In Like Manner…the Women N ikki T oyama - S z eto
“Managing” Diversity For a few months over the summer I was involved in multi-ethnic discussions — panels, seminars, megachurch consultations, Christian schools, conferences. I’m no expert on the topic, but by virtue of being both a woman and a person of color I was given a place at the table. During one of these discussions, my heart soared as I heard of the flood of Asian American families into a large, historic church in Northern California. The church’s leadership team showed an eagerness to steward this opportunity well. “Here we are, arriving in a postracial America!” I thought to myself giddily, imagining the diverse “house of prayer for the nations” that Mark describes. But as the conversation continued, my heart sank. Instead of the foundations of the beautiful vision in my head, I heard the rumblings of danger ahead. “Why do you care about multi-ethnicity?” I asked. Most of their answers were PR-related or simply passive: “Isn’t it the thing to be a diverse congregation or organization?” (especially if they’re engaged in justice work); “The diversity is just happening; we don’t know why.” The conversation went towards “managing” diversity rather than being transformed by it. This same conversation repeated itself over the months. Independent of the context, well-intentioned people of God talked about “diversity” or “inclusivity.” But those words are too anemic to express the true complexity of partnering across racial boundaries. My limited experience of racial and gender issues reveals that it is a hard journey. Good intentions are not enough to stay the course.They’ll get you through
the early stage (“What are holidays like at your house?” “Wow — you do that too?”), but the journey quickly gets tricky when you start talking about communication, conflict, power, leadership, resources. We rush to avoid looking at our racial or gender differences: “Let’s agree on the basics. Let’s not fight over the details that divide us.” But, I want to scream, I am the details that divide us. I wish that gender or racial issues could be optional for me. For one day, I would love to have the luxury to not have to think about how my race or gender is bringing complications to my conversations with others. Multi-ethnic (and cross-gender) partnerships make life messy. Diversity slows the process down, requires more conversations. Things that you worked for will get interrupted. Plans that required invest-
Multi-ethnicity and gender justice are about hearing those we desperately need to hear from. ment will be uprooted.Values and issues that are important to you will be questioned. But this is all part of what my friend calls the “rock polisher” of community. Our rough edges bump up against others’ rough edges. When it gets difficult, many people choose to jump out. But for those of us who remain in it, the result is a polished set of rocks. It’s a painful, but refining, process. As a woman of color, I bring “trouble,” “interruptions,” and “uncomfortable questions” wherever I go. Some folks welcome this and make space. At one of these discussions, a panelist redefined leadership qualifications. And this has now become my standard interview question: “Have you ever been under the leadership of someone of a different race or gender from yours?” For many women, for many people of color, the answer is an easy yes. Most companies, PRISM 2 0 1 0
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churches, organizations have white male managers. Is it possible to be an effective leader in a multi-ethnic context like the US without ever having been under the leadership of someone who is different from you? What does it say about your leadership qualifications? Are you qualified to lead men and women, Latinos, African Americans, First Nations folks, or Asian Americans if you’ve never worked under one? We don’t need advocates. Advocates are people in power who use their power/position to make space for those who have no voice or who live on the margins. We need partners on the journey. Partnership is about justice, about the transformative power of the gospel — in our lives, in the lives of those around us, in the systems and structures in which we exist. Multi-ethnicity and gender justice are about hearing those we desperately need to hear from. In a sense, this type of justice work is a selfish work, because the need is ours. Without others, my view of God is narrow. I limit God to the things that can be done in my world — my culturally limited world. But I need the perspective and challenge of the Latino community, for example, to challenge my view of God that begins and ends with family. I need people in power, not to advocate for me but to see that what I hold inside me is a small portion of God that they will never access without me — and for the sake of their own souls, they need me in partnership with them. In the same way, I need them to see a fuller picture of God and his kingdom. n Nikki Toyama-Szeto is program director of Urbana, a student missions conference that gathers 20,000 students from 120 different countries for InterVarsity Christian Fellowship in Madison, Wis. She is coeditor/coauthor of More than Serving Tea (IVP, 2006), a collection of writings that examine the intersection of race, gender, and faith for Asian American women.