Black tax.

It’s something that James Burge has been paying ever since he entered the workforce. A notion that the 27-year old says he’s been aware of even before entering corporate America.

“Black people have to work and perform a regular task twice as well as white people in order to get half as much recognition,” he says.

It became all too real when one day, he learned about his white colleagues’ salaries, which were much more than his. “[We were doing] the exact same job, he says. “Not only were we doing the same job, we were also hired at the same time.”

It’s a reality that isn’t new for black Americans, who are largely underrepresented in corporate America. A recent study showed that only 6.7% of black Americans held management positions among the country’s 16.2 million management positions. Among the Fortune 500 lists year after year, there’s been only fifteen black CEOs. Ever. A new corporate diversity survey showed that black Americans were a mere 4.7% of executive team members in the Fortune 100 companies. Being black in startup culture isn’t even better. A recent study from last year found that less than 5% of startups in Silicon Valley had employees who were black American.

But these mere statistics are merely numbers. They don’t come close to the human experiences and frustrations black Americans feel in their own respective workplaces. To be a black professional in America, after all, oftentimes means that you are alone, the lone wolf who must fend for yourself. It means you’re the “token” black person who must bear the responsibility of carrying the entire black race on your shoulders. It also presents challenges for many who feel they must undo stereotypes and stigmas others have towards black America.

What’s it like in a post-Trump fueled era? For a new president who vows to make businesses thrive, has there been a change in office places across America? Is there even less restrictions and regulations when it comes to cultural sensitivity now that we’re living at a time where political correctness has become obsolete?

“I’ll be honest, it was scary because we didn’t know if the precedence that the Obama administration set was actually going to be upheld or simply thrown out,” says Sarah Springer, co-founder of Inclusion in Digital Media, a non-profit based in NYC that promotes diversity in work places. “I certainly had a fear that people all over, people in positions of power, hiring managers, etc. would finally say, ‘Yes, forget this quota stuff! We don’t need to hire diverse candidates because our president doesn’t say so!’”

Certainly, hate crimes spiked after President Trump’s election. According to the Southern Poverty Law Center, 42% of hate crimes “included specific references to Trump, his election, or his policies.”

From the many black young men we’ve interviewed, many hold the same sentiments. Some have vocalized how they have been judged by their skin tone, or put into a box. Others, felt that racism was still alive and well, microaggressions as prevalent as ever. Many of them are like Marcus Scott, a writer based in New York City.

“People like him are lazy,” he once heard a publisher say about him.

Or like Taj Reed, an integrated producer in New York whose white co-workers use the term “my nigga” casually.

From writers, lawyers, startup employees, to students, Very Good Light™ reached out to 13 black American men to share their very real experiences. Here they are in their own words.

