The Problem With Tables

(Photo by iStock/akinbostanci)

Changes in the workplace spurred by the COVID-19 pandemic have given many of us more flexibility in our place of work. Lockdowns and social distancing often meant holding work meetings from whatever remote corners of our homes—nooks in the closet, the kitchen counter, the bathtub—could afford us some sense of privacy. Last year, I even held a video meeting with someone calling from one of the most unlikely places: a treehouse.

As a former community organizer and the founder of consulting firm Decolonize Design, I have had the unique opportunity to meet people where they are for more than a decade. As an organization, we partner with individuals and institutions that are working to transcend the status quo and white professionalism standards in their formal and informal rituals, routines, and policies. This work connected us to Zuri, a dynamic woman who recently transitioned into a growth strategy role with one of our clients, who joined our call from her treehouse in Northern California.

The treehouse was more tree than house, as its architecture was essentially a platform nestled between the lush branches. Zuri told me that she previously was a forager and tended a farm. It was on that farm where she had an accident that left her disabled, just months before COVID-19 shelter-in-place mandates. During the subsequent time of healing and solitude, she explored what kind of spaces kept her connected to her purpose. With great precision and clarity, she explained to me that she is at her best when she is high above the ground but still rooted. In the treehouse she was free, connected to what makes her feel alive. For me, it was also a subtle reminder of resistance to the traditional workplace and refusal of the status quo. In the African context, the tree represents a hope for new life. Trees hold special spiritual significance for Indigenous people worldwide for its ability to exist through generations and offer connection to the ancestors. Trees also support dwellings and refuge for birds and many other mammals so that they can continue their journey wherever it might take them. As a symbol, spiritual practice, and place—trees are more than just fixtures in our natural environment, they offer us a way to connect more deeply with our work and world.

During our call, Zuri gave me a quick tour of her space. There were some pillows and extra lighting, but notably, there was no furniture, not even a table to work at. As a disabled person, “standard” tables would not fit the space or the height she needed. Yet, what became evident was that not only did she not want a table—it served no purpose for her.

Tables can take up a lot of space. They typically are designed for working, eating, or holding discussion. But they don’t meet the needs of all people, all the time. Dining tables, for instance, can be beautifully designed but may not have drawers and functional compartments. Desks may have utility but may not facilitate a meal for a dozen people. More importantly, tables are not the only place to eat or work and certainly are not always the best places to engage in those activities. The very need of a table must be questioned.

In discussions of diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI), the table is frequently used as a symbol of inclusion. Corporations and the media around the world talk about extending the table, adding more seats to the table, or making space at the table. Whether by design or default, the table is accepted as the primary place to ameliorate issues of marginalization, exclusion, neglect, discrimination, and other harms. The assumption driving this ubiquitous use of the table is that its seating arrangements are neutral and therefore equally accessible.

But visibility and representation at the table does not necessarily translate to power or influence. For too long, oppressed peoples have asked, demanded, and even pleaded for a seat at the table. The reality, however, is the table was designed by a select few, for a select few. In order for the table to function it requires that the oppressed peoples assimilate, concede some of their humanity, and suffer ongoing indignities.

Toni Morrison so beautifully captured the precariousness of the table in The Bluest Eye. She described structures we navigate regularly but don't question as “furniture without memories”— the items and ideas that we accept as true and necessary but that don’t necessarily have meaning in our lives. The “furniture” Morrison is referring to are the rituals, routines, structures and organizations that shape our beliefs and behavior. The things that we are conditioned to accept without questioning.

Reflecting on and analyzing the rituals, structures, and routines of our economic life, we discover there are, as Morrison said, “no memories to be cherished.” The table, although a common fixture in our homes and minds, represents the status quo, it does not speak to things as they should be or new ways of being and doing. The metaphor exists in a context of historical amnesia where people rely on familiar concepts to allow themselves to subconsciously avoid questions like, Why was the table created? Who created it? Is it sustainable for several generations or will it only survive a few years in use?

These questions are especially important for organizations to ask at a time when “committing” to diversity, equity, inclusion, belonging, and justice has become fashionable but too often not actionable. Words without action only create an additional set of harms that come along with representation without power, diversity theater, and the illusion of inclusion.

For instance, the recent push for more “diversity” on corporate and philanthropic boards. Last year, an Urban Institute study of the nonprofit sector found that, despite a modest improvement in the number of organizations with board members of color, board chair and executive director positions were still overwhelmingly and stubbornly white. Pledges to diversify corporate boards yielded even more dismal results. The implicit assumption behind these calls is that the board of directors, as a table of overseers, is the best way to govern and manage organization leadership. It also assumes that if we have more people of diverse experiences at the table, it will function differently. It is a shallow and superficial logic that suggests any group of people are a monolith, that a single Black woman can represent the interests of all Black people. It is like pulling up a seat at the table but not changing the design and construction of the table or its functionality. Too often, people who have been excluded are asked to join pre-existing tables, to participate without power, or are denied the basic psychological safety to offer honest feedback without fear of retaliation. In this scenario, we see the table offers no protection for newcomers and in some cases exposes people to harm because the table was not set with the intention for safety and care.

