by Jean Case
As Jill proved, sometimes the answer you’re seeking lies outside your own network. By opening ourselves to unlikely collaborations, new problem-solving tools become available and challenges that once seemed impossible become possible. Melinda Gates affirmed this truth in 2016 with a TED talk titled “What Nonprofits Can Learn from Coca-Cola.” Gates posed an intriguing question. “Coke is everywhere,” she said. “In fact, when I travel to the developing world, Coke feels ubiquitous. And so, when I come back from these trips, and I’m thinking about development, and I’m flying home and I’m thinking, ‘We’re trying to deliver condoms to people or vaccinations’ . . . Coke’s success kind of stops [you] and makes you wonder: How is it that they can get Coke to these far-flung places? If they can do that, why can’t governments and NGOs do the same thing?” And by partnering with Coke on Project Last Mile, delivering lifesaving vaccines to remote areas of Africa, the Gates Foundation and other partners were able to bridge the gaps that had previously been insurmountable.
“Change happens by listening and then starting a dialogue with the people who are doing something you don’t believe is right.”
—JANE GOODALL
One of the most meaningful examples of the power of unlikely partnerships in my own life occurred in 2003, during George W. Bush’s administration, when I was invited to join a small gathering in the Roosevelt Room of the White House to discuss the HIV/AIDS pandemic, which had by that time killed more than 20 million of the 60 million who were infected in Africa, leaving behind 14 million orphans. By bringing together private sector and faith-based leaders, President Bush set out to gain support for an ambitious new program, which would involve a three-point solution similar to one that had been effectively tried in Uganda. It was known as ABC: A = promoting abstinence, B = monogamy (be faithful), C = use condoms.
It was not an easy gathering. On the right, there was concern about promoting condoms, especially from Catholic leaders who opposed birth control; on the left, there was resistance to funds going to prevention efforts rather than treatment, with a particular disdain for abstinence counseling, which was seen as moralistic and ineffective. Further complicating the matter was tension about the so-called Mexico City Policy first enacted under President Reagan to block federal funding of NGOs that provide abortion counseling or services. Here again, the right and the left were at odds over whether to extend this policy and refuse to fund organizations that were providing much-needed HIV/AIDS services throughout Africa.
Our group in the Roosevelt Room brought strongly held views on both sides. There were leaders from the US Catholic Church, Randall Tobias, CEO of the pharmaceuticals firm Eli Lilly, and Chuck Colson, who’d founded the faith-based Prison Fellowship following his own prison sentence stemming from illegal activities in the Nixon White House. He represented the Christian Right. There was also Kate Carr, CEO of the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation, one of the most prominent AIDS organizations, whose founder had contracted the disease as a result of a blood transfusion during childbirth. The daughter she bore died of AIDS, and Elizabeth Glaser herself succumbed to the disease only a few years later. In addition, key staff from the White House were in attendance, including my good friend Josh Bolton, who would later become chief of staff to George W. Bush.
How on earth could such a mixed group reach consensus? At first, it seemed impossible. Not only did those gathered represent extreme differences in perspective, but few had ever been in the same room together. A stranger walking into that room could have cut the tension with a knife. And yet, even through the tensions, the urgent need to do something kept everyone in the conversation.
Still, we were at an impasse. Then someone uttered words that stopped everyone in their tracks: “People are dying even as we speak. Women, children, and a generation of young men in Africa are being taken from us at an alarming rate. This has to stop. We can’t leave this room without a commitment to work together and find a way forward.” These words were met by a long silence as the gravity of the moment set in. The mood in the room shifted. Slowly, the conversation tilted to what might be possible. Before the close of the meeting, there were concrete steps put forth, with a strong sense that there were no winners and losers, but rather compassionate, committed individuals who were willing to collaborate, even if it meant they didn’t get everything they wanted.
Later, I joined the others to watch President Bush sign the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR), a $15 billion commitment that included both prevention efforts and treatment. The program likely would not have made it through Congress without the willingness of those on both sides to signal their support. In 2017, the rock star Bono visited President Bush at his ranch in Texas to thank him for the role of PEPFAR in fighting HIV/AIDS.
In an interview, Bono observed the electric effect of unlikely collaborations in winning support from politicians on different sides of the aisle. “The administration isn’t afraid of rock stars and student activists—they are used to us,” he said. “But they are nervous of soccer moms and church folk. Now, when soccer moms and church folk start hanging around with rock stars and activists, then they really start paying attention.”
Bono’s insight and the other stories in this chapter hit home. Sometimes to be seen and heard, you have to bring along a totally unexpected ally. In an era when so many people are retreating to their corners, the fearless changemakers have to walk out into the center of the arena and beckon all the others to join them.
EIGHTEEN
BE BETTER TOGETHER
In my late twenties, when I started at AOL, I was one of two women on the executive team. It was an incredible group of highly talented individuals who came together weekly to talk about our various responsibilities and to help guide the company. As I discuss in other parts of this book, I tried to bring confidence to my role as a leader in the company, but always knew I lacked many of the credentials of my peers. Some had run their own companies, had received numerous accolades, or held graduate degrees. Others had decades of experience that I did not.
