My recent trip to Chicago for The Midwest Clinic, often called the most prestigious conference in my field, was… unexpected. While I usually look forward to Midwest, and it is my favorite conference in many ways, this year felt different. The draw for me has always been the international attendance and the shared passion that permeates the event – a stark contrast to the more casual, almost spring-break vibe of my state conference, the Texas Music Education Association.
As an introvert, I appreciate the anonymity Midwest offers. The sheer size allows me to wander the exhibit hall with my headphones on, happily observing the activity, occasionally surfacing to connect with a friend before retreating back into my own world.
This year, however, my usual strategy of blending in didn’t work. I’d chosen my outfit carefully: flowing yellow dress pants, a black thermal, a light blue blazer, and gold jewelry. I love wearing bright colors; they reflect the personality I want to project – warm, welcoming, and vibrant. But the moment I crossed the breezeway from my hotel to the conference center, I felt a wave of unease. I was surrounded by a sea of dark suits, mostly worn by older white men. Everywhere I looked, black and navy dominated. The feeling of being out of place, of not belonging, was immediate and visceral. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d stumbled into the New York Stock Exchange, not a conference celebrating music and artistry. The atmosphere felt cold and corporate.
It was jarring. Music and creativity are so integral to who I am, and to feel like an outsider at a gathering of my peers was unsettling. I texted a mentor, a retired female band director and a true trailblazer, about my feelings of insecurity. She reassured me that I could easily find kindred spirits and friendly faces if I simply sat down with any band director in the food court. And she’s right. But that raises a bigger question: why the facade in the first place?
Music is about connection, not self-promotion. How can we bridge this gap in our profession and cultivate a more welcoming and authentic environment, without being discouraged by the current tone? Can we foster genuine connection without it being tied to self-interest or profit? I long for a profession where collaboration and kindness are the guiding principles, where conversations are driven by genuine curiosity, not a desire for a photo op with someone of perceived status. I envision a world where everyone is valued for their unique contributions, regardless of the prestige of their program. How do we move beyond performative allyship and create a space where diversity, equity, and inclusion are truly embraced, not just tokenized?
