A Closet with a View
“I just don’t understand why anyone has
to talk about their sex lives at work,” she said. “I don’t talk
about my sex life at work.”
She was a participant in a diversity class,
and the topic of sexual orientation in the workplace had just been raised.
As a workplace diversity educator, her statement was one I’d heard many
times before. She didn’t have anything against gay people, she said, but
why did they have to bring such a private thing into the workspace?
Isn’t it possible, she wondered, to show up, do the job, and wait until
quitting time to be gay?
It was tempting for me, someone who has
been openly gay in the workplace for over a decade now, to respond with,
“well, I don’t know…couldn’t you just show up, do your job, and
wait until quitting time to be straight?” But she wouldn’t have
understood. To her, and to most of America, being straight isn’t sexual;
it’s normal. Being gay, on the other hand, is a different matter
entirely. And it is different, I suppose. But not entirely.
And so, in situations like this, I tend to
take a couple of steps back and approach the situation with perhaps more
gentleness than necessary. While it might be oddly comforting and
infinitely more satisfying to simply tell this woman how ignorant she is
and how bigoted she sounds, my goal in teaching these courses is not to
emerge victorious, but to create change.
“Let’s say that it’s your first day
on the job,” I propose. “And let’s say that it’s very important to
you that no one at your new workplace knows for a fact that you are
heterosexual.”
And she looks a little confused. Why on
earth, she must be wondering, would she want to do that? And her reaction
is telling. Some of the more progressive thinkers in the class give her a
knowing smile—pointed, but not condescending.
“Just play along,” I say. “You
don’t want anyone at your new office to know, for a fact, that you’re
straight.” There’s a slight pause, to let the concept sink in. “What
do you have to do differently?” I ask. “What steps must you take to
ensure that your secret is safe?” And now, she suspects where I’m
headed with this, but is still silent. So I make a gesture, opening the
question to the entire class.
And the answers come quickly. “You
couldn’t discuss your husband or wife,” one participant offers. “If
anyone asks what you did over the weekend,” another replies, you’d
have to talk around the fact that your spouse even exists.”
“You couldn’t even talk about your
kids,” a young woman in front offers. There’s actually some resistance
to this point, as many in the class correctly point out that lots of
people, straight and gay, are raising children these days. “Yes,” she
offers, “but as soon as you open that door and start talking about your
family, it would be really hard not to acknowledge your co-parent at some
point. I think it would be better to just leave all that stuff at the
door, so you’re a professional and nothing more.”
“What else,” I ask. You couldn’t take
personal calls at work. You’d have to take your wedding ring off.
(“And how does your spouse feel about that?” I ask. And the class
acknowledges that, even knowing the reasons why, that would be a
particularly painful negotiation to conduct.)
One gentleman in the back of the class
offers, “you’d have to ‘gay it up’ a little.” People laugh, but
I pursue the comment. I ask the man what he means. “Well,” he says,
“if I didn’t want people to know I was straight, I’d want to throw
them off track a little, you know…act sort of gay.” Even if that’s
not who you really are, I ask. Yes, he replies, even then.
Finally, the young woman in front speaks up
again. “You’d have to find one or two people at work that you really
trust,” she says. “That way, you could tell them and at least feel
like someone at work has your back.”
“But this is a big secret,” I note,
“and once it’s out, it’s out. I mean, that’s some pretty good
gossip right there. So first of all, how could you be sure that these one
or two people are absolutely trustworthy? And even if they are, is it
really fair to them, burdening them with this secret of yours?”
“Well,” she says, “I mean…
well…it wouldn’t be easy, I guess.”
“So,” I say, “this is now your life
at work; this is your reality. Are you happy? Do you like your job?”
There are no words, but several people are shaking their heads from side
to side. “Do you like the people you work with?” Again, no one speaks,
but there are more than one shrugging of the shoulders, as if to say that
there’s no liking or disliking anyone that you never really get to know.
“Now let’s say you’ve been at this job for a year, and your first
performance review is happening. Your boss likes your work, but tells you
that you’re going to need to do a better job of networking. ‘Building
relationships,’ she’ll say, ‘is really important at this company,
and people don’t really feel like they know you. Just open up a
little,’ she says. What do you say?” And again, there is silence.
“I quit,” says the gentleman in the
back. And people laugh. But my attention has now turned back to the woman
who raised this issue to begin with. She’s not laughing. And I think she
gets it.
Eric C. Peterson is a diversity educator
and practitioner based in Washington, DC, and a frequent visitor to
Rehoboth Beach. He can be reached at red7eric@aol.com.
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