When I was the global head of Diversity and Inclusion at Moody’s Investors Service, we piloted Multicultural and Women’s groups as part of our efforts to empower and engage employees. As we were about to launch our official Employee Resource Groups (ERGs), one of the founding members of the Multicultural pilot, who self-identified as gay, courageously confronted me with one question: How can you speak about creating safe spaces for everyone and not launch an LGBT (the “Q” came at a later time) ERG concurrently? The honest answer? Fear. Fear that I couldn’t garner the right level of support. Fear that it could risk the other launches. Fear of failure.

In the same way that I have asked my white friends and colleagues to step outside their own privileged experience to consider the inequities and uncivil behavior endured by women and people of color, I was being held accountable to do so for colleagues missing from the conversation.

I have learned. I’ve confronted my fears, and my own privilege as an abled bodied, cisgender, heterosexual Caribbean Latina. And I’ve grown increasingly committed to intersectionality as a means to build sustainable change — and to get it right. I’m proud to share that we not only launched Multicultural, Women and LGBT ERGs all at once, our CEO personally sanctioned the LGBT&A (Allies) ERG. He held space for LGBT employees. He listened to their stories. And he encouraged all to engage authentically with peers, with his full support.

And yet, noticeably absent from our ask was the lens on people with disabilities. Again, my blinders as an abled bodied woman blocked me from thinking of an important community: the more than one billion people around the world who live with one form of disability or another. Since then, the topic of disability hit home. Fifteen years ago, my primo hermano (loosely translated to first cousin in Spanish) was paralyzed from the chest down after being shot by a sniper in Fallujah, Iraq. Until then, I had not had to think about securing ramps to enter my apartment building, nor considered whether the doorways and hallways of my home were wide enough beyond the standard ADA regulations to help someone in a large wheelchair move around comfortably. And in the workplace, I hadn’t considered whether my colleagues who were hearing or visually impaired were thoughtfully included in meetings.

So how can we get it right, whether you’re a DEI professional or a leader/ally trying to cultivate diverse, equitable and inclusive workplace cultures?

1. EMBRACE COURAGE

To build more diverse, inclusive and equitable organizations and communities, requires a deep conviction in the power of inclusion coupled with a healthy dose of grit and resilience. It requires us to act with courage to tell our story, raise awareness, build capacity and to create spaces for those whose exclusion from organizations and narratives shapes unequal outcomes.

When I was a credit risk analyst at Moody’s Investors Service, a fellow analyst and I were called into our manager’s office to talk about our “presence in meetings.” This manager single handedly diversified the public finance department, years before the diversity and inclusion team that I launched was even considered. She was intentional in hiring the most diverse team in the organization and was committed to helping underrepresented groups thrive. To this day, she remains one of my most beloved and respected managers.

That afternoon she kindly encouraged us to exert our voice in meetings and contribute more actively. She went on to share that she experienced us as “silent, when our opinions were sought.” As a credit risk analyst, you’re expected to contribute to the rating rationale in decision-making meetings where every opinion, irrespective of seniority, counts equally. A great place to hone your voice, but at the time, I was just learning to find mine. My colleague listened to her patiently and responded, “I appreciate your feedback but I need you to understand why I’m quiet. I’m a big, black man. I’m trying to make everyone in that room comfortable rather than threatened by my presence. So what you experience as silent participation, is the mechanism I use to make people feel at ease.”

His take was honed by years of sticking out while trying to blend in. As a Latina from the Caribbean, usually the only woman, person of color and/or youngest team member in those meetings, I also often felt vulnerable and alone. Thanks to his courage in speaking his truth, our manager became more attuned to the experiences and reasons for why employees of color experienced the workplace differently, and was more intentional in creating a team culture that enabled all voices to be heard. And I leaned in to find my voice, my truth, my courage, with the support of my manager and colleagues.

This experience further inspired me to advocate for colleagues who were marginalized and most vulnerable to harmful workplace bias, and to help leaders understand the experience of the people on their teams, the people for whom they are responsible for. Finding the courage in each other, and with each other, to tell our truth and share the truth of others, is critical on the road to true inclusion.

2. GROUND YOUR ACTIONS

Whether you do this professionally or because you want to be an effective ally, fighting for inclusion and safe workplaces can be exhausting. Connecting across our differences can feel both energizing and scary. Yet learning to hold space for each other as we navigate our intersected lives can help us meaningfully address cultural conflict, build understanding and nurture empathy.

