ROE equips Wharton MBA students with the skills and knowledge to become advocates and allies of diversity and inclusion in their professional and personal lives

 

ROE is a student-led coalition whose vision is to make Wharton a pioneering institution that deliberately equips students to be leaders and advocates of inclusive organizational practices, enabling individuals to be recognized and valued as their whole selves.

 
 

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"One of my most ridiculous encounters with the police happened when I was 18 and a freshman in college. One of my side ventures was to buy clothes and sneakers in SoHo and resell them to friends/classmates in Queens and Long Island. After one trip back from SoHo, I decided to meet my track teammates at a 7-11 on the border of Queens and Long Island to sell them some sneakers I had just bought. When I arrived, my teammates were waiting with some snacks from the store hanging around the car. I greeted them, walked in to get myself some food, and then noticed a yellow cab with two white guys in the front staring at me. I felt this was odd since yellow cabs don’t operate in Long Island and well… it had two white guys in it. I came out of the store and as soon as I handed my friend the sneakers, the guys hopped out with their guns drawn, two additional squad cars pulled into the lot to block our car in, and a van with a full camera crew hopped out as well. We were ordered to get on our knees, hands above our heads while the police officers had their guns drawn as they searched us and our car with no warrant – the entire time with the camera crew filming. We were on our knees for ten minutes while the cops conducted their search. Five minutes into their search, a crowd had gathered including my high school Spanish teacher who looked at us as though we were criminals. Once they realized the only sale was for sneakers, the camera crew packed up their stuff and left. After we got up and were uncuffed, the police just said “stay out of trouble, we could’ve arrested you for a clothing transaction outside of a business, but we’ll let you go with a warning” then drove off. As we stood there with the crowd still around us, I had never felt so embarrassed, scared, and humiliated. We drove back to my friend’s house in silence as we all contemplated on how helpless we were in that scenario. The cops had immediately assumed we were dangerous or doing illicit activities, when we were just doing the same thing many other teenagers did…hanging out with friends in a store parking lot. " #HumansofWharton #ReturnOnEquality
"After morning physical training, a black Soldier of mine told me he wanted to file a complaint for racial discrimination. During training, the white Sergeant Major of another unit told him to pull up his shorts, saying “You ain’t back on the block.” I had heard similar comments made in other contexts; my instinct told me this had to be a misunderstanding. Despite my instincts, I knew that I had to act if my soldier felt that there was racial discrimination, whether or not it was a misunderstanding. If there was even the perception that I would not stand up and fight on behalf of my men, regardless of their color, how could I possibly lead? In my experience in the Army, racism was extremely unusual. It was particularly rare in Combat Arms, like the Infantry unit where I served, because units have a strong identity that transcends race or background. This identity comes from working together under tough conditions toward shared goals. Because of this strong identity in Combat Arms, I was truly shocked when the black Soldier approached me complaining of racial discrimination. I decided there were two ways to approach this: one would be the formal complaint process, the other would be to talk to the Sergeant Major and figure out whether this was an incident of racism or a misunderstanding. I asked my Soldier what he wanted to do, and he decided to talk to the Sergeant Major, knowing that he could always file a formal complaint later if he so chose. My Soldier and I went to the Sergeant Major’s office and sat down to discuss what happened. The three of us had a frank discussion of the incident. The Sergeant Major explained that he did not mean for his comment to be construed in a racial light. He regretted that he had given offense, and he actually thanked us for choosing to bring the issue up to him in a direct and professional way. We all walked away feeling better about what had happened."
