Embrace Diversity With Stedman Graham

Sept. 21, 2006 — -- In his latest book, "Diversity: Leaders Not Labels," renowned businessman, educator and author Stedman Graham discusses how in the global economy of the 21st century, diversity has become a defining quality of business.

More than ever before, maintaining individuality while accepting others' uniqueness is key to personal and professional success.

By profiling people who have done this, Graham teaches readers how to grow to their full potential.

"Diversity: Leaders Not Labels" is essential for anyone who hopes to excel in all aspects of life.

Read an excerpt from "Diversity: Leaders Not Labels" below:

The Lessons of Whitesboro

First, I must tell you about an instrument of change in my own life, aman who was central to my transition from race-based thinking, a manwhom I never met.

As I grew up in the 1950s and early 1960s, racism still infected theblack communities of our country like a plague. It was more conspicuousin the South, but it lingered in the North as well, and New Jersey was noexception.

Whitesboro, New Jersey, was much like other black towns thatsprang up across America in response to antiblack violence and segregation.It was also my hometown, my sanctuary, as I grew up. In areassurrounding our town, blacks were still being openly disrespected, shutout of jobs, and treated like second-class citizens. A kid growing up inWhitesboro felt a little more insulated from this day-to-day despair.But the story of this unique town's founder, George Henry White,dates back far before my time there. White, in fact, was born a full centurybefore me. But his legacy lives on in my heart and the hearts of thethousands who have dwelled in Whitesboro over generations.

White was a visionary man who devoted his adult life to securingthe most basic rights for the underrepresented. He understood the powerof leadership and education in overcoming the label of "second-class citizen."Born in Bladen County, North Carolina, in 1852, he spent much ofhis childhood in servitude, working as a slave in the humid forests of theregion to harvest the precious pine gum used in the making of turpentineand many other common products. He toiled from sunrise to sunset forthe benefit of wealthy slave-owning families in a youth he called a "strugglefor bread and very little butter."

White was thirteen years old when slavery ended. He knew that extremepoverty was inevitable for most former slaves, so he rededicated hislife to helping the legions of newly freed yet disenfranchised men andwomen gain access to the only thing he knew could give them hope:education. He worked his way through a teaching school and thenHoward University in Washington, D.C., later earning a law degree. Hegot elected to a seat in North Carolina's House of Representatives, wherehe fervidly petitioned for increased funding of African American schools.He would serve as district attorney in New Bern, North Carolina, andlater as state senator.

In 1894, White took an even bolder step, running for a seat in theU.S. Congress. He lost but was not deterred and clawed his way backto capture the post two years later. A brilliant orator, White made impassioned,classic speeches about the prejudices and brutality plaguingAfrican Americans in the South. White, as it turns out, was the last formerslave to serve in Congress, and by 1898 was the only African Americanremaining in the House of Representatives.

White went down in history as the first to introduce an antilynchingbill, illuminating his colleagues on the sobering fact that 80 percent of thepeople who were being lynched across America in his time were AfricanAmericans. But White's bill stalled in the Senate, and similar House billsmet the same fate over the next hundred years. On June 13, 2005, an antilynchingbill finally passed the U.S. Senate, with language apologizingfor the many previous failures to address the violence that killed thousandsin our nation's past. White's century-old quest for contrition fromhis country was finally realized.

But that's just one part of the George Henry White story. Back in1900, White began to realize the hopelessness of pursuing a third term.North Carolina's legislature, you see, had ushered through legislation thatbanned blacks from voting. White saw the writing on the wall and knewhis days in the House were numbered. Before leaving, White delivered hisfinal congressional speech, the historic "Defense of the Negro Race," inJanuary of 1901, refuting white-supremacist claims and recounting howracism had unduly influenced our country's legislative process. He promisedthat blacks "will rise up again some day and come again" and thenspoke his parting words "on behalf of an outraged, heartbroken, bruisedand bleeding people -- but God-fearing people -- faithful, industrious,loyal people, rising people, full of potential force."

White's moving farewell speech was in many ways a new beginning.For years, White felt that African Americans could thrive if given thechance to build their own communities. Blacks in the South -- while freein theory -- were still being afforded precious few civil rights when he leftoffice. So White hatched the idea of developing an all-black town somewherein the North.

