We had a long and thoughtful discussion recently about DEI—diversity, equity, and inclusion. What follows are my reflections, based more on experience than on any in-depth academic study.
For all the enormous progress the United States has made over the past 150 years in addressing systemic racism, it still exists—perhaps in more subtle forms than in the days of slavery, the Black Codes, the Chinese Exclusion Act, and similar injustices.
White privilege—particularly male white privilege—is not simply an aphorism used by liberals to explain every hint of discrimination. It is real. For many whose minority status is readily visible, it has been extraordinarily difficult to gain access to the best educational opportunities and the possibility of a stable life within the middle or upper-middle class. Since the Civil Rights Act of 1965, we have become more aware of how deeply embedded habits and practices continue to perpetuate inequality.
DEI was never intended to cast blame or aspersions on white people in general, or white men in particular, despite claims to the contrary. Rather, it was an acknowledgment that we still have a great deal of work to do before our society is truly open and equitable for all.
One of the problems with something like DEI is that it can acquire a kind of fashionable popularity. Public, private, and charitable organizations were quick to adopt the language and announce their commitment. Leadership became fluent in DEI terminology and often introduced ambitious-sounding initiatives. But for many organizations, that was largely where it ended. Employees recognized these trends as passing fads. So long as the expected language was repeated, little truly changed.
To be sure, some organizations made visible efforts to round up individuals from underrepresented groups—qualified or not—and then called it done. But that was never the purpose of DEI.
Organizations that approached DEI with integrity sought something more meaningful. They worked to ensure that barriers—both visible and invisible—were removed, and they actively encouraged applicants from historically excluded groups. Some also began to recognize that traditional measures of merit—such as standardized test scores or degrees from elite institutions—are not always reliable predictors of future success. Other, more meaningful measures likely exist, though I do not claim to know what they are.
There has also been a growing recognition that obstacles to higher education have prevented many capable students—especially those from lower-income and minority backgrounds—from realizing their intellectual and social potential.
DEI, at its best, was intended to address these deeper issues. It was never meant to be an overnight solution, but rather a long-term effort to reshape our common life—so that diversity, equity, and inclusion would become ordinary features of American society rather than contested ideals.
In recent years, however, there has been a strong counter-movement. Some—particularly within the MAGA movement, and many white men—perceive DEI not as an effort toward fairness, but as a threat, especially to long-standing assumptions about who is most likely to succeed or to be selected. For some, this feels like a loss of position or identity.
I believe we will move through this period, though not easily. Demographic changes alone suggest that the United States is becoming a nation in which no single group holds a majority. That reality brings both promise and anxiety. One can point to other nations struggling with similar transitions, but that can never serve as an excuse for not addressing them.
These are simply my reflections. I do not expect everyone to agree. I offer them only as a contribution to an ongoing and necessary conversation.