Translator: Robert Tucker Reviewer: Zsófia Herczeg
Three years ago, after moving back from Berlin,
I had an experience with local law enforcement.
I was living in an old family house at the time but without a car,
so typically, even when I was home, there would be no car out front.
One afternoon, as I was going through old memories
and moving around what seemed like to be a thousand boxes,
the blinds in my spare room were being shifted to and fro
as I was generally just cleaning out the space.
My neighbor, an elderly woman,
took it upon herself to be the unofficial neighborhood watch,
and so, seeing the blinds moving back and forth
and no car out front in the driveway,
she deduced that my home was being burglarized on a Sunday at noon
and called the police.
As I continued to clean, I was pretty unaware
of what was going on outside of my house,
but audible and unfamiliar voices
prompted me to pause my cleaning activities
and to go outside, just to see what was going on.
The scene that I encountered when I opened my front door
is one that I will never forget.
Four police officers with guns drawn,
one pointed directly at me,
were surrounding my front porch.
"Get out of the house! Hands in the air! Hands in the air now!"
I froze.
Up until this point, I had never actually seen
a real, live, loaded gun this close to me,
much less had one pointed in my direction.
Now, I'm here before you today
because I obviously survived that encounter.
I was able to collect myself enough to answer questions
and prove that I had every right to be in that property.
But what if I had not looked like me?
What if I had not spoken like me?
What if the person who opened the door looked like a thug,
whatever image that pops into your head when I use that word?
What if the person who opened the door had not been able to collect themselves
in the face of grave danger, confusion, and potentially even death,
to prove that they had the right to be on that property?
What if I had expressed rightful anger
for being mistreated by police in my own home?
What if I had been a black man, instead of a black woman?
I raised these questions to illustrate the role
that behavior plays as it relates to code-switching.
As a kid, I was inadvertently forced to learn to code-switch,
and perhaps, in my case,
that unintentional education saved my life.
Code-switching as a concept is really interesting.
By definition, it's what happens when people who speak multiple languages
alternate between two or more,
oftentimes within the same phrase or sentence.
In a more colloquial sense, code-switching is what happens
when people reflexively or subtly change the way they express themselves.
So, for someone like me, and I'm sure many of you all here,
I thought, up until about fourth grade,
that "y'all" was the correct contraction for "you all."
It was only after some point at around nine or ten
that I learned that "you all"
was the correct way to address a group of people,
and that I should absolutely use "you all," not "y'all,"
when addressing important people and situations.
As our world continues to be connected through technology of all sorts,
apps and the Internet of Things and artificial intelligence,
I guess code-switching makes a lot of sense
as people from different backgrounds
continue to come into close contact with one another.
But when we look more closely at code-switching,
and who's expected to make the switch,
we discover a hidden reality.
And that reality is that the expectation of code-switching
threatens true diversity.
My first day of third grade was at a new school
as I had recently been accepted to the gifted program,
which meant that I would be bused from my neighborhood school of Westside
to Tomoka, in the next city over.
The year was 1992,
and so, on the first day of class,
I proudly donned my favorite Jodeci pleather new boots
and my Cross Colours shorts that -
to say that I stuck out like a sore thumb would be a grave understatement.
My new classmates were in polite pastels
and ribbons and bows and kids' Gap and Limited Too fashions.
I knew immediately that if I was going to fit in and make friends,
I would have to change more than just a few things.
So, over the course of the next few years, I learned acutely how to do just that.
I stopped wearing my Jodeci boots,
I started choosing softer colors
as opposed to the bright hip-hop colors and fashions that I had chosen previously.
I started listening to Green Day, and I eventually -
(Laughter)
and I eventually learned how to act like my new classmates,
and eventual friends.
Most importantly though, I learned how to align myself,
not just so that I fit in,
but so that I was culturally compatible.
I didn't know it then, but this is where I learned how to code-switch
and how to behave and speak in a way
that made me a non-threatening person of color.
As our society grapples with police brutality,
and protests against such violence
have become synonymous with big brand ad campaigns
and pop culture,
it's a person's behavior
which indicates whether or not they have learned
the language of effective code-switching.
There have been countless instances in recent history
where a person's ability or inability to code-switch
has meant the difference between life or death.
Are you all familiar with Henry Louis Gates Jr?
