I’m convinced that within the United States and abroad, there are people who play an active, conscious role in the suppression of minority prosperity, especially when those people are Black.
The only way to avoid dealing with said suppression is to become an agent or tool of whatever enterprise these people belong to.
For a point of reference, think about how overwhelmingly Black the National Basketball Association is, then go look at how many owners are minorities.
Sure, those athletes make millions of dollars, nothing to sneeze at or underappreciate. But, as a former athlete who befriended other athletes while at the University of Arkansas, I can tell you that that’s merely a fraction of their “total valuation.”
In other words, owners assess how much money they project they’ll make off of a basketball player. The higher the valuation, the higher the draft pick.
The higher the draft pick, the greater the expectations — but the higher the starting salary. Look no further than the starting pay for Orlando Magic rookie power forward Paolo Banchero.
Paolo is worth billions of dollars for the Devos family, owners of the Magic franchise. When you look at his starting salary and combine that with the grind that is a minimum of 82 games over a few months (not to mention the mandatory signings, public appearances, media days, etc.), do you really think it’s fair in the grand scheme of things?
Choosing not to partake in any of their systems leads to a life of hardships and tribulations for most minorities. The more melanin you possess, the more arduous those trials.
Once upon a time, I had a chance to sign a deal that would’ve catapulted me into the stratosphere of “super f**king rich,” changing my life and those of my loved ones overnight. What I didn’t know was what it would require my soul in exchange.
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The year was 2019. I vowed to spend time focusing on improving as a screenwriter, spending many hours honing my craft. Then, during the summer, I was contacted by an alluring recruiter from a company all throughout the Chicagoland.
To protect their privacy, I’ll refer to them as Evil Corp, a nod to the popular TV drama Mr. Robot. When I was contacted by the recruiter, a woman named Lauren, she started the conversation off by saying, “Our organization has taken notice of you and your skillset and would greatly appreciate the opportunity to discuss prospective employment to see if we’re a mutual fit.”
Somewhat jaded by recruiter language and being sold on companies, I politely declined. As I prepared to hang up, she changed gears, saying, “Aw! That’s too bad. I was looking forward to working with such a cutie.”
I took the bait. We ended up having an hour-long conversation about the company, the role, and the entry-level starting salary.
The six-figure role I landed with Amazon was still somewhat fresh in my mind, so I boldly made mention of that, stating if I wanted to proceed with the interview process, I’d expect pay in line with that.
She was impressed, then laid out a bunch of incentives and performance bonuses for high performers. The potential annual salary far exceeded the deal I agreed to with Amazon.
Now I was impressed. I agreed to continue the interview process after it felt like we’d be a great mutual fit, completely disregarding my focus on growing as a writer.
After agreeing to meet the head of operations at the location I intended to work at, I headed out for the interview, donning my best suit, poised and prepped with info about Evil Corp and relevant questions to ask.
When I arrived, there were only a handful of employees on site, something I thought odd considering the size of the office (imagine walking into a Walmart on Saturday and seeing only five or so total employees).
I was guided to the very back of the building where Stacy, the head of operations, kept her office.
The first thing she said when she saw me was, “My goodness you’re attractive.”
Flattered, I sat down for what I thought would be a standard interview. Instead, I was told to put away my padfolio the moment I brought it out.
Over the course of the next two hours, my character was assessed, not to see if I had the potential to be a quality employee, but to figure out if I was worthy of the frivolous lifestyle and culture rampant throughout the company.
For example, marijuana usage was a major focal point of the conversation.
Stacy pointedly asked me if I knew it would be legalized the following year (2020). Ignorant of “cannabis culture” at the time, I didn’t. She then asked me how I felt about it.
Assuming this was a test, I said I was indifferent. That felt like an appropriate response and concluded our interview.
After meeting with Stacy, I met with the rest of that location’s leadership team comprised of other heads of departments. They were all white, something I didn’t care about initially.
As the conversation commenced, I realized I was being evaluated beyond the scope of a normal interview. The questions asked had nothing to do with past work experience or anything remotely related to the job.
They were questions to see what kind of Black person I was, playing at unpopular stereotypes about Black men specifically. For example, they wanted to know how aggressive I was, or if I was excessively boisterous.
At one point, Mike, the location’s head honcho, asked me if I was there to “take all of their women.” A brief, unintentional smile followed. It honestly felt like they wanted to see if I was worthy of the “ol’ boys’ club.”
After a weeks’ worth of deliberations, they formally extended the job offer.
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On my very first day, I took stock of the employees, meaning I counted the number of ethnic minorities present.
There was Raj, a hard worker from the Philippines, Ashlynn and Amber, mixed race minorities, Zach, a Black guy more akin to Steph Curry than Draymond Green complexion wise, Tamara, the only other fully Black person, and Dr. King, the light-skinned IT director.
As the darkest employee in the office, I became the “token Black bro,” or the Black person everyone except Tamara relied on to gain insights into minority culture.
I became the paragon of what it meant to be Black, something I hate with a passion.
The questions, comments, and assumptions I listened to showed me how devoid of experience interacting with Black people most employees there were.
That wasn’t what troubled me though.
As more time passed, I was exposed to a workplace culture I thought only existed in TV shows or at the very top of corporations. For example,
- Employees were allowed to get hammered while still in the building after 5pm. Most would spend the night there and were prepped beforehand, heading off to restrooms to change into their pajamas.
- Cannabis-infused goodies (cookies, pastries, pies) were brought to work for everyone to consume daily. Remember: this was 2019.
- The higher-ups invited their favorite employees to their multi-million-dollar mansions to smoke weed on the weekends.