The board room is not the only place with these rituals and structures of exclusion. Most workers are asked to join a pre-designed table in all manner of workplaces around the world. Take for instance, joining an organization that has a tradition of in-office workplace celebrations. While many people enjoy parties, a recently sober employee might face a party with great difficulty or trepidation. For a Black woman employee, celebrations might represent a place where harassment or disrespect occur, or for a caregiver, this may be an inconvenient and costly outing. For a gay or trans employee, they may be asked inappropriate or uncomfortable questions about their family or who they love. Defaulting to what the majority prefer or is more comfortable to dominant culture conveys that there is only one way to celebrate. In both spoken and unspoken expectations employees are asked to adjust their way of working, knowing, and living to that of dominant culture. We have to remind ourselves not to subscribe to only one way of working. Not every problem can be solved by or at the table. There isn't a default, standard or “normal” way of being. Without careful consideration, the table can be a costly, trauma-inducing, and anxiety-riddled place for people who are coerced into assimilating into dominant culture.

These ways of engaging people in workplaces are toxic. It is unsurprising, then, that those harmed are increasingly choosing rest as resistance and quietly opting out. This long-standing, natural, and evolutionary reaction to harsh, hostile, or harmful workplaces—recently conceived of as “quiet quitting”—is rooted in one's commitment to self-preservation and dignity. A table that routinely refuses to execute on its promises, is not one worthy of trust or commitment.

The work of dreaming and creating outside of the status quo extends beyond an organization’s internal culture and into communities. One organization leading the way of creating alternatives and refusing a fixture that many people believe must exist for community safety is Oakland-based nonprofit Critical Resistance. As a membership-based organization, they operate democratically and collectively set their agenda to “build an international movement to end the prison industrial complex (PIC) by challenging the belief that caging and controlling people makes us safe.” Rather than engage in efforts to reform criminal justice, Critical Resistance is building a mass global movement to dismantle prisons. Their efforts not only change the built environment but people’s beliefs and behaviors about what safety and accountability could and should be. Key to their effort is the dual focus on campaigning to dismantle the PIC and advocating for community solutions and alternatives to harm and conflict.

More than just theory and critique, Decolonize Design offers an abolitionist transformation framework to facilitate the process of creating anew. Inspired in large part by the curb-cut effect, we believe that when those who are neglected the most, are at the center, we create better products and services. Recently, we worked with a large retailer to create products that center people with disabilities. Together we co-created campaigns that allowed customers to buy one shoe rather than a pair, to make available shoes for people with one foot. We also piloted packaging that was round with braille writing so that blind customers can learn more about what they are purchasing. In the process of designing and selling one shoe, we affirmed the humanity of our disabled siblings, gathered and created in a way that is new and prioritizes safety and care. By resisting standardized processes, we resist transactional ways of working and invite a relationship.

Thinking of what the future of work is for me, I am reminded of the courageous and pioneering leadership of Araminta Ross who declared that enslaved Black people did not dream of more humane slavery—they dreamed of freedom. She and many other abolitionists show us the north star of freedom exists in our lives when we create spaces and places to define ourselves, for ourselves. I am not interested in joining, rearranging, redesigning, or even dismantling the table. I am not interested in joining a table that has been denied to my ancestors and many other deserving people. I don't want to be discussed at the table like an entree to be considered.

I am not dreaming and working for a seat at a table that regularly has my humanity on the menu.

I do dream of a place to discuss and deliberate; a place to dream and decide what kind of workplace or world we want to live in. I dream of a workplace and world that is alive and joyful; a place without fixtures or furniture of the past; a place where we can build new relationships as peers and partners; a place to rest and break bread. Tricia Hersey, author of Rest is Resistance, explicitly resists the proverbial table and instead desires “a blanket and pillow down by the ocean.” There she can be well and whole–that is what we need.

Much more than a seat at the table, let us reclaim the sacred space of gathering and creating. Treehouse, courtyard, lowrider, hut, bridge, sweatlodge, river bend, or wherever you feel most spiritually connected and alive—let us meet there. Remote work allowed Zuri to work in ways and spaces that gave her comfort, connection to nature, and agency over her labor. She did not want a seat at the table, and she found safety and security to produce her best work on her terms. We should design our gathering spaces so that everyone can experience that same belonging, dignity, justice, and joy from the outset.

Read more stories by Aida Mariam Davis.