The cost of code-switching | Chandra Arthur | TEDxOrlando

Taught from a young age to culturally code-switch, Chandra Arthur discusses how learning default conformity in different settings now creates access and opportunity in her adult life as an underrepresented minority (URM) in tech.

Chandra Arthur is the founder and CEO of Friendish, a fun, new app designed to help people easily make friends based on shared interests. Her commitment to assisting others in making lasting, quality friendships was born out of a personal need when she returned home from Germany after four years abroad and found it difficult to make new, like-minded friends once back in the States. As a second-time startup founder, she brings a wealth of knowledge and experience to the startup landscape.

Chandra is passionate about being a black woman in tech and hopes that, through Friendish, she is able to build and grow a successful, sustainable business and become a role model for young women of color who aspire to careers in tech. Chandra is also a co-founder of B.O.T. (Black Orlando Tech), a group created to mobilize and support black creatives in Central Florida. When she’s not working on Friendish, she spends most of her time with her sweet and very energetic black lab puppy, Trudy Garland.

This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at https://www.ted.com/tedx

Three years ago,
after moving back from Berlin,

I had an experience
with local law enforcement.

I was living in an old family house
at the time but without a car,

so typically, even when I was home,
there would be no car out front.

One afternoon, as I was
going through old memories

and moving around what seemed like
to be a thousand boxes,

the blinds in my spare room
were being shifted to and fro

as I was generally
just cleaning out the space.

My neighbor, an elderly woman,

took it upon herself
to be the unofficial neighborhood watch,

and so, seeing the blinds
moving back and forth

and no car out front in the driveway,

she deduced that my home
was being burglarized on a Sunday at noon

and called the police.

As I continued to clean,
I was pretty unaware

of what was going on outside of my house,

but audible and unfamiliar voices

prompted me to pause
my cleaning activities

and to go outside,
just to see what was going on.

The scene that I encountered
when I opened my front door

is one that I will never forget.

Four police officers with guns drawn,

one pointed directly at me,

were surrounding my front porch.

"Get out of the house!
Hands in the air! Hands in the air now!"

I froze.

Up until this point,
I had never actually seen

a real, live, loaded gun this close to me,

much less had one pointed in my direction.

Now, I'm here before you today

because I obviously survived
that encounter.

I was able to collect myself enough
to answer questions

and prove that I had
every right to be in that property.

But what if I had not looked like me?

What if I had not spoken like me?

What if the person who opened the door
looked like a thug,

whatever image that pops into your head
when I use that word?

What if the person who opened the door
had not been able to collect themselves

in the face of grave danger,
confusion, and potentially even death,

to prove that they had the right
to be on that property?

What if I had expressed rightful anger

for being mistreated
by police in my own home?

What if I had been a black man,
instead of a black woman?

I raised these questions
to illustrate the role

that behavior plays
as it relates to code-switching.

As a kid, I was inadvertently
forced to learn to code-switch,

and perhaps, in my case,

that unintentional education
saved my life.

Code-switching as a concept
is really interesting.

By definition, it's what happens
when people who speak multiple languages

alternate between two or more,

oftentimes within the same
phrase or sentence.

In a more colloquial sense,
code-switching is what happens

when people reflexively or subtly
change the way they express themselves.

So, for someone like me,
and I'm sure many of you all here,

I thought, up until about fourth grade,

that "y'all" was the correct
contraction for "you all."

It was only after some point
at around nine or ten

that I learned that "you all"

was the correct way
to address a group of people,

and that I should absolutely use
"you all," not "y'all,"

when addressing important
people and situations.

As our world continues to be connected
through technology of all sorts,

apps and the Internet of Things
and artificial intelligence,

I guess code-switching
makes a lot of sense

as people from different backgrounds

continue to come into
close contact with one another.

But when we look more closely
at code-switching,

and who's expected to make the switch,

we discover a hidden reality.

And that reality is that
the expectation of code-switching

threatens true diversity.

My first day of third grade
was at a new school

as I had recently been accepted
to the gifted program,

which meant that I would be bused
from my neighborhood school of Westside

to Tomoka, in the next city over.

The year was 1992,

and so, on the first day of class,

I proudly donned my favorite
Jodeci pleather new boots

and my Cross Colours shorts that -

to say that I stuck out like a sore thumb
would be a grave understatement.

My new classmates were in polite pastels

and ribbons and bows and kids' Gap
and Limited Too fashions.

I knew immediately that if I was going
to fit in and make friends,

I would have to change
more than just a few things.

So, over the course of the next few years,
I learned acutely how to do just that.

I stopped wearing my Jodeci boots,

I started choosing softer colors

as opposed to the bright hip-hop colors
and fashions that I had chosen previously.

I started listening to Green Day,
and I eventually -

(Laughter)

and I eventually learned
how to act like my new classmates,

and eventual friends.

Most importantly though,
I learned how to align myself,

not just so that I fit in,

but so that I was culturally compatible.

