Written by Mita Mallick, Head of Diversity & Inclusion and Cross-Cultural Marketing at Unilever.

“I’m color blind,” a colleague had confidently proclaimed to me several years ago while we were meeting.  “I’m color blind, and I don’t see you as any color at all,” she boldly claimed again, sitting right across from me and staring me straight in the eyes. All the while slowly sipping her cup of coffee. I stared blankly at her “First Coffee, Then Slay” boss lady-style mug.  

“I just don’t see color.”

Colorblind is the infamous get out of jail card, a free pass, a VIP status, to buy, pass go, and collect your $200 Monopoly-style and to let everyone know there’s no possible way that you see color.  Along with phrases like;

“My dentist who I love is Indian.”

“My best friend from fifth grade is Black.”

“My grandchildren are half Asian. I don’t see color. How can I see color?”

“Did I mention my college sweetheart was Colombian? So I can’t possibly be a racist. And I am one of the most evolved, open-minded people you will ever meet. I live in Manhattan, after all.”

When you use the words “I am color blind” you have completely shut down any possibility of having a conversation with me around race. Because I am Brown.  As a Brown person, I don’t have the privilege of saying I am color blind. I know when I walk into my workspaces and workplaces my brownness has entered the room before I have even had the chance to sit down and say hello. I wear my brownness every single day of my life.

Like many of you, I am in shock and in pain over the death of George Floyd—a pain compounded by Ahmaud Arbery’s tragic death in Georgia and Amy Cooper’s weaponizing of race in Central Park. As a Diversity and Inclusion leader and as a woman of color, I am trying hard to stand as an ally for the Black community.  

Being an ally starts with acknowledging that race matters. And for Black and Brown people, race has defined us since the day we were born. Because for Black and Brown people, being color blind is a privilege we cannot afford. 

To understand what’s happening in our country right now—emotions swirling, the flame reignited, the wildfire spreading again across the country—and to learn and understand about institutional racism, you must first see our Black colleagues. You must see that they are Black. Our Black colleagues must be seen and then heard. 

Having courageous conversations on race is the first place to start as an ally for the Black community. Here are the 5 things I am reminding myself when entering into a conversation as an ally.

Please just listen. Allow the space for stories to be shared.

In a world that won’t shut up, it’s hard for us to just be present and listen because we want to talk and talk and talk. We just need to listen. Deeply listen to what is being shared. Sometimes when someone is sharing with you, it’s because of a recent racist experience they have had and they trust you to listen. They might be emotional. They may get quiet. Sit in the silence and emotion with them and to say, “I am here, I am here to listen.”

Other times, you might want to check in on how a Black friend or colleague is doing, particularly after a devastating event like the death of George Floyd. In that case, some might want to share how they are feeling; others won’t want to share. Maybe not at the moment, and maybe not ever.  The pain and trauma are deep. The important part is that as an ally, you checked in. They know you are standing with them. 

Please don’t minimize their experience.

“Are you sure that happened? Maybe you misunderstood what she said? She’s the nicest person I ever met.”

“No way that happened.” 

 “You are joking, right?  That’s not even possible!”

Please do not ask questions. Please do not make statements and question the validity of what is being shared. Now is not the time to be an investigative journalist. Accept that they are telling you to be true. Because it is true. Seek to understand and learn from what they are sharing.  

Please don’t time insert your own experiences.

Please don’t start telling stories about sexist or racist or homophobic experiences you have had in response to what they shared.  After 9/11, it was the first time in my life I started to fear authority. I feared for my brother and my father and all the South Asian men in my life who could, for no reason, be dragged away and deemed a terrorist threat by police. My Black friends reminded me that this was the fear they have lived with all their lives.

Now is not the time to compare and contrast experiences or trying to show you understand their pain. Because if you haven’t lived in their shoes, you don’t.

When there are long periods of silence, and someone is emotional during a conversation, our instinct is to fill up the air to make it less comfortable. I try to stay present, ensure the person sees my eye contact. If this was an in-person conversation and I knew the person well, I would offer a tissue or lightly extend my hand on their hand or shoulder to show I am there for them. 

I avoid phrases like “It’s going to be okay” or “It will get better” or “Progress takes time.” 

Instead, I focus on phrases like “I am here for you as an ally” and “I am here to listen, there’s no rush, please take your time.” And “I can’t imagine how painful this is for you and thank you for trusting me and sharing” and “Please know you can trust me to share anything you like” and “I haven’t walked in your shoes, and I can’t imagine what pain you are in, and I am working hard to understand and educate myself on experiences that aren’t my own.”

Please don’t try to problem-solve.

As leaders, we are trained to problem solve. The most difficult part about conversations on race I have found is the non-closure. You have left the conversation feeling like you couldn’t help; you didn’t brainstorm an action plan; you didn’t provide a solution. It was a failed conversation.

If it was so easy to end institutional racism, we would have collectively eliminated racism a long time ago.  So it won’t be solved in one courageous conversation. You need to keep engaging.  You need to keep learning.

Please do continue to educate yourself.

Courageous conversations on race are an important place to start. When ending any conversation, please thank the person for trusting you to have the conversation. And that you are here for future conversations and that will continue to educate yourself. Please ask them how you can continue to be an ally for them.

Please also know that you cannot continue to emotionally burden every Black person you know to share with you their daily experiences, living, and being impacted by institutions of racism.  There is so much content out there to start educating yourself as an ally; please don’t continue to ask all the Black people you know.

When I first started working in Diversity & Inclusion, my husband gifted me the book Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates. I went on to read White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism by Robin Diangelo. I am taking free Yale Open Courses and learning about African American History: From Emancipation to the Present. I still have my work to do, and it’s a start.

Please stop being color blind. Please start to see color. Start to see every Black person in your life. Please see them and hear them. Because we need you to start seeing color now. Because I need you as an ally to stand with me for the Black community.

About the Author

Mita Mallick is a corporate change-maker with a track record of transforming businesses and cultures.  Mita is a passionate storyteller who believes in the power of diversity to spur creative strategic thinking which can ultimately transform brands.

As the Head of Diversity & Inclusion and Cross-Cultural Marketing at Unilever, Mita’s efforts to build an inclusive culture are being celebrated.  Under her leadership, Unilever is gender-balanced at manager level and above. Unilever was named the #1 Company for Working Mothers by Working Mother Media in 2018.  Mita also co-created the first of its kind Cultural Immersions series to increase the cultural competency of marketers training over 5,000 marketers to date.

Mita has had an extensive career in the beauty and consumer products goods space.  She was one of the chief lieutenants in launching The Vaseline Healing Project in the U.S., signing award-winning actress & activist Viola Davis as the brand’s ambassador to help set the brand back to growth.

Mita was named a Working Mother of the Year by She Runs It and named a Valiente Award Finalist at SXSW for her inspiring work in 2019.  Mita has been featured in Forbes and quoted in The New York Times.  She received the Inaugural Diversity Innovator Award from the National Association for Female Executives in 2018, and was on the “50 People Under 40 Shaking Up Beauty” Youthquake List by Women’s Wear Daily2017.  Mita is also a columnist for Swaay and a contributor for FairyGodBoss and her writing has been published on The Good Men Project, Scary Mommy, The New York Post, and The Riveter.  

Mita has a B.A. from Columbia University and a M.B.A. from Duke University.

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