We generally had strong mutual respect and the dynamic was positive, but during a particularly difficult period the relationships within the executive committee frayed somewhat and tensions rose. A consultant was called in to work with us. As part of the process, the consultant asked us to complete a Myers–Briggs assessment, a tool often used in teamwork to highlight personality types. The test groups people into sixteen types based on their answers. One category measures if you are “thinking” or “feeling.” As we set out to take the test, we joked that in our technology company, we hoped we had mostly “thinking” types. And not surprisingly, the team all scored as “thinking”—except for one person . . . me.
As you can imagine, I was mortified, and I got plenty of teasing from the others. But then something happened that left a lasting impression. The consultant explained that “feeling” doesn’t mean you are not “thinking,” and “thinking” does not mean you aren’t “feeling.” Those designations merely suggest whether someone tends to make decisions through logic or through considering people. Then she told us that the strongest teams have both, and that if we were all the same, we wouldn’t have the benefit of a broad perspective in decision making. She then asked each of us to talk about the benefit of our differences—how we had seen our differences play out and add value. We had been through some tough layoffs, and some around the table mentioned how grateful they were that I could see impacts on people and the culture that helped to shape our actions and bring more dignity to the situation. I, in turn, pointed out how I benefited from more of a purely analytical view in some decisions we had to make. That exercise transformed the way our team worked together. There was a new trust and an understanding that, despite our differences, we were “better together.”
To change the way we interact with the world, we have to change the way we see each other. I love Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton because it accomplishes this so radically. What could be
more familiar than our picture of the founding fathers as sober, aging white men? Lin-Manuel turned this well-established narrative on its head in his daring hip-hop musical, with a multiracial cast portraying those iconic characters. The focus of the story is Alexander Hamilton, the nation’s first secretary of the Treasury—in itself, an unlikely topic for public fascination.
In creating Hamilton, Lin-Manuel wasn’t trying to be outrageous. But when he read Ron Chernow’s eight-hundred-page Alexander Hamilton, he found himself seeing Hamilton for the first time as an immigrant with guts and brilliance who fought his way to the top. When he previewed one of the show’s songs at the White House, he told the audience he thought Hamilton embodied hip-hop, and everyone laughed. But he meant it—and after his performance of the musical’s now-famous opening number, others saw it too.
Hamilton has changed the cultural landscape, making it no longer unexpected to see men like Washington, Jefferson, and Hamilton portrayed as nonwhite. And after I saw Hamilton on Broadway, I found myself thinking about what a gift it is to live in an age and country of such rich diversity and inclusion.
• • •
As discussed earlier, the 2015 Diversity Matters report from McKinsey showed that diversity makes companies more productive and prosperous. When they expanded the research in 2018 under the name Delivering Through Diversity, McKinsey found that many companies saw inclusion and diversity as a competitive advantage and, specifically, as an enabler of growth. Looking at a thousand companies across twelve countries, McKinsey found that the trend continued with a direct correlation between gender and ethnic diversity and profitability, with companies that lacked diversity being penalized, underperforming their peers by 27 percent.
The importance of diversity—or the act of bringing together people with different perspectives and backgrounds—is getting the attention of the nation’s largest companies, whose portfolios now commonly highlight their efforts. When Deloitte reported on its studies of diversity and inclusion in the workplace, it found that organizations with inclusive cultures were two times more likely to meet or exceed financial targets, six times more likely to be innovative and agile, and eight times more likely to achieve better business outcomes. And in 2018, Forbes published its first list of the best employers for diversity. The number-one company was perhaps unexpected: Northern Trust, a Chicago-based investment management firm with 17,800 employees. Thirty-eight percent of top executives were women, and the board was 23 percent African American.
“The giant computer that is our unconscious silently crunches all the data it can from the experiences we’ve had, the people we’ve met, the lessons we’ve learned, the books we’ve read, the movies we’ve seen, and so on, and it forms an opinion.”
—MALCOLM GLADWELL
Applauding companies that lead the way on diversity forces more widespread change. But since there is a growing consensus that diversity matters, why are we seeing so many businesses lagging behind? Research shows that women and people of color disproportionately lack access to the capital, support, and networking that young companies need to grow. By failing to give all aspiring entrepreneurs the same advantages, we may very well be stifling the creators of the next great innovations.
The numbers are stark: In recent years, only 10 percent of venture capital–backed companies have had a female founder. Less than 1 percent of these companies have an African American founder. And 75 percent of all venture capital went to just three states—California, New York, and Massachusetts—leaving the rest of the country to compete for just a quarter of the pie. And yet those forty-seven underfunded states have produced hundreds of Fortune 500 firms, proving that great companies can be built anywhere.
