Folding Chairs and the Architecture of Inclusion
Created at: August 24, 2025
If they don't give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair. — Shirley Chisholm
A Metaphor for Access and Agency
Shirley Chisholm’s line converts a scene of exclusion into a blueprint for action. The “table” represents where decisions are made; the “seat,” the power to shape them. A folding chair is portable, inexpensive, and improvised—signaling that legitimacy can be asserted without waiting for an invitation. Rather than pleading for entry, the metaphor urges prepared participation: show up ready, bring your tools, and insist on being counted. This reframing matters because it shifts the locus of control from gatekeepers to those seeking voice. It suggests that agency grows not from perfect conditions but from creative leverage. Having set this ethos, it helps to see how Chisholm’s life embodied it, and why her words continue to resonate wherever rooms are closed and decisions drift away from the people most affected by them.
Chisholm’s Trailblazing Context
Against that backdrop, Chisholm’s record explains the quote’s moral authority. As the first Black woman elected to the U.S. Congress (1968) and a 1972 presidential contender, she ran under the banner “Unbought and Unbossed,” also the title of her 1970 memoir. Early in Congress she was placed on the Agriculture Committee—a mismatch for her urban district—yet she turned it into anti-hunger wins, working across the aisle as federal food programs expanded, and later helped found the Congressional Black Caucus (1971) and the National Women’s Political Caucus (1971). In other words, she did not await ideal circumstances; she repurposed the room and brought allies with her. From this lived example, the folding chair becomes more than a quip: it is instruction in resourcefulness amid structural constraint, which leads us to the barriers that make such improvisation necessary.
Naming the Barriers: Intersectionality
The need to bring your own chair arises because doors are unevenly policed. Gatekeeping often operates at overlapping fault lines of identity, a pattern legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw named “intersectionality” (1989). For Black women like Chisholm, exclusion can compound—gender stereotypes shrink perceived competence while racial bias questions belonging. The result is a recurring scene: qualified people standing outside rooms designed without them in mind. Recognizing this layered architecture clarifies why individual excellence alone rarely suffices; power is curated. Thus the folding chair symbolizes pragmatic resistance to these intertwined barriers. Yet acknowledgment is not resignation. Once we see how structure shapes access, we can plan for counter-structures—alliances, alternative credentials, and public pressure—that convert presence into influence. This shifts the conversation from merely entering the room to changing how the room operates.
Practical Strategies for Bringing Your Chair
In practice, bringing a chair looks like preparation plus coalition. You arrive with data, proposals, and community backing, so exclusion becomes visibly costly. History supplies a vivid model: Fannie Lou Hamer and the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party brought a moral “chair” to the 1964 Democratic National Convention. Hamer’s televised testimony exposed voter suppression, forcing party leaders to reckon with legitimacy; although the compromise offered was inadequate, the confrontation spurred credentials reforms in later years. Likewise, activists often use parallel convenings, shadow reports, and public comment periods to force issues onto official agendas. The common thread is strategic presence with receipts—evidence, witnesses, and plans. By widening the field of accountability, the folding chair transforms from a prop into leverage, setting the stage for a deeper question: what if the room itself will not change?
When the Room Won’t Change, Build One
Sometimes the most faithful reading of Chisholm’s advice is to start a new table. Audre Lorde cautioned that “the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house” (1979), reminding us that parallel institutions can unlock different kinds of power. Freedom Schools during the 1964 Mississippi Summer Project created learning spaces when public systems refused equity; community credit unions and cooperatives have long financed neighborhoods banks ignored. In our era, open-source projects and mutual-aid networks similarly bypass chokepoints, letting communities define agendas rather than begging for slots on someone else’s. Such efforts do not reject the original table so much as render it non-exclusive, proving that voice and value are not bestowed from above. This, in turn, reconditions the old room: when viable alternatives flourish, gatekeepers discover that the gate no longer controls the path.
From Token Presence to Transformative Inclusion
Entry alone can become a cul-de-sac if it isolates the newcomer. Rosabeth Moss Kanter’s study Men and Women of the Corporation (1977) shows how tokens are hyper-visible yet under-heard. Thus the ethic of the folding chair carries a further duty: do not sit alone. Share mic time, redistribute agenda-setting, mentor successors, and institutionalize pathways so presence becomes policy. In this way, the chair you bring today becomes a bench for others tomorrow. The narrative then comes full circle: the point is not merely to fit into an inherited blueprint but to redraw the room’s geometry—who speaks, who decides, and who benefits. When we leave behind spare chairs, we convert Chisholm’s metaphor into muscle memory, turning moments of access into durable architecture for inclusion.