I didn't know it then, but this is
where I learned how to code-switch

and how to behave and speak in a way

that made me a non-threatening
person of color.

As our society grapples
with police brutality,

and protests against such violence

have become synonymous
with big brand ad campaigns

and pop culture,

it's a person's behavior

which indicates whether or not
they have learned

the language of effective code-switching.

There have been countless
instances in recent history

where a person's ability
or inability to code-switch

has meant the difference
between life or death.

Are you all familiar
with Henry Louis Gates Jr?

Many people know him as the host
of the PBS series "Finding Your Roots,"

and still others may know him
as an esteemed Harvard professor.

Still others of us may remember him also
from a 2009 incident,

involving Cambridge, Massachusetts police,

when he was arrested for breaking
and entering into his own home.

No doubt, his ability to articulate,
and him being who he was,

and being able to explain the situation,

led to a relatively okay outcome for him,

save the public humiliation
of being arrested.

For those who opt for authenticity,

unapologetically deciding to speak
with the accents of their homeland

or their grandparents,

or to wear their hijab,
or to say "y'all" in the boardroom,

there are oftentimes
very real consequences that can be felt.

Consequences like
not getting that promotion

because the client wants to speak
to someone who sounds American,

or being jeered at for wearing
symbols of pride from your culture,

while other people
who appropriate that same culture

make the pages of Vogue magazine,

or being told by HR or administration

that your natural hair
is inappropriate for work or school

and will need to be changed
to avoid disciplinary action.

For those who aren't even
deciding against code-switching

because they haven't learned it,

the consequences can be even bigger.

When I was a kid,
I heard a lot of talk about Oreos,

and I'm not talking about
the delicious cookie sandwiches

eaten best with a glass of milk,

but I'm talking about the slang term,

which refers to a person
who's black on the outside

and white on the inside.

Kids definitely have a way
of putting things plainly.

But the concept always made me
think a lot about myself:

who I was and who I was becoming,
where I lived and where my friends lived,

the music I listened to at home
with friends and family

versus what I was starting to listen to
with my new friends at school.

Deep down, I always felt like I had
to hide certain parts of myself

that I knew were still very much me.

I had to be careful to not slip
and say something too ghetto

in front of my new friends.

But I had to also be careful to not talk
too much about cello or classical music

when I was at home.

For the person who's
expected to code-switch,

to exist almost simultaneously
in two or three different worlds,

constantly presenting
a slightly edited version of self,

the pressure can be immense.

But what if there was just one world
where we could all be our true selves

instead of the brand of diversity

which purports that minorities
are acceptable,

provided they behave in a specific way?

What about a truer sense of diversity

where people are praised
for their uniqueness

and the cultural capital
they bring to places and situations

as opposed to being
disciplined or shamed for it?

What about an acceptance
of different speech patterns

even within our own American lexicon,

so that when a person
says the word "y'all,"

we appreciate what that might mean
about their heritage or upbringing,

as opposed to what we think it means
about their level of intelligence;

when we see a person
with a hijab or an afro,

we embrace the reasons
for someone's decision

to do or to be something
different than we are?

I truly believe that most of us
think diversity is a good thing.

Most of us understand that by exposure
to people and places and ideas

that are different from us,

we actually end up being better,
smarter, more compassionate people.

But is belief in the goodness
of diversity enough?

In my professional life,
I'm a tech founder.

And thanks to biology, I happen
to be a black woman tech founder.

My startup journey

has been like a roller-coaster ride
without the seatbelt,

similar to most people's.

But, it's because I've learned
the language of code-switching

and check some of the boxes

that means I get access
to some of the opportunities.

I chose to be a tech founder

because, like most ambitious people,

I want to change the world
in a positive way,

even though the data says
specifically for my demographic

any kind of success in the tech industry

is the least likely.

In this case, when I speak of success,

I mean the ability to raise capital
to start, grow, and scale a venture.

The National Center
for Education Statistics reports

that black women are actually
the most educated group

in the United States.

And a recent article
from "Fast Company" highlights

that we're also the largest growing sector
of new business owners,

with a whopping 265% increase
in black-women-owned businesses

from 1997 to 2014.

(Applause)

Yes.

(Applause)

Yet, when it comes to
who receives the venture capital,

particularly in the tech industry,

women CEOs get just 2.7%.

And women of color CEOs?

We get 0.2% - also known as none.

(Laughter)

The cost of code-switching
on society is huge

because it means that those of us
who belong to minority groups

spend a lot more time learning
the language of cultural compatibility

and less time doing the things
that matter to all of us,

like living, like spending time
with friends and family,

like starting successful businesses.

As the tides of acceptance
change in our nation,

and cultures continue to shift,

I challenge all of us
to really give every person,

regardless of who they are,

the space to really be and exist
as their true selves.

Because it's only when each of us
can really live in our truth,

that we all gain the incredible
benefits of true diversity.

Thank you.

(Applause)