A gift of trust

Committing to a personal journey to learn about Diversity, Equity and Inclusion is not always a singular ‘aha’ moment; in my case it was a process consisting of numerous interactions with “learning opportunities” that made me realize I had a lot to learn about other people’s lives and circumstances.

Growing up, most of the sports I engaged in were homogeneous, as were almost all the jobs I’d had. When I joined a conservation organization, my supervisor had recently completed a huge acquisition in three of the poorest and more racially divided rural counties in the state. As we met with local leaders, I saw the demographics of the people in the meetings were not reflective of the demographics in the counties. Then the white leaders started saying things to me that were derogatory about the people of color. I tried to be polite, so I didn’t say anything. When we had a community meeting and the people of color spoke up and spoke their truth, the white leaders called later and told me, “Don’t listen to those people, they’re rude, they’re troublemakers.” I was incredibly uncomfortable in the interactions, as I don’t like conflict. One of the people of color who spoke up later lost their local government job, a lesson for me in how power is used and abused, as the local government was the largest employer in that county.

I wish I could say that was an ‘aha’ moment for me, but it wasn’t. I focused completely on how badly “he made me feel” rather than realizing that, in fact, he had shown his trust by sharing what his life was like—every single day. It took me several weeks to stop feeling sorry for myself and to realize: 1) what a gift of trust he had given me and 2) it really wasn’t about me, so what was I going to do about it?

There was—and still is—so much more for me to learn. When I worked with Black farmers who were racially discriminated against by USDA, I heard in detail how public policies and dollars had been used to advantage white farmers and force Black farmers out of business and off their lands. I learned so much about the power of land when I heard stories from Native American partners about how their people had been forcibly removed from ancestral homelands, again using public policies, dollars and military action. I learned that, during the civil rights movement, Black landowners were the first to be asked to go register to vote: Even though there were consequences for mostly everyone who tried to register to vote, landowners would still have a home, but sharecroppers would lose everything—homes and livelihoods. I learned how public policies and guidelines on land appraisals reduced values on land and homes just because they were owned or lived on/in by people of color; and it made me realize I had never heard my land trust colleagues talk about those issues. And I saw how so many lands with high natural resource values were in those conditions because poor people and people of color had stewarded the lands for generations, in some cases millennia. And it made me wonder why the conservation movement was not diverse even though it was founded on valuing biological diversity.

I realized that, in order to learn and be able to have authentic relationships, I had to let go of my innate tendencies to focus on my own feelings when, in fact, my lack of understanding could easily inflict pain on others. I learned to listen for understanding, to ask questions and to appreciate people for who they are, whether they look different or come from different backgrounds or have different personalities. The first time I participated in a privilege walk, the distances across gender, race and class were stark. As I learned about implicit bias (attitudes or stereotypes that affect our understanding, actions and decisions in an unconscious manner), it brought up memories of growing up in an all-white neighborhood where derogatory terms were used all the time for where our grandparents immigrated from, or the kids of color who weren’t allowed into our neighborhoods, or whose parents worked where. I realized that, when the military veteran or the Black farmer or the migrant farmworker pushed on me, it was because they were trying to tell me what their reality was, and I needed to listen.

As part of my ongoing personal journey, I now know to listen for learning, and to appreciate and respect people for who they are and recognize that they are the experts of their lived experiences. I learned that trust has to be earned through my actions, not because I ask for it, and while I can never truly know what others’ lives are like, I can change some of those dynamics by breaking down barriers, being an ally, and leveraging the access I have as a part of the conservation movement to help people and places I care about gain access to resources that would otherwise not be available to them. It is a journey with no end but lots of great stops and views!