LOCKED OUT THE DEI DOOR
Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives have become a controversial topic in recent years, with the term itself evolving from a hopeful vision to a divisive and polarizing concept. Today, the word "DEI" often evokes more contention than consensus. It’s like standing before a tall, imposing door and hoping it opens—the door a symbol of opportunity for some, but an insurmountable barrier for others. To understand how we arrived here, it’s worth reflecting on the historical, cultural, and political shifts that shaped this narrative. To do this, we must revisit a time when the American spirit shaped by both war and peace drove our nation.
After 9/11 (2001), this nation was united in a way that transcended race, ethnicity, and socioeconomic status. America had faced a common enemy—extreme Islamic terrorists—and for a fleeting moment, the melting pot ideal seemed real to our nation. ADOS, White, Black, Hispanic, and Asian Americans stood together in solidarity, mourning the lives lost during the terrorist’s attacks against our nation and we rallied behind a shared sense of patriotism. This unity was reflected in the collective determination to protect the nation, as young men and women from diverse backgrounds joined the military or contributed to the war effort in other ways. The focus in America became external—on wars overseas and the threat posed by figures like Osama bin Laden. This unity continued throughout the early 2000s, but as the years past, domestic challenges mounted and the historical cracks in the sense of togetherness in American began to reappear.
The years following 9/11 were defined by war, economic upheaval, and shifting national priorities. As the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan drained resources and morale, the country faced another crisis this time on the home front. Late 2007 marked the beginning of the great recission, banks began to fail. By 2008, the U.S. economy was unraveling. The collapse of the mortgage industry triggered a financial meltdown that devastated millions, disproportionately impacting Black communities. Generations of hard-won progress in homeownership were wiped out almost overnight, echoing the devastation of the 1929 stock market crash. At the same time, the auto industry, long a pillar of American economic strength teetered on the edge of collapse, further deepening the crisis. Families lost homes, jobs, and any sense of financial security, widening the economic divide in ways that would take years to repair.
Then, in 2011, the capture and killing of Osama bin Laden marked a turning point. For many Americans, it was a moment of closure a symbolic victory after a decade of war. Yet, as the country exhaled, its focus turned inward. The wars had already taken a toll, and now economic, cultural, and political tensions were boiling over. The sense of unity that briefly followed 9/11 had eroded, exposing deep divisions that had been simmering beneath the surface.
In truth, this dynamic began to shift with the election of President Barack Obama. His victory was celebrated as a historic milestone, a symbol of progress and the breaking of racial barriers. At first, Black Americans seemed unified in their support, but as questions about his identity surfaced, a different narrative began to take shape. President Obama leveraged the ADOS story to get elected, but once in office, it became clear that American Blacks, descendants of slaves, were not his priority. Many within the Black community quickly realized that we couldn’t depend on Obama to shift the existing tides that shaped our reality.
Black Americans have long understood that our rights were protected under the Constitution and that legal segregation was a thing of the past. While racial barriers remained, they were no longer enforced through overt acts of violence by white mobs. Instead, systemic challenges persisted in more insidious ways. Policies like affirmative action were intended to level the playing field, fostering a cautious optimism about the nation’s progress. However, the realities of economic disparity, disenfranchisement, and underrepresentation in key industries revealed that true equality was still far from being realized.
However, Obama’s presidency did reignite racial tensions in ways few had anticipated. His very presence in the White House challenged longstanding power structures, forcing issues of race, privilege, and systemic inequities back into the national conversation. The celebration of his election was accompanied by an undercurrent of resistance, as debates over race and identity took center stage in American politics once again.
This period also coincided with the rise of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion as a formalized concept in corporate and institutional settings. While President Obama may not have coined the term, the broader adoption of DEI initiatives gained significant momentum during his presidency. His administration’s focus on addressing systemic inequities and fostering inclusivity likely contributed to the increased prominence of these efforts. While DEI was designed to address historical inequities and foster inclusivity, it has become a lightning rod for criticism. For some, DEI represents a necessary reckoning with systemic racism and a pathway toward justice. For others, it is viewed as divisive, a symbol of overreach that prioritizes identity politics over merit. The polarization surrounding DEI can be traced, in part, to the cultural and political shifts that unfolded in the years following Obama’s presidency.
