I stood leaning against a smooth, wooden desk in an ultra-modern, high-tech classroom at Harvard Business School. Class had ended a good hour ago, and my colleague and friend, Chris – a middle-aged, straight white man of average height and build with dark hair – stood with me and another one of our classmates discussing the problems of life and the universe.

“I’m starting this project, The Blind Hijabi, in which we’ll discuss identities, intersectionality, social issues…” I thought aloud, crowdsourcing them on the fly for good ideas.

“If I started a blog or podcast, I’d call it ‘Middle-Aged White Man Has Thoughts!’” Chris said, chuckling at the idea of joining the ever-growing ranks of white guys pontificating on the internet.

My eyes gleamed with a new idea. “I love it! Can I steal that title, and will you collaborate with me on a blog post?”

A little confused, Chris agreed, not totally sure to what he was committing. We had worked on a carbon emissions reduction project over the last five months for a course we were both taking at Harvard through our mutual employer. He had gotten to know me well enough to know that I have some wild, unconventional ideas, and that I also know how to message and execute them. We had learned a lot from each other, and Chris is brilliant. He’s also practical, kind, and very funny, which is why the title of this post is credited to him.

Chris is exactly the kind of white man I was thinking of when he randomly brainstormed this title. He props colleagues up, does his best to support them, is open-minded, and cares about his team – no matter who they are, where they come from, and whether or not he personally identifies with their lived experiences. How many of you have come across, befriended, married people like these? How many of you are people like these, or like to think of yourselves as such?

My husband is a middle-aged white man who grew up going to church, playing a brass instrument in the school marching band, and raising hell with a bunch of friends that looked like him, grew up where he did, and shared his faith. Later, through journeys of reflection and self-discovery, he decided not only to marry a brown, Indian-American Muslim woman, but also to embrace a faith different from what he had known socially, culturally, and religiously. He’s open-minded, actively listening, and correctly reframing statements we make, like changing the phrase “What am I doing wrong?” To “What do I still need to learn?” My sister – also blind, Muslim, and brown – says my husband is my biggest fan. He’s also my greatest champion, and at times uncomfortable with the fact that his identities may have given him certain privileges. Nonetheless, my husband is ready to use his privileged position now to support me  and others who need his voice and allyship.

Like Chris and my husband, I’ve met middle-aged white men throughout my education, career, and life journey who have thoughts – of encouragement, positivity, and allyship. When I was in high school in central California, sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd based on the visual differences that were underlined by my racial/ethnic, socioeconomic, disability, and at times religious identities, my parents went to my middle-aged white male guidance counselor to discuss an invisible identity – our status as undocumented – and how, based on the fear of our lack of status, I would ever be able to go to college and how they would ever afford it.

I came to learn of this secret conversation that had occurred between them in my freshman year only days before my high school graduation when my guidance counselor smiled widely at my parents, saying, “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I tell you everything would be okay?!”

In that moment, I realized what he had methodically done – ensuring I had the resources and supports I needed, encouraging me to take opportunities to grow, advocating for me behind the scenes to ensure I got recognized for my smarts, and sharing my story with the local media since I had received the largest amount of scholarship funding among my graduating class to go to college. And never once did he hold any of this over my head.

Two decades later, when I had intentionally gone to thank him, he said, “You did it all yourself, all the hard work, and all I did was be a part of channeling what was always there in you.”

Compare that with a boss – also white, male, middle-aged, stylishly debonair in a perfectly coordinated suit with just the right handkerchief to accent it, conveying in a soft-spoken but firmly annoyed chide, “I was on the phone for hours to get you reader support; it took so much time! You know, I’ve done a lot for you.”

I won’t comment on the quantity of what he had done, and you all can assess the quality for yourselves. What was so funny in the moment, though, was how this individual perceived himself – a social justice hero, progressive, forward-thinking, a champion of all the right ideas about inclusion, equity, etc.

And then there was another boss, fierce and fearless, tall, white, middle-aged, and male. Far from trying to play the “white savior,” he is an active listener, and proactively worked to understand my needs and constraints to be a more supportive ally and champion. After many discussions between just the two of us, with me guiding his advocacy, he strategically deployed his forceful voice, physical presence, and positional authority to challenge the people who had been campaigning to tear me down as “demanding, relentless, difficult” and worse.

When these resistors   complained that I had high expectations of those  I managed, wasn’t sufficiently “grateful” for the fact that they just did their jobs, and didn’t smile enough, he said, “I’ve worked with people who yell, are toxic, throw files at people. My colleague here does none of those things. She’s respectful, and she’s firm. Are you going to tell me that she has to behave differently because she’s a blind, brown, Muslim woman in a position of authority?! Are you telling me she has to give people a pass, smile and be grateful, hold them to lesser standards because of who she is?”  He rendered  the resistors speechless – for that moment anyway.

The reality is, most of us at one time will encounter all kinds and will have to learn to deal with each accordingly. Sometimes you will meet resistors, and at other times, champions. You will also meet people somewhere in between. All of these encounters are an opportunity to gain a champion if you keep an open mind and an open heart, which I try to do, too. No one’s race, gender, or other characteristics necessarily define them as a resistor, ally, or champion.

Thankfully, I’ve found and retained many more of the allies and champions in my life than the resistors and naysayers. Just because they’re white, male, middle-aged, or whatever else doesn’t mean they don’t have curiosity, positivity, and good thoughts! In fact, they do, and they’re allies. My life is certainly better because of them.

How are you trying to find your allies and champions? How are you trying to cultivate them, and keep them in your life? Share yourselves and your stories with me in the comments – I’d love to learn from you. Talk to you next week!

P.S. For those wondering, no, my mom hasn’t read my post from last week yet, so I can’t tell you her reaction. I’ll be sure to share it with you when I hear it, though!