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DEI’s fundamental contradiction was this: It argued that race is a social invention—a system created to control people by reducing complexity—yet it never suggested replacing it with a more holistic vision of justice.
Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion, or DEI, is collapsing—not just as a corporate initiative, but as an ideological framework.
In what seemed like a flash, it became a dominant force in American institutional life, embedded in HR departments, university policies, and media discourse. And now, just as quickly, it finds itself in retreat, with entire DEI offices being gutted across corporate and academic America.
President Donald Trump’s administration has aggressively targeted DEI, issuing executive orders to dismantle these programs across federal agencies. This federal rollback has emboldened Republican-led states to eliminate DEI efforts within public institutions. Meanwhile, MSNBC’s recent firing of Joy Reid, a vocal defender of DEI who embodied many of its most aggressive tendencies, signals a broader cultural shift.
If we want to build a politics that actually addresses racial injustice, we need an approach that is dynamic rather than static—one that acknowledges history without being trapped by it.
The right celebrates this as a victory over “woke ideology.” The left frames it as yet another example of backlash and white fragility. But these explanations fail to account for why DEI has unraveled so quickly.
The reality is that DEI was doomed to fail—not because the principles of diversity, equity, and inclusion are unworthy, but because the framework built around them was structurally flawed.
DEI’s fundamental contradiction was this: It argued that race is a social invention—a system created to control people by reducing complexity—yet it never suggested replacing it.
Instead, it doubled down on racial categorization, reinforcing the very thing it claimed to challenge. This reification of race, rather than dismantling structures of oppression, helped sustain them, making DEI brittle and politically untenable.
For the left, the lesson here is crucial. If we don’t break out of the rigid, black-and-white thinking that DEI promoted, we will continue ceding ground to the right. The need to discuss race and identity remains vital, but it must be done in a way that opens space for complexity rather than reinforcing the very constructs that uphold division.
DEI’s fatal flaw is that it traps itself in a closed loop. It rightly argues that race is a historical construct—a tool of power designed to enforce hierarchy. Yet instead of pushing beyond this construct, it reinforces race as fixed and immutable. The result is an ideological contradiction: Race is framed as an arbitrary invention, yet treated as an unchanging, permanent reality.
James Baldwin exposed the hollowness of racial constructs decades ago. In “On Being ‘White’… and Other Lies,” he wrote: “The crisis of leadership in the white community is remarkable—and terrifying—because there is, in fact, no white community.”
Baldwin understood that whiteness, like all racial identities, was not a biological or cultural fact but a political invention—a shifting construct designed to serve power. Yet DEI never seriously engaged with this idea. It simply replaced one rigid racial hierarchy with another, treating whiteness as an unchanging position of privilege while treating other racial identities as fixed sites of oppression.
This rigidity meant that DEI operated as a closed system, reasserting racial categories rather than interrogating them. It failed to engage with race as a lived, historically contingent process—one shaped by history, class, and material conditions.
By doing this, DEI alienated people across the political spectrum. Many white people, even those who consider themselves progressive, felt that DEI erased any meaningful discussion of economic struggle or historical complexity within whiteness.
Meanwhile, many people of color found DEI’s racial framework superficial—offering corporate-friendly language about inclusion while doing little to address material inequalities. The framework functioned as a kind of racial accounting system, but it lacked a clear political vision for building solidarity.
Sheena Mason, a scholar of racial theory, has articulated the deeper flaw in this approach: “To undo racism, we have to undo our belief in race.”
This insight is crucial. If race itself is a construct designed to justify social stratification, then maintaining race as a primary framework for addressing inequality only reinforces the divisions we claim to want to overcome. Yet DEI never suggested dismantling the concept of race—it only sought to redistribute power within its existing framework.
This was a fatal mistake. Modern genetic science has definitively debunked the biological basis of race. There is more genetic diversity within so-called racial groups than between them. The racial categories that shape our politics and institutions are historical inventions, not natural facts.
Yet DEI, instead of leveraging this knowledge to transcend racial essentialism, entrenches race as the defining lens for justice. This approach not only deepens social division but also makes the left vulnerable to the right’s attacks.
By insisting on the permanence of racial categories, DEI created an ideological framework that could be easily caricatured as divisive and exclusionary—giving conservatives an easy target while failing to deliver meaningful change.
Racial discourse often eclipses broader discussions of material conditions, making it harder to address economic inequality in a meaningful way.
Patricia Hill Collins, a foundational thinker in intersectional theory, has observed that, “Race operates as such an overriding feature of African-American experience in the United States that it not only overshadows economic class relations for Blacks but obscures the significance of economic class within the United States in general.”
DEI’s fixation on race, detached from material conditions, contributed to this very problem. By prioritizing racial categorization over economic struggle, it often obscured the broader systems of inequality that shape American life.
This not only made class politics more difficult to articulate but also allowed racial identity to become a stand-in for structural critique—reinforcing an identity-based framework that often benefited elites more than the working class.
With DEI collapsing, the question becomes: What comes next? The right hopes this marks the end of racial discourse altogether. That cannot happen. Structural racism, economic exclusion, and historical injustice are still deeply embedded in American life. Ignoring the function of racism and racial categories plays into the hands of those who want to maintain both racial and economic inequality.
But we cannot simply replace DEI with another rigid, prepackaged framework that reproduces the same mistakes. If we want to build a politics that actually addresses racial injustice, we need an approach that is dynamic rather than static—one that acknowledges history without being trapped by it.
