Recently I asked one of my colleagues if she had heard Barack Obama’s speech; she paused and then said, “You mean THE speech?” The capital letters in her voice told me she knew she had heard something of uncommon importance. I know I did.

For me, it brought back a memory of a particular moment of truth in my life, which I’d like to share. This is not about politics or who to vote for. It’s about what goes on inside us and inside business organizations, as we teach in our Total Leadership Connections program.

Her name is Vivian. She is a tall, beautiful, African-American corporate VP, the epitome of correctness in her tailored business suit. When I first met her years ago, she rarely smiled. She told me once that she often wondered which bothered the men in her organization more, her blackness or her woman-ness. She often wondered which bothered her more.

Vivian was part of a small group of internal and external consultants who came together to create a program for all of the field business units. It was called ConneXions: Results Through Relationships.

We met, five of us, on a regular basis. Our agreement was to go for core truth in our communications, exactly what the program was geared to teach. Over time, we began to feel more like family than family.

It was by far the safest Vivian had ever felt in a group. Slowly, she let her guard down. As she became more open, her wardrobe changed. She would wear the African prints she loved and her favorite jewelry of ebony and carved wood that was appreciated by everyone.

One night after dinner, two members of the team sat telling childhood stories of Br’er Rabbit. Vivian, born and raised amid the bigotry of the South, tried not to be upset, tried not to feel betrayed by these people she had come to trust. Of all the stories in the whole world, why did she have to listen to stories that were painful reminders of a lonely past in a segregated town?

We had agreed, no holding back. We needed to learn from our time together, and if we remained politically correct our work with the corporation would ultimately be superficial and pointless.

And yet, Vivian didn’t want to upset the ambiance of this peaceful evening, so she chose her life-long pattern of avoidance, of stoically saying nothing. The evening ended on a seemingly pleasant, comfortable note.

The next morning, however, she took the risk and talked about the pain of listening to the Br’er Rabbit stories. The rest of us, all white, were ever-so-slightly dipped into the tumultuous emotional river of growing up black in a racist environment. We thanked Vivian for her willingness; everyone had touched another truth we might never have touched without her.

The months rolled on, and finally we were ready for a formal presentation, to a fairly headstrong group with many resistant men who saw this “relationship bull” as a waste of time.

And then, two days before “show time,” one of the team members approached me: She was afraid Vivian might be too serious and her presentation would set the wrong tone for the program. Please, she asked me, you have so many funny stories to tell, please can’t you do Vivian’s part also; please, just for this first time. We were so concerned about the squirmy men in the group, neither of us thought deeply about Vivian. She was like a sister to us by now. Surely she would understand.

We met at the beautiful resort in San Jose the night before the offsite. The printed agenda clearly showed that Vivian’s presentation time had been shortened. No, of course she didn’t mind, but she was curious who made the change, and why hadn’t everyone been consulted? Wasn’t this a team effort and weren’t we all to model teaming?

There were lots of quick “sorries”: Sorry, forgot to check, sorry we just got busy, sorry didn’t think it would matter to you, just thought it would be better this way, just because these guys are so tough and you have said you don’t love to present too much. No big deal, really, we won’t forget to consult next time. Vivian stuffed her feelings inside and returned to her pattern of saying nothing.

The meeting was scheduled to start right after breakfast. We would meet for croissants and coffee and just to tie up any loose ends.

Vivian was back in her corporate uniform. No beautiful prints, no hand carved jewelry, no smiles, and no joy.

Ten minutes before “show time,” she looked at us and in a cold, professional voice said that the company’s CEO had called earlier to find out how things were going, and she told him she thought the ConneXions program should be scrapped. It wasn’t worth the time or money and most of the men in the organization were resistant to the psychobabble and process stuff anyway.

The bomb she had dropped left the group littered with debris.

We quickly changed gears to let the business unit do their sales meeting first, so we could figure out what had just happened…

At first, Vivian was an impenetrable wall. Could she pinpoint when she decided the project was worthless?  Why hadn’t she called a teleconference to discuss the situation?

 ”You mean like you did when you wrote me out of the presentation?” Her icy demeanor was beginning to melt.

 ”Vivian, you said last night it didn’t matter. We had to practically beg you to do the presentation in the first place.”

 And then the truth spilled out onto the table. “You’re just like the rest.” she said quietly. “You said you were different, we began to share from a different heart place, but in the end you’re just a bunch of insensitive honkies who think you’re in charge and you white folk can do whatever you want and expect us blackies to ‘Uncle Eric’ you and keep peace.”

Then she did something we had never seen 6-foot-tall, beautiful, competent, assured Vivian do. She not only cried, she blew her nose loudly into the hotel napkin.

Together, we peeled away another layer of truth. We looked at the underlying fear of betrayal that is ever-present in the lives of our African-American colleagues and friends. The sense of hurt is the legacy of generations of lies and pain and the only way to survive is to “Uncle Eric,” meaning to go along no matter how you really feel. We Caucasians had learned an important lesson. We had to look at our own arrogance and our own fear of confronting our black colleagues because we don’t want to see the pain that our white ancestors have caused.

As we peeled the layers, we all felt grateful that we had stayed in the cauldron of discontent to be boiled into the truth. It made a difference in the program we presented that afternoon.

Vivian began with a talk about the meaning of success. She decided to risk being spontaneous, and shared a personal story. This is the essence of what she said:

“People have asked me what it is like to be both African-American and a woman and be a senior VP. My response is: It’s a good place to be, but it’s not how I measure success. One day three years ago, I gave away my fur coat and I traded in my BMW. The trappings of success were merely that. I had arrived nowhere. Yes, there I was, the fulfillment of the American dream and I had nothing.

“I took a trip to Africa and felt a slight touch of the pain my ancestors must have experienced. And putting this program together has given me more important insights into what really matters.

“Let me tell you what success means to me. It’s getting that we are all connected, that without you I don’t exist and vice-versa. That we are all responsible for learning to tell our truths to each other no matter how scary that is, that we are all responsible for listening to each other and for finding ways to help each other. So if you think this relationship stuff is nonsense, well then, dare to tell me that so we can talk about it. Somewhere between you and me is a new way, and if we don’t run away, if we dare to talk, we’ll find it. And I believe both our personal lives and our business lives will benefit.”

And those reluctant guys rose and gave Vivian a standing ovation.