“So dad is never coming back?” “Not anytime soon my dear,” my mother responded to me as I wondered when I would be able to see my dad again. I was only 7 years old in my native Guinea when my father, a doctor, was accused by the government of having treated, and therefore supported, Alpha Conde, who is now President of Guinea, but was then an opposition leader. Unable to find any other work, my dad was forced into exile, and our lives turned upside down. We moved to a smaller house in the city, living off my mother’s income, and most sadly, as a divided family. This trauma not only shaped me into the strong woman I am today, but it also left me with scars that I couldn’t imagine beginning to fade until I stepped foot at Wharton. I almost never shared my story until I found, in my SLF family, classmates and friends that made me feel at home. As I was sharing my story, my SLF family comforted me as they listened and shared my pain. When I concluded with this statement: “This is why I hate politics and anything that is even close to it,” many investigated with follow-up questions. One, who is now a good friend, even went as far as to challenge my conviction by telling me that the only way I could protect myself and others from going through the same injustices is to get involved and prevent them from happening. “You need to get over your fear and for that you can take baby steps. I think you should run for Cluster president.” I looked at her like she was crazy, but then I did run. It was the first time I ever ran for anything and it was a transformational experience. I still have zero political ambitions, but at least my perspective has changed. This is just one example of how Wharton gave me friends who accepted me like family and who push me to overcome the experiences that held me back.
(1/2) "Out of college, I landed a job at one of the world's largest investors in private equity on an all-male investment team. After meeting with other firms and working through countless investments, I began to realize that my all-male investment team was actually the industry standard. While still managing my day job, I then proposed an internal study tracking the impact of gender-diverse investment teams and returns over time. A few senior female mentors were very supportive and helped me assemble a team. Together, we found that investment teams with at least one senior woman tended to have better performing funds. While the data wasn't conclusive or statistically significant, I was still excited to present the findings to senior management and propose collecting more data on gender (and more broadly, diversity) going forward. After a lot of preparation, I arrived early to the meeting with a stack of carefully reviewed presentations. Before I could even open my mouth, a top-level executive loudly declared, "I'm not sure why we're having this meeting. I mean this issue [of gender inequality in private equity] is simply one that will go away over time because people will quit caring." The moment was shocking, such that even my senior female mentors stammered to find a response. My cheeks flushed red and I regretted having ever proposed the study.
(1/2) “The girl from everywhere and nowhere.” That’s what I’d branded myself to a captive audience of brand new Cluster 2 classmates during a pre-term 60 second lecture. So, I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised when a couple of months later, a classmate asked me in passing whether I identify more closely with Brazilian or American culture. I think she was expecting a simple answer, judging by the fact that she asked this mid-bike ride in Cartagena. The truth is, more often than not, I find myself caught in between two different cultural identities, never fully one or the other, always on the outside looking in. I’ve struggled a lot with what this means. This feeling of being “caught in between.” In moments of confidence it means highlighting my ability to move seamlessly between cultures and connect people who normally wouldn’t find common ground. But in moments of self-doubt it means feeling like I’m not able to connect with people on a deeper level, like there’s always something I’m missing, or something about me that doesn’t get fully understood. Some have tried to explain this phenomenon, giving it catchy names like “third culture kids” or “cultural chameleon,” but at the end of the day, I think what I’m seeking is a feeling of belonging and being understood.
"Back in college, I was highly involved in the Black students’ association. During one of our group meetings, a member discussed some of her experiences as a Nigerian student living in the US. She talked about how challenging it was for her to transition from being in the majority in Nigeria to being in the minority in the US. She disclosed how difficult it was to feel like a “foreigner” even among people who “looked like” her. Added to that, she described several encounters in the US that “felt like racism” but she was not sure if that was the appropriate term. Her disclosure spurred a larger discussion on race, ethnicity, and nationality including how those of us who shared a “Black identity” could be sub-divided into our different privileges. For example, while I had always identified myself as Black, this experience made me become more aware of my identity as also an African American woman whose American identity and phenotype were privileged in this context. Since then, I have tried to incorporate the experiences of international students and workers more explicitly into my research on the value of including multiple identities at work and when teaching my Leading Diversity in Organizations course at Wharton. I think it is important to help international students and workers better acclimate to living and working in the United States where engaging effectively across differences may seem difficult. Fostering a more inclusive culture for all including our international students is not only beneficial to our collective learning, but also our capacity to innovate here at Wharton and in organizations more broadly."
