The Grievance

“Your memory seems so vivid in the way that you’re recalling these events. It’s almost as if you were deeply affected by what happened.” The internal investigator spoke to Dana with sincerity. Dana felt that her story had been caught with delicate hands and compassionate ears. Validation was the centerpiece that quieted her anxiety riddled mind.

She was five feet tall but five feet and one inch on a good day. Long black hair grazed her aching lower back.

“And I just want to make it clear that while my grievance is focused on Richie, it’s also about the greater workplace culture of tolerance.” Dana reiterated, feeling confident in her words.

“Thank you for using your voice and being courageous when no one else would. We will get to the bottom of this.” The investigator shuffled her papers together and stood up to shake her hand.

One month later, Dana found herself desperately asking, “What about unconscious bias?” The internal investigator stared back at her with a face as stiff as the wooden table sitting between them, yet blank as if she was speaking in a different language. Dana looked for a sign of allyship from the HR advisor sitting to her right but their whole body was occupied by a nervous energy they attempted to hide with a false stoic indifference. She felt flushed with frustration and loneliness as she gripped the sides of her chair.

“I found no evidence that he intended to cause offense.” The investigator repeated coldly and in earnest. “Thank you for your time.”

Dana hoisted her pregnant belly from the wooden chair and adjusted the jacket of her power suit she chose special for the occasion. It only made her feel slightly less like the fool she realized she was. She left without saying a word. The pressure building in her temples overcame the pressure she felt growing between her hips as she entered her third trimester.

She replayed his words in her mind again and again until the adrenaline she knew so well returned to her flushed cheeks. Fuming to the touch, she could feel blood pooling behind her ears.

“I don’t understand why women and black people assume that they’re at an automatic disadvantage in society. Look at Oprah, she’s a woman and she’s black and that didn’t stop her. People just want to have excuses.” Richie’s voice echoed as she was transported back to sitting in front of his desk with her shoulders tensed together. Plastered on the front of his swinging glass door read, “Richie McGuire, Head of Operations for the School of Social Science.”

Richie was known to talk an ear off and to occasionally drop an off-color remark in the office but when Dana began working there she quickly picked up on the unspoken tolerance of his act.

“Oh that’s just Richie.” Colleagues would say. “He grew up in a small town and his parents were quite small minded.” Richie was a 52 year old man.

Maybe she should have listened to the colleague who tried warning her. He brought her into an empty conference room. “Be careful with what you say. The walls seem to have ears here.” He said as he looked over his shoulder.

It was through these same glass walls that she heard Richie happily sing a slew of transphobic remarks while on the phone. Dana saw him pace around the room, arms flailing, his voice rising. It took all of her willpower to not storm his office. She chose silence over confrontation, just as she did before.

Dana left work feeling sick and caught the first bus home after the Grievance Outcome meeting. She turned to music as an immediate remedy. Headphones strapped from one ear to the other, she played “I Don’t Fuck With You” on repeat until her heart rate slowly descended. She unofficially shared a Spotify account with her partner which meant that they could see what the other was listening to if they simultaneously logged in. After noticing Dana switch from Big Sean to Les Misérables, Ryan texted her, “What happened?” “I’ll tell you later tonight.” She texted back as she increased the volume a few notches.

She leaned her head against the bus window and wondered if she regretted saying anything at all. Everyone at work knew. Eyes stared at her in passing hallways and peered over working desktops but never met her eye to eye. They all knew that she was the one. The one who went up against a head manager of over 10 years. His whiteness and ignorance that he proudly displayed somehow protected him and mirrored the work culture at the same time.

After arriving in town, she entered a bookstore. Whether it was a short stack of books on the floor or tall rows of shelves that met the ceiling, she always found herself staring at their spines and peeking underneath their covers. It was as if she was trying to find a long lost friend by ruffling their unknown pages. It helped her feel less alone.

She impulsively bought “White Fragility” by Robin Diangelo and “The Transformed Mind” by The Dalai Lama. A tub of Ben & Jerry’s and two packs of Reeces were then snagged from the Tesco Express next door. She was determined to read and eat her way out of her spiraling feelings.

When she got home, she checked the time and quickly phoned her mother. The six hour time difference between Edinburgh and Missouri worked surprisingly well. It was her mother’s lunch break.

Her mother was the type of person who championed social justice rights and did her best to instill the same in her eldest daughter. Dana didn’t know if she should appeal the case, quit her job, or continue working as if nothing happened. In the rising cost of living crisis, she felt lucky to have a job that offered her financial stability and decent maternity leave. But what weighed on her heart even more were the immoral implications of cowing to the silence around her. She wanted to do right by her baby. Surely her mother would tell her to keep fighting and to appeal the case.

“Let it go.” Her mother told her. “You can’t fix the world. And there will always be injustices, everywhere.”

“It’s not right mom. He should be held accountable. And they all should know better.” Dana quickly replied as if she were back in the meeting.

“I know, honey.” Her mother said endearingly.

“You want to know what the best part is? They want to give me confidence training. On how to speak up in the moment they said.” Just as her voice was beginning to break, she shoved a whole Reeces in her mouth.

“You know I watched an innocent man get executed, honey.” She often referred to her time as a defense investigator for prisoners waiting on death row.

“Jesus mom, I know.” Dana said soberly.

“You have to let things go, otherwise they will eat you alive.” Dana was only five when her mother suffered a mental breakdown. She pulled out another Reeces.

“She even insinuated that if I had said something to him then I wouldn't be as offended. I told them that there was a power dynamic though. They still spoke to me like I was a child.” Dana nibbled on the edge of the second ridged cup.

