My name is Essma Bengabsia. I am a hijab-wearing Arab-American Muslim woman of color, and I was sexually harassed and discriminated against on the grounds of my race, religion, and gender at BlackRock.

1. #MeToo At BlackRock
February 10, 2021
Essma Bengabsia at BlackRock’s headquarters in New York City in 2019, where she
stands steps away from the trading floor she worked on near the Office of the CEO.
My name is Essma Bengabsia. I am a hijab-wearing Arab-American Muslim woman of
color, and I was sexually harassed and discriminated against on the grounds of my
race, religion, and gender at BlackRock.
I wrote this shortly after I left BlackRock in 2019 but delayed publishing due to my own
hesitation. However, in the 2 years since I left, I continue to see Black and Brown
employees at BlackRock facing the same racism I faced, and they continue to leave the
company in droves due to the mental anguish that BlackRock’s hostile working
environment has caused them, while the perpetrators face little to no accountability.
BlackRock will not change its ways until we hold it accountable. So today, I hold
BlackRock accountable.
“Ilhan Omar said that “if we want to stop being the caged lion, then we must start roaring.”
This is my roar.
I joined BlackRock through a diversity cohort within the 2017 summer internship
program. I then returned as a full-time analyst in 2018, starry-eyed and excited to take
on the world in a company I thought was sustainability-oriented and committed to
diversity and inclusion. I was a woman on a mission: I was going to work my way to be
an unapologetic Muslim woman of color impact investor. Sure, Wall Street chases
women and people of color out all the time (let alone hijab-wearing ones). But I was
made of thicker skin, I told myself. I got this.
I was one of the first hijab-wearing women to work on any trading floor at BlackRock,
and the only one on a trading floor in BlackRock’s headquarters in New York. I was
thrilled to break a glass ceiling and chart into new frontiers on behalf of marginalized
and underrepresented communities. I did it while working for the largest asset manager
in the world, in fact on the same floor as the company’s CEO, with my desk literally
steps away from his.

2. My glee didn’t last for long. In my first month on the trading floor in August 2018, I had
several strange encounters. One Managing Director mimicked and mocked how I said
“Assalamu Alaikum” after he overheard a phone conversation I had with my parents.
One colleague explained to other colleagues how “they stone people in the Middle East”
because “there are no governments there.” An older male colleague often leered at me,
making my skin crawl.
At first, I thought these encounters would stop and that I could handle them. After all, I
grew up in a post-9/11 America and survived each day under the presidency of a man
who demonized and dehumanized my people (Donald J. Trump). My skin is thick, and
my strength is made of steel. I was not going to let bullying, though hurtful, shake me.
But the bullying did not stop. Instead, it escalated.
In September 2018, as my team discussed upcoming business travels to the Middle
East, one senior investor stated that Middle Easterners are overly strict Bedouins and
desert dwellers. He asked me, “what do they do for fun? Party in the deserts?” When I
resisted his stereotyping, he responded, “I don’t care what you say, it’s true.”
That same week, I met a Managing Director who worked in human resources (HR) and
helped lead BlackRock’s diversity efforts. After I introduced myself, she insisted that my
name is not American, and I could not possibly be American. I explained that I was born
in Brooklyn, raised in New Jersey, and have only ever lived in America.
Another colleague consistently came to my desk to tell me he hoped to see me fail in
my tasks and role. He often greeted me with statements like “You’re such a mess,” and
“I hope you fail.” I took breaks during the workday to pray in BlackRock’s prayer room
because in Islam, we pray five times a day (each prayer is a few minutes long). Often
after my prayer breaks, this colleague publicly rebuked me for being off my desk and
insisted that I did not work hard enough, although I communicated with him my need for
prayer breaks.
During a holiday party in December 2018, many of my colleagues wore Christmas
holiday sweaters to celebrate the season. I never owned a holiday sweater, so I came
to work that day wearing my usual work attire. A senior investor on the floor berated me
in front of our colleagues for not participating, even after I explained to him my
background: I am Muslim, Christmas is not a holiday celebrated in Islam, and therefore I
do not even own a holiday sweater. “Why don’t you just be American for once?” he
yelled. He then called me the Grinch and promised to buy me a Grinch sweater to wear
at next year’s holiday party.

