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🔴How to be an upstander instead of a bystander?

#Social_Change #Self #Work #Bullying #Corruption #Ethics

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🔴How to be an upstander instead of a bystander?

Let me tell you a story, where you'll meet the characters who I'll call Bilal and Brenda.
I was working in a most remarkable part of the world. And one unremarkable morning, a colleague came to see me. She told me that Bilal, one of our senior executives, had been telling everyone I was being removed because I'd been messing with the wrong people. And now, I was going to face the consequences.
I wasn't alarmed, because I knew I had done what I'd been hired to do: my job, dealing with thorny issues head on and leaving no stone unturned. In fact, in the months prior to this, we'd overturned more than just a few stones. Those details are for another time.
I called my husband, James, to tell him about this bizarre conversation, and with what proved to be great foresight, he said, "Angélique, pack your things and call Brenda, in that order."
I called Brenda. I'd worked with her for a number of years, and I trusted her. She was the person who'd recommended me for that job. I cut to the chase, because my husband's reaction made me realize this was more than just the usual stuff I'd encountered before. And I say usual, but in that moment of clarity, it dawned on me what James had already recognized: none of this was usual.
These irregularities, part of a pattern I'd failed to notice, were what I now know as open secrets living beneath those proverbial stones I'd had the audacity to overturn.
To my shock, I learned that this was happening because I hadn't tried hard enough to operate in the "gray space." I didn't seem to know when to kick things into the long grass. And I didn't understand that this was how the system worked. The message, the implied threat, was clear.
Over the next few weeks, I was replaced by a convenient yes-man while I was still there. I suffered from terrible gastritis, and I pretended to our two young daughters that I still had that job. Leaving home every morning, dressed up as if for work, to drop them to school, for six months.
I did not submit, but I won't pretend that it was easy to speak up or beneficial in any way to me, to my family or to my career.
When we speak up in the workplace despite policies to the contrary, whilst we may not lose our jobs, we are likely to lose the camaraderie of our coworkers. Disbelieved, ostracized, faced with under-the-radar bullying. You know the kind when you walk into a room and everyone stops talking? We think: It's not my responsibility to say anything.
So why did I choose to act despite the risks to my family and to me? The sin of omission is a failure to do what you know is right.
When you stay quiet, even though you're not guilty of wrongdoing yourself, what will you have to live with if you don't take action?
So who are you in this lineup of actors? The bad actor, the wrongdoer? The bad stander who benefits directly or indirectly and acts as a puppet for the bad actor? The bystander, aware of the open secrets but not actually doing anything wrong or the upstander? This is the person we want to see when we look in the mirror.
I've learned three things: One, don't second guess yourself. When you see something amiss, ask questions, because it is okay to challenge those in authority. Two, don't be complicit. You always have the power to say no in the face of wrongdoing. And three, be an upstander. Speaking up is not about being brave. It's not about not feeling scared. But when you do what you know is right, you can be at peace with yourself.
Yes, it is hard to say what you feel in the moment. Do it anyway. Be fearless.
Martin Luther King said, "In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." So when you look in the mirror, who will you see? A bystander, keeper of open secrets? Or will the person looking back at you be an upstander?
I know who I see. I know who my daughters see. The choice is yours.

#Social_Change #Self #Work #Bullying #Corruption #Ethics

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🔴The wildly complex anatomy of a sneaker

#TED_Ed #Education #Animation #Fashion #Climate_Change #Science #Environment #Manufacturing #Sustainability

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🔴The wildly complex anatomy of a sneaker