In the corporate landscape, those of us who identify within the minority culture often operate in cultural dissonance. We walk hallways, sit in offices, and present in meetings with colleagues who don’t always understand our experience — how we struggle with impostor syndrome, how we guard our every action and reaction quietly fighting against the negative perceptions of the groups we represent, and the high emotional and physical price we pay when we have to work harder to be recognized. We listen to experts speak of growth markets, often lacking the nuanced perspective that we can contribute, if included. We participate in diversity presentations that speak about “us” to “us”. And we do this while being surrounded by support staff who clean and fix our offices, serve us our lattes, and stock the kitchens, who more closely resemble the communities we represent. For me, navigating this combined sense of privilege and isolation with a clear sense of mission and purpose has helped reduce what can feel like an emotional grind.

We can’t create space for others to change and grow if we don’t ground our actions on the outcomes we’re trying to achieve. This requires clarity on how our personal stories influence our identity and the way that we engage with people, listen and learn, make decisions. Only then can we promote the inclusive/respectful workplaces we all yearn for.

3. DEMAND THAT YOUR LEADERS LEAD

Organizations cannot simply launch “diversity and inclusion programs”, deliver communications campaigns aimed at showcasing optical diversity, make a few key hires, and expect results. Instead, they need to focus on rewiring organizational systems and resetting workplace cultures.

This work begins at the top. An inclusive leader is one who articulates a clear case for organizational change, sets concrete goals with key benchmarks, and models welcoming and respectful behavior. An inclusive leader requires structured, well-resourced and clearly articulated strategies/action plans, as they do with any other business priority. Executive platitudes and superficial agreements have no place in the workplace of the future. And yet too often this work is relegated to employees who are ill-supported and ill-equipped to drive real and sustainable change. You can encourage your leaders to do right by all of their employees, especially those tasked to lead this hard work.

In my experience building diversity and inclusion strategies, we tend to focus on one thing when we’re talking about diversity. The numbers. Those potentially misleading measures of progress like increasing headcount. That’s what our obsession with elite colleges is doing, too. But we miss something critical when we’re focused on the quantity of people or a diversity check-box approach. And that’s whether we’re creating the right spaces and resources for people to explore, connect and build capacity to improve climates of bias, harassment and inequity. My hope is that these reflections on how bias and exclusion show up in our lives will help us move forward with the vital work of building and nurturing systems and workplaces where we can all thrive, together.

I’ve been inside the corporations trying to get workplace diversity and inclusion right, and know how it works. If these candidates want to win and attract a diverse group of voters — remember, women, especially women of color, turned out to vote in big numbers in the midterm elections — they should embody the inclusive leadership practices that help the most progressive companies succeed. And they should hold their own teams and supporters accountable to these behaviors. Some ideas:

1. Start at the top

As a first step, catalog the current state of your platform, outreach strategy, messaging, representation within your partners, employees, and volunteers, and workplace practices. Ask yourself:

1. Why does diversity, equity and inclusion matter to you?
2. What does a desirable outcome look like to you?
3. For whom are you trying to build a better country, and how do you intend to get there?
4. How do you currently promote an inclusive and respectful culture within your team?
5. How has your background influenced your identity and the way you engage with people, listen and learn, make decisions, etc.?
6. What systemic barriers, such as bias at the intersection of race and gender, may impede your progress?
7. What efforts feel representative of the vast communities you wish to represent and which fall flat, and for what reasons?

Yes, it’s a long list, but no candidate should step forward without asking themselves these tough questions. Once you have clearly defined what diversity, equity and inclusion mean to you and what outcomes you want to attain, build your action plan. Consider what you will prioritize and how you will measure progress, and assign responsibility to yourself and top leadership. While you do so, embrace the uncomfortable conversations about power imbalances and privilege, build your racial and unconscious bias knowledge, and become fluent with these diversity and inclusion terms.

2. Establish and support a diverse team

Construct a team of partners, employees and volunteers boldly representative of an inclusive governance vision and voice. This means courageously seeking folks outside your usual circles that will support you in disrupting bias and abuse everywhere that it shows up. To represent the whole, as opposed to the few, your team should also be equipped to address racism, gender inequity, sexual harassment, LGBTQ discrimination, immigration reform, voter suppression, hate crimes, reproductive rights, gun violence, criminal reform, and other issues inextricably tied to how our country reckons with matters of justice and fairness.

It’s not just a matter of bringing in a few diverse voices to decision-making tables. This also requires for people managers and teams to be capable of thriving in a diverse workplace environment. If candidates and campaign managers make the same organizational mistakes of only hiring, listening to and advancing people they know and feel comfortable with akin to the organizational failures of Fortune 500 companies, they risk alienating not just their current base but their future one as well. There’s a growing body of empirical evidence supporting the notion that diversity and inclusion in teams drives stronger business results. Equally prevalent are stories of organizations whose performance failures can be tied to a lack of cultivating inclusive capabilities across their employee populations.

