their loved ones.

If that weren't enough, by the time I reached “big and tall status,” which was very early, there were now “survival tactics” to memorize. Now, I was being told, inadvertently, that my size, skin color, and perceived confidence could quite possibly create a deadly trifecta, making me a target for prejudice, discrimination and racism, even MORE than my peers who were also Black. Going to a historically black high school meant that my village increased to include black teachers, counselors, administrators who, because they cared, echoed the parenting of my family and added more rules: “Keep your hair low, no afros. Take out your piercings (I didn't have any at the time). Navy suit, white shirt and tie for the interview. King's English, always (implicit rule). Codeswitch on spot (also implicit rule). No durags in public, ever (my waves were natural, so that rule was fine). Dress to impress.” They wanted me ready for the world, which is a politically correct way of saying that they wanted to make me more palatable to white people so I could have a shot at success. No matter how you cut it, they needed me to survive…and get a good job. I knew it, so I listened. I obeyed. And it all worked until it didn’t anymore.

Let me pause here and make this declaration: I love my parents, my grandparents, and the village of extended family--biological and otherwise--that raised me, educated me, and gave me wings. All I am and ever will be is because of them. They did their very best and I'd like to believe that the proof of that is definitely in the pudding!

***

The Present

My budding issue with the impartation of the aforementioned “survival tactics” is that they don’t acknowledge or reinforce a person’s worthiness. Plainly put: Telling me that I have to work so ferociously, look the part and be better than most for a fraction of the reward, implies that I am not AND never will be enough; that my already educated, capable, intelligent, hardworking self, because of a myriad of factors I can't control, is NOT enough. AND, that I have to accept what little is given to me because “that's life,” while watching Chad or Preston or whomever else quickly soar to UNREACHABLE professional heavens after doing the same or less work. This has been my reality, my family and friends’ realities, too. Collectively, our general responses to these experiences were not to call out what had just broken us, or acknowledge our worth and make the decision to leave or change course. Instead, we…I went inward. I worked harder, pushed further, because it wasn't them, clearly it was me.

To be continued…