Column: Discussions of race, equality may mean uncomfortable moments

It felt like the ground shifted last summer.

America was reeling after a series of pivotal events including the deaths of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and Elijah McClain. Americans took to the streets to demand justice. They demanded to be heard. Black Americans demanded for their stories—the big stories and the small stories—to be told. They asked us to listen and to believe them.

This moment came on the heels of the #MeToo movement, in which women of all ages, races and backgrounds told their stories and asked us to listen. To believe them.

These moments, among others, were fresh in our minds when planning the editorial calendar this year. We knew those in our industry had stories to tell. Stories worth listening to. We also knew that diversity, equity and inclusion had become top priorities for our companies and professionals in recent years.

So we brought diversity to the forefront.

I envisioned the special report you see in this issue as a place where those with stories to tell could tell them. I also wanted it to be a place for conversations about how an industry can and should move toward bigger, bolder goals of inclusion.

More than that, I wanted to do it correctly—with humility, thoughtfulness and proper perspective.

I also knew that our platform was valuable, and I believed that one of the best things we as writers—and you as readers—could do is listen. Our staff just had to amplify important voices.

For leaders, the instinct often is to act or speak when something feels wrong or we feel it needs fixed.

But when it comes to matters of diversity—particularly as they relate to our understanding of a race, religion or gender with which we do not identify—the key isn't speaking or reacting.

It's listening.

Listening matters because when we act—or react as the case may be—we make the moment about us, and in doing so we squander a precious opportunity that could have led to a deeper understanding of what it means to be human.

Listening isn't easy.

Often, listening means living in uncomfortable moments. What you hear and what you read when you engage in conversations about diversity may feel very personal. It's OK if it does. That discomfort is your humanity telling you that there is room to grow. That discomfort is your soul admitting that you can change, that you must try to do better in ways both big and small.

It also is important to understand that, just as you have to be ready to listen and wrestle with difficult moments and concepts, others have to be ready to speak about them. We can't ask everyone in our lives to share their personal stories. They have no obligation to make themselves vulnerable so we can learn.

And if the last few years have proven anything, it's that we all have a lot to learn.

Instead, I'd encourage you to seek voices already amplified. For me, that meant turning to my public library. There are dozens of authors who have chosen their moments to share their stories and perspectives. They have done so through beautifully written memoirs and novels. They tell us what we need to hear—stories of what it means to be human.

Empathy, I believe, is critical in this moment, and I believe we build it with literature. Empathy becomes a part of us when we routinely seek to see the world from someone else's point of view. And there is no shortage of viewpoints. Black, Latinex, Asian, LGBTQ+, differently abled, different religions, different genders—all of them can be found in books.

To be clear, action also is necessary. Especially in moments when a wrong is observed. In those moments, we are obligated to speak up and stand up.

U.S. Rep. John Lewis, a key figure in the Civil Rights movement who helped to lead the march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge on March 7, 1965, said it best and with far more grace, humility and love than I ever could muster.

"When you see something that is not right, not fair, not just, you have to speak up," he said. "You have to say something; you have to do something."

Often, the something you do must be followed by learning of your own.

Other times, it's as simple as making sure someone doesn't have to stand alone.

When Terry DeLapa cut the ribbon to welcome industry leaders and professionals to the 2015 International Elastomer Conference, she made industry history. She was the first woman to chair the Rubber Division, and she was supported and cheered on by dozens of her male colleagues.

Leo Goss was among them.

Several weeks before the event, Goss reached out to ask her if she was comfortable with him wearing a kilt to the ceremony. She told him he could and said he didn't need her permission. But she was curious as to why he asked.

"As a show of respect," he told her. "I didn't want you to be the only person wearing a skirt at the ribbon cutting ceremony."

That's what advocacy looks like: Thoughtful. Supportive. Vocal.

There is plenty of work ahead of us as we work to bring more diversity, equity and inclusion to our industry. We also know this is just the beginning.

And we can reach our biggest goals if we are willing to listen, learn and advocate.

Pustay Beaven is managing editor of Rubber & Plastics News. She can be reached at [email protected] Follow her on Twitter @EBeavenCrain.