1 Taj Reed, NYC, integrated producer

Enlarge Photo courtesy Taj Reed

Maybe it was a testament to my blackness, but I developed savvy before I could even grow a mustache. Young black men are hyper-aware if their surroundings (at least, they should be), and, with each close-minded interaction, either reinforce the stereotype cast on them or do their part in enlightening someone. There’s a larger conversation to be had about white America’s fear of race and religion dissimilar to their own, but, in short, I’d sooner change careers than to be less of who I am. My experience with class and race varied, however—I went to twelve schools in four states through grade school—but I never felt burdened to enlighten people who didn’t understand me, or, in worst cases, didn’t like me because I was black. Instead, I learned to be malleable without compromising my integrity as a young black American, and it’s my assumption that most black men in the professional space have the discerning ability to adapt to any environment they’re in, as well. Fortunately, I’ve never experienced having to change my identity for work—I just refused to compromise. I’m also pretty straight edged. In most instances the ask was to straighten their “curly” hair. “Curly” in this case means natural hair: afros, dreads, braids and most non-chemical hairstyle solutions for black people. Which, to me, reads as being told dial back the blackness. With respect to their employers, fuck that. There’s a larger conversation to be had about white America’s fear of race and religion dissimilar to their own, but, in short, I’d sooner change careers than to be less of who I am. I worked for a company based in Germany, and for a while was the only black American, male employee. There was a situation where one of the German editors made mention of someone referring to him as their “nigga” and how proud he was of the declaration. Now, it’s either ignorance, or the fact that before having to work with many black people, he could be as candid as he wanted in the group Slack channel. Whatever the reason for the remark, I thought our bosses would address him and every other employee about their intolerance to this kind of bigotry. That address never came. My reaction was to come up with an exit plan. A company that didn’t find comments like that disturbing, or at the very least, unprofessional, wasn’t a place that would champion for my success. In a post-Trump era, it’s scary. And I was the optimist at the start of it all. I was the person that said, “let’s see what he does in office, and give him chance to be a decent leader.” I’ve seen nothing close to decent leadership since the inauguration. Just self-aggrandizing, self-serving rants of tyranny and bigotry. I think this era has only fueled people to become more of who they are. As creatives, we should do the same. We should be using our platforms to create art and movements that incite change in a positive, more unified direction. 2 James Burge, Denver, digital marketing Enlarge Photo courtesy James Burge Growing up in America as a black male was challenging. I spent much of my childhood years growing up in Birmingham, AL where I attended predominately black schools. In my ways the south, specifically Birmingham was still stuck in the 70s and 80s. I can remember learning that there were “white schools” and “black school”. Many of the “black schools” were in the poorest parts of the city, while the “white schools” were in the more affluent areas. There were challenges like being told by white teachers in middle school, “black kids don’t get into college” Now this segregation wasn’t based on a law, rather, based on the post-civil rights era culture of the 90s. School and education was very important to my family, and me, as many of my family members were teachers. I can remember from a very early age seeing college as the end goal. Fortunately for me, I was able to accomplish that goal but it didn’t come with its own share of challenges. Challenges like being told by white teachers in middle school, that “black kids don’t get into college”, and I should give up my goal. In many ways, I face some of those same challenges today. As a black American, you’re expected to fall into a certain role/category and stay there. It’s rare that black children are told or even shown that they can be more and can do more. I can imagine this is a challenge for many other children of color. “I’m glad you cut your hair because we almost lost our client.” Years later as a professional in the work place, I was taught you must perform, present and prepare. Growing up I learned a lot about “black tax,” the notion that black people have to work and perform regular task twice as well as white people, in order to get half as much recognition. This point was driven home with me, when I learned that one of my white peers was being paid more than I was to do the exact same job. Not only were we doing the same job, we were also hired on at the same time. I can also recall a time I grew my hair out into a hairstyle called twists, while working for a firm. Obviously, I had been growing this hairstyle out for a while, but no one seemed to notice until I cut it off. The very next day at work, I was pulled into the office by management and told, “We’re glad you cut your hair because we almost lost our client.” I was confused; my hair was never a point of conversation or attention, so I asked, “Why would the client leave?” The answer still haunts me to this day: “It made you come across aggressive and uneducated.” My reaction to the hair comment was minimal, as I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers and at the time really needed my job for income. I think that many people of color find themselves in this type of dilemma. A) Do I say something and hope that they understand where I am coming from and the comment never happens again? B) Do I say something and they don’t agree with me, and then eventually find a way to get rid of me? C) Do I keep my mouth closed, continue to come to work and keep my job in the process? In Trump’s America, I feel as though we all are in a position where we must look out for each other. In these days, it has become apparent that we must do what the government has chosen not to do. This change in leadership has driven me to be even more involved in my community, with the intent of helping those who need it. In times of hardship, it’s important communities come together and not divide. 3 Sabir M. Peele, Philadelphia, founder and creative director of Men’s Style Pro Enlarge Photo courtesy Sabir Peele Growing up as a black American is an experience. What I mean by that is as I’ve gone through the different phases of my life there have been moments of extreme consciousness of how the world views me and how I viewed myself. As a child, I grew up in a predominantly black neighborhood of North Philadelphia. I knew that as a small child I wanted better for myself. My family roots were strong, so I decided that I would do my best and that no one could deny my greatness. At the age of 6, I turned my focus to my education. I got to school early and stayed late. I’ve always been perceived differently because I valued my education more than my peers. Especially as a kid growing up in an area where the only options are selling drugs, going to jail or playing basketball – my focus was always centered around consuming as much knowledge as possible. During my adult years, I think my work ethic has propelled me as being viewed somewhat favorably amongst most people. After college, I became a social media influencer. Being a part of the industry I do feel as though I’ve been passed over for campaigns because of my skin color. There have been instances where I’ve been contacted and pretty much handed the contract to see at the last minute brands will have had a change of heart. Then two weeks later, I’ll see that campaign executed with a white dude. That’s when I realize that many brands still think “black people” don’t sell well to the majority. Other than business, I do feel how different life has become under Trump. For the first time in my life, I truly fear for my safety. The day of the Presidential election, I saw a white neighbor outside brandishing a gun, almost in a gesture of “This Is My Country Now.” I lived in my home for seven years and never felt that this country was more mine than his. It was a clear reminder that I have to continue to work hard and show the world that I’m contributing member of society, which is sad. There’s a great opportunity to realize that the black experience is the American experience. We don’t need white people to apologize for things that happened in the past because most of them have nothing to do with it. If we want to truly be good people, good citizens and good Americans we have to truly embrace the idea of this country being a melting pot. I bleed red, white and blue and it breaks my heart that the country that I love doesn’t show me and all of its people the same love we have for it. 4 Journey Streams, Los Angeles, Student Enlarge Photo courtesy Journey Streams

