Pathways to Power

By Lisa Takeuchi Cullen

Donna James felt triumphant. She had recently been promoted to senior vice president at Nationwide, an insurance and financial-services company in Columbus, Ohio, where she had started years ago as an accountant. But then a white male colleague burst her bubble. "You know, Donna," he said, "the jury is still out on whether you are where you are because you have talent or because you are female and black." James was stunned into silence, not because she had never beheld such a stereotype in the workplace but because no one had ever voiced it to her face. Her colleague explained he meant no harm. "He was trying to help me, and in his own way, he did," she says. "It was a blast of reality." James, now 48, answered in time--by rising to division president.

Minority women fill the executive suites as never before. An Asian-American woman, Andrea Jung, is CEO of Avon. Nina Tassler, a Latina, is president of CBS Entertainment. And Condoleezza Rice, who is African American, has a job just a few steps removed from President. Although their numbers at the top are still tiny--at 429 large companies surveyed by research and advisory group Catalyst in 2003, 1.6% of corporate officers were minority women--more women of an ethnic or racial minority hold senior-level jobs than ever before.

Yet even as their ranks grow, so does a murmur of frustration. Businesswomen of color speak quietly of persistent stereotypes (for example, having earned their jobs through affirmative action), of the struggle to conform to a white male culture, of feeling that their lives outside the office are invisible to bosses and colleagues. Their disgruntlement is so acute that some even talk of quitting. But for the most part, they keep their complaints from employers, who, although attuned to their minority and female constituents, remain largely in the dark about those who happen to be both. A new study written by noted academics Sylvia Ann Hewlett, Cornel West and Carolyn Buck Luce and sponsored by the nonprofit Center for Work-Life Policy suggests that companies are generally unaware of hidden biases connected to the traditional white corporate world. The study raises a broader, difficult question that corporations are only beginning to deal with: As minority employees rise in the workplace, should they learn to deal with the status quo, or do corporations need to change to accommodate and acknowledge their employees' different cultures, backgrounds and needs?

The study's results should be alarming to any company that wants to keep its minority women on board. Some 52% of minority women professionals at large companies do not trust their employers. Those women are more likely than other groups to be juggling children, extended families and community obligations, yet 56% believe that their employers don't recognize their responsibilities outside the workplace. Most alarming, 39% of minority women executives say the subtle prejudices in the workplace have alienated and disengaged them from their jobs; 1 in 5 has considered quitting. "Corporate America is in danger of letting this valuable talent slip through its fingers," says Hewlett.

So what exactly are companies doing wrong? After a spate of antidiscrimination lawsuits in the 1960s and '70s, corporations initiated minority-hiring programs that have resulted in remarkably integrated workplaces. Many large companies sponsor affinity groups and provide tools to help minorities and women navigate their careers. But few minority women make it into the highest ranks--held back, some say, by unique challenges. According to the 1,000 minority women executives interviewed for the study (some of whom TIME spoke with for this article, along with others who did not participate), most corporations don't yet understand those women's struggle to fit in, their need for mentors and their unusually demanding roles in the community and at home. By recognizing those hidden burdens--and talents--corporations can win their employees' loyalty. Some relatively simple solutions, ranging from multicultural networking to mentoring and cultural-sensitivity training, go a long way toward making minority women feel more valued.

THE POWER OF SISTERHOOD

When Deborah Elam began her career at General Electric 20 years ago, she says, "diversity was something we managed, to make sure we were in compliance." That has changed. Instead of just going through the motions, the Fairfield, Conn., company began affinity groups for minorities 15 years ago. But when Elam, 44, took the helm as chief diversity officer three years ago, she recognized a specific need to improve GE's record in retaining and promoting minority women. She launched the Multicultural Women's Initiative, among whose programs is an annual boot camp that teaches the secrets of success to promising minority women. Since its inception three years ago, one-third of attendees have received promotions.