3. Pay your team fairly

Talent and genius are proportionally distributed, access and opportunity are not. At a minimum, campaigns should approach recruitment methodically, ensure fair pay practices and build in standards and systems to prevent harassment. In 2016, Hillary Clinton’s presidential campaign was lauded for building out a new campaign recruitment playbook consisting of well honed, standardized techniques that delivered a diverse workforce. If you’re not already borrowing from these practices, this is a no brainer.

Another pain point of political campaigns are the unlivable wages that preclude significant and important populations from being part of the political process. More than a month ago we learned of sexual harassment, demeaning treatment and pay disparity claims in Senator Bernie Sanders’ 2016 presidential campaign that threatened to derail his political aspirations. And recently much attention has been placed on Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s “living wage” rules whereby her staff members are paid a minimum of $52,000 a year. Recognizing that many campaign roles traditionally start in volunteer capacities or with very low salaries, every candidate, campaign leader and committee should prioritize fair pay wages practices. At a minimum, equal pay and sexual harassment policies should be built-in from the beginning.

4. Create a culture of accountability

Designing a truly effective diversity, equity and inclusion strategy is no small undertaking. In order to get it right, you need to start by getting your culture right — your organizational mindset, along with your policies and practices. It’s about setting the values and behavioral expectations of the team through structure, intentionality and methodical management, bringing in a rich mix of talent, and ensuring processes and systems are designed to produce fair outcomes for all. It’s also about ensuring that everyone on the team is clear on what is meant by diversity, equity and inclusion, and how they are each held accountable to deliver on expected outcomes. And it’s about taking a practical, problem-solving approach — acting on the data you receive; acknowledging harm and fault when something goes wrong; and making the right remedies.

A key element here is not minimizing responsibility for transgressions. Take a lesson from Starbucks CEO Kevin John compared to embattled Governor Ralph Northam. In April 2018, after two African-American men were arrested while waiting for a friend at a Starbucks, John swiftly acknowledged: “These two gentlemen did not deserve what happened, and we are accountable. I am accountable.” In contrast, Governor Northam’s statements and actions have caused him to lose the public’s trust, perhaps irreparably. Reputation insurance won’t work in an era where victims whose lives have been turned upside down and whose careers and income potential damaged are speaking up and demanding justice.

I firmly believe that the candidate best positioned to unite our politically fraught nation with a common purpose and renewed sense of collective hope will demonstrate a compelling commitment and courage to deliver on the promise of diversity, equity and inclusion. I have high hopes that multicultural women and young people, in particular, will steadily hold elected officials to these standards. If leaders fail to meet the promises of the communities who elect them, to make their lives better, then they fail to meet the requirements of the job. If they fail to engage with and listen to all communities, then they fail to meet acceptable standards of performance as determined by their job descriptions. And because Presidential elections see more young people and minority groups voting, these communities will be watching, very closely, to what presidential candidates say, who they say it to, how they say it, and with whom they say it.

My Heart Tells Me So

“Set your life on fire. Seek those who fan your flames.” Rumi

Sometimes your life changes course just when you need it, but least expect it. Earlier this summer, I found myself at a career crossroad without a clear sense of my next professional step. Deep inside I knew that I needed to take a breather before I transitioned to a new role. For a minute, that terrified me.

Thankfully, I have a spectacular husband, daughter, family and tribe who breathed life into me as I began to contemplate what would come next. Going beyond well-meaning affirmations and loving gestures, which I gladly welcomed, they generously offered guidance, and connected me to inspiring people and ideas. By giving the best of themselves, they helped me find the courage to embrace the unknown.

Taking a pause in order for growth to happen

Over the years, I have benefited from executive coaching and leadership development programs that helped me best deploy my skill sets at pivotal career moments. At this transition juncture, I felt a longing for journeying into self-discovery. That is how I found myself dedicating two days to the curation of a Life Plan with my immensely talented friend, Alexander (Zander) Grashow. Over the course of this deep, personal exploration we examined patterns throughout my life, spoke truths out loud, and tapped into what I’m capable of being when I harness the power of my heart and mind.

My key learning was the deep disconnect between my heart and mind. For a long time I have carried a narrative that opportunity and potential have been gifted to me in ways it has not for my family before me, and I needed to make good on that. Over the course of my career, I inadvertently disconnected from my heart in the pursuit of doing and acceptance. My head went into overdrive while my heart needed tending to.