My childhood and adolescence don’t feel as though they’re marked by any feeling of prejudice, or even discomfort really. I come from a very small, diverse, and accepting school environment, so the racial barriers that I’d expect in retrospect were never really there. It wasn’t really until I was exposed to the Internet that I really acknowledged my blackness, and even then the environment I grew up in made it something to embrace rather than try to hide or stifle as I came into my own.

I feel lucky to have a community where I can walk on to campus with gold nail polish on my fingers and my ‘fro piled high on my head, and have that be considered acceptable – or even normal.

Growing up I was always the loudest, the most energetic, the most out there. This obviously rubbed some people the wrong way, as I was always quick to say whatever was on my mind, but being an outgoing person usually led to more people wanting to support me than tear me down. While I haven’t yet entered my “adult years,” I expect some challenges as I enter the Ivy League world an face the obvious institutional biases that come with it.

My high school experience actually led me to be more proud of my flamboyant (somewhat feminine) behavior, my colorful wardrobe, and my quickly-expanding afro. My high school has an abnormal number of queer kids, so coming into my own and understanding how I want to express myself as a gay person was a process that was met with no resistance. I feel lucky to have a community where I can walk on to campus with gold nail polish on my fingers and my ‘fro piled high on my head, and have that be considered acceptable – or even normal.

The past couple months have been hard. Not only physically (I can only march to City Hall so many times!), but also emotionally as I watch the ideological tides turn within days against those with with I empathize. Looking forward I can only see the liberties of my fellow black and queer folk be diminished as this administration continues to press its bigoted agenda on its citizens. I’ve been down, but through marching and interacting with the LGBTQ community, I’ve felt more invigorated to be proud of my ideologies and identity, as it’s the only way I feel I can show continued resilience in these increasingly-frustrating weeks

5 Marcus Scott, NYC, playwright

Enlarge Photo courtesy Marcus Scott

James Baldwin once wrote, “To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time.”

On paper: I did everything right, more or less. After I graduated high school, I went to college and got degrees in Communications and Theatre Arts. During five years in undergrad, I interned at several publications and media outlets, writing over 200 hundred original stories.

“Because people like him are lazy.”

Before my final year of undergrad, a mentor of mine, a Pulitzer Prize finalist, even said I rivaled that of most master’s degree candidates. I have since received my master’s degree and yet, in my profession I’ve often lost various positions to people with less experience. I don’t necessarily believe this is a race issue, perhaps it’s nepotism or that I came to this city with zero connections.

But there have been several times where I was told to shrink myself because “I come off way too strong” or that I am “way too defensive,” right after someone has just blatantly offended me. Nowadays, perhaps I overcomplicate things because I march to the beat of my own drum and I’ve been around the block a few times for anyone to speak down to me. That sends a message to some. It says that I need to “learn my place.”

