Discrimination: The Art of Listening

(This was shared in my agency today. Change is incremental.  We have to start somewhere and keep pushing...  Picture of me and one of my leaders on accidental Wear a Lavender Shirt Day.)

Recently at the employee Diversity and Inclusion Group (DIG) at my agency, we had a discussion about discrimination.  We talked about how each of us at one time or another had been discriminated against by someone, somewhere, sometime.  We included anytime one of us had been judged for what we appeared to be and not who we were.  It was voluntary.  We took turns.  We agreed it was confidential.

Most of our experiences were around race, sex, national origin, or sexual orientation.  Although, this is by no means the only reasons people are singled out.  It was clear each of us of differing backgrounds or appearances are subjected to this kind of treatment.   Primarily, it is because the nature of humans is to make immediate decisions about other people due to part of our brains assessing risk.  This is a basic instinct to determine if the approaching party is friend or foe, dolphin or saber-tooth tiger.  In addition to this instinct, our brains carry around cultural assumptions that we have been taught directly or indirectly which create instant unchecked reactions including treating someone differently based on a perception of people we fail to challenge. 

As part of the DIG exercise, we talked about how to listen to our coworkers, friends, and family members when they tell us their stories of discrimination.  The first part of the process is to ask a question.  When we see something asking, “How did it feel to you when that happened?”  Or, “What was it like when you lived in Detroit...or Mississippi...or India...?  How did you deal with the racism, sexism, or other?”

The other important piece is:  How Do I Listen Well?  Here are some tips:

• When we listen to other people’s stories, we need to just listen without judging, defending, or explaining.  
• Ask clarifying questions.  “What was that like for you?” Or “What did you do when that happened?”  Respectfully, explore your curiosity.  “I noticed you looked upset when that happened.  What was going on for you?”  
• It is our job to take the time to contemplate what we are hearing.  Is this new information?  Is this a perspective we never thought about?
• It is not the time to try to one up the person’s story.  “Well, you should hear what happened to me.”  It is the time to listen.
• If we need to make comments, we need to use “I” statements.  “I never thought of that.”  “I’m sorry that happened to you,” or even, “I hate that.”

This is how we can become aware of how our actions affect others. This is how we can use this new found knowledge of differences to make the changes we want to see in our workplaces, agency, and the world around us.  Now is the time for attending to the issues of today by simply listening.

If you have questions or comments to share on this, please write to DIG or let us know if you would like to attend a meeting to learn what we are up to.

Bonus Diversity and Inclusion Tip:  The agency recruitment team has started using the following language as an interview question when screening potential new employees.  You are encouraged to use this when you are hiring new staff.  This sends the message that diversity and inclusion is exceedingly important to our organization, and discrimination will not be tolerated.

“We have a very diverse workforce that serves our diverse customers including racial and ethnic minorities, people of various socio-economic status, women, veterans, people with disabilities, people of any age, and LGBTQ individuals.  We have zero tolerance for discrimination or disparate treatment of any kind.  You will be part of a respectful and inclusive workplace for all employees. Do you have any concerns complying with this?”

Thanks to Joceile Moore and the Diversity and Inclusion Group for this week’s tip.

[Picture of two people in ties, African American man and caucasian woman wearing lavender shirts.]

12/2018

Wrong Side of the Bridge

The last time I was in the psych hospital was 2013.  The week before, I had a near miss.  Here's how it happened:  

I had joined a writing group.  I got the clever idea of writing about my self harm experiences and razor blades.  It was dangerous for me.  I knew that...but I wanted to write about what had happened to me.

I found myself at work, marginally safe from self harm.  I called my therapist and left a message.  I called my case manager and left a message.  Then, I got really unsafe and wanted to go buy razor blades.  But, I knew it would really piss Ronnie off.

My anxiety rose by the minute.  I called my doctor's office and tried to talk to her nurse.  I ended up with the consulting nurse.  She wanted someone to drive me to Urgent Care.  I said, "So, I should go to Urgent Care?"

"I don't want you to drive.  Is there someone who can drive you?”