Not long after his departure from Congress, White and a handful ofloyal friends bought 1,700 acres of a former slave plantation on thesouthern tip of New Jersey -- in Cape May County -- to birth a town thatwould soon come to bear his name: Whitesboro.

Early settlers with names such as DeVane, Stanford, and Spaulding -- the latter, my ancestors -- came mostly from North Carolina, followedlater by families from New Jersey and surrounding states. FollowingWhite's lead, the settlers realized that education was the connection topower, prosperity, and respect and were anxious for their children to developa strong intellectual foundation and a sense of racial and communitypride. A school and church sprang up, as did a lumber mill, grocerystores, a hotel, and other businesses. Largely removed from the prejudices,negative labels, and other racial obstacles of the day, Whitesborogrew to forge a distinctive and rich cultural identity.I became a part of this legacy when I was born to Mary and Stedman Grahamin Whitesboro in 1951.

Though we were insulated there, there wasn't a person born inWhitesboro who didn't come to realize how the town was perceived oncethey traveled outside its city limits -- and that there was a specific set ofslurs and labels reserved exclusively for people like them, people likeme. There was a saying in south Jersey: "Nothing good comes out ofWhitesboro."

So we grew up knowing we were different. And in different mediums,we heard the same message over and over: "You are not as smart aswhites." Though we lived in a town with few resources, we were luckyto be blessed with several outstanding, no-nonsense teachers at myschool, Whitesboro Grammar School. These teachers took it upon themselvesto sternly prepare us for the rough ride ahead. The memorablelessons taught by Charlotte Harmon, Alice Jones, and Ines Edmundsreverberate even today. They insisted we focus heavily on reading, math,and science and impressed upon us that we had better know our lessonswell. If we didn't, they would make darn sure our parents knew all aboutit -- immediately. Our school only went up to fifth grade, and we knewwe'd soon be attending white schools outside Whitesboro's city limits. Inessence, the teachers were telling us, "We don't want you to go up to thosewhite schools and embarrass us."

So we grew up with a sense of pride in Whitesboro. We respected ourfamily members and we respected the elderly. We didn't tolerate namecalling.However, there was an unwritten rule when I was a kid that whitefolks weren't allowed in Whitesboro. It was our haven -- our respite. Ifwhite people ventured into town, we chased them off, with the exceptionof sports teams that would come down to our fields for home games.

When that happened, it was a huge event in the community. Because weconstantly felt we had to prove ourselves, we knew we had to be twice asgood as white kids to get anywhere, and we weren't going to let these guysbeat us on our own ball fields. Pride was all we had and pride took over.My family worked hard to develop the few resources we had. Westruggled like many families did in Whitesboro. My father was a painterand carpenter, but he would not teach me those skills because he did notwant me to follow in his footsteps. He wanted me to get my educationand grow up to be something else. Because my father was a person ofcolor, he couldn't get into a painters' union. So he had to take on all theodd jobs that no one else wanted. All his life, he had a sense that he wasbeing put in his place, and that his family was being put in its place too.

You could count on reading anything negative that happened inWhitesboro in the newspaper. Incidents that would have never beensignificant enough to write about in a white community became newswhen they happened there. Sometimes that negativity was a self-fulfillingprophecy. A number of my friends and classmates who had been good,smart, and athletic kids turned on themselves and got involved withdrugs. Some were sent to prison. They were looking for a way out andoften didn't find one.

Students were bused from Whitesboro to attend Middle Townshipschools, where I attended an integrated high school. I was a drum majorthere, a basketball player and founder and president of a club calledBetterment Through Understanding (BTU). I was a Boy Scout and wastreasurer of the freshman class. As active as I was, I still hadn't come tofully understand the real value of education.

I was always pressing, always trying to convince myself and othersthat I was good enough. We were living only in the moment because wehad to, most of us thought. As I grew to high school age, I internalized alot of rage. We had been disrespected for so many years that we felt wehad to prove ourselves. Our self-esteem had been diminished. That led tophysical intimidation. When we were about fourteen or fifteen, several ofus would walk into places outside Whitesboro and feel all eyes in theroom on us. We'd turn around, look menacingly at them, and bellow,"What are you looking at?"