It’s important to consider the historical context leading up to this moment. During the George H.W. Bush era, the appointment of Clarence Thomas to the Supreme Court in 1991 marked a significant milestone for Black representation in the judiciary. His confirmation sparked intense debates about race, identity, sex, and qualifications, underscoring the complex dynamics of race in America at the time. At the same time, systemic racism was still a pervasive issue, but there was a sense of progress within Black communities.
The unity forged after 9/11 was a temporary reprieve from these ongoing struggles. During this period, many of us were focused on building lives and pursuing dreams. I remember buying my first home during President Obama’s presidency, as a single parent, working at a bank in Philadelphia. Back then, the cost of living was manageable, and the city was a place of opportunity. But as time passed, gentrification transformed Philadelphia, turning it into a hub for corporate interests with beer gardens and upscale restaurants replacing familiar landmarks. The sense of community and affordability I once knew was gradually eroded.
The housing crisis during President Obama’s tenure added another layer of complexity. Leading up to his election, Black homeownership had reached significant levels. Many of us had worked hard to achieve the American dream of owning property. But with the collapse of the auto and mortgage industries, this progress was undone almost overnight. Entire communities were devastated as people lost jobs, cars and homes. The divide between those who could hold on and those who could not widened drastically.
Around the same time, the resurgence of drugs in Black communities further stalled progress. The crack epidemic of the 1980s and 1990s had already inflicted deep wounds, and its aftershocks were still being felt. There was no Black person who didn’t know someone impacted by crack addiction. Our communities recognized that a dangerous underworld—an insidious system—was deliberately targeting us. Films like Five on the Black Hand Side gave way to New Jack City, reflecting the stark realities of this underworld. Many in our communities stepped right into the belly of the beast, drawn by the allure of love, status, or survival.
By 2016, when Donald Trump took office, crack had become even deadlier, now mixed with prescription medications—Percocet, Valium, and eventually fentanyl—wiping out Black families and homes in mass numbers.
These shifts—cultural, economic, and political—set the stage for the contentious debates surrounding DEI. Today, DEI has become an extreme push away from the Constitution, expanding in ways that often feel disconnected and, ultimately, unfair. This disconnect has led many to question its effectiveness, particularly within corporate structures. Corporations often receive incentives and accolades for implementing DEI initiatives, while simultaneously ignoring the systemic racism that persists within their organizations. A 2022 study by McKinsey found that while 87% of companies reported having DEI initiatives, only 37% had implemented clear accountability metrics, leaving systemic inequities unaddressed at the leadership level. These efforts are performative, focusing narrowly on race, disability, gender, or sex, and introducing terms like "intersectionality" to highlight every perceived difference or disadvantage. Meanwhile, these same organizations perpetuate inequities in hiring, promotions, and leadership representation. For example, Black professionals hold only 8% of managerial positions and less than 1% of Fortune 500 CEO roles, despite making up nearly 13% of the U.S. population, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics.
Black talent in organizations, lawyers, doctors, entertainers and athletes, often face the brunt of these inequities. Black talent in various industries remains controlled by White executives, handlers, and power brokers. In sports, Black athletes generate millions for organizations, yet these organizations are rarely held accountable for providing long-term care for these players who sacrificed their bodies. Why can’t these organizations be forced to provide lifetime care for their players, especially after using every ounce of the bodies of these men for trophies? This systemic cycle underscores the need for real change, beyond the surface-level initiatives DEI currently offers.
Over the last few days, the Black community has been unsettled by fear tactics surrounding the idea of DEI. President Trump has issued executive orders rolling back many of the DEI initiatives put in place under Joe Biden, including overturning key diversity-focused policies. These moves have forced many to confront the effectiveness of DEI as it stands today. Voices like Sabby Sabs, Native Land Podcast, and Dr. Umar Johnson, along with some pastors from the pulpit, have shared their perspectives on DEI. While some argue that DEI has done little to benefit the Black community and is not worth the fear or outrage, others, like Tiffany Cross and Andrew Gillium, from Native Land, have expressed anger and disappointment at the rollbacks.
