DEI - Handy in a warzone
Whenever I hear anyone talking disparagingly of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion, it reminds me of that time I spent in a war zone.
It was East Timor in 2001, and my comedy mates and I had been invited to entertain New Zealand’s army and air force on military bases in various parts of that country. Things were calmer than they’d been when our troops had arrived in 1999 – they were in the peace keeping phase, though there was still enough enemy contact to keep us all on our toes.
It was obvious from the get-go that Kiwi soldiers were popular with the locals – more so than, for example, Australians troops who were also part of the mission. I asked why that was.
Soldiers explained that, if there was a road to be repaired or a roof to be rebuilt, the first thing Kiwis did was ask the Timorese how they usually went about doing such things. And then they’d get alongside and help. This was as opposed to coming in and taking over, imposing their practices and expecting locals to learn their methods.
That approach is partly about making sure people who have been traumatised by war have agency about what happens to them next. But it is also about acknowledging your way of doing things is not the only way, and that there’s value in local practices and different traditions.
So despite the bad press it’s been getting in America, I am a big fan of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion. I’ve seen what happens when an office, industry or any kind of social grouping gives thought to ensuring all kinds of people are welcome. And I’ve seen what it looks like when they don’t.
For “don’t” I think back to my own industry in the 1990s. Mad as it sounds, I barely knew any other women comedians. Not because they didn’t exist, but because we weren’t allowed to work together.
“Allowed” as in people putting on shows would only book one woman at time, lest it started looking like a fundraiser for some lady-issue.
Which meant women didn’t get to hang out with each other, tour together, or watch each other’s work. It also meant audiences didn’t get to see that women weren’t all the same – that we had different voices and styles, were at least as different from each other as half-a-dozen men might be.
It also meant the culture – onstage and off – could be not only unwelcoming to women, but also unsafe.
Even more recently, a TV panel show of seven players would have a maximum of one woman, sometimes none. Eventually an informal “quota” system was introduced, requiring at least one woman per episode, possibly two, how shocking.
Not everyone was comfortable with a quota, including some women. No one likes to feel they’re “the diversity hire”, the person who only got invited because they needed someone who looked like them, rather than there based on merit.
Though I’d argue the merit system is a fantasy – it has always mattered who you know, where you’re from, who your people are, and whether you look like someone who might fit in.
So I love a quota, and I love DEI. In most areas of life, you only get good at something by doing it. Chuck me in as your diversity hire and I will work my patootie off making sure I get good at it fast. Because DEI can open the door, but you get to stay in the room on your own merit.