But most of our parents in that era "stepped in line." They boughtinto this whole race-based consciousness and were unwittingly enforcingit. They were always aware of how they carried themselves, and hence, sowere we. I had to watch every move I was making because I felt I was alwaysin jeopardy: I had to work at fitting in. Away from Whitesboro, therealities of racial bias were hitting me hard, and I would often internalizeracial incidents that went on in my high school. There was always somerace-based controversy.

As a person of mixed Native American and African American ancestry,I was light-skinned. Because of that, I suppose, I was a little morepalatable to white America than some. But "light-skinned" became a selfattachedlabel and a stigma for me. We were all subdivided into differentlyshaded groups that often marked how much money, culture and,class we were due. And I felt I was naturally entitled to a little more becauseof the lightness of my skin. I might even be able to get into doorsthat darker-skinned blacks could not, I thought. It took me a long timeto realize that such race-based thinking was to my detriment. Instead offocusing on my academic merits, I was becoming class-complacent andclass-conscious.

There was a time in my life when I said to myself, "I don't know howa black man makes it. How do I get past the labels and the psyche of theworld and all this separation?" After all, our world is a place that seems toshout out, "We are going to put up all these obstacles and create a systemthat labels you and keeps you locked in with bars all around you. Weknow you're probably not going to make it, but if you somehow do, well,that's amazing. We might even throw you a bone if you get out."

I never imagined in my wildest dreams that success in life was moreabout understanding who I really was. For the longest time, I thought Iwould be happy if I got lucky enough to get inside the white world evenjust a bit. Of course, there were certain unwritten rules you had to followto accomplish this. You had to be subservient in the way you talked andacted. You had to walk softly. Otherwise, you would be knocked backinto your place.

Obviously, we felt as if the whole world was telling us what we couldand couldn't do, and it seemed the bar had been lowered for AfricanAmericans. When counselors told us to "stay in school," they usuallydidn't mean "go on to college." They just meant we should finish highschool. We were even told by a school counselor that we shouldn't plan ongoing to college to become a doctor or lawyer or dentist because thoseweren't the professions that people of color could choose.

Hundreds of years of labeling and programming have affected millions oflives. Imagine how many legacies would have been different if people were freeto believe that they could be anything they wanted.

But it was a little different for me back then. I was headed to college.Blessed with athletic ability, I led my basketball team in scoring. I hadscholarship offers from schools all over the country when I was a sophomore.I even thought, "Maybe I'll be able to play professional sports." Fora lot of us, sports represented a way out. But we knew in the back of ourminds that some of us weren't going to make it out that way. We didn'thave a lot of vision beyond that one hope.

Sometimes, when I wasn't in school or playing ball, I would help mymother clean houses in white, upscale beach towns such as Stone Harborand Avalon. Their owners would arrive for the summer season in new carsand hang out at the beach all day, tanning and indulging. Then they'dcome home and order in food. My mother and I would look at each otherin amazement at this exotic lifestyle, as if to say, "What is all this?" Thesehouses were huge. They seemed like a fantasy land -- like Disneyland.Coming out of Whitesboro, I found the experience even more surreal.That's how I grew up in the fifties and sixties -- in a disjointed, dividedworld. I had no control of my long-term thinking. It was all toocommon for many in that era to grow up reacting emotionally insteadturning on the brain.

I realize in hindsight that what I was trying to do was fill that hole inmy heart. I think about this often, especially now that one of my mainroles is teaching other people how to process their upbringing and moveforward based on a nine-step methodology -- a process that I will addressa little later in this book in a leadership and diversity context.

There is a huge dichotomy between what I knew when I was growingup and what I know today. My life has taught me that many people arestill stuck in these "places" and aren't really able to take more control overtheir lives and explore the great possibilities they hold. Over the years, Iturned all those things that happened to me and to my family into motivators,never forgetting and never getting comfortable.

Fortunately for me, my parents were there to encourage me to neverquit and to do my best always. And in much of Whitesboro, that samespirit of determination prevailed, passed down through the generationsfrom our town founder, Mr. White.