The magic of my tribe

While deep inside I knew my next chapter would come around when it was meant to be, it was initially unsettling to experience time passing when I no longer had a day job. I went through real waves of emotion - turbulence in my heart — at times with shame and self-doubt. And as I sought to lean in to this moment of being untethered to institutions and expectations, joyful opportunities to do good while feeling good manifested all around me.

I found myself with time to help my brilliant friend, Tiffany Dufu, launch her latest venture the Cru. When she needed the help, I was able to interview and match amazing women for the inaugural Crus. Being there for my friend was a gift to us both. I could now also attend board meetings for Planned Parenthood Federation of America and Brooklyn Children’s Museum in person vs. multi-tasking over video/phone. And I was delighted to volunteer on an initiative of the Hollywood Commission on Eliminating Sexual Harassment and Advancing Equality in the Workplace. Increasingly, I felt lighter as I contributed to such fundamental and worthwhile causes.

Reconnecting with my childhood tribe

But there was more to my journey. I needed to fully reset and rediscover life beyond work. I yearned to reconnect with my family beyond a stolen day here and there. The timing was perfect with the summer and end of school year just around the corner. My deepest want has always been to head on far flung adventures with my husband and daughter — adventures informed by a sense of home. So we chose to go home — the Dominican Republic, the home of my childhood — for two weeks. We took advantage of this extended stay to leisurely reconnect with family and friends, discover new sites, learn to surf, and enjoy delicious Caribbean fare while lazying around multiple beach towns.

An outcome of an education in an American international school is that my childhood friends are scattered across the world. Despite distance and years apart, these friendships have always felt like the best version of home. And a feeling of home is where my heart is happiest. They, and dear friends we made while living in the Bay Area, informed our next itinerary. For a month, we traveled to Denmark (Copenhagen), the Netherlands (Amsterdam), Spain (Bilbao, Ea and San Sebastian), and Portugal (Lisbon, the Azores and Porto), visiting my and my daughter’s BFFs. Fun note: In every location we would inadvertently run into Dominicans. There’s nothing like walking around in a foreign country and catching a nearby conversation with that familiar accent — it always makes my heart skip a joyful beat.

#summerofmyheart

This period of adventure, discovery and wander filled me with gratitude and optimism. Visiting museums and historical sites, walking aimlessly through unknown and strikingly beautiful neighborhoods, eating and drinking to our hearts content, loving the local fashion, reminiscing over childhood stories, all in the spirit of honoring my heart; turned from travel experiences to transformational moments.

I found myself so busy connecting to my heart, I didn’t have room for extra baggage (figuratively and literally as we only traveled with carry ons). I heeded Alexander’s summer assignment with great determination — I played until I needed to rest and I rested until I wanted to play. Connecting to my heart became both my motivation and measure. Seeking only enjoyment and connection, helped me embrace all new experiences with full abandonment. Every meal, every encounter, every visit, meant an opportunity to fully feel my way through my emotions. Life was happening around me and I was tuned into it with every heart beat.

There were also moments of deep self-reflection and the occasional doubt. Reframing career expectations can be daunting. Old ideas about failure and achievements crept in from time to time. I spoke more, out loud — through my heart and not just in my head - to my husband about my wants and fears, and heard his. It slowly became clear to me that my life’s purpose was to catalyze agency towards the transformation of organizations and people for good.

What began as an exploration of “What is my next chapter?” turned into sharper questions of “what does work need to do for me to light me up?”. Some answers came quickly. For example, where I go next needs to be a place where I can shine my light so that it illuminates the hearts of others; so that they, too, are willed to do the right thing for others. Some answers are more concrete regarding organizational commitments and capabilities, and others are still under development.

Rediscovering my family

In addition to learning more about what I truly wanted to do next, I learned fun, new things about my family. Like all the cool songs my daughter knows, by heart. Her growing appreciation for environmentalism and activism. And my husband’s ability to navigate through any unknown environment with basic tools. This trip confirmed once and for all that he is, hands down, the best person to have by your side when facing an apocalypse, or finding your way through unexplored locations.

My daily practice

Also upon Alexander’s recommendation, I started a daily practice of connecting to my heart. Over the years I have tried a host of meditation techniques, apps and classes. But I couldn’t get the monkeys in my head to stop chattering about. What worked for me? A simple (and short) meditation exercise each morning before I get out of bed along with a reading from Journey to the Heart and The Poetry Pharmacy. Tiffany also gifted me with What I Know for Sure which was immediately added to the rotation, because everyone needs a little Oprah wisdom. While I was experiencing awe, confusion and connection, I drew on these words to further commit to my energy and purpose.

