No More Poster Children

A seat at the table, without a vote, is not inclusion. It is an illusion meant to make the host look or feel better.

As someone who started their legal career at 22, I have sat at a lot of tables despite only being in my early thirties now. I know what it means to be a poster child for inclusion and what it feels like when you are surrounded by people who feel like you should be grateful to be in the room at all.

I have sat at enough tables where I was the only woman, the youngest, and the only foreigner. I have heard all the remarks and jokes that you never want to hear as someone in that seat. I have been called a “young lady” and “very international” in countless different ways that all felt equally unendearing. I have been spoken over, treated as invisible, and interacted with as if I had nothing to say that was worth listening to.

I know firsthand that glossy pamphlets and slide decks, overpaid speakers, and abstract policies, along with well-meaning KPIs and programs can all look beautiful, but actually make things worse in practice. They can fuel jealousy, jokes, and resentment, and place a target on the backs of people who are just trying to keep a low profile and make it through the workday.

During my mid-twenties career hiatus, I was talking with a colleague about this. She listened carefully and then said that she thinks we have to build our own tables if we want anything to change meaningfully. She said that the tables, where we will only ever feel like guests, are not the tables that will allow us to do our best work or ever feel truly seen.

Five years later, I can only agree. Tables are best built from the ground up together, and they need to be paired with chairs that suit the individuals sitting in them. Tables should be places to listen and to speak from the heart, not stages for performances and powerplays. They should also be places where you feel that you can just sit and rest for a bit.

I am often asked why I am so loud in my advocacy work for inclusion and gender equity nowadays. A large part of it comes from my experiences. An even bigger part of it, however, stems from gratitude and responsibility.

I am so thankful that I get to go to work every day without wearing a mask. Spending my days surrounded by people who feel safe to be themselves and excited about what they are working on has honestly been one of the greatest gifts.

I have also never forgotten how it was before setting up Palsa & Pulk and The E-Waste Column. I therefore quite often still feel like a lot of what I am saying is for the younger version of me, the version who never got to say what needed to be said and would have benefitted from hearing someone else say it.

Having a safe table to sit at is a privilege far too few women and minorities have, but it is something we aim to help build. If you would like to contribute to making our work possible, you can submit your #impacttestimonials here.

The photo is of me in a cozy café in Lisbon.