Vicki Ho, 42, is one of them. To make it in GE's famously competitive culture, Ho says she needed to shed her Asian-style modesty. In her Taiwanese household, she was raised never to boast of her accomplishments. She entered the corporate world in the U.S. as an unwitting embodiment of stereotypical Asian female behavior--"diminutive, submissive, that whole geisha thing you get tagged with," she says. (It's a typical problem for Asian women executives, although one that few employers recognize, says Jane Hyun, an executive coach and author of Breaking the Bamboo Ceiling: "Here, we say the squeaky wheel gets the grease. Well, there's a Chinese proverb that says the loudest duck gets shot.") At the boot camp, Ho networked with other GE executives who urged her to be more aggressive. It recently helped her land a tough assignment as chief operating officer for equipment services in China.

By and large, the challenge of fitting in--even at companies striving to do better for minorities--still falls on the shoulders of the women themselves. Conformity is not a matter of feeling popular in the lunchroom. It's the key to success, according to most minority women. Among women of color who work at large companies, 54% feel that promotions are based not on ability but on whether senior managers feel comfortable with the candidate. "Like it or not, white guys still run most companies," says Ho. "People promote people they can relate to. But no white guy is going to look at me and say, 'You remind me of me.'"

Noni Allwood, 50, has struggled with stereotyping against women and minorities in the field of high technology ever since she immigrated from El Salvador in 1982. She terms the small slights that alienate women like her--the inside jokes, the averted eyes, the overlooked suggestions--microinequities. She worked mightily to rise to director of European strategy at Cisco Systems but recently abandoned that role to become director of global gender diversity. Through a program called Girls Get IT, Cisco is trying to rally interest in technology careers among girls by funding workshops at urban schools and in poorer countries around the world. "It's fantastic," Allwood says. "Cisco is building a talent pipeline, and I get to feel valuable for who I am."

TEACHING BY EXAMPLE

When asked what career tool they lack but most need, minority women executives had the same answer: mentors. Although 66% desire mentoring from senior colleagues with similar ethnic or cultural backgrounds, 29% lack any such mentors.

When Meow Yee joined IBM in 1985, she did not receive a mentor, nor was she offered one over the next 20 years. Born in Malaysia and of Chinese origin, Yee was hired as a software developer and advanced to design in-house applications for IBM in Somers, N.Y. But like many other Asians, she felt stuck on a technology track. "There's this perception that technology is what we're good for," she says. "Opportunities are not really given unless you ask for them, and if you're a woman, I guess that's double." She worked hard and was prized by her manager, but when he retired unexpectedly, she "got lost in the shuffle." Yearning to break into marketing, she took matters into her own hands and approached that division's manager to talk up her expertise. "I didn't ask for a job right away," she says. But when one opened up, she got the call.

IBM began a formal mentoring program more than 10 years ago, but it does not specifically target minority women. So Yee helped launch the Asian Women's Leadership Network to offer mentoring and networking. IBM recognized her work, and when the firm decided to lead 50 other companies in studying how to best use their Asian talent to target Asian markets, Yee, 50, was handpicked to lead the project.

Demitra Jones was never in danger of getting lost in the shuffle. At just 18, she was placed as an intern with Pitney Bowes--a mail-and-document-management company in Stamford, Conn.-- by Inroads, a career-development group for urban minority youths. A member of the black sorority Delta Sigma Theta who worked at Inroads was Jones' first mentor, coaching her on "how to behave in the corporate environment." At Pitney she met Michael Holmes, its African-American director of diversity and at the time a director of Inroads, who also mentored her. The internship continued throughout college and resulted in a job offer for Jones, who, now 31 and a human- resources generalist, expects a long career at Pitney, where the corporate emphasis on community involvement aligns with her own. When she glances into the upper echelons of the company, she sees faces like that of Sheryl Battles, 47, vice president of corporate communications, a Stanford University graduate and, like Jones, a Delta sister. "Seeing such diversity in the leadership," she says, "inspires me."

TAPPING INTO CULTURAL CAPITAL

Another fact unknown to most corporations: minority women feel a powerful need to give back to their community, says Hewlett. That leads so many of them--fully one-third of survey respondents--to take on social-outreach activities. The more hours they put in on the job, the more time they devote to volunteerism. Many take on leadership roles in their volunteer work, learning and honing skills that translate directly back to their jobs. But they downplay or even hide their volunteerism, sensing tacit disapproval from bosses. "It's not the opera or a charity, which the corporate world recognizes. It's church work and homeless shelters," says Hewlett. By masking their contributions outside the office, minority women professionals deny their employers huge amounts of what the study calls "cultural capital."