I said, "Beth."

"Your friend?"

"Yes."

"I want to talk to her."

"Okay, but I should go to Urgent Care?"

"Please put Beth on the phone."

I went to get Beth.  Unfortunately, I hadn't told her anything about what was going on.  I just handed her my cell phone and threw her in the deep end.  I watched her say yes, okay, no, yes.  I watched her eyebrows go up and down.  I shook my head no about her driving me.  Then, they hung up.

"She wants me to drive you, and she'll call me back in an hour."

"Thanks, but I don't want you to drive me."

"Then, you have to call me when you get there, because she's gonna call me back.  I can't lie to her again.  I already lied once."  Beth complained.

"Okay, I'll call you in half an hour."

Beth responded, "Okay, but you have to call me, because she's gonna call me back in an hour."

"Don't worry, I'll call."

I left work for Urgent Care or parts unknown.  I drove fast.  I didn't want to stop at any grocery stores, and I had to pass two on the way to Urgent Care.

Upon my arrival, Urgent Care called me in right away.  "Joceile?"

"Yes."

"I'm Dr. Mack.  You are feeling suicidal?"  Dr. Mack was shortish with black glasses and black hair.  Her clothes looked oversized.

"Yes."  I said.

"We're really not able to help you here."

"What do you mean?"  Alarm went through me as I noticed that I could not stand still or quit hitting my fists on each other.

"We really need you to go to St. Peters."  St. Peter Hospital was the local hospital with an emergency room and psych unit.

I had visions of walking out and down the street to St. Peters.  "Nobody can help me here?"

"We're not set up to take care of psych patients."

"Well, upstairs is behavioral health.  Somebody upstairs can help me."  I was not yelling but felt like it.

Dr. Mack said, "I can call and see if someone can come down."  She left to make the call, and the nurse sat quietly in front of the computer.  I bounced against the wall while I waited.

The nurse said, "I like your tie."  I was wearing a bright, pink shiny tie.

"Thank you."  Always be polite.  You never know when you may need a friend.

I kept banging my back against the wall, pushing off, and banging back.

Eventually, Dr. Mack came back with a sight for sore eyes.  Holly, my group therapist, was with her.  She said, "Hi, Joceile," and offered to take me upstairs to talk.  What a relief!  Someone who knew me and cared about me.

"Follow me.  We can go the back way which is kind of exciting."  I didn't feel that excited about it, but I was relieved to get help.  "I have a few minutes that I can spend with you."

I knew she was busy.  Everyone is busy.  "Thank you, Holly."

I entered her office and began pacing back and forth.  Holly sat down, "tell me what's going on."

Telling was harder than pacing.  I could barely meet her eyes.  "I crossed the bridge," I said and gestured at a make believe bridge with my hands.  "I was on this side, and I crossed, and now I'm on this side."  I moved my hands from left to right.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm not safe.  I'm not safe.  I don't know what to do."

"Can you take some deep breaths?"  I inhaled, "Now let it out."

I let a shaky breath out.  "Again."  This wasn't easy.  

Three more breaths in and out while still pacing.  At that point, I thought Holly got that I was beyond just deep breathing.

"So, what do you need?"

"I need help being safe."

"You may need to go to the hospital if you can't be safe."

"I hate going to the hospital."  I hung by my hands on the coat rack attached to the wall.

"I know but that may be what you need."  I kept pacing despite the fact that Holly’s office was quite small for pacing.  I leaned into the wall. 

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to push the wall."

"What would work for you?"

I sighed, "A magic wand; a powerful potion; a big shot of something."

"Would you like Dr. McNabb to come in and prescribe you something?"

I kept pacing, "That would be good."

"Are you safe here while I see if Dr. McNabb is available?"

"Yes."

Holly came back with Dr. McNabb.  "Have a seat," Dr. McNabb gestured to a chair.

"I can't."  I kept pacing.

"What can I get for you?"

"Five Ativans."

"That's too much." McNabb responded.  "How about two?"

"Okay, but it won't be enough."

