Sandra Rinto-Flavien

Transcript

"Why is this important to you?" And I went numb. It was n't the kind of numbness you get when you forget someone's name or walk into a room and forget why you came. I mean a complete shutdown of the system. Blue screen, spinning wheel. You know that state when the brain says, "We need a minute." I was online at a training session, and I froze. Why couldn't I answer this very simple question? To answer this, we need to go back in time.

As a child, my father taught me three important lessons. Work hard, stay humble, make us proud. Although he was kind and loving, he did not teach gently. He taught it as survival. Because he was a black soldier in a time when mistakes could have consequences far worse than inconvenience. And that's why he prepared me. And because I loved him, trusted him, and desperately wanted to make him proud, I obeyed. At first it was easy. Good to study, work, live. But gradually something began to change.

I began to adapt, to make myself acceptable, easy, easy to communicate with, easy to like, ignore, and not notice. And I became very, very good at it. I started building a career, got married, and started a family. All around me, people trusted me, relied on me, and were comfortable with me. And that became my identity. Until it started to hurt me. People touched my hair without permission. I smiled. People asked me, " Where are you really from?" And I kept changing the answer, just to see if anyone would notice.

France, Caribbean, planet Earth. And I was disappointed because no one ever understood the hint. Until the world stopped. And that question—why is this important to you— began to unfold. In 2020, conversations that had been avoided for years were no longer possible to ignore. And for the first time in my career and in my life, I spoke openly about the experience of being a black woman. About racism, behavioral adjustment, raising black children and teaching them survival lessons that most parents shouldn't be giving their children.

People listened. People learned. And some said things they probably should have kept to themselves. Someone said, "Oh, I never realized that being black takes up so much space in your life." Another said, "Oh, but I don't see you as black because you express yourself so clearly." I said, "Oh, do n't ever say that out loud again." But something deeply changed in me. I was no longer hiding in the shadows. My presence, my voice, and even my posture changed. And then that online training: why is it important to you?

And this question just slapped me in the face. Why can't I answer it? And I realized that I never even answered it for myself. I was responsible for my father, for my family, for the community, but never for myself. And that's why I was so afraid to be myself. I realized that my father's lessons were never a problem. They guided and protected me, but somewhere along the way I changed my identity. I took survival and turned it into an identity. Survival and identity are two very different things.

One provides security, and the other gives freedom. And now I have completely changed. I decided to ask myself another question. Who am I really? And I stopped playing the role. I started to slowly become myself. I left the career I had been building for two decades and started a new one. Not because she was wrong, but because I finally knew what I wanted. And here's what I know today. When I am asked: why is this important to you? I respond as a black woman who no longer bows her head.

I respond as a leader, as a member of a community and a family, but more importantly, I respond as a person who has stopped asking for permission to be themselves. And perhaps this is what true identity is. The courage to stop editing yourself for the comfort of others. So I leave you with the question that opened me up, changed my life, and finally brought me back to myself. This time, answer for yourself, not for someone else. Why is this important to you?

Transcript generated from the recording and lightly cleaned. Some names and wording may differ from the spoken speech.