Church work is a particularly touchy topic. Minority women executives--71%--are more likely than nonminority peers to belong to a house of worship. Among African Americans, that figure is 84%, among whom 25% hold a leadership role, compared with 16% of white men. But many hide their affiliations, reluctant to mix religion and work and also to reinforce stereotypes. Angela Williams, 42, a vice president and deputy general counsel at Sears Holding Corp. and a former federal prosecutor, never talked at the office about the fact that she is an ordained Baptist minister. "It's the same reason you don't wear dreads or let slip some slang," she says. "As a minority executive, you want to be plain vanilla. You don't want them to know you're struggling with child-care issues. You don't want to take vacations. You don't want to give them anything to suggest you're different, you can't cut it, you can't perform or that you aren't committed." The "invisible life" she once led outside the office came to light at Sears, where her boss told her he believes her ministry lends her integrity.

When minority women open up about their extracurricular duties, however, some find their employers surprisingly receptive. Aynesh Johnson, 35, pulled long hours as an investment banker at Goldman Sachs yet found time to sit on the board of a nonprofit that aids low-income families living in a wealthy area of Manhattan. News of her altruism reached the executive suite and might have helped her land her current role as vice president of global leadership and diversity. "It's seen as a positive," she says.

Not only do minority women professionals care for their communities, but many also shoulder family burdens that are heavier than those of their white colleagues. Among businesswomen of color, 54% have children at home, compared with 38% of white businesswomen. Sixty percent earn more than their spouses; 34% pay for housing for children who aren't their own. African-American women professionals 28 to 44 are more than twice as likely as whites to be single mothers. Yet many are hesitant to share their burdens with their employers.

One clear solution: 74% of women in the study want health- care coverage for up to two members of their extended families. Nontraditional families are such a fact of life for minority women that African-American banker Erika Irish Brown, 36, felt comfortable asking to place her fiance's son on her health plan while she worked for a minority-owned media company. "I felt it was something that was accepted there," she says. "Women of color tend to bear greater responsibilities at home, and we need all the support we can get." She doesn't know whether the benefit would have been extended to her on Wall Street, where Brown recently returned. But as head of recruiting for diverse, experienced professionals at Lehman Brothers, she feels confident that Wall Street is tackling work-life issues--a big draw for potential hires. As an expecting mother, she lauds a new mentoring program that partners new mothers with seasoned working moms.

Sometimes the stigma is what's most dreaded. For many years, Donna James, the Nationwide executive, hid from her colleagues and bosses that her son was born when she was only 17. "I didn't bring them into that part of my world for fear I would be harshly judged," she says. "Knowing the cultural biases about marriage, about being a single mom and being black and a teen parent, I never wanted to have stereotypical views hold me back."

THE ROAD AHEAD

Despite efforts to improve the situation for minority women, most companies have a long way to go. Hidden biases persist in surprising ways. Perhaps the most challenging issue is a perceived prejudice about behavior and appearance. According to the study, 42% of minority women executives at large companies feel they're expected to look, sound and act like white men; 34% of minority men and 29% of white women feel that way. The study calls that pressure "style compliance"; to Hewlett, it's "bleached-out professionalism." African-American women struggle most with perceptions of their behavior; 30% feel they are seen as "troublemakers." Jennifer Braxton, 31, held a communications job at a prestigious Philadelphia think tank. But her exuberant manner at meetings took her white male bosses aback. Other minorities who worked there suggested that she "lie low, not make any waves," says Braxton. "I'm outspoken. I'm passionate. I didn't want to have to change that." She left the think tank and became a community-outreach supervisor at Ikea, where she says she feels her style of communicating is embraced.

The pressure to conform will go on, of course, until the equation changes--in other words, until there are more women of color in a position to call the shots. For now, says Patricia Gillette, a San Francisco labor lawyer, being a minority woman in business is still "a double whammy." But in the meantime, companies that recognize and boost the hidden talent within their ranks will profit in more ways than one.

With reporting by Betsy Rubiner/Des Moines