If that same spirit of determination is not in you, you're going to havea tough time making it in this changing, demanding world. The only wayyou can move forward through this life is with a passion for what you do,a lifelong commitment to develop your skills, and an ethic of hard work.Eventually, I would return to Whitesboro a changed, more enlightenedman. In the interim, I learned much more about the psychology of racebasedthought and race-based exploitation. I have been visiting Africa annuallyfor years. On one such occasion, I was with a U.S. group visitingan impoverished village, accompanied by members of a charitable organization,who were mostly white. As we waited in a van listening to a memberof the organization talk about the pathetic state of some of these poor,malnourished African kids, one of the folks said, "It is sad how the peoplein this region are so poor." I remember replying, "Let's talk about wherethis poverty really came from. Consider all the rich farmland that wasonce in this part of the world. If all those people from everywhere elsearound the world didn't come in and feed off this land, mine the diamonds,and take all the minerals out of the ground without putting anythingback, it wouldn't have happened. They plundered all the resources.

Before you knew it, the whole continent was divided up like a pile oftreasure. They weakened the foundation when they did this. They left noinfrastructure behind for the people whose resources they stole. Thatseemed to be their plan all along. It was a setup. Then people came overtrying to help and ended up taking control. What we need to do is createopportunity and move forward -- to leave something meaningful behind.People here couldn't even farm their own land or feed themselves. Theycouldn't benefit from the wealth of their country because of this negativeoutside influence. Isn't it a shame that we have all these starving childrennow?" As the folks from the charity sat there listening, their eyes sort ofwidened, and one said, "You know, you're right. That is what happened."When you realize what your legacy is -- and frame it in a way thathelps you understand how you got where you are -- you can achieve perspectiveon your life, I came to understand. Instead of feeling diminishedby the past, I position it this way: "What can I learn from that past thatcan propel me beyond it?"

That's the first step toward transcending -- moving past the constraintsthat others have imposed on you -- and transforming into a moreproductive and accepting human being. I realized that this challenge wastwofold for me: I needed to reprogram how I felt about myself and seemyself for my own unique qualities, not someone else's stereotypical viewof me. As a rule, people don't tell us how to do this.Too many of us just look at past oppression and mistreatment and say,"Woe is me."

Of course, struggle is not unique to people of color. Almost all of ushave endured some sort of major struggle. We are the same in that way.What we all need and want is love and respect and someone to care for us.That binds us. We just come from different cultures -- be they Whitesboroor White Plains -- and many of us see our lives only from that vantagepoint.

It took me a long time to move out and away from the bad things inmy life and embrace the good things -- to transcend my past. Only fromthat point on was I truly able to move into my imagination and my possibilitiesand my identity. But it's an ongoing process. If I execute it everysingle day, it will be reinforced and much more effective. If I don't, I fallback into old traps.

Continuing reinforcement of positive values is paramount to anyone'stransformation.

Though my home base is now in Chicago, I return to Whitesboro severaltimes a year. Over the years, the more I thought about what I've receivedin wisdom and perspective from this distinctive New Jersey town, themore I knew I must give something back. So when I came back to townin 1989, it was with an agenda: to form a nonprofit grassroots organizationcalled Concerned Citizens of Whitesboro.

In the original spirit of community pride instilled by town founderGeorge White, I felt an obligation to aid in the town's social and economicrevival. Through Concerned Citizens, we members seek to raisemoney and form partnerships with the county, the community, andseveral local organizations to help restore the vitality of Whitesboro. Wehave added streetlights, fixed sidewalks, and shored up aging infrastructure,as well as built voter registration programs, senior citizens'programs, family support services, recreational programs, scholarshipprograms, and other educational opportunities for youth.

Our overall goal is to help "the Boro" transform, stay vital, and welcomesystemic change that will lead to stronger leadership and a healthiercommunity.

Through Concerned Citizens under the leadership of a man namedBernie Blanks, and with the support of the committee and local residents,we continue to make a concerted effort to preserve and promote localpride in the town's unusual history and distinctive character. From thebeginning of this effort, we wanted to stand up for our community andhelp give it representation.

Without that reinforcement, advocacy, and commitment, Whitesborocould descend to the status of a "second-class citizen" town. We oweit to George Henry White and the original settlers of Whitesboro tohonor their founding ethics and not let that happen.