(1/2) “A couple of months ago, I received something from Amazon that I didn’t order: baby milk formula. My immediate reaction was panicked. I thought the internet knew I was pregnant before I did! This inference felt reasonable--in Legal Studies class we had just talked about how Target knew some shoppers were pregnant before they did, and marketed accordingly. If Target could know this, then surely Amazon could too. Ethics aside, I was personally overwhelmed by thinking about how an unexpected pregnancy would alter my carefully crafted life plan. What if I was pregnant? My desire to establish myself at work before my husband and I decided to have children was ruined. I would start work after business school only to have a child a month later – impossible. How could I work long hours with a baby at home? To me, this simply couldn’t happen. With these thoughts assailing us, my husband and I agonized about whether Amazon was right.
(1/3) "I got interested in entrepreneurship as a postdoc scientist who was chosen to take two extensive courses on innovation commercialization and learned about the entire process of getting a medical product from the laboratory bench to the bedside. This was a rare opportunity for a hard-core scientist to be exposed to the business and entrepreneurial aspects of scientific discoveries, and I was absolutely fascinated! After those courses, I was motivated to sign up for an online Coursera course on Social Entrepreneurship from Wharton in 2012 where I detailed a venture idea about empowering caregivers for people with Alzheimer’s disease and related dementia (ADRD), a disease area I researched during my PhD and postdoctoral training. Fast forward a few years, I found myself applying to Wharton for my MBA in Health Care Management, with one of my major goals being to start my own company to holistically support caregivers for people with ADRD. I started working on my company, named Nimbus Care Hub, from my very first semester—refining my business model, carefully building a team and finding the right Advisors. I got into the Venture Initiation Program (VIP) in my first year and then further worked on the idea over the summer while interning at Novartis. I came back for my second year at Wharton mentally ready to execute on the business plan for Nimbus. I pitched Nimbus for the first time at the Wharton Women’s Summit 2017 with two very talented friends, Swati Patel and Jennifer Mao Jones. Nimbus was voted the “Best Startup Business” at the conference and it was an amazing feeling to get this honor. Nowadays I often find myself asking what it means to be an entrepreneur and the definition that I have come up with is that an entrepreneur is someone who has a vision and is resourceful and gets things done to make her vision a reality. However, in addition to being an entrepreneur, I see myself as a daughter, mother, wife, friend and student and I want to take this opportunity to share with you one of my days this week where I find myself balancing all these different roles.
(1/2) "Growing up in a household in which my mother out-earned my father, gender equality in the workplace was something I did not think about frequently. Moreover, sexism was addressed in my pre-collegiate schooling – but as with racism and other forms of prejudice – folded into a narrative that portrayed injustice as an issue of the past. It was not until I saw a senior partner make an advance on a female colleague of mine during my first year in the workforce that I truly understood things were different for women. Over the course of my professional career, I have witnessed several instances of overt harassment and discrimination. However, only recently have I begun to notice more subtle forms of sexism that are pervasive yet completely unacknowledged. I have learned that the most dangerous aspect of hegemony is that its primary functional mechanism is not overt subjugation, but rather the creation and propagation of social norms; hierarchical reinforcement that is blind to the naked eye through its embeddedness in what is considered ‘normal’.
(1/2) I was born and raised in Kyrgyzstan and moved to the US just last year to pursue my MBA degree. While living in Kyrgyzstan, a lot of times I felt unfit in my own country with its highly patriarchal system of values and certain gender and age specific social expectations. As a girl and later as a woman, I was expected to achieve certain milestones at certain ages: to be able to cook and clean the household by 10 or 11 years old , to get married by 22 or 23, to become a mother before I turned 25. Although I actually enjoyed achieving some of these goals (getting married to my husband and having children for example), I absolutely didn’t want to deal with others (like being a stay at home mom, or a cook). As a result, having become a career-driven woman whose partner has chosen to be a stay-at-home dad, I found myself feeling socially misunderstood and professionally demotivated in the only country I’ve ever lived in. I couldn’t bear raising my children in the society, which unfortunately in majority condoned bride kidnapping and allowed its parliament to discuss the possibility of polygamy, so I’ve decided to move my family to United States. Wanting to find a career in a more impactful industry, while still being able to apply my financial skills, I came to business school. It’s not easy to move countries when you’re an adult, but it is twice as hard when you move directly into a top business school.
