I worked for Walmart Stores Inc., for several years.
I learned a lot, I grew a lot and I'm grateful for every ounce of it. There was plenty of good. There are a few lifelong friends and some business lessons I could not have mastered without what, at times, was a painful process. There was definitely good. That doesn't omit the imbalance of there being a very substantial amount of bad.

In Northwest Arkansas, (NWA—ironic name, I know), people are trained. Programmed even. Which means being black in NWA is the epitome of a “code switch.” We are “on,” all the time. We dial back our culture, we overlook “minor” trespasses, and we commit to the process of going to work in a community that is littered with confederate flags, dismisses us from employment in imbalanced quantities and ignore the armed confederate soldier in town square, as we frequent the farmers market. I visited NWA many times before relocating there. I lived there for 18 months. The visits let me know I might be uncomfortable, but I had no indication that it was going to be the hardest 18 months of my life.

I have shopped in the Walmart where the recent viral racist incident took place too many times to count. As a former employee of the corporate giant, I know how challenging it is to effectively manage perceptions, unruly customers, disillusioned associates and still get quality people to work consistently for the massive, massive company. Most of us couldn’t manage a 20-person team, let alone over 2 million people in thousands of stores. And, factually, there are racist people and leadership pretty much everywhere any of us frequent.

The fact that things like this happen, is not why the video bothers me.

What bothers me is the intimacy of knowing the backstory. I worked there. I lived there. I know exactly why the woman felt comfortable being that way, in that store. I know, first-hand, the infectious, passiveness and utter dismissal of the subtle discrimination that occurs in that community. I know how people of color have been handled locally for far less egregious violations. I know how being immersed in a place that is less than 5 percent black, and over 80 percent white feels against your rights. I know what it is like to have to always be aware that people are watching. I know the pressure of selecting the right course of action to ensure you come across overtly and inappropriately humble. I know the penalties for being too relaxed about your professionalism, too direct in your feedback or too colorful with your expression. I know those penalties mean damage to your career, your brand and even your friendships.

Pretending to be oblivious of the thinly veiled act that people of color are welcome in NWA was the most difficult to describe and self-deteriorating discomforts of living there. The video captured this mindset better than any prose I could ever write.

A white woman said, in shock, “A n*gger is telling me, I’m ignorant?”

The next sentence out of the so-called “n*ggers” mouth was:

“Yes. All this stuff about going back to Mexico and all that stuff? Yes, absolutely.”

A black woman.

Like me.

Spoke up to address a wildly disrespectful and inappropriate customer.

She was called a n*gger.

She ultimately confirmed, that yes, a n*gger was telling a white woman to stop being ignorant.

The poisonous, self-sacrificing, and self-damaging psychology of taking on the burden of being a n*gger to defend a wrong is akin to how I felt living in Northwest Arkansas.

I felt accountable for being a responsible, strong, progressive representative of hard working, intelligent black women in a community that made little or no space for my identity. I felt compelled to fight for equality, opportunity and visibility for all those underserved, misunderstood or unsupported, so long as my identity interests were placed last. I sacrificed standing tall for and speaking out against trespasses against my culture, in hopes of creating space for there to be “some” culture.

Again, I am not mad at Walmart.

I just have the unfortunate benefit of knowing that in Northwest Arkansas, working for Walmart is a pervasive part of everyone’s life. It is an undeniably large contributor to the social culture. The company is, almost single handedly, the purpose for the blossoming community. Thus, I also viscerally feel the impact of the irony of this incident taking place in its backyard. A community that by virtue of being a proud associate, I tried to both fight for and fit in. A community that, despite the varied confidence destroying experiences, I badly wanted to believe would and could change if I did my part, switched my code and committed to explain the dangers of discriminatory ignorance. I fought hard against buying into a community culture that, through underrepresentation, sheer ignorance, and the subtle, but toxic unwillingness to have the hard discussions, invited anyone who didn’t fit, to just leave.

But the fact is, in Northwest Arkansas you can’t say anything too uncomfortably true because you will be shunned and your career will be derailed because of it. So, if you’re like me, you do what you can manage. You stand up in the ways you can, safely, sometimes anonymously. And sometimes, you get called n*gger, and know, for the sake of your job, you still need to manage a sentence afterwards that ends in, “Yes, absolutely.”

Ultimately, you accept the subtle invitation to leave.

I know for some people, the gravity of being called that word and taking it in stride will be lost. For some people, the only issue is the woman spewing her offensive ignorance. For me, the grander issue is the cultivating of communities where such offenses are met with mildly chastising language, and the offender is not only granted a casual exit on her own time, but also unspoken permission to slip safely and anonymously back into the community to offend again.

That’s not inclusion. Nothing anyone can say will make it such.

I’m not saying inclusion is easy. Inclusion requires bravery and it is a lot of work. Inclusion escorts racists out of stores. Inclusion coaches offenders on appropriate behaviors. Inclusion has the hard conversations. It can get uncomfortable. But, it is not the kind of uncomfortable that helps reinforce subtle discrimination or retaliation with passive inaction. It is not just the responsibility of the communities most at risk residents. Real inclusion gets a little uncomfortable for everyone to do the work that creates communities where fairness and respect are the rule. Communities where everyone can say, “It’s my Walmart.”

Amber Cabral

Writing since May 2017 · 1 story contributed