And I found myself realizing that sometimes the truest learning is the acceptance that our perspective has shifted. That I could let go of the act of doing, performing, delivering while I embraced what I truly needed. My travels this summer turned into a dialing in of perspective and priorities, and gratitude. If I had just jumped back into work, I would have missed the gift of connecting to my heart.

Re-entry

Now that I’m back exploring my next life assignment, I do so with explicit decision criteria, a daily practice that keeps me from sinking into old habits and the frenzy of the city, and a rich memory of the warmth and glow from days of play and rest. I am confident that where I go and what I do will be more joyful, intentional and impactful. My heart tells me so.

Throughout my early childhood I suffered from chronic respiratory illnesses. The ability to breathe without pushing heavily against my lungs or the absence of a wheeze, those were rare and short lived moments. As I nursed my own daughter this past week through a nasty bout of Strep throat, and then my own infection caught from her, I nostalgically recalled family stories of that period of my life and was struck with how deeply those experiences have shaped my leadership style.

Servant Leadership:

While I was clearly the constant patient, illness wasn’t just my nemesis. Every family story from my childhood is punctuated with “and that was the time Daisita was sick with…”. Even my teenage aunt’s suitors fell prey to my health woes, as is often recounted in the “Valentine’s story”. On this particular Valentine’s Day, I was battling yet another respiratory infection. That evening, several suitors (emphasis on several) came to our home to “ofrecer un angelito/present a Valentine’s gift” for my aunt. With each visit, my grandfather would sullenly greet them at the door, quickly take whatever they brought for my aunt and slam it shut behind them as quickly as possible to reduce any incoming wind — an enemy to me. As the story goes, the last suitor faced quite a scare when my grandfather opened the door thunderously yelling that he had a sick child at home and that if anyone dared come back, he would shoot them with his rifle. Unsurprisingly, no other suitors visited that evening. Everyone in my home, even my unwitting aunt, placed my needs above theirs that evening, and countless others throughout my life. As the beneficiary of such generosity and deep care, facilitating the success (or health) of others feels not like a duty but a welcomed responsibility.

Innovation:

My grandmother, a highly practical woman raised with very little, deftly ensured I received the best medical care at every turn. I had a tonsillectomy when I was about three to reduce the risk of recurring sore throats and congestion. Home remedies, common in the Spanish Caribbean community that raised me, were found aplenty in our home — home brewed teas in particular. And I’ll say it once but let’s not speak of it again — Vicks Vapor Rub or “Vivaporu” as I called it. I smelled like it for most of my childhood. The treatment that is most vivid in my memory took place when I was about four or five — “the year of the shots”. To cure a persistent pneumonia, I was given a weekly steroid shot for a period of several months. For a child well familiar with medical treatments, I was a terrible patient who dreaded any type of injection. As the story goes, I would cry and yell all the way to the doctor’s office, while the injection was applied, and all the way back home. Except on the last day. That day, with prodding from no one, I bravely offered one of my little butt cheeks (the one not punctured on the previous visit) and said, “ok”, as I turned away, eyes shut. My grandmother’s openness to experimenting with medicinal options was my early primer of creativity in pursuit of transformative solutions.

Strategically and collaboratively managing resources:

My pediatrician also happened to be my great-granduncle — my grandmother’s maternal uncle. I spent more time being treated by Tio Juancito in his back porch than in his office. I’m confident that we did not pay for every diagnosis or treatment. And that he did not treat other patients with a beer by his side. Just as I’m confident that my grandmother would strategically pay either in cash or in-kind services to make it all work out, as she would throughout my life.

Decisiveness:

Tio Juancito was a man of science who taught me the power of exercising my own agency. One evening, as he sat on his reclining chair he quickly diagnosed me when he saw my under-eye dark circles and cough-beaten demeanor. His medical recommendation: “Well, as I see it you have two choices. If you want to heal right away, I can give you a shot (of antibiotics). But if you don’t mind feeling sick for a little longer, I can prescribe pills. It’s your choice.” He delivered this prognosis in his usual matter of fact style but I could swear he was also giving me a sly smile. With no hesitation, and avoiding my grandmother’s gaze of what was surely irritated disbelief, I responded, “pills, please”. In the midst of rapidly changing circumstances, I made an executive decision. And I never regretted it.

