Swaying in a different direction

Last week I had the amazing opportunity to travel with a few people from Berwick to the NAIS People of Color conference. If you are not aware, it is a gathering of independent school educators from around the country who come together to think about the challenges and opportunities in work supporting inclusivity and diversity. I had not been for a few years, and I was drawn to a number of the speakers – most notably a keynote address from Ta-Nehisi Coates. Interestingly, this conference has now grown larger than the traditional national industry conference, with over 6,000 people in attendance, 1500 of which were students. For me, there is really no other professional forum that affords one a chance to learn by leaning into discomfort in quite the same way. Each time I sit in a session at this gathering, I am aware of my minority status in the room, as it is so different from my daily life. I am also struck by the ways in which employees of color need these kinds of opportunities to network and find solidarity as they head back into their predominantly white communities – Berwick is in no way an anomaly in this regard. Some peer K-12 independent schools brought as many as 40 faculty and staff (not including students), and it was certainly common to hear numbers larger than ten.

Perhaps what I was most proud of personally was that I followed through on a desire to join the “POCC choir.” About sixty of us stepped forward to have three rehearsals during the conference and perform at closing ceremonies in front of 6,000 people. It was a diverse group of singers, and some of the talent was inspirational (not mine). I noted that there were only three Heads of School bold enough to take to the stage.  For the most part, I was up to the singing task. While the rehearsals were brief, and I was a touch nervous, I knew I could hold down my bass part. But given that we were singing some gospel songs, I had growing anxiety about my ability to clap – and more importantly sway – in the proper rhythm. After watching me (and a few others) during practice, the director had to stop, smile, and explicitly teach us how to do it.

“You see, you don’t want to actually pick your feet up off the ground. Keep those feet planted and just start moving. I want you to feel grounded when you sing this music.”

As the rehearsals flew by, my anxiety built, and I told my Berwick colleagues as much. As expected, when we took the stage in a blur and our amazing soloist started belting out a gospel tune, the six foot four white Head of School from Maine in the back row started swaying in the wrong direction. As I bumped shoulders in both directions, I tuned beat red and smiled – knowing that my colleagues in the audience had noticed…and perhaps I was wondering if everyone in the audience had done so. But in a flash, I was back in rhythm, the songs were over, and no one probably understood the depth of my inner turmoil.

Having now had a few days to reflect on the whole experience, I obviously have a range of emotions. Certainly I am glad that I took the risk to be up there; I made some great new friends and was reminded of the power and joy inherent in singing in large groups. But the experience also offered me a kind of cultural window and mirror – looking into the experience of others while seeing my own experience reflected back to me as well. In the end, it is probably true that anyone who is not in the majority in a particular setting feels like they find themselves swaying in a different direction. There are unspoken norms that are often invisible to majority, and they are hard to pick up even when addressed explicitly. As I return to the relative comfort of my usual experience back on campus, I am trying to see those invisible norms a bit more clearly, wondering how we might do a better job as a community making them explicit to all in the future.