Dionne Riley-Johnson: A Black woman in corporate America is a constant battle

In 2016, I came across a senior management position that was with a corporation that specialized in civic construction. I knew I was qualified for it, but I also knew what I was up against. This company was 90% white; there were no Black people in any management positions and there were currently no women working there. Now imagine my surprise when they hired me. Not because I wasn’t qualified, but because I was a 32-year-old pregnant black woman.

By this time, I had become accustomed to being the “only one.” This is quite common in corporate America, but now I was not only the only person of color, but I was the only woman. Nevertheless, this was an exciting opportunity, even if I was now in charge of an office full of white men.

The apprehension I felt on my first day was nothing short of nervousness and anxiety. I knew that in this environment, some of these men were not accustomed to any black people, let alone a pregnant Black woman. Rather than being labeled as an “angry Black woman,” which can be the typical stereotype when an accomplished African American woman gets a position of authority, I decided the best approach was to come into the position trying to showcase that not all Black people are uneducated and not all Black women are angry. I didn’t know how much exposure these men had in the area of diversity, but I felt like it was my job to be on my “best behavior.” I never felt like I could come in and just be myself.

In my first management meeting I was introduced and mostly all the men were gracious and respectful. I generally felt like this was going to be a satisfactory experience and that maybe I was going to be one of the fortunate ones who did not experience any of that subtle racism that plagues other Black executives.

However, in that same meeting, a co-worker began to speak about a current project he was working on. He started making comments about how displeased he was about one of the city officials, but for some reason, he couldn’t recall the man’s name. At this point, he looks at me and asked me did I know of the man he was speaking of? I replied that I did not. He then says, “You should know him. He’s the colored fella that’s always on TV.”

My heart sank. There it was. The exasperating experience of white people assuming all Black people know each other. What would make this man think I knew a city official from a city I didn’t even live in, just because we share the same skin color? In the few years I have been with the company, there have been off-handed comments about my hair changing, how deplorable my hometown city has become because of the “riffraff," and even the atrocious act of someone parking their truck in front my office window, just so I could look out at their freshly painted Confederate flag, which had not been there before.

Being a Black woman in corporate America is a constant battle of trying to uphold an image of being educated, kind and respectful, all while carefully trying to balance the line of when to speak up and when to just ignore ignorance. It’s hard to disregard subtle racist comments and it begins to become downright debilitating to the soul when you know your coworkers like you because you “aren’t one of them,” but dislikes other Black people who look just like you.

Now some would think I am one of the fortunate Black women, but how can I ever feel fortunate when Black people are still being unjustly murdered? What if I’m next? My accomplishments and my gender mean nothing if a white person ever feels threatened. I am still Black.

Dionne Riley-Johnson lives in Detroit and is an office manager in Monroe. She is representing Women’s Vote, Women’s Voice, Women’s Equality, a group celebrating the 100th anniversary of women’s right to vote.