3. As for my oddly-attentive colleague, I resolved to completely ignore his creepy stares.
“Perhaps he’ll get the message and leave me alone, or perhaps this is just in my head,”
I thought to myself. But on October 2, 2018, as I sat at my desk working, he bumped
into my chair from behind me forcefully, almost knocking me over my computer and
desk. I heard his voice behind me. When I did not turn around, he said to my colleagues
who sat behind me, “Damn. I keep forgetting I’m like a decade older than her.”
(For the record, he is closer to two decades older than me.)
All I could think, frozen and shocked, was “Oh. My. Goodness. This is not just in my
head.”
On October 11, 2018, I stood at my desk and had just wrapped up a call. I still had my
headset on my head as I focused on my computer screen. Suddenly I heard, “Should I
do it? Should I touch her? Does it count as sexual harassment if I touch her?”
He stood about one foot behind me, repeating this question to my colleagues. About 10
of my colleagues stood close to him and watched, some laughing, others daring him,
“he’s not gonna do it. I know him, he’s not gonna do it.” One woman responded to him,
“it doesn’t count as sexual harassment if you touch her.”
I wanted to turn around, scream at him as he joked about sexually harassing me, yell at
my colleagues for egging him on. I wanted to do something, anything. But I froze. I felt
paralyzed, abused.
Just five days before, I stood on the steps of the Supreme Court leading thousands of
women protesting the confirmation of Brett Kavanaugh. I spent hours passing the
megaphone to dozens of survivors who shared their stories. As a survivor myself, my
wounds were open from the countless accounts of sexual violence I heard. I could not
believe what I protested just five days ago was unfolding to me in this moment.
I was shocked and utterly frozen.
After what felt like an eternity, he walked away and said “No, I’m not gonna do it,” to
which my colleagues amusedly responded, “I told you.” I was turned into a piece of
meat for their amusement.
Shortly after, I requested a seat change to be moved further from him on the trading
floor. Yet the sexual harassment did not end, nor did the racism or Islamophobia I

4. continued to face. The magnified pain of women of color is that we not only face
harassment on the grounds of our gender, but also on the grounds of our race. And in
some cases, as in mine, our religion too.
“The magnified pain of women of color is that we not only face harassment
on the grounds of our gender, but also on the grounds of our race. And in
some cases, as in mine, our religion too.”
I started a spreadsheet to document my experiences, not because I intended to sue, but
because I needed to answer the question I kept asking myself: “Is this all in my head?
Am I crazy?”
Since then, I have come to learn: I am not crazy, but as Gloria Steinem says, the
system is crazy.
I set out to find a solution for myself. I asked senior leaders at the firm to help transfer
me out of my team and advocate for me. I begged for the intervention of those who
brought me into the firm under the celebration of “diversity and inclusion.” I spoke to my
team heads, division leaders, and HR officials.
I hesitated to file a formal report with HR because three of my mentors advised me not
to, each of whom were senior-ranking investors at BlackRock who have been at the firm
for about 10 years respectively. Each of them, in separate conversations, gave me the
same honest insight: they have seen “this kind of thing” at BlackRock before. If I filed a
report with HR, they advised, I would be offered a transfer to a different team, likely in
an office in a different state or country. Then HR would use vague performance-related
arguments to push me out of the firm. I should only file a report with HR if I was willing
to accept this, they suggested.
Strangely enough, in my two years since my departure, I have seen this process play
out repeatedly with other people of color at the company. I have come to learn that this
is BlackRock’s HR playbook: they receive an HR report on discrimination, try to quietly
address it by moving the victim to a different team in a different office, then build up a
performance-related reason to delay the victim’s pay raises or promotions and/or
socially ostracize the victim until they are left with no choice but to leave the firm.
But I didn’t know better in 2018, as a 21-year-old in her first job out of college.

5. So based on the advice of my mentors, I bit my tongue and tried to find a quiet
workaround for myself by getting transferred to a different team without filing a report of
my experiences to HR.
By February 2019, I was drained. Every plea for help I made was met with empty words
of sympathy and little to no action. My psychologist had diagnosed with me PTSD,
anxiety disorders, and situational depression due to my experiences at BlackRock.
I was crumbling.
At this point, I had nothing to lose if I went to HR, so I did.
I filed an extensive report with HR about all of my experiences. I ran through my
spreadsheet and provided dates, times, locations, and names of witnesses for each
incident of sexual harassment, racism, Islamophobia, and abusive work environment.
HR informed me that they would launch an investigation into my allegations. On May 9,
2019, I had a call with the lead investigator on my case from the HR team so he could
share with me the investigation results. They “could not find evidence to corroborate my
claims” on sexual harassment, he said. My mouth dropped. I gave him exact dates,
times, names of almost a dozen witnesses… and I saw cameras on every part of the
trading floor I worked on. “No evidence” was HR’s response.
As for my colleagues who were racist and Islamophobic to me, HR was going to send
one colleague to counseling to learn “more sensitive communication,” and as for the
remaining colleagues, HR told me that my experiences were a strong indicator that the
division I worked in needed a diversity training, and that they would make sure that
training happened.
BlackRock addressed almost a year of harassment that I faced through one suggestion
for counseling, and a promise for more diversity trainings.
That was it.
HR then offered me a transfer to another team in another office. I could hear the advice
from my 3 mentors ring all too loudly in my ears. I was not playing into this sick game.
Less than a month later, I quit.