- Members of management had cases of wine delivered to the office on a weekly basis. The delivery person left them in the foyer. A director would head over there with a dolly, then come back smiling mischievously, calling out some of the wine flavors in each shipment.
- Absolutely no one validated the legitimacy of expense reports. I goofed up on one, requesting more than I actually spent. When I reported it to Stacy, she told me not to worry because “no one really takes those seriously. Just don’t ask for too much, and you’ll be okay.”
- Coworkers were quick to throw out their salaries. Some of the numbers I heard that stuck were $80,000, $220,000, and $300,000.
I struggled to adjust to the culture apparent at Evil Corp. As a Black man, I’d never been in a workplace setting where alcohol, drugs, and financial loopholes all existed with no oversight.
I was used to going out to bars to drink, doing drugs privately (and hoping I didn’t get caught like most people), and grinding unwaveringly to find bigger paydays and additional income streams.
It felt like I’d joined a cult or fraternity. Then, the life-changing offer came.
One day, while going through supplemental training modules, Dr. King called me into his office. He closed the door, something he never did, so I knew the conversation would be serious.
We made pointless small talk for a while, something I can’t stand. Then, he started to hesitate.
An emotionally intelligent person, I could tell he was pensive. When I asked him if he was okay, he answered by asking how I was liking the job.
I told him it came with perks and amenities I wasn’t accustomed to but grateful for. Dr. King then told me the leadership team was impressed with me. They were paying special attention to my work and wanted to bring me into the fold deeper.
Still, they had some concerns—all centered around my urban background. For instance, my “street jargon” as he put it, worried them, as did my fashion sense, which was also “urban.”
He told me they were prepared to make me a life-changing offer, as they did for him, but that it would come with a few contingencies. He asked me to really think about what they wanted in the grand scheme of things.
This conversation took place on a Friday. A week later, in the early evening, I got a DocuSign email with the offer. They were prepared to pay me $378,500 as base pay to become part of the leadership team.
Here were the conditons: I needed to tuck my dress shirts in, stopped wearing Jordans, LeBron's, and other casual basketball shoes, adopt a more professional diction while at work, and no longer put on chinos, dress pants, or khakis with “stains, rips, zippers, or any other forms of unnecessary frills.
I didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, I was shocked by the requests. On the other hand, I was transfixed by the pay. After taxes in Illinois, that’s still close to a quarter of a million dollars, roughly $20,000/month.
When I told Raj, he told me that meant they knew I was valuable. His starting pay once they brought him into the fold was $400,000.
I decided to call my sister, the voice of reason in my life when I’m torn between choices. After giving her the SparkNotes about Evil Corp, the work environment, and the offer, she was silent for some time.
When I probed her, she said, “It sounds really good, and that amount of money would put you in the top 5% of earners, but…”
“But what?” I asked.
It sounds like they’re asking you to trade in part of your blackness for money. Doesn’t that sound like selling your soul?
I sat in my living room all night after the call for what felt like hours. I paced, pondering my predicament. I prayed. I thought some more.
On the one hand, I’d be richer than I ever thought possible at such a young age. Then, I started thinking about my minority counterparts.
I thought about the Black people I know rotting behind bars because of their complexion, not because they actually committed a crime.
I thought about the way I saw minorities treated while residing in Arkansas, surrounded by white people intent on limiting their upward mobility.
I thought about the Black people all across America who come from generations of struggle that began with slavery, still held back by laws and loopholes meant to continue ensnaring them in poverty.
I even thought about the minority friends I left behind in Philly, working odd jobs to survive because they’re more street-smart than book-smart.
Then I did a mental deep dive, thinking about how starkly different those friendships would be if I accepted the role. I tried to envision how they’d respond to the salary and the strings attached.
The harder I thought, the less I wanted to accept the role, especially if it meant expelling myself of qualities unique to my culture.
So, the following Monday, with a somewhat heavy heart, I rejected the offer.
A week later, I was let go by Evil Corp without cause.
My time with Evil Corp took deep-seated concerns I have about how this country works and made them a reality.
An ethnic minority who has spent the majority of his life around other ethnic minorities, I’d never been in a workplace setting this plush before.
I’m used to being around people who have to finesse, grind, or hustle their way into prosperity. Most of us resent our jobs or certain aspects of it.
Very few minorities, especially Black people, find themselves in a position to achieve their dreams, enjoy their work, AND make a killing (outside of sports and entertainment).
In reality, we’re relegated to lower-paying, subservient roles. At Evil Corp, everything was handed to me, usually on what felt like a silver platter. I enjoyed being part of what felt like an elitist cult at the beginning.
Despite this, I couldn’t continue being part of their organization. It really did feel like I had to sell my soul to achieve complete acceptance there. I didn’t want to be branded an “Uncle Tom” by any of my minority colleagues either.
I now know that companies exist where white people are subjected to less oversight than minorities.
Everyone in charge at the Evil Corp branch I worked at was white. There were only two employees subjected to strenuous policing—Tamara and me.
Working around these uber-wealthy white people showed me some are privy to the lack of racial equality in this country.
Sadly, instead of playing an active role in improving conditions for all people, they’d much rather become another agent of the system, focusing on acquiring as much wealth or material gain as possible, aware that white skin privilege exists.
I wonder how many Black people and minorities knowingly align themselves with these types of white people, more concerned about being accepted—regardless of the consequences—than battling for equality for all minorities.
Until that happens, I’ll be in the trenches, fighting alongside all my minority brothers and sisters until racial equality is achieved for all races. No matter the industry, no human being should have to sell their soul for acceptance.
I’m grateful I still have mine.
This post originally appeared on Medium and is edited and republished with author's permission. Read more of Paul Marsh's work on Medium.
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