Learning Agility:

The story I have shared less over the years is the one that has quietly haunted me the most. I once overhead a well intended yet inappropriate family friend say that I would not live past the age of forty. To this day I can’t recall in what context or who it was. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to be listening in — a cardinal rule in our household. At the time, or so I thought, I didn’t think much of that forecast. Forty seemed so old and distant.

True to the youthful innocence of ones teens and twenties, while it remained a distant marker in the back of my mind, I wasn’t worried about this pending date. Throughout my 30s, as the prophetic date loomed, I laughed it off yet approached my life with a bit more mature wisdom and focus on my health. I did everything I could to strengthen my lung capacity and keep my heart healthy (I was born with a mitral valve prolapse) — running, gym classes, biking, healthy eating, etc. I even trained for and ran the NYC marathon with my supportive husband by my side… and the only thing that gave out were my knees — not my heart, not my lungs.

Now in my mid-forties (my grandmother and aunts will gasp when they read that I’ve put my age in writing), well past that dreaded mark, I’ve learned to accept the uncertainty in life with grace and humor, most of the time. While no longer suffering from chronic illness, I hold a deep respect and create space for those who do. I have inadvertently applied learnings along the way about caring for others, openness to experiment, finding one’s voice, discipline and resourcefulness that have come in handy personally and professionally. No matter what ailments may come my way, I can confidently draw from a rich reservoir of tools and resources, along with an army of loving family and friends, to push forward. Strep throat beware!

“Sometimes people hold a core belief that is very strong. When they are presented with evidence that works against that belief, the new evidence cannot be accepted. It would create a feeling that is extremely uncomfortable, called cognitive dissonance. And because it is so important to protect the core belief, they will rationalize, ignore and even deny anything that doesn’t fit in with the core belief.”― Frantz Fanon

I often recall a childhood memory that embodies both my grandmother’s aspirations for me and the cultural barriers I would face to achieve them. On a typical tropical afternoon in the Dominican Republic preparing for lunch, I vividly remember my grandfather in his caring yet gruff manner complain to my grandmother that she was “ruining me because I didn’t know what to do with myself in the kitchen”. My grandmother’s quick retort was “she doesn’t need to know how to cook and clean, she’s going to be a professional”. I would later come to understand that profound statement as both an affirmation of my worth and a subversive act against the standards of her time. Her critique of the social norms that would assume my place, and that of any woman, should be in the kitchen were manifested in her rejection of me learning how to cook or perform any domestic chores outside of maintaining a tidy room. While I have often joked that I could have benefitted from a few basic cooking lessons, I’m grateful for my grandmother’s courage to forge a different path for me. She was one of my first champions and model for equity and inclusion.

I have indeed become a “professional woman” with corporate experiences in Finance, Media & Entertainment and Technology sectors. And in a tribute to my grandmother’s defiance of cultural norms, I have built a career reshaping workplace cultures through equity and inclusion. Unfortunately, what remains constant in the corporate workplace is a gender and racial disparity, a large misrepresentation in leadership of those not from dominant cultures - largely white, male, able-bodied and heterosexual. With great pain I have especially watched women of color marginalized and belittled to a soul crushing level because of misguided expectations and lack of supportive environments. The daily indignities faced by those different than the norm, when accumulated, can irreversibly change the course of a career, limit economic potential and diminish dreams. These workplace occurrences show up in many ways: dismissive language in meetings, the omission from high profile work assignments, the unskilled manager who fears providing performance feedback but who lets his HR rep fire his employee for lack of productivity; and perhaps most painful, the people of color who have risen to senior roles and who complicity diminish other rising people of color to save their position in the pecking order. The list, unfortunately, goes on.

I have repeatedly seen talented women and men of color of all ages, sexual orientations, nationalities and abilities sidelined, marginalized and drawn out to invisibility. I’ve grown impatient with framing the problem as the burden of the underrepresented. What is needed are real champions and warriors for change - men and women - willing to uncover the truths, call them out, and change the operational structures and processes that permit unfair treatment and disparate outcomes.

In the wake of the social misconduct reckoning our country is facing, I’m struck with the courage of women who despite facing intense pressure to not speak out against sexist and predatory behavior, have stood up defiantly for truth. The dominant culture of misogynistic oppression has especially pressured women to remain silent, whether to protect the careers of their abusers, protect their own prospects for advancement, or to avoid shame and stigma. That silence, and in many cases extreme coverups, has sustained and rewarded complicit actions and insular standards of workplace behavior. For that behavior and its supporting systems to stop, institutions need to pay attention to power dynamics and leaders need to be consistently held to a high standard of behavior. Women, like my grandmother, must continue to resist, and those with power must protect and empower them to reach their full potential without fear of reprisal, misconduct or abuse.

