Early in my career, I facilitated a diversity training with two White colleagues. I was the only Black person in the room. The participants were 20 directors—all White, all skeptical.
As the session went on, someone "joked" about a woman who wasn't there:
(Yes, they used that language back then. Today he'd probably say "diversity hire.")
The room went silent. All eyes on me.
I relaxed my shoulders, smiled, and said: "I'm a product of affirmative action."
One man slapped the speaker's back. "You're in trouble now!" Nervous laughter rippled through the room. Everyone waited for my reaction. But I didn't take the bait. I stayed quiet and calm with a slight smile, making casual eye contact with the man who spoke. I wanted them to absorb my composure—the complete lack of defensiveness they didn't expect.
Because here's what they didn't understand: For me, affirmative action had opened doors that were once closed. It was a structural change that enabled me to even be in that room—the only Black person teaching them about inclusion.
Cognitive dissonance occurs when a long-held belief meets a new reality. By the time of this incident, they had seen my competence. I stood there as living proof that their stereotype about affirmative action was a myth.
This was, after all, a diversity training.
After a long pause, everyone became quiet and the room shifted. They became present and engaged.
A few weeks later, I ran into the man who'd made the comment. He told me he'd chosen a new performance goal: mentoring four women of color—Black and Mexican American.
He said: "If someone as capable as you needed the door to open, I started wondering what I could do. I picked them because they were showing promise, yet no one was paying them any attention. Now that I am their mentor, they're showing up as true professionals."
You might think this story is from a bygone era. It's not.
The language has changed: "Affirmative action baby" became "diversity hire" became "DEI hire"—but the dismissal remains the same.
Black women face multiple microaggressions daily. In particular, Black women are more likely than any other group to have our judgment questioned in our area of expertise and be asked to provide additional evidence of our competence.
For every 100 men promoted to VP, only 54 Black women make it—the worst "broken rung" gap since tracking began. Black women represent only 1.6% of VPs and 1.4% of C-suite executives.
Recent reporting finds that more than 300,000 Black women have exited (or been pushed out of) the workforce in recent months — a wave of exits that signals far more than a temporary economic slump.
One mishandled moment—one defensive reaction, one emotional outburst—can become the story that follows you. "She can't handle pressure." "She's too sensitive." "She's not VP material."
But a strategic response? That can change everything.
Let me be clear: I didn't stay calm because I'm naturally zen or because I don't feel anger. I stayed calm because I understood the dynamics in that room and chose a strategic response.
Here's what was actually happening:
How Do You Know When to Educate vs. Confront?
This was a microinsult, not a microassault.
Derald Wing Sue, who pioneered research on microaggressions, describes several forms, including these two:
They create teaching opportunities.
The "affirmative action baby" comment was a microinsult. The participant wasn't trying to attack anyone directly; he was revealing his own biases while talking about someone else. That gave me room to educate rather than confront.
If it had been a direct microassault—say, someone calling ME an affirmative action hire to my face—I would have responded differently. I would have named it clearly and set a boundary. I don't advocate letting blatant disrespect slide.
But in this moment, I had three strategic options:
I chose the third option because I was drawing on three principles from my book Conscious Change, a framework of 36 skills for leading with skill and courage.
I had power in that room—I was one of the experts, a facilitator, a person they were there to learn from. But they expected me to feel powerless when the put-down "affirmative action baby” was voiced aloud.
Instead of defending myself, I claimed the label. "I'm a product of affirmative action" flipped the script. Implicitly, I was saying, That doesn't diminish my competence—it explains how I got access.
My composure was the message. It said: I'm not threatened by your stereotypes. I'm here to teach you something.
Calling him out publicly would have satisfied my desire to retaliate. But it wouldn't have changed his mind.
Calling him in, staying calm, making it about his misunderstanding rather than his character gave him room to learn without losing face.
People don't change when they're defensive. They change when they feel safe enough to question themselves.
I was conscious that the whole group was riveted on my reaction, but I kept my gaze on one person—the man who made the comment. I wanted him to get what he said as a mistake, not as an indictment.
And it worked. A few weeks later, he chose to mentor women of color who otherwise might not have had opportunity.
That's how cultures change. One converted ally at a time.
One wrong response to these moments can derail your promotion. One strategic response can build your influence.
The three Conscious Change skills I used that day:
When someone questions your qualifications—directly or indirectly—what's your go-to response?
Do you:
Drop your answer in the comments.
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