Go the Way Your Blood Beats: Leading with Purpose and Authenticity
Commencement Remarks to the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., Leadership Development Institute Class of 2019
St. Paul Baptist Church, Harrisburg, PA, June 30, 2019
Thanks for the wonderful introduction.
Further thanks to Reginald Guy, my namesake, for the opportunity to be here this evening.
It is a real honor to be here, particularly in the distinguished company of those on the dais and luminaries in the audience like Homer Floyd.
Most importantly, I’d like to extend a heartfelt congratulations to the graduating scholars of the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., Leadership Development Institute Class of 2019.
I would like to direct most of my remarks to you. Some thoughts on leadership — lessons I have learned over the years or things I have observed along the way.
As graduates of the Institute, you are now armed with the tools and skills necessary to effect much-needed change in Harrisburg and beyond. How you wield that influence is just as important as wielding it.
I think leaders become leaders in many different ways. One doesn’t need a title to be a leader.
And it is not always the result of well-laid plans. Sometimes a moment, an occasion, an issue, circumstance or situation calls one into leadership. Like Rosa Parks, compelled by the Jim Crow laws of the day to help ignite a movement. Or to fill a void, like Dr. King, who could remain silent no more in the face of racial, social and economic injustice. That battle for civil rights, equality and justice for all is one we are still fighting.
That takes me to my first bit of advice: Lead with passion. Find the thing that grabs a hold of you and won’t let go. For me, that is justice. It’s always been justice. Even as a little kid. I recall having visceral reactions to any instance of injustice, whether large or small. Then as now, I felt it in my bones and to my core.
I grew up in the 1960s and 70s in Wilmington, NC, home of the massacre/race riots of 1898, in which Black business owners, leaders and others were lynched or otherwise terrorized. Of course, I did not learn that history until I was in my 30s, living in New York City. It certainly was never taught to me in public schools, and it was never otherwise spoken of.
I was the third son of five children, born to a single mother, who raised us on government assistance, welfare, which she supplemented with work as a domestic. My mother had her first child at age 15, at a time when you were required to drop out of school if you became pregnant. She was super smart, but she was never able to return to school and realize her dreams.
My mother struggled to put food on the table. We ate by candlelight when we couldn’t pay the electric bill and, after dark, went to our neighbor’s house with empty milk jugs to cart home water in which to bathe or flush the toilet when we couldn’t pay the water bill.
I witnessed my mother make futile trips to the courthouse seeking child support from an absentee father who never paid one brown penny to help with our upbringing, and I saw her fall victim to domestic violence for years at the hands of a mean-spirited boyfriend. Only when we became teenagers and he had hit her one too many times did we summon the courage to tell him that we would kill him if he ever did it again.
As a young child, I observed and felt the disdain and low regard in which poor black people were held. I witnessed and experienced the limited opportunities and soft bigotry of low expectations, of my 7th grade homeroom teacher, Miss Hobbs, for example, who expressed shock when I, who lived in a notorious housing project, made the honor roll my first semester of junior high school.
All of these experiences informed my decision to become a civil rights lawyer. A decision I made at age six, believe it or not. I was an inquisitive kid. They called it nosey back then. Whenever anyone would visit our home, I would get them in a corner and pepper them with questions: What is your favorite color? Do you get along with your siblings? What is your father like? Do you like to read? More than one of our guests said, “Slow down, kid. You are asking a lot of questions. You sound like a lawyer.” And long before the world knew of Oprah Winfrey, I had an “aha moment” and thought to myself, well I am not sure of everything that lawyers do, but if they get to ask people questions, then that is what I am going to be when I grow up!
Of course, I did not know any lawyers growing up. In fact, when I graduated high school, I was the first person in a couple of generations in my family to do so. The first to go to college and to graduate school. I was also the first Black person to graduate, in the mid-1980s, from the local private school in my hometown.
Let me back up: Remember Miss Hobbs, my homeroom teacher from 7th grade? Well, one reason she was surprised that I did so well in school was because she used to write me up and send me to the principal’s office for cutting up — mostly talking out of turn — in class. It wasn’t just Miss Hobbs but mostly her. I think I was referred to the principal’s office some 17 times during 7th grade. Nothing serious. I was a smart aleck. But the principal did not know what to do with me. So, she referred me to the guidance counselor, a Black woman named Minnie Williams. Towards the end of 7th grade year, when I was once again in Miss Williams’ office, she said, “You know, I am not quite sure what to do with you. Your grades are good but your behavior and attitude are not. I think you must be bored. So, here is what I am going to do: I am going to place you in Gifted & Talented (now known as Academically Gifted) starting next year, your 8th grade year. Maybe that will be more challenging.
And, honestly, that did it. I think I got in trouble twice in 8th grade, but by 9th grade had become a model student and ambassador for the school during accreditation. Finally, someone, Miss Williams, really believed in and took a chance on me, and I was not going to let her down. In retrospect, I realized that my poor behavior was the result of an unstable home environment and bullying outside of it.
Back to high school. In 1984, I became the first African-American to graduate from Cape Fear Academy. I had received an academic scholarship to accompany my across-the-street neighbor and younger friend, Cece Muldrow, my sister’s best friend, who had received an athletic scholarship to play basketball and did not want to be the only Black person at the school. They asked Cece if she had any smart friends, and she identified me. It wasn’t until we transferred there, during my junior year, that I learned that the school had been built as a segregation academy in 1967, designed to avoid integration. There we were, living in a housing project, attending school with kids from some of the wealthiest families in Wilmington. Suffice it to say, not everyone was happy we were there, and we were both called the n-word, her on the basketball court and me elsewhere, including being catcalled by racist schoolmates when I was giving a speech at graduation.