“You need to focus on the baby now. Try to enjoy the rest of your pregnancy. Only a few months until you’re on leave anyway.” Her mother reminded her. Dana agreed as she felt her baby somersault with the rush of sugar and hung up.

After a failed meditation attempt with the Dalai Lama, Dana began reading “White Fragility” to grasp an understanding of what was happening. While she read, old voices came barreling back into her mind.

“You’re just a small stupid passive Asian girl. Why would anyone take you seriously? If only you were white, a white man, a tall white man, then people would listen to you. They wouldn’t look down on you, literally. Your life would be better if you weren’t you.”

Was it possible for self-loathing to be compounded with time? All of the self-esteem issues she wrestled with in her teenage years seemed to shoot into her heart stronger than before. She was 30 but going on 13. She thought the large cinder block that sat at the bottom of her gut crushed them long ago. How could she let this happen? How could she allow these thoughts and feelings to resurface?

Humiliation. No sleep. Anxiety attacks. Extreme stress and loneliness.

She was horrified that these ghosts still existed and now cohabited her body with her baby. She repeated the echoes of her colleagues in her head like a twisted carousel.

“It’s not acceptable. And we will do something about it.”

“I feel like Britain is a victim of cancel culture just because of the whole colonialism thing.”

“Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?”

“I don’t care if they identify as a he, she or a donkey.”

“When are you due again?”

“I've also turned a blind eye to him.”

“Have you chosen a name?”

“He is really good at his job though.”

“Yes, I told him it was you.”

When Ryan came home, he found her curled up on the couch and staring at the wall. Her two books were faced down on the coffee table and an ice cream tub balanced on her round stomach. It pressed cold condensation into her sweatshirt.

“Are you OK?” Ryan asked as he opened the door to the living room.

“I read out loud the introduction of ‘White Fragility’ for the baby. She kicked a lot so I think she liked it.” Dana mumbled and dug her spoon into the tub.

Ryan joined her on the couch as she went through the meeting. He learned to mainly serve as a listening ear when it came to navigating the nuances of racism but tried to offer some of his own thoughts.

“It makes me feel like I’m the crazy one. Like I’m the odd one out for calling him out.” Dana shook her head.

“You’re not. Richie is the crazy bigot and most people are normal like you and I. He isn’t the majority.” Ryan tried to comfort her.

“I’m so tired of everyone saying that! Hate doesn’t live in a bubble. Racism isn’t confined to people who we see as one-dimensionally racist.” Dana stood up to pace around the room with the ice cream tub in hand.

“They may be like a successful businessman, a parent, they may be someone who loves their family, who volunteers at charity shops. I’m just trying to say that it’s not black and white.” Her arms gained momentum and her voice rose.

“I don't know. I just feel like most people aren’t like that.” Ryan looked down.

“Do you remember when we saw a group of drunk white guys verbally abuse that Uber driver - calling him the N-word over and over again and reaching into his window and banging on his door?” Dana asked while stopping in her tracks.

“Yeah he wasn’t phased by it at all. I remember him reassuring us that he was OK, since we were so visibly upset.” Ryan said as he put his hand out for a share of the ice cream

“Exactly. So each side in this scenario represents a different community, right? The white guys’ represent a wide acceptance of their behavior from their own environment. It’s a history of repeated action.” Dana passed the tub while looking directly at Ryan.

“Ok, yeah.” Ryan steadied his eye contact.

“And the Uber driver represents self-preservation for the sake of his safety and sanity. It’s a form of collective trauma.” She added before feeling exhausted.

The next morning at work, Dana slid her cafe tray down the metal bars as she waited in line for her usual latte and sausage roll. She brought it upstairs to the open office space and sat down in her cushioned swivel chair, only a few steps away from Richie’s glass cube. Everyone’s morning was scheduled to watch the University’s Annual Award Ceremony for its staff. She signed on to begin watching by using the live internal link. With headphones plugged in, she minimized the video window and dragged it to the corner of her desktop. The ceremony opened with thanking all of the staff for their hard work this academic year. She listened to the host announce the winners for “Greatest Impact”, “Leadership Excellence”, and “Research and Innovation” as she worked her way through dull spreadsheets.

Dana sipped her coffee and let her mind wander as she thought about her baby. She could feel her slowly moving around. While waiting on a file to save, she heard a collective gasp in her office. She dropped her headphones to see everyone smiling towards Richie. Maximizing the video window to fill the screen, she read, “University’s Overall Celebrating Our Values in Action Award: Richie McGuire.” As the office congratulated him through the glass walls, Dana sat paralyzed at her desk. She closed the video tab and took a big bite out of her sausage roll.

On her way home on the bus, she felt depleted and figured that she should do her best to forget that anything happened. A group of school kids sat a few rows behind and spoke with just enough volume for Dana to hear.

“I don’t understand why she’s mad at me.” One said to the other. “Because what you said was racist.” “I didn’t mean to though.” “I know you didn’t but it doesn’t matter because you still hurt her.” “But I didn’t mean to!” The boy continued. “Just say you’re sorry, don’t do it again, and it’ll be ok.” The patient one said. When they hopped off a few stops later, Dana was left in admiration of the frankness of their eight year old conversation.

Once into town, she visited the same bookstore and paced around the aisles. Walking eased her lower back pain and she wanted to see what the spines had to offer today. She browsed the kids section and noticed one with cardboard pages and a round sticker on the cover that said “Featured on The Oprah Winfrey Show” It was £7.99. She imagined leaving it on Richie’s desk for him to find on Monday morning beside his award plaque. She grabbed a copy and headed towards check-out. When the worker picked up “Unconscious Bias For Kids” from the counter he asked, “Is this a gift for someone?” Dana simply replied, “Yes.”