Australians call them “runners." The British know them as “trainers." Americans refer to them as “tennis shoes” or “sneakers." Whatever you call them, these rubber-soled, casual shoes are worn by billions of people around the world. Originally invented in the late 19th century, these simple canvas and rubber creations have changed a lot since they first hit the pavement.
Today, sneaker consumption is at an all-time high. No country buys more sneakers than the United States, where people purchase 3 pairs a year on average. To meet this demand, roughly 23 billion shoes are produced each year, mostly in factories across China and Southeast Asia. But making shoes has become more complicated, more labor-intensive, and in some ways, more dangerous, for the workers involved and for our planet.
Shoe manufacturing accounts for roughly one-fifth of the fashion industry’s carbon emissions. Sneakers alone generate 313 million metric tons of carbon dioxide every year, which is equivalent to the annual emissions of 66 million cars. To better understand your shoe’s carbon footprint, let’s dive into the anatomy of a sneaker.
For starters, the heel, insole, midsole, and upper layer are usually made from synthetic textiles like polyester, nylon, latex, and polyurethane. Mining the fossil fuels that make up these materials emits tons of greenhouse gases. And processing those raw ingredients into synthetic textiles also uses a lot of energy, further compounding that pollution. Some sneaker tops are made from natural sources like leather, but tanning this material relies on chromium; a carcinogenic chemical that can damage freshwater ecosystems.
The outer soles of most shoes are made of rubber that’s gone through a process called vulcanization. This technique adds sulfur to superheated raw rubber to create a material that’s both elastic and sturdy. Until recently, sneakers used natural rubber for this process. But today, most outer soles are made with a synthetic blend of natural rubber and byproducts from coal and oil.
Producing these materials accounts for 20% of a sneaker’s carbon footprint. But more than two-thirds of the shoe’s carbon impact comes from the next step: manufacturing. A typical sneaker is comprised of 65 discrete parts, each of which is produced by specialized machinery. This means it’s cheaper for factories to mass-produce each piece separately rather than manufacturing every part under one roof. But the transportation required to ship these pieces to one assembly plant emits even more CO2.
Once the components arrive at the assembly line, they undergo cutting, pouring, melting, baking, cooling, and gluing, before the final products can be stitched together. The assembly of a typical sneaker requires more than 360 steps, and accounts for the remaining 20% of a sneaker’s environmental impact.
The dispersion of factories fuels another problem as well: labor abuse. Most brands don’t own or operate their factories, so the plants they work with are in countries with little to no worker protection laws. As a result, many laborers earn below the living wage, and are exposed to harmful chemicals, like toxic glue fumes.
When manufacturing is complete, the shoes are packaged and transported to stores around the globe. For many, these shoes could last years. But for someone running 20 miles a week, a pair of running shoes will start wearing out after roughly 6 months. Since the shoes are made of so many different materials, they’re almost impossible to break down into recyclable components. 20% of these shoes are incinerated, while the rest are tossed into landfills where they can take up to 1,000 years to degrade.

🔴Don't suffer from your depression in silence

#Activism #Community #Depression #TED_Residency #Identity #Illness #Personal_Growth #Race #Social_Change #Mental_Health

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🔴Don't suffer from your depression in silence

What are you doing on this stage in front of all these people?
Run!
Run now.
That's the voice of my anxiety talking. Even when there's absolutely nothing wrong, I sometimes get this overwhelming sense of doom, like danger is lurking just around the corner.
You see, a few years ago, I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety and depression -- two conditions that often go hand in hand. Now, there was a time I wouldn't have told anybody, especially not in front of a big audience. As a black woman, I've had to develop extraordinary resilience to succeed. And like most people in my community, I had the misconception that depression was a sign of weakness, a character flaw. But I wasn't weak; I was a high achiever. I'd earned a Master's degree in Media Studies and had a string of high-profile jobs in the film and television industries. I'd even won two Emmy Awards for my hard work. Sure, I was totally spent, I lacked interest in things I used to enjoy, barely ate, struggled with insomnia and felt isolated and depleted. But depressed? No, not me.
It took weeks before I could admit it, but the doctor was right: I was depressed. Still, I didn't tell anybody about my diagnosis. I was too ashamed. I didn't think I had the right to be depressed. I had a privileged life with a loving family and a successful career. And when I thought about the unspeakable horrors that my ancestors had been through in this country so that I could have it better, my shame grew even deeper. I was standing on their shoulders. How could I let them down? I would hold my head up, put a smile on my face and never tell a soul.
On July 4, 2013, my world came crashing in on me. That was the day I got a phone call from my mom telling me that my 22-year-old nephew, Paul, had ended his life, after years of battling depression and anxiety. There are no words that can describe the devastation I felt. Paul and I were very close, but I had no idea he was in so much pain. Neither one of us had ever talked to the other about our struggles. The shame and stigma kept us both silent.
Now, my way of dealing with adversity is to face it head on, so I spent the next two years researching depression and anxiety, and what I found was mind-blowing. The World Health Organization reports that depression is the leading cause of sickness and disability in the world. While the exact cause of depression isn't clear, research suggests that most mental disorders develop, at least in part, because of a chemical imbalance in the brain, and/or an underlying genetic predisposition. So you can't just shake it off.
For black Americans, stressors like racism and socioeconomic disparities put them at a 20 percent greater risk of developing a mental disorder, yet they seek mental health services at about half the rate of white Americans. One reason is the stigma, with 63 percent of black Americans mistaking depression for a weakness. Sadly, the suicide rate among black children has doubled in the past 20 years.
Now, here's the good news: seventy percent of people struggling with depression will improve with therapy, treatment and medication. Armed with this information, I made a decision: I wasn't going to be silent anymore. With my family's blessing, I would share our story in hopes of sparking a national conversation.
A friend, Kelly Pierre-Louis, said, "Being strong is killing us." She's right. We have got to retire those tired, old narratives of the strong black woman and the super-masculine black man, who, no matter how many times they get knocked down, just shake it off and soldier on. Having feelings isn't a sign of weakness. Feelings mean we're human. And when we deny our humanity, it leaves us feeling empty inside, searching for ways to self-medicate in order to fill the void. My drug was high achievement.