The spillover effect is real and there is no better time than now to act beyond the standard evaluation of internal policies and subsequent trainings to remind employees of the actions that should not have been acceptable in the first place. Everyone in the workplace should be asking not just “when will this end?” but “how have I supported these practices and behaviors in visible and invisible ways?”, “whose voices have I have not heard from yet?”, “how do I help amplify those untold stories?” and “how do I help others put an end to this?”. Small and determined actions like those of my grandmother’s can change not just one life but many.

The racial unrest, anti-immigrant sentiment and bullying rhetoric in our country has me restless. I am in a state of unease for the victimized, the abandoned and marginalized, and horrified of those emboldened by white supremacy. What keeps me up most at night is thinking about the impact of this social epidemic on our children’s sense of security and their identity formation. The context from which this generation emerges will mark how civil society and workplaces evolve. We need to help our children understand how they want to be seen, what they stand for, and how to live that out in this complex and changing world. And we need to help them build tools to understand and navigate the forces that influence culture.

On a recent vacation, while on a “unique tour of the Bahamas”, the type where you are packed like sardines in a speedboat to explore “the most spectacular views in the world”, my nine year old daughter experienced an impromptu, life affirming moment that will, I hope, equip her for this uncertain future. She wrangled a shark. A real life, Tiger Shark.

The tour guides have habituated these endemic sharks to group up next to the shore. They throw a whole, large fish tied to a rope into the pack while the tourists watch in awe safely from the edges of the water. The sharks, 3–4 feet long, bite at the fish like a pack of wild dogs and from time to time one gains enough of a grip that the tour guide, and a few select volunteers, can pull the shark closer to shore and even out of the water.

My daughter was one of those volunteers. This is the same girl who minutes earlier fearfully pulled her hand away when the tourists were given the opportunity to feed a stingray. Also habituated, the stingray gently glided past everyone’s feet in knee deep waters. While these were respectfully dangerous creatures, I’m ashamed to admit that my initial reaction was disappointment that my daughter had been so squeamish while the entire group participated. As we turned our attention to the next “show” — shark wrangling — I was startled to see her eagerly raise her hands when volunteers were sought to wrangle sharks. “Seriously? THIS you’ll do?”

As I watched my darling daughter, and the local shark wrangler who was holding on to the rope far tighter than she, I held a conflicting sense of fear and pride in her showcased bravery. Of course my tenacious daughter would choose to wrangle a shark vs feed a stingray! Both super scary for different reasons. On the first turn, she let her fears get the best of her. When a new opportunity was presented, even when it seemed to be a scarier creature, she jumped at it. She saved her courage points for the big one, and it paid off.

I plan to remind her of that moment when she faces other dangerous creatures in her life. Some will be scarier than others. With each she’ll have to choose which to wrangle and which to let go. And there will be plenty. She will have to learn what to hold onto and what to let go of. And hopefully she’ll become adept at identifying the small and big things she can do everyday to live a meaningful life.

In my career, I’ve focused on doing small things to impact corporate cultures in profound ways. I’ve faced stingrays and sharks of all sorts, and learned to navigate the ecosystems in which they thrive. I’ve steered through workplace tensions that arise when managers are ill-equipped to address bias and inequities in their teams. I’ve dealt with executives who seek to preserve and demand power by hoarding information and diminishing the worth of others, often at the sake of the business and development of future leaders.

I hope she learns to face these scary creatures and moments with clever resolve. I hope she can learn to distinguish these behaviors as human frailties and not characteristics to emulate. And I hope she learns to choose which ones to reel in and which to let go.

I’m often asked, by young women of color especially, how I maintain my authenticity in the workplace. The ability to ‘bring your whole self’ to work is a complex subject mired by social, political and economic tensions. It requires a deep sense of self, political and situational awareness coupled with a heavy dose of courage. While I have long driven diversity and inclusion strategies aimed at transforming corporate cultures, remaining true to my character has been both a work in progress and a defining trait. I am able to be me — to be kind, bold, brave and steadfast no matter what — because others have fought for me, lovingly and fiercely.

I was reminded of this recently when we celebrated my father’s 60th birthday on a family trip to the Bahamas. It was a perfect way to cheer a man deeply rooted in family and a Caribbean lineage.

