Circles Not Ladders

Erlend Ekseth

It’s the mid-2000s and I’m a partner and Exco member in the Southern Africa wing of a global professional services company. Given that it’s women’s month, the firm’s women’s network – of which I’m also a member – decides to host a celebratory event. The key speakers at this event are to be me, representing the Exco, the Chairperson of the Board, who is also a black woman, and the guest of honour - Mary Robinson, former President of Ireland, and UN High Commissioner for Human Rights.

In the lead-up to this event, the firm’s Head of Communications and the Head of the Women’s Network – let’s call her Daphne Kruger - set up practice sessions for the Chair and me to work on our speeches. However, due to a mix-up, I get told the wrong time and end up missing my session. When I arrive at the venue on the morning of the event, Daphne smiles and greets me warmly. As we’re chatting away, the CEO pulls me aside, looking very concerned. Daphne had told him before I arrived that I had missed my practice session which, according to her, naturally meant that I was now going to embarrass the firm, making the whole event a sure-to-be disaster. Surprised, I turn to look enquiringly at Daphne, but she has conveniently moved to the other side of the room, busying herself at the podium. Swallowing down my irritation, I assure the CEO that I have matters under control and we take our seats.

The Chairperson speaks first, followed by the guest of honour. Then it’s my turn to head to the podium. As I walk past him, the CEO shoots me a nervous glance, clearly still worried despite my assurances. Sitting in the row behind him, Daphne sends me censorious looks under half-veiled eyelids, her mouth pinched as she whispers conspiratorially with the female partner next to her.

Adjusting the height of the microphone to accommodate my height, I take a deep breath, lick my lips, and begin, occasionally glancing at the notes I’d hastily scribbled on a small piece of paper as the others were speaking. Other than my voice, the room is totally silent. I get to the end of my speech, and…

Nothing. Nobody moves. Nobody claps.

Then, suddenly, the room erupts with applause. As I leave the podium, people flock around me, congratulating me and asking where I learnt to speak so well. The CEO rushes up and shakes my hand, grinning from ear to ear, with an ‘I knew you could do it’ look in his eyes. Daphne is conspicuously absent.

I spend a few minutes chatting with him, Mary, and the Chairperson before we take our leave. As I turn to the exit, I spot Daphne across the room. She flashes me a brittle smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, then quickly looks away. Walking out the door, I silently chuckle to myself. People like Daphne never learn.

By then in my career, I had become used to dealing with people like Daphne who thought that certain spaces were, and should be, reserved for only ‘their kind’. People who made it their business to maintain a constant cavalcade of whispers questioning the competence of those they designated as Other and whether they deserved to be there. In this case, however, the irony was that we were supposed to be on the same side. Women standing arm-in-arm, fighting together for women’s rights. So, what was going on?

Divide and rule is a process whereby rulers of oppressive systems maintain power by creating a hierarchy of privilege within the system and co-opting segments of the oppressed into the maintenance of the system. They do this by giving these segments more benefits relative to their peers so that, as these segments strive to continue receiving these benefits, they also inadvertently maintain the system as a whole.

This system is undergirded by a belief system which defines individual, human worth in zero-sum competitive terms. In other words, one’s worth is not based on the “content of your character” but rather on one’s place in the hierarchy, with those higher up being ‘superior’ to those below. Those who hold such superior positions are taught that, in order to maintain their place in the hierarchy, they must dominate the others or end up being dominated. At the same time, those who hold inferior positions are taught to perpetually aspire to go up the ladder so they too can be ‘better’ than others.

Hence, apart from those at the very top of the hierarchy, all in such a system are simultaneously oppressed and oppressors as they seek to improve their individual lot in order to climb up the ladder. However, since different co-opted segments need numbers to increase the effectiveness of their own attempts to better their lot, they inevitably frame their struggle in inclusive terms in order to win the support of their oppressed brethren, denying the role they also play in maintaining the system. Hence, the Daphnes of this world.

So, if we are to succeed in creating gender equity in particular and a more equitable, meritocratic world in general, our struggles have to adopt an intersectional lens. To, in the case of women’s rights, see the struggle not just in terms of gender but its underlying root causes and how the same roots drive discrimination based on race, class, sexual orientation and so forth. Such an intersectional approach involves shifting from just focusing on changing those aspects of the system that negatively impact us, (whilst perpetuating those elements that benefit us), to rather creating rising tides that really do lift all boats. As the old adage goes, none of us can be free until all of us are free.

Doing this begins by recognising that the key challenge we face is not the set of barriers that prevent us from going up the ladder, but the ladder itself. We need to dismantle, individually and collectively, supremacist belief systems and redefine our sense of self-worth. A worth that is not based on being better or superior to anyone else but simply on our intrinsic value as human beings.

In Zulu, we greet each other by saying, “I see you.” This is not merely a factual statement but rather an acknowledgement of each other as worthy, purely because of our very existence. Moreover, such worth is not rooted in individualism and hierarchical ladders but in circles of community. I am because you are. This concept means that all of us, no matter the quantity of our power or our material goods, are - and will always be - enough. Just as we are.

There is a world where such a reality is possible. All we have to do is reach for it.