"I can order you two.  Do you want pills or a shot?"

"I don't care."

"You really don't care."

"No...a shot is quicker."

McNabb went away to do something about a prescription.

"Shall I call to see if I can find you a bed?"  Holly asked.

"Yes, but I hate going to the hospital."

"I know."  Holly made a phone call which consisted of yes, no, yes, yes.  "I've known her for three years."  More yeses.

I continued to pace.  I pretended to hit the wall.  I stabbed the furniture with an imaginary knife.  Time marched slowly.  Holly left to do something.  A man came and asked me if I wanted water.

Holly came back and asked if the phone had rung.  It had.  "Damn," she said.  "They are never that quick."

It turned out that St. Peter had no bed.  So, they would look in Tacoma.

I kept pacing, pounding my fists together one on top of the other.

The phone rang.  Tacoma was full.  Next stop, Overlake in Seattle.  "I don't want to go to Overlake."

"We may not have another option," Holly responded, "you may need to be hospitalized."

I shuddered and kept pacing  A man with a pill and water came in.  I took the two milligram pill with water and began watching the clock, pacing.

"Okay, there is a bed in Overlake."

"That is so far from home." I said still pacing, nearly punching the wall wishing for a better solution.  "I like my life. I don't want to go to the hospital. It's not like there's a 24 hour turnaround."

"No, it usually takes a few days.  Can you feel the medication?"  Holly asked.

"Not yet."  More pacing.  "I'd much rather be you in this scene than me."

Holly laughed. "I don't blame you. I'd rather be me too."

More pacing.  Holly asked, “Can I call Ronnie to see if she can take you to the hospital?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to go.”

Holly got Ronnie on the phone.  They talked.  Then, Holly handed the phone to me.  “How you doing, sweetheart?”

“I’m not safe.  I may have to go to the hospital.  Will you take me?”

“I can do that.”

“I might not have to go if you can stay with me and help me stay safe.”

“I’m not sure that’s good for us as a couple,” Ronnie said.  “If you can’t stay safe, you’ll need to go to the hospital.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said.  “I know you’re right.”  A pause, “can you pick me up at 5?”

“I’ll be there as close to 5 as I can.”

“Thanks.  Holly needs to leave at 5.”  I hung up and kept pacing in Holly’s office.  

A new woman showed up. Holly said, "I need to see a patient for a few minutes.  Can you stay with Laura for a few minutes?"

"Yes," I followed Holly to Laura's office.  More time, more pacing.  

McNabb came in.  "How are you doing?  Would you like two more pills?"

"Yes," I said and didn't point out that four pills was not that far from the five I had originally asked for.

Then, Holly came back.  "You want to come back to my office?"

"Yes."

Back in Holly's office, "I'm beginning to feel it...to slow down."

The man came back with another two milligram pill and water.  In a few minutes, things began to really slow down, but I kept pacing.

"I feel better.  Maybe I won't have to go to the hospital."

"You have to be safe, and I have to believe you."  Holly responded.

I kept pacing, but I noticed it was slower.  

"We need to decide soon, because I need to fax the papers in."

"I know."  I kept pacing. It was nearing five o'clock.  "I think I am getting better."

"You don't have to decide yet," Holly commented.  I kept pacing but slower.

"I think I can go home."

"We'll wait for Ronnie."

A few more minutes and Ronnie came in.  I said, "We don't have to go to Overlake."

"Overlake?" She said, "I didn't know we were going to Overlake."

"Well, we're not.  I can go home."

"I thought I was just bringing you to St. Peter.  Not Overlake."

"It changed, but now I can go home."

"You feel safe?"  Holly asked.

"Yes."

"If something happens tonight, go to St. Peter's ER," Holly said.  "And, I want someone to see you here tomorrow.  I would see you, but I'm off tomorrow."

It had been three hours. "Okay," I said.  "I'll be here."  And I was.  And I am.  And I'm safe now.

* * * * * * *

I saw Holly the next week and thanked her for hanging with me.  She said, “I’m happy to do it if it helps you get through safely and keeps you out of the hospital.”