Current data suggest that the fastest-growing segment of entrepreneurs are women, followed closely by African Americans and Hispanics. Female-owned firms are growing at 1.5 times the national average, while African American–owned firms are growing at a rate of 60 percent. (Non-minority-owned businesses are growing at a rate of just 9 percent.) And there is a lot of evidence that these businesses often outperform their counterparts. One venture capital firm found that the female-led start-ups it funded performed 63 percent better than those with all-male founding teams. Good thing, then, that there are more than 9 million such companies today.
We have the opportunity to energize our economy by expanding our reach when it comes to investing in promising new companies. And perhaps the first step is to change what we think success looks like. Only a couple of years ago, I was in a meeting at the Case Foundation when someone suggested we do a Google Image search using the phrase “successful entrepreneur.” We found ourselves staring at a page full of pictures of young white men. No women. No people of color. Not one. It wasn’t as if these were all images of famous entrepreneurs either. Some of them were stock photos. That was the day we decided to share the stories of all entrepreneurs from all backgrounds to get the message out that great entrepreneurs come from all places, genders, races, and backgrounds.
To begin opening the door to more people, we must first acknowledge that unconscious bias is real—for you and for me. Why does this matter? Because there is a growing awareness that the sameness we’re seeing in who gets venture capital funding might have a lot to do with unconscious bias, especially since 93 percent of investing partners at the top 100 venture firms are men—and predominantly white men. How comfortable will entrepreneurs who aren’t male or white be during pitches when there isn’t anyone like them at the table? Can an all-white panel of investors really understand the potential value of new innovations by and for people unlike them?
We must laud venture capitalists who add inclusiveness to their standard criteria for assessing potential investments. In some ways, this is just common sense, but it also makes good business sense. Women make the majority of consumer purchases, so if an investor is considering a new product, wouldn’t it help to get the perspective of someone who better represents the potential market?
There are a growing number of leaders calling on all of us to embrace a world of more inclusion. One of them is my dear friend Mellody Hobson, the African American president of Ariel Investments, the largest minority-owned investment firm in the world. To break through our automatic biases, Mellody suggests that we be “color-brave” instead of color-blind—which is to say, intentional about inviting people to the table who don’t look or live like we do. She puts her firm’s investment resources behind these principles, staying away from companies that lack diversity in their leadership and boardrooms. And Ariel itself is a model of diversity: 51 percent of its staff is female, 27 percent African American, and 20 percent Asian and Hispanic.
Mellody is a remarkable woman—brilliant, kind, tough, and amazingly accomplished. (A few years back, when the term “girl crush” first came into parlance, I asked my daughters what it meant. They laughed and explained it to me. Then a few weeks later I met Mellody and understood.) But even Mellody has encountered bias out in the world. She tells a story in a TED talk of a time in 2006 when she was helping her friend Harold Ford, also African American, run for the Senate. She called a woman she knew who worked for a major New York media company and convinced her to set up an editorial luncheon for Ford. “And we get to the receptionist, and we say, ‘We’re here for the lunch,’ ” she said. “She motions for us to follow her. We walk through a series of corridors, and all of a sudden we find ourselves in a stark room, at which point she looks at us and she says, ‘Where are your uniforms?’ Just as this happens, my friend rushes in. The blood drains from her face. There are literally no words, right? And I look at her, and I say, ‘Now, don’t you think we need more than one black person in the US Senate?’ ”
• • •
American ingenuity has brought us the quality of life we enjoy today. If we seize this opportunity to democratize entrepreneurship and build more inclusive businesses, we will strengthen our economy and make sure that anyone from anywhere has a fair shot at the American dre
am. That means being fearless in disrupting the status quo—not just in business but all across our culture.
The great conductor Zubin Mehta once said there was no place for women in orchestras. Fortunately, not everyone agreed. In the 1950s, the Boston Symphony Orchestra was the first to hit on the idea of holding auditions with the performers behind a curtain. Unable to see the musicians, judges based their choices solely on talent. Other orchestras followed suit, and most orchestras do blind auditions today. Not surprisingly, researchers have found that blind auditions in the first round of tryouts improve a woman’s likelihood of advancing to later rounds by 50 percent. When blind auditions are held in all rounds, the likelihood of a woman being chosen triples. Today women sit in more than 50 percent of all orchestra chairs.
“A baseball team entirely composed of catchers could have high esprit de corps. But it would not perform very well on the field.”
—SARA ELLISON, MIT
As a woman—and one who started out in the male-dominated tech industry—I am intimately familiar with the challenges we face to get a seat at the table. So I’m always especially interested in stories of fearless women.
When I came across the story of Dame Stephanie Shirley, an early software distribution pioneer in the UK, I wondered how I had never heard of her. Shirley, who was born in Vienna, was part of the Kindertransport program that saved nearly 100,000 Jewish children from the Nazis by sending them to England without their parents. She was five years old. “I’m only alive because so long ago, I was helped by generous strangers,” she said of her experience.
