A post I read on LinkedIn recently stopped me in my tracks. A woman I know, Suzette Chambers, shared an experience at a Blue Jays game where she, her 21-year-old daughter and another woman were subjected to openly racist comments. I felt angry reading it. I felt heartbroken for her daughter, who was experiencing direct racism in a way she apparently had not before. I was relieved to read that the incident was reported, taken seriously and that there were consequences. But another thought kept nagging at me.

Not because I know what the people around them did or didn’t do. I wasn’t there, and I don’t want to make assumptions about something I didn’t witness.
But it made me ask a much larger question: What is the responsibility of the witness?

Prejudice is not only a problem for the person experiencing it. When we talk about racism, sexism, ageism, homophobia, religious intolerance, ableism and the many other forms prejudice can take, much of the conversation understandably focuses on the person being targeted. But I think the rest of us need to spend more time talking about our role. It cannot always be the responsibility of the person being attacked, excluded or diminished to educate the aggressor, defend their dignity and somehow manage everybody else’s discomfort at the same time. That’s an enormous burden.

Those of us standing nearby have a responsibility too. And I don’t just mean literally standing nearby at a baseball game. We are witnesses

• in workplaces.
• In boardrooms.
• At networking events.
• Around dinner tables.
• Inside community organizations.
• On social media.

We hear the joke. We notice who keeps getting interrupted. We see who isn’t invited into the conversation. We recognize the comment that is being disguised as harmless humour. We sometimes sense that something is wrong before anybody says a word. The question is what happens next.

Most of us like to believe we would speak up. I suspect almost everyone reading this considers themselves opposed to prejudice. But believing something and acting on it are two different things.

It’s easy to say: “I would never treat someone that way.” and that’s important. But perhaps the more challenging question is:

“What would I do if someone else did?”

• Would I say something?
• Would I support the person being targeted?
• Would I report what happened?
• Would I challenge a friend, colleague, customer or business associate?
• Would I still do it if speaking up felt awkward?

Because this is where values stop being words and become behaviour.

Speaking up doesn’t have to mean creating a bigger confrontation.

When I first thought about this, my reaction was emotional. Where were the outraged people around them? But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that outrage isn’t really what I’m asking for. I’m asking for courage. And courage can look different depending on the situation.

• It might mean saying, “That’s not okay.”
• It might mean standing beside the person being targeted so they know they aren’t alone.
• It might mean getting an organizer, manager or security person involved.
• It might mean documenting what happened.
• It might mean checking in privately afterward.
• It might mean challenging an inappropriate comment in a meeting rather than pretending you didn’t hear it.

Not every situation should be handled the same way, and personal safety matters. But doing something matters.

I don’t think we eradicate prejudice with policies alone

• Policies matter.
• Codes of conduct matter.
• Reporting mechanisms matter.
• Consequences matter.
• Education matters.
• Representation matters.

But prejudice is also challenged through thousands of small social signals about what we will and will not accept from one another. Imagine what changes:

• When the person making a racist remark doesn’t encounter silence.
• When the sexist joke doesn’t get the expected laugh.
• When the person being excluded suddenly has three people making room for them.
• When someone says, calmly and clearly, “We don’t speak to people that way here.”

That’s how culture changes. Not only from the top down. But person by person, moment by moment.

We also have to be willing to examine ourselves

There is another uncomfortable part of this conversation. Prejudice isn’t always loud. Sometimes it is unconscious. Sometimes it comes wrapped in assumptions we have never questioned. Sometimes we genuinely believe we are being fair while treating people differently without realizing it. That means fighting prejudice cannot only be about identifying “bad people.” It also requires curiosity about ourselves.

• Who do I instinctively trust?
• Who do I make assumptions about?
• Whose ideas do I take seriously?
• Who do I interrupt?
• Who do I invite into opportunities?
• Who isn’t in the room at all?

We can’t change what we’re unwilling to notice. Authority comes with responsibility

I have spent much of my career helping people become more visible and build their authority. But visibility and authority come with another responsibility that we don’t talk about enough:

Being respected in a community gives us opportunities to influence what that community considers acceptable. Sometimes leadership is sharing what we know. Sometimes leadership is opening a door. And sometimes leadership is simply being the person willing to say: “No. That’s not acceptable here.”

So here’s the question I’m asking myself. I hope I would speak up. But rather than simply assuming I would, I think it’s worth deciding in advance who I want to be in that moment. Because none of us gets advance notice that our values are about to be tested. So perhaps we should all consider this before the moment arrives:

Not what do I believe. Not what would I post afterward. What would I actually do? Prejudice may begin in the mind of one person. But whether it is allowed to flourish depends, in part, on the culture surrounding that person. And culture belongs to all of us. Maybe one of the most powerful ways we can fight prejudice is surprisingly simple… “Refuse to leave the person experiencing it standing alone.“