Office Hours

Chelsea Fuller

Managing Partner/Senior Strategist, Black Alder

Ten years ago, Chelsea Fuller was working in corporate communications at a DC PR firm when she heard the news of Michael Brown’s death—the tragedy that not only sparked outrage and galvanized the entire nation, but served as a catalyst for the creation of the Movement for Black Lives. She’ll never forget one particular moment on August 9, 2014, when a colleague incredulously asked why she was crying. She resigned shortly after that. “I was crying because something was happening to my community that was really painful and enraging,” says the 36-year-old former journalist, storyteller, and strategist. “And I was inside a place that didn’t understand that, nor were they willing to create space for me to feel things and be in that moment.”


Since then, Fuller has found purpose and fulfillment by combining her love of storytelling with advocacy, having worked at the Advancement Project, the civil rights non-profit that marked the most profound pivot in her professional life; Blackbird, a communications firm that serviced social justice organizations; and Time’s Up, the non-profit that supported victims of sexual harassment. Now, as the senior strategist and managing partner of Black Alder, a communications and narrative strategy firm, Fuller continues to dedicate herself to the Black liberation movement by supporting organizations seeking to tell powerful stories about communities impacted by systemic violence and inequality. And as we’ve recently commemorated the 10th anniversary of the Ferguson uprising this month, she reflects on the devastating yet transformational aftermath, and what long-standing change looks like to her. 

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO LAUNCH BLACK ALDER—AND TO PARTNER WITH FAMILY? 

“Following my transition out of Time's Up, I was having this crisis of identity. I've always been this storyteller who people really trust, and I felt that if I wasn’t doing this type of work, I would be completely destabilized. It was my sister, who’s a communicator as well, and other professional women around me who said, ‘Girl, you’ve always been the baddest at this. Remember who you are and build something for yourself because that’s what you deserve and it’s what our people need.’

“My sister had been thinking about building a firm and when she saw I was ready, we took the leap and started Black Alder, a communications and narrative strategy firm that primarily services organizations committed to social justice, racial justice, and gender justice. We launched two and a half years ago with six active clients, and it’s been upward ever since.”

WHAT WAS YOUR IDENTITY CRISIS—AND WHAT DID YOU LEARN FROM IT?

“I had to move through those feelings that I think a lot of women in their professional lives have to grapple with—feelings like, ‘I’m good at my job and I get a lot of fulfillment from it, but I’m not my job. I am my own person. My humanity, my dignity, my self-worth are not connected to this thing that I do.’ I had to say to myself, ‘Whether you ever do this again, you are worthy. You are powerful. You have made contributions to the world that are important, and if you never do anything else again, that's enough.’ When I was able to sift through those feelings, I was like, ‘Okay, let’s do it. Let’s go.’” 

IN THE LAST 10 YEARS, SINCE THE FERGUSON UPRISING, HOW FAR HAVE WE COME IN TERMS OF CHANGE? 

A lot more needs to happen. But when I think about the past 10 years, I have so much respect and reverence for the people of Ferguson because they really did set off what has become a decade of reckoning around racialized violence and gender-based violence. Ferguson changed the world because we started having conversations about the value of Black lives in a system that strips people of their humanity, whether you’re Black, poor, queer, trans, or a woman. And it allowed for other things to take root—for example, we would not have had #MeToo without Ferguson. 

“All the issues are interconnected, so if you care about justice for survivors of sexual violence, you also care about race. If you care about racialized violence, you also care about what's happening to trans people and to queer people around the country, and therefore you also care about reproductive justice. So I think the biggest ‘win’ is that it cracked the ground open in a way that allowed other things to rise to the surface, and it provided fertile ground to activate on and to really build movement around. And I'm proud to have been a part of that.

“Culture has changed, too: When you think back to 2014, we were still in the Obama era, and people were so rattled by Ferguson because they had convinced themselves that we were in a post-racial society since we had a Black president. We saw the way people started to think about racialized violence and that began to change culture quickly. We saw an increase in the creation of culturally relevant apparel with movement logos and quotes, for example. We saw the creation of shows that addressed racial justice and social justice issues. We saw media conglomerates creating whole divisions to cover race and policing. I think that has continued, which has been a good thing…but on the other hand, I think people have grown accustomed to it in a way that the message has become a little bit diluted. We need to not only continue to tell the stories, but to remind people that we wouldn’t have all these things that now feel normal had we not lost what we lost—had we not been forced to mobilize and organize around the deaths of Black people.” 

