“What should be considered as we proceed is that this work did not begin with you. …”
This quote comes from one of my favorite gospel songs entitled “A Great Work” by Brian Courtney Wilson. This line, and the ones that follow in the song, capture what Black History Month means to me. A celebration of legacies. I am a product of the work of those who have come before me.
I was born and raised in Prairieville, Louisiana, and am the product of the union of Laurence Roy Barnes and Cheree Mackie Barnes. My paternal grandfather Isaiah Barnes was a pastor, as were my father and my great-grandfather. My maternal grandfather Sterling Mackie served in the military.
Both were proud men and well respected in their community. Isaiah married Hermenes and Sterling would marry Lucinda (who would tragically pass away when my mother was only 9 years old). My grandparents were good, honest people who worked hard but spent most of their lives during the Jim Crow era where they faced racism, adversity and unfair and unequal treatment. Isaiah grew a strawberry farm in his backyard to help make ends meet. Sterling, who only had a third-grade education, worked construction as he raised a family as a single Black father after Lucinda’s passing.
By the grace of God, my grandparents scraped together a good life for their children, but what could have possibly kept them going when they were treated unfairly and less than human on a daily basis? What motivated them when the weight of the world, a world that did not value them, seemed at its heaviest? It is my belief that they, like many of the monumental figures we often celebrate during Black History Month, believed their efforts were seeds that would blossom and bear fruit (much like the strawberries Isaiah planted) during the days of their children and grandchildren. A harvest they would likely never witness themselves but nonetheless was worth fighting for. I wonder if they could have ever imagined their grandson doing what I am doing now.
Unfortunately, my grandparents all passed away well before I truly began my path to the legal profession. I have had a desire to be an attorney since I was 9 years old. With no other lawyers in the family, I did not have a roadmap or someone I could trust to go to for guidance. However, through the support of my family and friends, my dedication and the guidance of God, I eventually succeeded in achieving my goal. Little did I know that the challenges would just be beginning once I entered into the legal profession.
The practice of law can be very challenging but also rewarding. The hours can be long and unpredictable. You often spend a great deal of time away from your family. You work tirelessly to solve your client’s complex legal issues that often leave your brain in a triple-twisted knot. Many attorneys, especially attorneys of color (I am no exception), also deal with imposter syndrome — what I describe as never feeling good, qualified or successful enough in spite of objective evidence to the contrary. All of these issues seemed amplified for me as I started my legal career, a result of the fact that I was often the only person who looked like me in the rooms in which I found myself.
Whether it is real or imagined, I often feel eyes on me as if waiting for me to say or do something dumb to confirm the belief that I do not belong. Sometimes I feel as though I stick out like a sore thumb and often want to shrink or fade to the background. Over the last few years, as I have been given more responsibility on transactions and am increasingly given opportunities to lead negotiations, the pressure I sometimes feel before a call can be immense.
Forget the fact that I need to remember the intricacies of an indemnity provision of a purchase agreement or the application of negative consent rights in a JV agreement. Instead, I often would wonder “is anyone going to listen to me or respect my thoughts or will they just sit there thinking ‘Why in the world is this Black kid speaking right now? He has no idea what he is talking about.’”
Yet, I get on these calls and I speak — and they listen.
As I let that thought sink in, I wonder how hard my grandparents, and others like them, had to fight to be heard. How they had to deal with anxiety and stress as perhaps they walked into a bank to ask for a loan or maybe to their boss’s office to ask for a raise, all in hopes of providing a better life for their family, only to be denied based on the color of their skin. Their voices and petitions for help fell on deaf ears. Now their grandson is speaking regularly on matters concerning hundreds of millions (and sometime billions) of dollars.
And people listen.
Let that sink in.
Black History Month to me is a time to reflect and celebrate the stories, triumphs and accolades of those that came before us — to celebrate the enduring spirit of those who kept going in the face of unyielding bias, unfairness and physical, emotional and mental abuse. I believe those heroes and heroines persevered because they, like my grandparents, hoped they were planting the seeds for a better tomorrow — for a legacy.
This is not to say the work is complete. Far from it. However, I encourage you to remember that the seeds being planted today will bear fruit, just as it did for those that came before us.
However, it is important that we continue to occupy the rooms we find ourselves in (virtual or otherwise). Take up space, speak up, do not shrink. You may be the only person that looks like you in that room, but remember that people fought and died so you could be right where you are. Sit up straight and take pride in that. Continue the work so that more people that look like you can be sitting shoulder to shoulder in the same room. Create your own legacy.
I am thankful to the heroes and heroines who fought so that I could be in the position I am in today. To sit and speak in the rooms I occupy. I thank my parents for providing me with the foundation they did to soar higher. I thank my grandparents for doing the work to plant seeds that bore a fruit they never got to witness when they could have easily thrown in the towel instead.
I am your legacy. I hope I am making you proud. I pray to follow in your footsteps and begin to plant seeds for the next generation to soar to even greater heights beyond my wildest dreams.
Chanse Barnes represents private businesses and private equity funds as a senior managing associate in the Houston office of Sidley Austin.