(1/2) I was born in Japan and lived there until I was 32 years old. “Sit down! Follow the other children!” my elementary school teacher often shouted at me. With attention issues and hyperactivity, I couldn’t sit on the chair during class or stay focused on my studies. Due to constant criticism, I believed I was incompetent. Practicing Kendo, the Japanese martial art of swordsmanship for 20 years taught me how to mentally control myself, by learning essential samurai spirits: courtesy, wisdom, loyalty, sincerity, belief, and dedication that were at the heart of the Japanese tradition. However, I still always felt that the Japanese culture, valuing order, conformity, and heterogeneity didn’t fit with my inborn personality. A well-known Japanese proverb teaches us “A nail that stands will be hammered down”, meaning that “you would be hit if you are different” in Japan. I had to put much effort to hide and restrain myself not to be "hit". It was really distressing. When I was 13 years old, I traveled to Mongolia for my first trip abroad. I was very impressed by the unique and unfamiliar cultures, people, and history. More importantly, knowing that not all cultures are like the Japanese culture relieved me. Riding horseback and galloping towards the horizon, I found that I didn’t need to restrain myself too much and that I was allowed to follow my passions. Since then I have enjoyed traveling and working in about 20 countries. No country has the same culture, food, or people, which intrigues me. Of these countries, I especially loved India, Mongolia, and Israel. All have long histories, beautiful landscapes, and attractive people with strong vitality and a motivation for success. In 2016, I moved to the US to study at Wharton, which was my 21st destination outside of Japan. Living in the US is more comfortable and exciting than I expected thanks to its culture which appreciates diversity, and great support from my Wharton friends and family. Coming from one of the most heterogeneous countries, I am very impressed by the US’s diverse races and religions, strong female presence in the classroom and business world, and understanding of LGBT.
(1/2) Imagine you are an immigrant in a country where you clearly look and sound different from the majority. You do not want to be too singled out, right? Because you want to “integrate” yourself, you (unconsciously?) try to adapt your way of thinking, which includes sometimes hiding some of your ingrained cultural habits or convictions and to display new ones: hiding is a survival strategy. But then you hear some of your relatives say: “Hum… you are becoming too ‘westernized’, too ‘individualistic’, we don’t recognize you anymore”, or “you should marry someone from your hometown, if not, we might lose you”. This reminds you that you are distancing yourself from family: the classic immigrant dilemma. An example of a way in which my thinking has changed is how I perceive the expression of a minority. After 17 years in Cameroon, I moved to France, where claiming one’s difference, skin color, for instance, is less common than it is in the US. At Wharton, as a Cameroonian, it would feel normal to be part of a professional or student official ethnic group such as the African American association. My French brain, on the other hand, would say: “why would you single yourself out like that?”. These internal conflicts, fortunately, are outweighed by the strength that minority communities procure to me.
(1/2) "Ok everyone, please introduce yourselves. Begin with your name, where you're from..." Where was I from? All my life, I picked something different each time: "Born in Mumbai!" "Used to live in Mongolia actually!" "Home is my parents place in Beijing!" "Washington DC... uhh I mean the Potomac, Maryland part!" The question never bothered me - but the fact that I was picking a different story each time, did. What was my real answer supposed to be? As a third grader new to the United States, I wanted to be like my American friends. I tried hard to "fix" my accent and hide the Indian Rotis my mom would give me for lunch in the hopes she'd give me a "normal" sandwich instead. As a high schooler in Mongolia, being from Asia was "less" foreign, so that's when I decided to be proudly Indian again. I was catering to my environment - and losing the beauty of being international in the process.