Many people know him as the host of the PBS series "Finding Your Roots,"
and still others may know him as an esteemed Harvard professor.
Still others of us may remember him also from a 2009 incident,
involving Cambridge, Massachusetts police,
when he was arrested for breaking and entering into his own home.
No doubt, his ability to articulate, and him being who he was,
and being able to explain the situation,
led to a relatively okay outcome for him,
save the public humiliation of being arrested.
For those who opt for authenticity,
unapologetically deciding to speak with the accents of their homeland
or their grandparents,
or to wear their hijab, or to say "y'all" in the boardroom,
there are oftentimes very real consequences that can be felt.
Consequences like not getting that promotion
because the client wants to speak to someone who sounds American,
or being jeered at for wearing symbols of pride from your culture,
while other people who appropriate that same culture
make the pages of Vogue magazine,
or being told by HR or administration
that your natural hair is inappropriate for work or school
and will need to be changed to avoid disciplinary action.
For those who aren't even deciding against code-switching
because they haven't learned it,
the consequences can be even bigger.
When I was a kid, I heard a lot of talk about Oreos,
and I'm not talking about the delicious cookie sandwiches
eaten best with a glass of milk,
but I'm talking about the slang term,
which refers to a person who's black on the outside
and white on the inside.
Kids definitely have a way of putting things plainly.
But the concept always made me think a lot about myself:
who I was and who I was becoming, where I lived and where my friends lived,
the music I listened to at home with friends and family
versus what I was starting to listen to with my new friends at school.
Deep down, I always felt like I had to hide certain parts of myself
that I knew were still very much me.
I had to be careful to not slip and say something too ghetto
in front of my new friends.
But I had to also be careful to not talk too much about cello or classical music
when I was at home.
For the person who's expected to code-switch,
to exist almost simultaneously in two or three different worlds,
constantly presenting a slightly edited version of self,
the pressure can be immense.
But what if there was just one world where we could all be our true selves
instead of the brand of diversity
which purports that minorities are acceptable,
provided they behave in a specific way?
What about a truer sense of diversity
where people are praised for their uniqueness
and the cultural capital they bring to places and situations
as opposed to being disciplined or shamed for it?
What about an acceptance of different speech patterns
even within our own American lexicon,
so that when a person says the word "y'all,"
we appreciate what that might mean about their heritage or upbringing,
as opposed to what we think it means about their level of intelligence;
when we see a person with a hijab or an afro,
we embrace the reasons for someone's decision
to do or to be something different than we are?
I truly believe that most of us think diversity is a good thing.
Most of us understand that by exposure to people and places and ideas
that are different from us,
we actually end up being better, smarter, more compassionate people.
But is belief in the goodness of diversity enough?
In my professional life, I'm a tech founder.
And thanks to biology, I happen to be a black woman tech founder.
My startup journey
has been like a roller-coaster ride without the seatbelt,
similar to most people's.
But, it's because I've learned the language of code-switching
and check some of the boxes
that means I get access to some of the opportunities.
I chose to be a tech founder
because, like most ambitious people,
I want to change the world in a positive way,
even though the data says specifically for my demographic
any kind of success in the tech industry
is the least likely.
In this case, when I speak of success,
I mean the ability to raise capital to start, grow, and scale a venture.
The National Center for Education Statistics reports
that black women are actually the most educated group
in the United States.
And a recent article from "Fast Company" highlights
that we're also the largest growing sector of new business owners,
with a whopping 265% increase in black-women-owned businesses
from 1997 to 2014.
(Applause)
Yes.
(Applause)
Yet, when it comes to who receives the venture capital,
particularly in the tech industry,
women CEOs get just 2.7%.
And women of color CEOs?
We get 0.2% - also known as none.
(Laughter)
The cost of code-switching on society is huge
because it means that those of us who belong to minority groups
spend a lot more time learning the language of cultural compatibility
and less time doing the things that matter to all of us,
like living, like spending time with friends and family,
like starting successful businesses.
As the tides of acceptance change in our nation,
and cultures continue to shift,
I challenge all of us to really give every person,
regardless of who they are,
the space to really be and exist as their true selves.
Because it's only when each of us can really live in our truth,
that we all gain the incredible benefits of true diversity.
Thank you.
(Applause)