Page 4 of Don't Point at the Moon

“Oft times better than a master of one,” said Harold.

And then there was William.

Mitchell had no idea how their relationship had stood the test of time. William exuded negativity and conversed in clipped,precise milliseconds, while the more optimistic Harold often rambled on in long, drawn-out, convoluted minutes.

“I do a little of everything,” said Mitchell, focusing on Mark.

“A little, as in…?” asked Mark. Maybe he was making polite conversation, but he appeared genuinely interested.

“Strategic recruitment for specialist positions, providing advice when considering moving into new areas of operation. But I also get involved in everyday people work issues. Managing performance, employee engagement and training. I’ve been running awareness sessions at all levels on diversity, equity and inclusion.”

“Pandering to the woke generation,” said William.

“More like adapting old attitudes to a new world with a more enlightened workforce. There’s a shrinking pool of talent out there. The new generation entering the workplace have choices and, naturally, want to work somewhere fair and culturally accepting. Even investors want to know they’re putting their money into an organisation that has strong ethical values, including how they treat their employees. Unfortunately, some old-school directors running companies these days are just paying lip service to the concepts and, deep down, only care about the bottom line.”

William pursed his lips and shrugged. “Profit is not a dirty word. Companies need to make one to survive.”

“Of course they do, but—” began Mitchell.

“What kind of things do you include in diversity?” asked Mark, clearly interested and pointedly ignoring William. “The usual suspects? Tolerance? Discrimination? Equal opportunities?”

“They’re all components. But there are other, more subtle areas like unconscious bias. Learnt assumptions or beliefs that we’re not aware of, ones that might adversely affect our decisions and reinforce negative stereotypes. You know, like when someone voices their surprise that a Hong Kong native’sspoken Mandarin is good. The statement might sound like a compliment, but the inherent bias is that, unconsciously, they believe locals only know how to converse in Cantonese. Many of the people I work with have parents who speak fluent Mandarin and Cantonese, and often other dialects. I’ve also had to cover something new for me, something called bystander intervention.”

“Bystander intervention? Heavens, should we even ask?” said William, rolling his eyes.

“It’s how we handle harassment, not so much as a perpetrator or a victim—something already embedded in our policies—but as an observer. Imagine you’re at work and you witness someone being treated badly by another person, not necessarily physically or even overtly, but just something you sense intuitively. Like someone who singles out an individual and demonstrates bullying behaviour towards them. You have a choice whether to stand up and do something and actively intervene, or report what you see to someone in authority. Or you could walk away and say nothing.”

“Speaking up is common sense, though, isn’t it?” asked Mark, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s what any decent folk would do.”

“I like to think so. Although there’s always the fear of misinterpreting a situation. But having something formally written into our policies rather than relying on common sense means that people have guidelines, which in turn means that anyone tempted to harass someone knows there will be consequences. In the past it’s been all too easy to turn a blind eye.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” said Mark. “Sounds like you enjoy what you do?”

“Sometimes. Like any job, there are the good and bad parts. Too often these days you just keep your mouth shut, put on a brave face and do what you have to do.”

Harold clearly noticed the change in Mitchell’s tone. He turned the chair to face Mitchell using the joystick on his armrest. William took the opportunity to perch down on a wooden bench.

“Am I sensing a disturbance in the Force, darling?” he asked, reaching out to touch Mitchell’s arm. “You don’t seem your usual self tonight.”

Mitchell couldn’t disclose information about the upheaval coming down the line—not that Harold would care anyway—but he had other news that would most certainly grab Harold’s attention.

“Enough with the Charles Xavier routine, Harold. My sister dropped a bombshell on the way here. My young nephew is taking time out before going to uni in September. She wants him to stay with me in Hong Kong for most of June.”

“Oh,” said Harold, skeletal fingers held over his lips. “What has she told him about you?”

“He knows I’m gay, if that’s what you mean,” said Mitchell with a shrug. “You know their generation. Whatever your preference, they couldn’t care less.”

“Unless you’re fucking up their pronouns,” said William.

“I have to admit to feeling a little disappointed by this self-proclaimed enlightened generation,” said Harold. “I’d hoped they would finally retire labels, insist that people are people and love is love in whatever form that takes, and negate the need for the categorisation. But there appear to be more now than ever, each one vying for our attention and understanding. Sorry, getting off topic. Is this nephew of yours bringing a friend?”

“Just him.”

“Isn’t having him staying with you going to be a cock-block?” asked Mark.

“By cock-block, you’re assuming I have a sex life,” said Mitchell quickly before anyone else could.

“Definitely in danger of losing your membership,” muttered Harold.

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