(1/3) “Why are you throwing your life away to go back? We sacrificed everything to give you a better chance in America!” The words were left unspoken, but I could still read them in her eyes. “Mom, it’s going to be alright,” I said, giving her a bear hug. “You’ve raised me to be this way, and if I weren’t going to Delhi then I wouldn’t be doing justice to everything you taught me. “And I’m going to bring back a wife!” I added. She chuckled, knowing full well that I had no intentions of getting married anytime soon*, and slowly let go. “Love you, Mom!” --- Although my parents haven’t liked many of my life decisions, the one they particularly disagreed with was when I decided to leave a cushy, six-figure job as a management consultant and move half a world away to work for a development organization paying me 1/200th as much. There are very few other career moves that dishearten immigrant parents as much. When I was eight, my family moved to America. We had led a comfortable life in India, but when we flew to Pittsburgh everything changed. To help pay the bills and help my brother through college, Dad took up a minimum-wage job at a gas station and Mom did the same at a grocery store. Our academics were paramount, and my parents would do anything to help us forward.
(1/2) To me, it's not business. It's personal. Call it a stretch experience, me being fully comfortable with who I am, or my indulging in one too many glasses of wine. Either way, I want to share part of my story of growing up in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside (known as one of the poorest neighbourhoods in Canada), and how that has driven my passion for social impact. I didn't grow up like most little girls. I carried pepper spray instead of dolls, learned martial arts when I was 5 for self-defence, and was constantly told I'd follow in my father's footsteps in never graduating high school. Growing up against a backdrop of homelessness, drugs, and sex workers, it was far from a traditional childhood. I remember the first time I realized that my normal wasn't so normal. It was my first year of high school and I was competing in the regional science fair. I was so excited to meet like-minded people from other schools who shared an interest in talking about our fascinating discoveries. My first conversation started off simply enough. "Where are you from?" Vancouver. "Where in Vancouver?" My answer resulted in the other person subtly shifting their body away from me and their nose wrinkling in disgust as they looked to end the conversation. This experience repeated itself and I quickly developed a growing dislike for the private school students and more affluent peers whose sheltered lives could not bear to cross paths with me. I had never felt more invisible, unwanted, and undeserving. I left that science fair with more than an honourable mention. I left with a fierce determination to prove myself and show that I couldn't and wouldn't be defined by where I came from.
(1/2) Food Conservation and Donation Initiative: This project started after participating in a school meeting where I saw perfectly good leftover food being thrown away after the gathering. I thought that perhaps some attempts were being made to donate the food to those who were in need; however I soon realized that all of the meetings that take place at the school have a large amount of food that goes to waste. When I left this meeting to go home, the thought of this consumed me. When I saw the janitor mopping the floor, I told her that there were plenty of leftovers and convinced her to take it home. When she walked into the room and saw the food, her eyes lit up, and I was able to see pure happiness and relief. When she packed half eaten sandwiches to take home I realized the size of the problem and soon after decided to take action. Fast forward one year after my encounter with the janitor, and the “Food Preservation and Donation Initiative” became an official program of the college with over 50 volunteers and sufficient meals for the custodial staff to take home every day. We were able to donate $51,000 worth of food to 150 underprivileged people on a yearly basis. However, I quickly realized that the food was not the main issue here.
(1/3) You could say social impact is in my blood. My mom was a Peace Corps Volunteer in the early 80s, and my dad has spent most of his adult life both as a family therapist in low-income, Spanish-speaking North Philly and as a volunteer with the Alternatives to Violence Project in prisons from Philadelphia to Bolivia. Prior to business school, I spent my entire career in this space, concentrating on microfinance. As a college student, I was mesmerized by the empowering nature of this sector – it wasn’t a “hand-out,” it was a hand up. As a Product Manager with a microfinance institution in Malawi, my role was to design and implement a new credit product to serve entrepreneurs at the base of the pyramid. By definition, this meant that – on an almost daily basis – I interacted with struggling business owners, most of whom were women, who aspired for more. I’ll never forget seeing this young woman, maybe 13 or 14 years old, sitting in the sandy dirt outside the home in which her mother was meeting with me and my colleague. She sat there for hours, while our meeting went on, fidgeting with an empty water bottle: she filled it with dirt, emptied it, and refilled it.