There were three instances that really stand out over my career. I did an internship for an independent publication, and in conference, the publisher reached out to my mentor and told him that a person “like Marcus would never make it as a journalist and that he has no talent.” When my mentor pressed him, this publisher said something like, “because people like him are lazy.” My mentor told me this right after I received a fellowship with a major publication. Meanwhile, the editor that I worked directly under wrote me a stunning recommendation letter.

That sends a message to some. It says that I need to “learn my place.”

Another instance was when I worked as a part-time editor for a now-defunct publication that catered to women and the CEO, who at this point had lost several editors and assistants, embarrassed me in front of my interns. He called me “an imbecile” when I asked him who the target audience was; over the course of my time there, he changed the demographic all of seven times and questioned my experience and acumen at every turn.

Today, I actually find most black people have been very accommodating to non-diverse people who seem to be more enraged and flabbergasted. In fact, I’d be remiss to say that most black people are not surprised that Donald J. Trump and the alt-right Republican Party won the electoral vote. I’d say we’ve become more accommodating to the white fragility of well-meaning liberals who have had their minds blown after this “revelation” that demagogues like the 45th president of the U.S. were capable of taking the White House.

Since this election, I’ve never heard more white women addressing intersectionality nor have I seen more white people in transit on the subway reading black literature in hopes of being “woke,” nor have I seen more white people address disenfranchisement as I have seen in the last few months. This is all very good and for the people who have been doing this years before it was trendy, good for them. But for the others, I don’t celebrate their newfound awareness.

I think diverse people, especially people of black descent, have been waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. I know I have.

6 Oluwatomi Lawal (Tomi), Pinehurst, NC, student

Enlarge Photo courtesy Oluwatomi Lawal (Tomi)

I grew up in a predominately white community and have attended predominately white institutions for as long as I can remember. However, most my my parents’ social circles were black (specifically Nigerian), so my blackness has always been affirmed and grounded in a familial setting. Growing up, I got some of what I would consider to be the usual string of comments/micro-aggressions: do you play basketball, can you swim, do you know this other black person in the school, do you like the one black girl in class, do you like The Cosby Show, etc.? Most of these I could answer with some variation of “yes, but…” which usually helped curb the stereotypes.

During my high school years I became acutely aware of how common it was for black youth to be characterized as an adult. I especially noticed this once the shootings of unarmed black men permeated the news regularly from 2012 onward.

Thinking back, people seemed to say that I was “growing up so fast,” which by itself was not really an abnormal comment for a friend or relative to say. However, during my high school years I became acutely aware of how common it was for black youth to be characterized as an adult. I especially noticed this once the shootings of unarmed black men permeated the news regularly from 2012 onward.

I became acutely aware of how common it was for black youth to be characterized as an adult.

I definitely believe that my high school experience allowed me to grow a lot as a person, because it was in high school that I began to learn how to articulate my feelings around the importance understanding difference, being open-minded, and valuing diversity and inclusion. I was fortunate enough to attend a more diverse boarding school in New England that gave me the exposure to be able to develop these new feelings in a setting that I would not have experienced otherwise. The proximity allowed me to connect with members of my high school community and find my voice. With greater exposure to people of color in an academic setting, I developed a propensity to want to keep cherish those connections that I would not have been able to experience outside of familial circles at home. Through this, I certainly became more Afro-centric (I spent most of my senior year with an afro, a necklace of Africa, and a metal hair pick in my pocket), and I loved being able to experience that.

In a “post-Trump fueled era” brought me back from a whimsical idealism back down to a mellowed optimism, which has been ultimately good. It has forced me to be more curious about understanding the differences within people in this nation, while hold firm to my values of diversity and inclusion. It has also made me think more critically about what kind of radical thoughts and actions need to be taken in order to understand and come closer to having a more perfect union.

7 Adam Hyndman, Brooklyn, broadway actor Enlarge Photo courtesy Adam Hyndman Like many, growing as a black American was an experience of intersection. (I am of African American descent, and I am also bi-racial with Filipino/ Asian American heritage). I was raised in a rural and homogenous region. Apart from the presence of my own family, the world I looked out on was very white. That is what I became accustomed to, assimilating into the conventions, perspectives and behaviors of the community in order to find belonging.