Why I’m Done Working For Canadian Corporations

Their Racist Spaces Aren’t Safe For Me

I worked for the new subsidiary of one of the world’s most respected banks when they moved into the Canadian market. When they hired me into the role — I don’t really remember the nature of the job anymore. That may be because I worked so hard to forget my time there. Who knows? — “You scored the highest on our aptitude, personality, how great you are, whatever it is, you did it best overall, test. We’d like to offer you the job as our first hire for X department.”

Big laugh. We all know what’s coming.

At some point after I started the racism became too much to bear. There was one young white woman who delighted in making racist comments towards me. She also worked to undermine me, by scheduling meetings and giving me the wrong room. Making sure I didn’t have information I needed. And, of course, regular old racist insults, which she claimed to not know were racist. I think she even used the “I was joking,” line.

I spoke to a supervisor. More than once. But nothing changed. At one point, I was asked if I’d spoken to the offender. No, I hadn’t. I was young when I took this job, early 20s. And one thing I knew was that speaking to someone about their behaviour towards you was always tricky. I didn’t want to have the conversation with this young girl, she was white and well-liked. Whereas I, who’d been asked to speak up and suggest improvements, was getting side-eye.

Back in the late 90’s a white women’s tears were check and mate. I asked the girl if we could speak. “Candace” we’ll call her that because I didn’t have the slightest inclination to remember her name, was doing her white girl thing. That’s where she’s demurely rude to me while making it clear she’s racist, but hiding it all under a flashy wide grin. At this stage in my life, I didn’t want to talk to some obviously racist girl about her racism. I wasn’t in the mood to tense up, feel the dread that comes with these conversations, the confrontation. I used my best “this is how it makes me feel, no blame” words. I spoke gently, kept the conversation brief, and my voice sotto neutral. If I showed too much emotion I’d be accused of being aggressive.

Candace immediately responded, “Are you calling me racist?” Then she went to her favourite VP with an accusation, “She (me) said I was racist.” Then the tears. Candace’s, not mine.

I was feeling angry, and when I got angry back then, I would begin to shake. Imperceptibly, I hope. Tears would prick behind my eyelids making me blink, or I’d laugh out loud because my nerves would race. And always I’d get confused. Did I do something wrong? Didn’t I use the right words, the perfect words? Was I too harsh? I asked myself these questions following every accusation made by the VP, “Did you consider Candace’s feelings when you began this conversation?” That is one question I’ll never forget. Did I consider the feelings of a girl who was deliberately mean and racist towards me? How do you answer that?

Back then, in my twenties, I didn’t yet understand how whites wielded racism with the absolute surety they’d never be exposed because they knew how to play the polite, smiley game. They’d be vulgar AF but hide it under confusion and playing dumb with a big phony smile. Those were the days when we thought it was our sacred Black duty to educate whites about racism. It’d be a few more years before I’d learn that it was me who needed to be educated about racism. Me, who needed to understand that Black people didn’t make up racism out of some need to shame whites. White people invented it and knew exactly how to use it to make it seem as if we were crazy. They weren’t doing anything wrong when they said there was no racism. Surely racism wasn’t everywhere and from everyone?

After the bank’s VP bawled me out for making the little white girl cry, I’d love to tell you I walked right out of that hellhole. But, no. That shit came years later. I took time off because I got sick with bronchitis. What I realize now, is that I was suffering PTSD from the daily racist attacks at work. Not to mention the anxiety that came from being the one forced to confront the person that was abusing me. Then gaslit that the abuse was even real and that I was the offender.

Meanwhile, my then-boyfriend-soon-to-be-future-ex-husband worked for the same bank too. He was the second or fourth hire. He sailed through that work environment. He was promoted. He learned to program and write code (maybe those are the same things?). His salary increased. He would come home in the evenings and study code. I’d be wondering why me. What did I do? How could I be better? How did I screw up? Maybe I was too abrasive? Too aggressive? I decided to test out different behaviour.

At work, I kept my own council. I was accused of being sullen. I’d look the other way when something happened. Nothing I did stopped the racist abuse. Rather the abuse spread and I was frozen out. It was not a comfortable or healthy space for me. And I wasn’t yet adept at standing up to racism.

You’re probably wondering how my ex supported me through this time. Truth is, I don’t remember. Nothing sticks out in my mind that suggests his behaviour was particularly troublesome or specifically good. Maybe that means something. Maybe not.

After I returned to work they fired me. Whatever reason they gave is now lost to time. But the “number one hire” the “one who aced their tests” on personality and aptitude was fired. It was after this experience that I really began to delve into racism, to understand it from as many perspectives as I could. I haven’t stopped learning about racism and its nuances, but I have stopped blaming myself for not comprehending its subtleties. For not understanding that whites as a group were willing to pretend racism didn’t exist in order to gaslight Black people.

I learned the same attitudes would keep coming from whites because no matter how often or loudly they repeated diversity, diversity. Nothing would ever change because to do so would mean whites sharing power. And that hasn’t happened.

As a Black woman in corporate Canada, I’ve fallen for the “share with me so we can improve” line. The “we’re an organization that believes in diversity.” But nothing is changing. The teams are mainly white, the management is white. And they all talk a good game about racism, but nothing has changed.

The government of Canada has a 50–30 Challenge. They want at least 30% representation on Boards and senior management of marginalized groups.

A 2021 report from law firm Osler reported 1.0% of Senior Management was made up of visible minorities while no visible minorities sat on corporations’ Policy on board representation groups. The needle isn’t moving.

Negative experiences in corporate Canada have been my norm. So far I’ve been corporate-free for 19 weeks and counting. It’s not been the longest time, but I do hope I never have to return to the world of glass towers.