WHEN IT COMES TO ADVOCACY, SO MUCH OF ACTION IS TETHERED TO TRAGEDY. HOW DO YOU KEEP THE MOMENTUM GOING?

“By telling the stories of the everyday people in communities around the country who have never stopped working on these issues. Just because the news cameras left Baltimore after Freddie Gray was murdered doesn't mean that those organizers stopped organizing. When George Floyd was murdered, the call at the time was to divest money from the Minneapolis Police Department and to reinvest in community safety and community alternatives to policing. And if folks didn’t see that change overnight, they’re like, ‘Oh well, it didn’t work.’’ But those organizers in Minneapolis organized for years before George Floyd was murdered, and they've been organizing ever since. 

“In my capacity as a communicator, it's my job to tell those stories around the country and to remind people that it's not just in these inflection points of mass tragedy or uprising that things change. Things change in those moments because of the work people were doing before and the work that they'll continue to do after. There are people in these communities all across the country who are still fighting and electing new leaders and trying to change policy and doing all the things. And that's important.”

“My hope is that at the end of the road, we live in a society where we don’t have to have conversations about community safety, because it's just inherent...”

WHAT DOES LONG-STANDING CHANGE LOOK LIKE TO YOU?

“Now that I’m getting a little older, I think a lot about the daily things that give me joy, like the ability to walk around my neighborhood or having access to fresh food and water, and I’m highly aware that some of those things feel so far away for other people. Long-standing change to me would look like a fully functional, multiracial democracy that everybody can participate in without fear or obstruction. A society where people can live their mundane lives, access the things they need to keep their families safe (and not just to survive), and have the autonomy to decide what that looks like. 

“My hope is that at the end of the road, we live in a society where we don’t have to have conversations about community safety, because it's just inherent—everybody is on the same page about what everybody deserves, and that doesn’t require negotiation or sacrifice or risk.”

HOW DO YOU FIND TIME TO REST? HOW DO YOU FIND JOY OUTSIDE OF WORK?

“I had no balance before. It was all grind. Because in the back of my mind, I was thinking, My people are dying, and they need me to do this. For a long time, that drove me. It’s been through a physical breakdown—where my body was not able to function because I hadn’t allowed for rest and care for myself—and through emotional overwhelm that I’ve actually had to force myself to say, ‘I’m not what I produce.’ My offering to my people is richer when I'm well, and reminding myself of that has helped me not burn the candle at both ends. 

“Now what drives me is: I have something special to offer that can help, but it's only helpful if I'm well. My community of people needs me to be well. That has helped me get up and take a walk or get some water or step away from the screen during marathon meeting days. I’m finding opportunities to cook more. I’ve made more time in my life for volleyball, which I love, and for flower arranging. I’m carving out time every Saturday to go to the flower market and make five arrangements to put around the house. It’s made a world of difference, especially in those moments when I have to go super hard—just knowing that on the other side, I have tools, including therapy and meditation and prayer.”

AND FINALLY, WHAT’S A PIECE OF ADVICE THAT YOU WISH YOU HAD RECEIVED AT THE START OF YOUR CAREER?

“I wish I was encouraged to create those processes and practices for self-care and rest before I got deep into the work —because I think I could have saved myself a lot of pain. I wish someone sat me down and said, ‘You’re going to feel like you need to sacrifice yourself for your community, but don’t.’ Some of the best work I've ever done as a professional, I did while deeply depressed and physically worn down. If I produced that when I was nowhere near 100%, how much better could it have been if I took care of myself? 

“I also wish someone told me that it’s okay if I choose to pivot. When I felt called to work with Tarana [Burke] in the sexual violence movement and the development of ‘me too.’ International (I’m also a survivor), I felt a lot of guilt, like I was betraying people and walking away from my colleagues and comrades. I wish someone had said, ‘If you decide to do something differently and if you’re still working in service to the betterment of your people, it’s okay.’

“My advice to young people moving into advocacy, especially activism and organizing work, is: Really check in with yourself about why you want to do it. In the culture now, there's a sexiness to working in some of these spaces that completely disconnects you from the fact that we’re all here to change the conditions that people are living in. If you're not extremely clear on why you want to be here and how you see yourself being a part of that change—if you think it’s cute or cool or it looks good on your resume—then that’s actually harmful to the work. 

“We need people who see themselves connected to people, who are coming in knowing that there are things that we can do together that we can't do apart—that’s what’s required to do good, impactful work. If I was here because I thought I could make change by myself, I would have been gone years ago. It's the fact that together we can do things that are impossible, and that keeps you in it, especially when it gets hard.”

Illustrations by Bijou Karman