Why I Resigned from the Department of State . . . One Year Later
In a way, this retrospective was inevitable. In haste, I quickly detailed the reasons why I left the Department of State a little over a year ago as a defiant and triumphant decision to choose myself, my well being and the well being of my family over any career path. The Department, at the time, had seemingly declared unequivocally that my issues as an unapologetically black gay man with a (growing) queer family did not matter. I resigned after a lifetime of dedication to service, heartbroken, because as much as I believed in the mission and desired to serve, the Department was likely always going to treat me as a second class citizen.
That’s not to say that I’m not a huge of fan of the people who choose to serve our country. Contrary to what some people believe, State is full of incredibly intelligent, purpose-driven public servants who could have easily leveraged their talents and expertise for an easier and far more lucrative life in the private sector.
This is especially true for those hailing from marginalized groups — people of color, those from working class backgrounds, the LGBTQIA+ community (but most especially trans and non-binary persons) women and religious minorities. For us to make it into the proverbial ivory tower is not a function of the oft-decried affirmative action programs (that are not actually affirmative action programs — another post for another day), but rather, a reflection of the grit, tenacity, immense talent and intelligence that these groups have to embody and perform in ways that often requires them to sacrifice their authenticity for the sake of making white supremacist, elitist, classist power structures more comfortable.
For me, the constant need to perform these existential gymnastics resulted in mental health issues that I was too afraid to address because I did not trust “MED” to treat me equally to white patients who were prescribed anti-depressants but still enjoyed worldwide available medical clearances. I suffered no delusion that my medical clearance would survive if I dared ask for help, a lesson I had already learned the hard way earlier in my career, and so I suffered in panic-riddled silence as my family and I moved from Post to Post.
My mental health issues had physiological side effects. I couldn’t sleep … when I slept I often wept, I had trouble moving my bowels, and I gained almost 50 pounds. I would like to blame these issues on my last post in sub-Saharan Africa and the many transparent machinations of that front office. And I do. Because in the middle of a pandemic on an isolated island in the middle of the Atlantic, they chose to be the worst versions of themselves.
They were, and probably continue to be, bad managers. The worst. But to be fair, bad management is endemic at State. If anyone were to ask any two managers at random to name their management ethos or otherwise provide the titles of books that have guided their management philosophies, you would not get the same answer. This is troubling and deeply problematic for an up-or-out organization that requires everyone to eventually become a manager, but invests very few resources (with the exception of the Consular Bureau) to ensure that managers actually have the theory, tools, and network to be kind and effective. I remember asking for a management course during my first tour because it was my first time managing people. My superiors agreed, but were unsuccessful getting me access to official coursework. My very first boss, Meg Riggs, bought her whole team a management and leadership book and gave us homework to read one chapter a month which we discussed at length as a group. Meg is brilliant, and to be clear, there are other brilliant managers in the foreign service, but there are entirely too many officers, particularly at the entry- and mid-level, who can share management horror stories only made worse by the fact that they often have to deal with those horrors all day every day. In the private sector, if I am having a bad day, I at least get to go home.
DEIA at State
As a queer person of color, I am sensitive to the long road ahead for most major organizations in institutionalizing diversity equity and inclusion, and am thus pleased to laud the Department for implementing a number of interesting initiatives. For example, DEIA is now a part of the (extremely outdated) annual performance review. Unfortunately, this produced the unintended side effect of officers finding ways to “check the DEIA box” without meaningfully engaging or otherwise understanding DEIA. This policy remedy also fails to acknowledge (in performance terms) the intense work done over decades by members of organizations like the Thursday Luncheon Group or gliffa. As a former policy director and VP of glifaa, although it was a wondrous labor of love, the volume of work I produced in silence often rivaled that of my “real” job.
Some of that work included ensuring that LGBTQIA+ officers and their families could serve with dignity, with diplomatic privileges and immunities, wherever they decided to go. Alas, this continues to be a work in progress, one that many at State take very seriously … but I have also too often heard excuses from front offices as to why they can’t meaningfully, judiciously, even secretly engage with host governments to ensure that our own people are safe. Isn’t that core to the very mission of the Department? To protect American citizens abroad. How are we supposed to protect America and her interests if we can’t protect our own?
As I faced discrimination for being gay from a host government, one Ambassador who should have been sympathetic asked me what I wanted him to do about it. My response was “go to the MFA,” a request I made to the Ambassador in triplicate before he flat-out refused because “the MFA [couldn’t] do anything and we asked too much of them anyway.”
State is doing better than some at adopting and promoting DEIA … but it obviously still has a very long way to go.
Is the private sector any better? For me, that remains to be seen … but I do know that many of my former colleagues are eager to find out. On average, roughly four different officers per week have asked to talk to me about transitioning from State to the private sector because they are fed up with many of the issues discussed above.
What’s heartbreaking is that those same people are my heroes. Veritable leviathans in their respective fields and people under whom I would have eagerly served. To be clear, I miss State. I miss the mission. I miss the people. I miss knowing that I have truly made a difference and that the difference has some small albeit significant positive effect in the universe. But there is no greater mission in the world than protecting the safety, wellness and well-being of my family. State made me choose, and I chose to put my family and me first.
Unfortunately but not surprisingly, this article will be written off by many as the musings of a disgruntled former employee and petulant millennial, an all too common refrain from leadership. I would rather the powers that be see this article as a warning to those who believe in the institution and want it to succeed.
To the Department, I would humbly ask you to invest in your people. Have a serious conversation with MED. Consistently support DEIA even when it is not politically expedient, and please prioritize fostering a culture of good management.
At the end of the day, this article is a cry for help on behalf of those who can’t speak and my love letter to an organization that chose not to love me back. Even though it is possibly too late for me, there are countless diplomats suffering in silence who need the institution to do better.
Please try.
Yours forever and always,
The Trendy Diplomat