There is a saying that you have to “go the way your blood beats.” To do otherwise leads to personal strife, dissonance and other poor outcomes. My blood beats for justice. No surprise then that one of the quotes on my senior class yearbook page was Dr. King’s “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere” and that my favorite quote by Dr. King is, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”
The great Lena Horne once said, “You have to be taught to be second class; you weren’t born that way.” So, I reject second-class citizenship. I reject it for myself, my family, my friends, for you, and everyone else.
I reject the false construct of white supremacy, the idea that Black and brown or Asian folks are not as American — or human — as our white brothers and sisters.
I reject a culture that views Black bodies as objects to control, from slavery to convict leasing to lynching to mass incarceration. One that thinks it is o.k. to imprison one-third of Black boys and men or sees them as threats to be shot and killed under the color of law, usually with zero accountability. Or views Black women as valuable only as saviors of our democracy during election season, notwithstanding their general status as “the most disrespected and unprotected [people] in America.”
I reject political, partisan and racial gerrymandering, voter ID laws and all types of voter suppression, which are as old and American as baseball and apple pie.
I agree with death penalty lawyer and civil rights activist Bryan Stevenson that, in order to move beyond race, America must undergo a process of truth and reconciliation, and that one — truth — must occur before the other. Reconciliation can only happen when America is ready to deal with its racist past. The point, Stevenson says, is not to punish America by talking about its past [and I would add present.] Rather, our “interest is in liberation. But to achieve it, we can’t be silent about this past.”
I reject the notion that migrating to America should only be limited to certain people from certain countries, that families should be torn apart and children separated from their parents, and placed in detention centers with inadequate food, without soap, toothbrushes, or human dignity. A year ago today, I was attending a rally in Philadelphia to end family detention because families belong together. I think things have only gotten worse. It is not o.k. that our government has lost 1,475 migrant children. Dr. King would not stand for that. Nor should we.
I reject the notion that women are not in the best position to make decisions about their bodies and their families.
I reject the argument that same-sex couples can’t be good parents and the absence of a law in Pennsylvania that protects members of the LGBTQ community from discrimination in housing, employment and public accommodations. I reject the assertion that transgender people can not serve their country effectively in the military and the status quo that sees Black trans women killed in epidemic proportions. The fight for dignity, equality and justice for all continues. Happy 50th Anniversary, Stonewall!
Lead with passion, whatever it is. Find your thing. And lead wherever you are. Leadership is not limited to huge national or international movements. One can be a leader in their home, community, neighborhood association, their fraternity or sorority, church, their work.
However one arrives in the role of a leader and in whatever context, large or small, there are ways to do it effectively. Viola Davis says that, in order to stay motivated and to avoid disillusionment when one has achieved certain personal goals, it is important to create a life of purpose and significance, something bigger than ourselves. And it is never too late to figure out what that means for you. As Michelle Obama says, we are always “Becoming.”
For purposes of today, I asked my friends what makes an effective leader. My friends are smart. That’s another thing; surround yourself with folks who are bright and ambitious and who have your back always. #squadgoals
Here is some of their wisdom:
Lead by example.
Don’t take all or even most of the credit for your organization’s accomplishments. Push your ego aside and let others shine.
Be empathetic.
Be consistent. Holding others to different standards and expectations will be obvious, and it will hurt your credibility.
Listen more than you speak.
Be supportive.
Partner with those you lead.
Establish good communication practices, with an open door policy.
Cultivate a culture where difficult conversations can happen and not shut down the process.
Be concise when possible.
Step in when you have to; step back when you need to.
Practice humility. When I speak to young folks especially, I tell them that I have never encountered an occasion where humility was not the better approach to arrogance.
Be kind.
Be knowledgeable — know what’s going on.
Set appropriate boundaries. Share details when you need to; keep them to yourself when you don’t.
Work for consensus.
Have a good and clear vision with an idea about how to achieve it, which includes getting buy-in from relevant stakeholders.
Protect your team.
Pay them what they are worth, if you can.
Be respectful. At the end of the day, people may not remember details, but they always remember how you made them feel.
Be patient.
Be excited about what you are leading.
Be transparent.
Be honest.
Be vulnerable.
Be authentic. Bring your full, authentic self to the table. If you can’t do that, maybe you should work elsewhere.
Give others an opportunity for meaningful input.
Cultivate an environment that fosters collaboration, collegiality and conversation.
Use future-based, transformative language.
Be courageous, even or especially when you are feeling anything but.
Have goals and communicate them clearly, calmly and directly.
Don’t micromanage.
Know who you are leading.
Know that even poor leaders can teach you something.
Have integrity and compassion.
Be confident (which is not the same as competent).
Be competent, too.
Lead — do SOMETHING. Get engaged. Speak truth to power.
Smart friends, right?
I would add a few more things:
Be self-aware, know your strengths and weaknesses, the privilege you have and your social location relative to others. Do you have a car? A bank account? A job? A roof over your head? A voice that people listen to? If so, think about how you can use it in service of others. To whom much is given, much is expected. Be mindful of power differentials when engaging with staff and others. Brush up on your leadership skills whenever the opportunity presents itself. The best leaders have both IQ (intellectual capacity) and EQ (emotional intelligence).
Congratulations again, Class of 2019 Scholars! Thank you for listening. Remember always to go the way your blood beats.