This division reflects a deeper misunderstanding of DEI’s purpose and implementation. For some, it is seen as a necessary acknowledgment of historical inequities; for others, it has become a surface-level approach to addressing systemic issues. This tension has manifested in protests, boycotts, and calls to action—with companies like Target and Walmart facing backlash for eliminating DEI initiatives. These boycotts highlight how deeply intertwined DEI has become with public perception, yet studies indicate that 70% of corporate DEI initiatives fail due to a lack of commitment from leadership. The palpable fear from some stems from the idea that dismantling DEI is equivalent to removing protections for marginalized groups. However, this perspective often overlooks the constitutional protections already in place. The 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments guarantee American Blacks their rights and affirm their place as equal citizens of this country. While DEI attempts to address disparities, it cannot replace the foundational guarantees enshrined in the Constitution.
I will say that I myself have faced racism in the workplace. My story illustrates how DEI truly operates:
After years of excelling in my role at a top American organization, after I was recognized, by my only Black female manager, as the crème de la crème—meaning I was performing at the highest level. Eventually, my performance solidified a broader role, I accepted a lateral move into a prestigious team of highly effective influencers, believing this would be my opportunity to grow into a managerial role. I outperformed expectations, yet I was significantly underpaid. Despite my success, as a Black woman, I still wasn’t given a promotion, yet I continued to perform above par.
Countless White colleagues were hired and promoted, yet I remained in the same lateral position. I finally decided to fight for my own advancement. I built a business case, presented my performance reviews, and had respected colleagues and leaders advocate on my behalf. After years of proving myself, I was finally promoted. But the moment I received my promotion; I suddenly became a problem that needed to be managed out.
Not even two months after my promotion was officially announced, my role was quietly removed without transparency, my support system dismantled, and I was reassigned to another team under the guise of ‘growth’ in my professional development. In reality, I had been demoted—pushed three steps down. Complaints to team members and leaders were met with silent hostility. I was expected to be grateful just to have a job—even though it was beneath my capabilities—and told there was nothing I could do.
Calls to the DEI hotline and internal inquiries only made matters worse. White DEI representatives conducted so-called investigations, and, without a single report of their findings, not a shred of real evidence or accountability, unsurprisingly determined that my claims had ‘no merit.’
Forced into a lower role on a new team, I soon discovered that certain managerial and senior managerial positions were only available to a select few ‘professionally trained’ members of that team—very few were Black. Within a month, four White colleagues were promoted into senior roles, bypassing me entirely. When I asked where the job postings for these positions were, I was told, ‘Aren’t they on the job board?’ My new manager and I pulled up the board together—and there was exactly one listing, located in India.
Then, one of my White colleagues on my new team, who had just been promoted to a senior managerial role, casually greeted me and revealed that we had essentially switched places. He had been given my former responsibilities, while I was placed in his old, lower role. Leadership on the team justified this by claiming that I ‘needed to learn the lower process’ before being considered for advancement—yet my White colleague was promoted without that same requirement. He was given the benefit of the doubt. He had not performed at the high-executive level I had been performing. Nor was he required to do so to be promoted. I, on the other hand, had to pay this poll-tax in order to advance. I was treated as an out-of-place Black woman who somehow lacked professional experience—despite my record of success and years of loyalty to the team I supported and the organization.
Insulted but determined, I braced myself, leveraged my skills, and found another role at a different organization—on my own terms.
I never stopped calling out the racism—I never stopped exposing the hypocrisy. But just to add insult to injury, the day before I left, my former team held a grand sendoff over Teams. They spoke highly of my contributions over the years, reflected on the ways I had stepped in to manage, and acknowledged that I had been not just the glue of the team, but its most trusted member. Yet, every single person on that call—all White—remained silent about what they knew had happened to me. The only other Black person on the team didn’t dare show her face, unwilling to stand in solidarity with someone deemed ‘a problem.’ This organization required employees to complete endless trainings on how to ‘recognize and report racism,’ yet when the moment came to act, not one of the employees called out the racism.