(1/2) I believe in using my skills to empower those around me. After graduating from college, I moved to India to teach dance at Pudiyador, a nonprofit that educates impoverished youth living in the slums of Chennai. Gender inequality was rampant; several female students had to drop out after they were married against their will. Seeing the children’s pain, I decided to use my class as a space for them to express themselves. For one girl, Amrita, this was a life-changing experience. She performed a dance expressing that being sexually abused had destroyed her passion to learn. For the first time, dance gave her the confidence to communicate, so she created a dance to express her desire to be a voice and role model for other girls. With my support, she began a mentoring group for other girls, and led gender-inequality trainings to eradicate the community’s deep-rooted sexism.
(1/2) “We all have memories, images, or even words which shake us deeply and emotionally every time we encounter them. One of mine is a number – one that has grown with horrifying predictability over the years. For six women, I have been the first person, or first man, that they have told about being raped. Six. I tense up even as I write it. These women’s stories, and those of others who have opened up to me, have burned themselves into me like little else I have experienced – visceral stories of tragedy, courage, isolation, and loss. This is no anomaly. ~20-25% of American women are raped in their lifetime. Many more are sexually assaulted. This is an issue for Wharton too. With some exceptions, statistics cut across race, income, and education level with striking similarity. One of the six was one of our classmates. This year. In Philadelphia. This isn’t an issue from which any school, city, or group is immune. The true anomaly is that so many women have shared their stories with me. And why? I am a straight man. “One of the guys.” Simply, it is because I have stated and shown that I am committed to preventing and responding to sexual assault and rape – and the majority of men have not done this. I have heard many men say they don’t know a single woman who has been raped and think the issue of sexual assault receives too much attention. I was the same. Going into college, I thought the issue was overblown – that the statistics were inflated, that rape was something that vindictive women routinely “made up” to punish innocent men. It was only after I opened up to powerful education from dedicated women and men that I saw this societal tragedy for what it is and became an advocate. Men need to step up. Men perpetrate most assaults, but rape and sexual assault are traditionally seen as a “women’s issue.” The vast majority of prevention educators, survivor advocates, and others in the field are women. We as men have to take the lead on prevention – becoming educated and educating one another, being active bystanders, and, most importantly and most uncomfortably, taking a hard look at our own actions and decisions – and those of our friends..."
(1/2) "She was a proud lady with a beautiful head of hair and a face that constantly made heads turn in a crowd. Nicknamed “the doll”, she spent a lot of her time being picture perfect in the hope of being successful: the perfect daughter, the perfect friend, the loving sister. Her need for perfection also meant she surrounded herself by those who exuded as much perfection as she did and silently judged those who didn’t. The young me was both in awe and jealous of her flawless femininity and knew I could never match it, so I left the race before it began. I instead spent my childhood hours trying to protect her from the harshness of the world, lest it make a dent in her perfection. Even as she succumbed to all of her debilitating mental illness, I wished I could have it instead so that I could protect her from it. I would sometimes pray, “God, could you at least let me experience what she’s going through? I want to know why she talks to the air and swats away at invisible things. Why does she try to protect me by attacking me?” My wish never came true. My will to protect her rose out of immense guilt. Unfortunately, it reached its peak at exactly the time when the law wouldn’t allow me to get near her. Her look of confusion and fear as the metal handcuffs clinked on her wrists, made me want to run to her and tell her that she would be okay and that I forgave her for attacking me. I couldn’t do any of it because she was now not allowed near me for the next 30 days. I couldn’t even visit her in prison and see if she was comfortable – all I could see was a proud woman losing the cruel game of life and losing her esteemed place in society despite doing everything perfectly.

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