Here’s a poignant truth I’ve taken for granted for most of my life: I’ve had doors opened, had new opportunities offered and been in rooms with people who welcomed me as an equal — all directly resulting from being a white man.
With inequality as part of the national conversation again, I wanted to learn how I, a middle-aged white male, could play an active role towards positive change. My main objective was to figure out how I could be a better ally to people of color, members of the LBGTQ community, women and anyone else who was denied the same opportunities I have had throughout my life. I wanted to explore the full definition of being an ally within this context, not just to recognize systemic inequality but to take active steps to make the world a better place.
The first step is admitting you don’t know everything about people who are different than you, says Tammy L. Hodo, who has a doctorate in urban studies and is the founder and president of All Things Diverse, a Jacksonville-based consulting firm that helps companies and academic institutions optimize their workforce by promoting diversity, equity and inclusion in the corporate world.
“If we want a society that is fair and equitable, we need to make sure we’re aware that we don’t know everything about everyone else,” Hodo says. “So, we have to constantly work on educating ourselves and being reflective and aware of what’s going on around us.”
Becoming a better ally, I learned, begins with the awareness and recognition of inequities and becoming a proactive participant in balancing the scales.
It Starts With Small Gestures
Having grown up in an area where everyone looks and sounds just like me, the first time I was the only white person in the room caught me off guard more than I had expected. In 1997, when I was in my mid-20s, I was working for a newspaper in Fort Pierce and went on an assignment to a Sunday church service in a predominantly Black neighborhood. I stood through infectious hymns and an inspiring sermon experiencing a contradictory feeling of awkwardness. The churchgoers were especially welcoming and warm, and yet I couldn’t help but be constantly aware, perhaps for the first time in my life, of what it felt like to be the racial minority.
It’s a feeling Black people have all the time, according to Frank Hayden. He’s the director of the Office of Equal Opportunity for the City of West Palm Beach, making sure people of color, women and other minorities have a fair shot at city contracts. Hayden grew up in a part of Detroit that is home to a primarily Black community and when he moved in 2001 to Palm Beach County, he suddenly found he was regularly the only non-white person in the room. That feeling I had in the church, Hayden says, is part of daily life for people of color.
“When we walk into one of those instances, we still feel like we don’t belong or we are on some strange planet or something,” Hayden says. He suggests offering a nod or hello to acknowledge the person who may look different from everyone else, as if to say, “you’ve got a friend here.”
I realize that such a gesture addresses only a fraction of the issue of inequality, that there are larger, more comprehensive steps I, and white males like myself, need to make and I am encouraged and motivated by the strides towards allyship prevalent among many Americans today.
Step Outside Of Yourself
Compass is a nonprofit that aims to provide a safe space for LGBTQ youth in Palm Beach County. Michael Riordan, director of marketing, says asking the question “How do I become a better ally?” is a good step to understanding how you can contribute to equality. “The most important thing […] people can do is step outside of themselves and seek out other people’s experiences,” Riordan says.
As a 42-year-old transgender woman, Riordan has experienced first-hand what it’s like to identify as a member of the LGBTQ community. “I am now part of a group that’s marginalized a lot,” Riordan says.
As Riordan continues transitioning, her voice will take on lighter notes. However, currently her voice is deep, and in public Riordan has noticed the glares of strangers. “You’re looked at as an oddity,” she says. “I’ll have people take pictures of me behind my back. I’ll be out in public, and I’ll see it. I ignore it.” But she said it bothers her, every time.
For the past four years, Riordan has helped plan major events like Palm Beach Pride, the Stonewall Ball and the Youth Equality Prom. Previously she worked as a teacher and says she always had a voice in every room as a white male. Now, as a transgender woman, she’s experiencing a new existence in a minority group. “There were a lot of things that I didn’t see, because I didn’t want to see them,” Riordan says, recalling her experiences when she identified as and presented as a man.
While we spoke, I told Riordan about a close friend of mine whose child recently underwent a female-to-male transition and how, despite the difficulties of it, he’s happy and well-adjusted and figuring out a new life — the one he always knew he should be living.
“Keep telling his story to anyone who will listen. That’s how we change minds, by people hearing stories like that,” Riordan says.
Changing The Workplace
At Boca Raton Regional Hospital, Brian Altschuler’s title is officially vice president of ancillary operations, but more than anything, his job is to try to make things equal for everyone.
“You’re asking how do you become an ally?” he inquires at the beginning of our call. It can be defined by one word, he says: inclusiveness.
For years now, he’s been training the hospital staff on fostering inclusivity. Sometimes it’s a quick lesson, like knowing to ask a patient or coworker about their spouse, instead of a gendered husband or wife, something that might be offensive or awkward if they are in a same-sex marriage. “By those simple modifications in the way you speak, you let people know they’re in an environment where they’re going to feel comfortable,” Altschuler says.
At Florida Atlantic University, Andrea Guzman has a similar job. As associate vice president for student outreach and diversity, one of Guzman’s main responsibilities is to advance diversity. There are obvious things people can do to achieve that, she says, like ensuring hiring is more equal. But it’s also about looking around the room sometimes. If your company is making a big move and everyone in the room looks the same, it’s time to figure out how to get more diversity in the decision-making. “Oftentimes that’s all it takes to remind people of a responsibility to inclusion that most have accepted as the standard nowadays. If the leadership is committed, they will take action. People do want to do the right thing, they just don’t always know how.”
The daughter of a biracial mother, Guzman grew up in a largely Latino neighborhood. As the mother of two biracial children, she’s always conscious of the optics of race. She notes that at lunch, a person will typically sit with someone who tends to look like themselves “because that’s who you’re most comfortable with.” Stepping out of one’s comfort zone can change that and lead to more inclusivity.
For a person of color, small injustices can be part of regular life, a reality they either have to swallow or absorb bitterly, a lifetime of compounding unfairness, and Guzman told me standing up when we see something wrong is something white people should do more, especially white men. We’re given more latitude to raise an alarm — if a person of color stands up against micro-aggressions it can be taken as a threat instead of a peaceful complaint.
As a biracial child growing up in a predominantly white neighborhood in Milwaukee, Hodo says she saw from an early age how people would react differently to her versus her mother, who is white, tending to be more accepting of small complaints for things like bad restaurant service if it were coming from her mom. Some of the training she offers companies is about finding the willingness to speak up. “Being a good ally,” Hodo says, “means being active in support of the people around us and recognizing when something isn’t right.”
Through all of these conversations, I came to realize being a better ally begins with listening to other people’s perspectives and accepting that society has not afforded equal opportunities to all. It’s easy for those who strive to make this world a fairer place to think that everyone has the same opportunity to excel, to succeed, to live a life of privilege. The ugly truth is that there is institutional, systemic racism and misogyny that has created an unequal and unjust society for many of our friends and neighbors. The opportunities I’ve received as a white man aren’t available to many just on the basis of their race or gender-identification. Taking active steps towards equality isn’t about breaking down everything you know — it’s about standing up against microaggressions, paying attention to the gendered pronouns we use and making sure we create and foster environments where people of all races and identities feel welcome.
Eric Barton grew up in New England and was lured to Florida after getting a brochure in the mail from what was then the College of Boca Raton (now Lynn University). Here he shares his quest to be a better ally.