They watched as I was systematically sidelined. Not one of them dared jeopardize their own position by picking up the phone and calling the integrity hotline. Every year, we sat through hours of DEI training—yet when it mattered, when it was happening right in front of them, they chose silence. They chose self-preservation. They chose complicity.
This experience was both humiliating and humbling. It took a mental toll on my well-being. As a Black woman and a widow, financial strain was a reality, and the fear of losing it all—or being forced into a role far beneath my capabilities—became a pressing question I had to answer. Fear brought tears, uncertainty, and overwhelming anxiety.
At first, I doubted myself. But then I learned something. The individual who was promoted to the role I had rightfully earned had been working in a bookstore in 2018. He had no professional experience at all, and his degree was a Master’s in Divinity. My professional experience far surpassed his. Looking for the difference between us, there was only one: he was White, and I was Black. Then, I saw it for what it was—racism at its finest.
There was no need to continue sitting and waiting, hoping that someone would recognize my situation and step in to bring about change. Though I wasted many weeks speaking with leaders, they eventually made it clear: no one is going to magically take you from way down there and put you back up there. Here was my opportunity to prove my worth—not through DEI, not through corporate performative allyship, but through my own skills, perseverance, and resilience.
I hustled, put in the work, interviewed, and landed another role—not by chance, but by my own strength. Not because of some arbitrary DEI effort, but because of my own capabilities and merit.
If we want to fix DEI—lateral moves at any organization should be reevaluated. Research suggests that lateral career opportunities can be valuable for skill development and retention, yet Black professionals often take these roles with hopes of proving themselves, only to find that when they take the leap, no real opportunities await them. While lateral moves may benefit some, systemic barriers often prevent Black employees from advancing beyond them.
Despite this, you should still speak out against inequities. DEI investigations should be documented, and conversations confirmed. Remember, DEI or Integrity hotlines often prioritize protecting the organization over addressing legitimate concerns. If you suspect misconduct, consider documenting your experiences thoroughly and seeking support from trusted professionals, advocates, or external resources to ensure your voice is heard.
No Black person is exempt from the systemic challenges present in many organizations. Talented individuals are often sidelined or displaced before they can find new opportunities. This not only stifles individual growth but also diminishes the acknowledgment of ADOS contributions to America. From building wealth with our hands and minds to farming lands to leading in military roles, ADOS contributions have been vital in shaping this nation. Yet, these contributions are frequently undervalued, and we are too often relegated to lesser roles because of persistent misconceptions about our capabilities.
That was what it felt like for me. I have sat at tables with influential executives. I put in the work, showed up, and demonstrated my talent. Yet, in the end—I lost. But what I gained, I carry with me—proud and strong, ready to take the leap again. I am not in position because of DEI, but because of my strength and resilience. This realization continues to empower me as I navigate these systems and seek to build a future where these dynamics no longer hold us back.
When the ADOS community considers DEI and wonders how this will impact our lives, we should have confidence in our own capabilities. We don’t need to seek validation or recognition from those outside our community; instead, we must stand on our own strength. Have no fear that DEI is no longer here—we never needed the expansive extension of these benefits anyhow. DEI is nothing more than a corporate policy framework and offers no legal protection. My rights are protected by the Constitution, and that will never be taken away by an executive order or a shift in corporate thinking.
I say to White people—if you are curious about my hair, please ask—I will not be offended. I am glad I no longer have to pretend during ‘Say This, Not That’ trainings. These superficial attempts at inclusion missed the deeper realities of systemic inequities. True progress comes from authentic dialogue, from recognizing our own worth, and from moving forward without reliance on performative initiatives.
As we enter the next four years and witness Trump issue executive orders that will have dire consequences for communities across the world, it’s essential that we trust ourselves and embrace our communities so we remain unified. To get there, we must ask hard questions about how we’ve arrived at this point and where we go from here.
Ultimately, will we confront the systemic issues that persist, or will we continue to let unity slip through our fingers, as it has so many times before?
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This content is the intellectual property of Jacqueline Session Ausby and may not be reproduced, distributed, or used in any form without my express written permission. For inquiries or permission requests, please contact me at Jmbeausby@aol.com.