6. I had no other choice.
This is my story, and the story of many more. Until now, BlackRock has been able to
pay its way out of true accountability. The company pays hefty severance packages or
legal settlements with strict non-disclosure agreements to people of color who leave,
exploiting our need for financial security and thereby captivating us into silence.
Meanwhile, BlackRock carefully crafts a public image of diversity, equity, and inclusion,
when the reality within its walls is the stark opposite.
And the discrimination continues. The perpetrators keep their jobs at BlackRock, pocket
their hefty bonuses, and harass the next class of Black and Brown analysts who come
in starry-eyed like I was. The analysts then face the same racism I faced, experience
severe trauma, quit after only a few years of being at the company, and the cycle goes
on.
I am here to break the cycle. Enough is enough. What do I
want BlackRock to do? What is the path forward from here?
I have four demands of BlackRock:
1. Make a public commitment to not sue, defame, or otherwise try to silence
ANYONE who speaks out about the harassment or discrimination that they faced
at BlackRock.
2. Hire an independent firm to investigate ALL your internal reports on harassment
and discrimination.
3. Settle with all those seeking reparations for the discrimination and harassment
they faced at BlackRock
4. Establish an independent Oversight Committee that will oversee critical
transformational shifts that BlackRock must work on.
What can you do to help?
My friends, my allies, and my community:
I need you to sign this petition to stand in solidarity with me to demand that BlackRock
ends its racism and discrimination. And after you sign the petition, I need you to share it
everywhere.

7. BlackRock won’t listen to me as one voice. But they will listen to me if my voice is
alongside thousands of others.
If you are part of a community organization, coalition, investment firm, institutional
investor, pension fund, political office, student club, or any other group:
Issue your own statement of solidarity, condemn BlackRock’s discrimination, and
demand that they meet the demands listed above. Include this petition in your solidarity
statement. Share the petition on your social media pages, in your email blasts, and
across your platforms.
Sign, share and amplify the petition. BlackRock
Employees and ex-Employees:
If you faced racism, discrimination, or harassment of any kind at BlackRock, now is your
chance to speak out. Email me at my encrypted email:
Essma.bengabsia@protonmail.com.
We are documenting all accounts of people who come forward. From there, you can
choose to share your story publicly (through speaking to reporters and/or co-filing a
lawsuit), or you can choose to remain anonymous. The choice is completely yours.
Your experiences may not have been as bad as mine, but I want you to know that you
matter. Your story matters. No struggle is too little, no voice is insignificant.
BlackRock employees who witnessed racism and harassment — whether you saw what
I went through on the 7th floor trading floor at BlackRock’s headquarters or any other
incidents you may have witnessed — I need you to come forward too. You can be a
witness anonymously or non-anonymously. The choice is yours.
And finally, to all my previous colleagues in Credit Group — I need you to own up to
your actions and come forward as well. I write this not to come for you (which is why I
didn’t include your names). I am a firm believer in the principle: “Attack systems, not
people.”
I believe in attacking and dismantling systems of oppression, white supremacy, racism,
misogyny, and Islamophobia. I write this to hold BlackRock accountable for upholding
these problematic systems through its HR and investment practices. If you are one of
the perpetrators of what I faced, or you were a silent bystander who watched it continue,

8. now is your time to step forward. I need witnesses who can affirm what I experienced to
media and potentially in court. You can do so anonymously or non-anonymously.
Now is your chance to make amends. Media,
Reporters, Lawyers, Advocacy Organizations, &
Organizers:
I am open to all opportunities for collaboration and organizing — joint statements, PR
opportunities, full-blown advocacy campaigns: let me know what you can bring to the
table, and let’s get to work.
Media outlets are welcome to quote this piece so long as you quote full sentences and
quote everything within context.
For further comments and/or collaboration: essma.bengabsia@protonmail.com.