Meet the Leaders: In Conversation with Ebele Okobi for Black History Month

Ebele Okobi is a global leader recognised for her work at the intersection of technology, human rights and social impact. She has held senior roles across the private and nonprofit sectors, including leading Public Policy for Africa, the Middle East and Turkey at Facebook, and establishing the first human rights department at Yahoo – the first of its kind in the technology industry.

Her career has been defined by a commitment to equity, dignity and justice, and by building teams and cultures that centre inclusion and social purpose. She has also worked in the nonprofit sector advancing women in business and in the arts and culture space supporting creators who use art to speak truth to power.

Ebele currently serves on the Board of the Museum of West African Art (MOWAA). She has previously served on the Boards of a range of organisations including the British Council, the Young Vic, Whitechapel Gallery, Chisenhale Gallery, Williamstown Theatre Festival and CARE International UK.

Today, she continues to advise mission-driven organisations and initiatives that seek to create spaces of joy, safety and radical imagination.

Could you share a little about your leadership journey and how you got to where you are today?

A big part of who I am comes from being Nigerian. Both my parents are Nigerian. We are Igbo. I grew up with a strong sense that many people had sacrificed for me to be where I am. I always felt I was standing on the shoulders of giants.

At the same time, I had a strong sense that I could do anything. There is a Nigerian saying that if you come home with 98 percent, your parents will ask who got 99 percent, and then they will say, “Does that person have two heads.” My parents never said that to me, but the message was there. You can do anything.

Those two things together shaped who I became. I became a lawyer because, as the daughter of immigrants, there were four choices. You could be a doctor. You could be a lawyer. You could be an engineer. Or you could be a disgrace to your family. I thought I would be a doctor until I shadowed one at my mother’s hospital when I was eleven. I came home and decided that was not for me. I loved to read, so I decided to be a lawyer.

In the 1990s, after law school, the path was clear. You went to a prestigious firm. Within two years I realised I hated it. I did not respect the lives of the people I was meant to look up to. So I walked away. That decision to leave something I was meant to want has shaped my life.

I took a year off to travel and volunteer in the nonprofit sector. When I came back to New York, it was two weeks before September 11. That experience was a real turning point for me. It made me reflect deeply on what matters most and led me to decide that I would only ever do work that was aligned with mission and purpose.

I always felt I was standing on the shoulders of giants.

What experiences have most shaped your leadership and the values that guide your work today?

After that I worked in the nonprofit sector for four years. I realised that what mattered most to me was impact. I wanted to see change happen. I started to wonder if I could bring that same mission-driven mindset inside companies rather than standing outside.

I went to business school in France to learn French because I wanted to work across Africa. I was recruited to Nike and it was there that I saw how Western companies operated in Africa and how important it was to have Africans shaping those decisions.

Later I joined Yahoo to build their first ever human rights department. It was the first at any tech company. It was about understanding how technology and human rights intersect and making sure governments did not misuse digital platforms.
After seven years, I left. Around that time, I had twin children. When I had a Black son, I knew I could not raise him in America. The violence against Black boys was too much. I took a role at Facebook leading public policy for Africa and moved my family to London.

At Facebook I wanted to do policy differently. Not to walk into countries and tell them what legal frameworks should look like, but to engage honestly and collectively with the people affected. I built a diverse team across Africa, the Middle East and Turkey, hiring brilliant people who had often been overlooked. That was one of the great joys of my life.

Over time the environment became harder. I was trying to create safe spaces for others without having one myself. I left Facebook in 2021 and since then I have been focused on creating spaces of joy, safety and radical imagination. I have supported artists and activists who use culture to speak truth to power.

I also spent time exploring venture capital and briefly worked at OpenAI, but I realised that the values of big technology companies are now completely misaligned with mine. I am now thinking deeply about what freedom means, how to live it, and how to model it for others.

I wanted to do policy differently…to engage honestly and collectively with the people affected.

How has your identity as a Black woman influenced your approach to leadership and inclusion across sectors like technology, media, policy and social impact?

My identity as a Black woman has influenced everything about how I lead. At Facebook I knew what it was like to be a Black woman, and an outspoken one, in spaces that were not built for me. I wanted to create an environment where people could be their full selves.

Leadership for me is about recognising privilege and using it to create opportunities for others. I knew that because of my education and background, I had access that many brilliant people from across the continent did not. I wanted to open those doors. I wanted to build a team that reflected the richness and diversity of the people we served.

I wanted to create an environment where people could be their full selves.

Where do you see the biggest tensions between power, equity, and accountability in social impact and policy spaces, and how do you work to challenge them?

Power and equity are even starker now than they were a few years ago. Equity is about sharing power. It should not be that there are systems that privilege some people and harm others.

Nothing has made that clearer than what we are witnessing in Palestine. Watching how power justifies itself and corrupts has made it even more urgent to dismantle systems of harm. The challenge is holding the line. Refusing to normalise what should never be acceptable, even when powerful forces want you to.

From your perspective, how can organisations move from symbolic representation to genuine, sustained inclusion – not just in visibility, but in who holds influence and shapes innovation?

Most of what we see around Black History Month is performative. Organisations that do nothing to change inequity for the rest of the year suddenly remember Black people in October. Real inclusion requires people with unearned power to step aside. Most do not want to.

For those of us who are often used as tokens, there is power in refusal. We can refuse to legitimise gestures that are hollow. There is something about this moment that feels different because people are saying with their full chest what they truly believe. Many are open about wanting to maintain inequity. It is painful but also clarifying. At least now we know what we are fighting.

We can refuse to legitimise gestures that are hollow.

How do you sustain your sense of resilience and balance amid the demands of leadership, and what practices help you stay grounded?

One thing that grounds me is knowing that the work matters even if I never see the outcome. Every liberation movement teaches us that the work is necessary even if you do not see the promised land. That perspective protects me from despair.

The second thing is solidarity. Nothing meaningful has ever been achieved alone. Change comes through genuine solidarity, not social media gestures but real, shared struggle.

The third is joy. Joy is essential. Communities that have endured oppression have always carried joy. Music, humour and laughter have sustained us. I often ask people, half joking and half serious, “How are you finding joy in the middle of the fall of empire.”

The last is history. When resistance is fierce, you can start to doubt yourself. But if you look at people like Ida B Wells or Malcolm X, the level of opposition they faced showed how right they were. Systems of harm ignore what does not threaten them. The more they push back, the more impact you are probably making.

Community, love and laughter are what have always rescued us.

Joy is essential.

What advice would you give to emerging Black leaders who are trying to build their voice, influence, and impact across the social impact, media, tech and policy spaces?

Nobody does it alone. The Western model of leadership loves the story of the single hero, but everything meaningful has always come from community.

Especially in the United Kingdom, solidarity among Black people needs to deepen. Even if you are not leading movements, connect with others. There is no such thing as being the special Black person. You are not invisible because you distance yourself.

We are connected to every struggle for justice. No one is coming to save us. We are who we have been waiting for.