I was grateful.  I doubted such an opportunity would arise again.  Unfortunately, the state of my being unsafe happened again the next week.  This time, I went to Fairfax Psychiatric Hospital in Kirkland.  It was different experience with another story.  It will come later.

L’Chaim.

Joceile

2/1/13 and 12/1/18

[Picture of raised draw bridge over Cuyahoga River, Cleveland.]

The Art of Working for the State

People look at me and say, “I didn’t get everything done that I wanted to do today.” 

I respond puzzled, “Well, of course not. You’re not supposed to get everything done. This is state work. In state work, two things must always be true:  1) You must always have more work than you could possibly do, and 2) If somehow you manage to get everything done, you must always be given more work because #1 must always be true.”

“How does that work?”

“We work for the state. If you could get all the work done, we wouldn’t need you.  That’s why you’ll never get everything done.”

It’s been my observation not everyone can thrive in this environment. At times, there is a willful slowing down of work when there’s a fear of running out which we all know leads to layoffs.  At other times, there is a somewhat natural inclination to do as little as possible as the work seems insurmountable.  Others of us like to keep busy, get a reasonable amount done, and feel an accomplishment.

I once worked as a file clerk for a very large agency. At that time, we filed paper quarterly reports for all employers in the state.  We had thousands and thousands of reports to file in each employer’s file.  Additionally, we were chronically understaffed because, after all, we worked for the state with the eternal urge to spend as little money on staff as possible.  It was painfully obvious that we would never get everything filed.  It took a certain doggedness to continue filing under these conditions.  It required a mindset to just keep at it until the next break, or lunch, or end of the day.

Around my third year, we hired a new young woman named “Tressa.”  She was inspired and started filing these reports at an alarming rate.  We knew how much we filed because we measured the amounts of paper by inches and had a formula for how many pages made an inch which we reported to our supervisor.  I observed her stellar performance knowing what was coming.

It wasn’t long before my coworkers started complaining to her that she was working too hard and getting too much done.  At the same time, to hedge their bets, they started complaining to our supervisor that she was lying about her production.  Naturally, she was incensed by both activities and deeply offended when our supervisor accused her of lying.  I knew she wasn’t lying.  I could see how much she was filing.  However, I wasn’t in the frame of mind to interfere in this little drama.  I wasn’t the supervisor.  It wasn’t long before she applied for promotion, left, and everything settled back into the normal routine of us file clerks.  

It did make an impression on me.  I’m not sure what my conclusion was other than to not get caught showing up my coworkers if I didn’t want to be ganged up on.  To this day, I try to avoid having someone remark on my performance in front of my coworkers.  Although I appreciate the recognition, it is a might uncomfortable for me if too much public acknowledgement comes my way.

Over the years, I have also had to find a way to support those who are determined to work until they drop in order to get the work done.  If my rules #1 and #2 don’t work on them.  I have developed another line of reasoning for those high performers that are in danger of burnout while working extra hours.

After repeating to them rules #1 and #2, I add, “In order to make this work sustainable, you must figure out what is reasonable to do in 8 hours.  Do that amount.  Then, go home and forget about it.  Otherwise, management will come to think all this work you are doing is your job and anything less than this is poor performance.  You do not want to establish this.”  I only say this to high performers.  Regular folks will just take this to mean that they can do however much they feel like which is not the intent of this guidance.

Finding a line between being a good steward of tax payers’ funds and getting a reasonable and sustainable amount done is very tricky.  If I had all the answers, I might be a fancy pants, high level executive.  Instead, I’m just a direct service part-time state worker that has survived my state employment for 40 years.  I believe this is without my coworkers or managers secretly praying I retire sometime very soon.  And, I try to pass on my hard won wisdom to those folks wholly deserving of it.

With that, let me just say as I’ve so often heard, “Good luck with that.”

L’Chaim.

Joceile

11/26/18

[Picture in office setting of woman wearing red bow tie, white shirt, black vest, and light colored khaki pants with running shoes leaning against cubicle wall.]