During his birthday dinner, we all teased my father when he announced he wanted to say a few words about everyone at the table. As is common with my impassioned ‘papi’, we were all in tears at his first words, most of all him. When it came to me, he began with a story he has selectively shared over the years. He recalled the day he first saw me, when as a clueless fifteen year old living in the Dominican Republic and eager to move back to New York City, he was struck with a clear and distinct realization, he was in love with his baby daughter. That fierce feeling was quickly followed by a deep sense of protection which to him simply meant he would fight for me, always. And always fight for me he has.

The first time my street wise father fought for me, he was about 18 years old. Fearing what would become of me if I was raised by my mother in a midtown Manhattan community riddled with crime and poverty, he asked his parents to raise me in the Dominican Republic. And so, on his next visit as he found me on the street with my mom’s crew, he announced I would be moving to live with my grandparents. While not a fully hatched plan, my father did have the foresight to bring his best friend Joe for protection should he face a physical altercation. He did not. My mother relinquished me, perhaps ambivalent about her role as a caretaker; perhaps recognizing I could lead a better life elsewhere. In either case, in that moment, my father changed my life as he dared to dream for me what he couldn’t for himself.

Years later, in my junior year of high school in the Dominican Republic, my father was advised that I needed to complete my PSATs in the United States to improve my chances of entering an American university. He quickly bought a small house in New Jersey where I moved with my grandparents who devotedly came along to help with the transition. All so that I could achieve what my father fought for since my infancy — advancement through education and opportunity.

Knowing that I have people in my corner willing to fight for me, whether it be my father, grandparents and aunts; or the friends, bosses and mentors who have heartily advocated for me, has allowed me to stand fully and authentically in myself. And to champion the same for others.

I’ve been able to stand firmly anchored in who I am, often despite what others expected of me, because I’ve been fought for when I most needed it. Light has been shined on me so that I can open doors and lighten the load for others.

Just like my father fought for me, I fight so that my daughter grows up to be self assured, strong, unafraid to advocate for herself and others. My circumstances and that of my daughter’s are far easier than that of my father’s, and I have him to thank for that. Her voice, courage and kindness are my way of honoring his good fight and lighting the path forward for others to do the same.

Back in the day when I was single and living with my roommate Angel in an unusually spacious apartment in Hamilton Heights (aka West Harlem), we had a “Good Samaritan room”. This Good Samaritan room was an empty room we reserved for the transient visitor to New York City. As immigrants from the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico who had traveled extensively, Angel and I had a deep appreciation for those seeking harbor and wandering through life.

Growing up in the Dominican Republic, I have vivid images of my grandmother filling out U.S. immigration forms for family and friends, often by candlelight due to the rolling blackouts that plagued the island. She would be hunched over what would now be considered a vintage typewriter, every so often carefully applying white-out to correct a mistake. Fluent in English and having worked as an Executive Assistant in New York City, my grandmother had impeccable communication and presentation skills. I would watch her advise nervous and wishful adults, and sometimes entire families. Some anxiously seeking to be reunited with loved ones, and others painfully willing to part with their young children so they could attain a good education and advance beyond what was possible for them in the island. In the Dominican Republic, going to “the United States”, often meant landing in New York City. I didn’t realize it then but her acts of kindness and service, her Good Samaritan deeds, were building out the blueprint of my life.

The folks who came through our Good Samaritan room were often friends of friends and extended family who needed short term, soft landings. All had great stories and aspirations. There once was a German student who loved music and would stand idly in the hallway as he shared his day’s discoveries. There were the distant “cousins” who would marvel at the spaciousness of our apartment with lingering hopes they could find similar dwellings. And some did stay longer. My husband, pre-“us”, was one of those occupants. New to New York City, he initially couch camped with friends while he settled in. As we often did when the room was available, Angel asked me to consider having this new photographer friend stay with us for a bit while he found his footing. Not knowing he would become my life partner, I quickly agreed while feeling butterflies in my stomach — deep down knowing THIS wayward traveler was different. A month later, we were dating. Two months after, having a steady income, he moved out to an apartment in a nearby building. A year later we were engaged and once again living in the same apartment, sharing our living space with others.

I am the result of many Good Samaritan deeds. Mentors like Fred Terrell, Walter Stafford, Luis Miranda, Rossana Rosado, Ella Bell, Roz Hudnell, and Lisa Quiroz who have made introductions, advised me, praised me, and even scolded me when I most needed it. I honor their acts of kindness, and the service I learned from my grandmother, by opening the door wider for others. My Good Samaritan deeds may be different now but the intent and impact remain. One of our current home purchasing requirements is to have a third bedroom or at least a comfy couch. The notion of creating space to help others remains an active part of my life and my career, and one of the values I hope my daughter carries on.