This means recognizing that racial categories are not timeless truths but historical constructions that have been shaped by economic, political, and social forces. It means rejecting the idea that people are permanently locked into racial identities that define their entire experience. And it means moving beyond an approach that focuses primarily on representation and inclusion toward one that addresses material conditions to redistribute power.
DEI’s failure provides an opportunity for the left to rethink how it engages with race and identity. We need to stop seeing race as an unchanging structure and start understanding it as something that can be transformed. Morgan Freeman put it bluntly in an interview, stating, “I don’t want a Black History Month. Black history is American history.”
This is the kind of shift we need—one that integrates historical understanding rather than segregates it, one that moves past “race”—which we know doesn't exist—as a fixed identity category toward a broader, more holistic vision of justice.
The goal should not be to replace DEI with another top-down, bureaucratic approach, but to build a new paradigm that is open, flexible, and capable of fostering real solidarity.
If the left fails to do this, it will keep losing to the right. And if that happens, the backlash against DEI will not just be the end of a flawed initiative—it will be a major setback for the broader struggle for justice and equality.
"They'll only come for those bad people, right?" quipped one observer.
A naturalized U.S. citizen said Friday that he's questioning his vote for President Donald Trump after he was wrongfully swept up in the Republican president's immigration crackdown.
Jensy Machado told Telemundo 44's Rosbelis Quinoñez that he was driving to work Wednesday with two other men in Manassas, Virginia when they were stopped not far from his home by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers, who surrounded his vehicle.
"And they just got out of the car with the guns in their hands and say, turn off the car, give me the keys, open the window, you know," Machado said. "Everything was really fast."
Machado said the officers told him the name of a man for whom they said they had a deportation order, and who had purportedly given Machado's home address. He said he offered to show his Virginia driver's license—a Real ID requiring proof of lawful status to acquire—but "they didn't ask for any ID."
"I was telling the officer, if I can give him ID, but he said just keep my hands up, not moving," Machado told Quiñonez. "After that, he told me to get out of the car and put the handcuffs on me. And then he went to me and said how did I get into this country and if I was waiting for a court date or if I have any case. And I told him I was an American citizen, and he looked at his other partner like, you know, smiling, like saying, can you believe this guy? Because he asked the other guy, 'Do you believe him?'"
Machado said he was uncuffed and immediately released after the officers saw his identification. The two men with him were taken into custody. Machado said he does not know why.
He also said the incident made him second-guess his vote for Trump—who promised to start "mass deportations" on "day one" of his presidency.
"I voted for Trump last election, but, because I thought it was going to be the things, you know, like, just go against criminals, not every Hispanic looking, like, that they will assume that we are all illegals," Machado explained.
It could have been worse. During Trump's first term, Francisco Erwin Galicia, a high school senior and U.S. citizen from Edinburgh, Texas was held by ICE for more than three weeks before he was finally released.
That his post has been viewed by nearly 20 million people makes it even more concerning, as it only takes one deranged individual who has read it to decide to respond by striking out in an act of violence.
This past week began on a deeply disturbing note. Elon Musk reposted on X (formerly Twitter) a dangerously false attack on more than a dozen American entities who had received USAID or State Department grants over the past decade. The original post referred to the groups as “terrorist-linked.” In his repost Musk commented, “As many people have said, why pay terrorist organizations and certain countries to hate us when they’re perfectly willing to do it for free?”
The groups listed in the original post had apparently been compiled by an individual with an anti-Arab or anti-Muslim bias. He appears to have gone through a list of grant recipients and randomly culled out entities with “Arab” or “Muslim” in their name or who had done work in the Middle East. I don’t know all of the groups mentioned, but those I do know—for example, American Near East Refugee Aid (ANERA)—have been in the forefront of providing lifesaving support to refugees or victims of war or natural disasters, and, in the process, building better ties between the U.S. and affected communities in need across the Middle East. Other groups I recognized had equally important, impressive records of service.
What was obviously most troubling to me was that my organization, the Arab American Institute, was second on the list. This was upsetting for two reasons: The charge was profoundly off-base and irresponsibly dangerous.
As welcoming and inclusive as the U.S. can be, we also must acknowledge that our country has a history of hate and violence, a disproportionate amount of which in recent decades has been directed at Arab Americans and supporters of Palestinian rights.
The fact is that the institute received a State Department grant in 2018 (during the first Trump administration) to create partnerships between Arab American elected officials and public servants with local elected officials in Tunisia. The institute, which was founded in 1985, has a proud history of encouraging Arab Americans to get elected to local office. As our work progressed, we realized that many of these young leaders had never been to the Middle East, and if they had gone at all, it had simply been to the countries from which their parents had come. I had long hoped to create a program that would enable them to both get exposure to and an understanding of the broader Arab World, and to be able to share their experiences and what they had learned in American political life with their counterparts in Arab countries.
The initial phase of the program was so successful that the State Department supported expanding it into Morocco and then Jordan. It was a delight to see these young Arab and Arab American participants working together in a collaborative manner, discussing problems they face in municipal governance and actions that could be taken to improve constituent services—how to address local needs and challenges. They worked together in building local democracy and finding solutions that made a difference in people’s day-to-day lives—issues like trash collection, creating community tech hubs, and providing support for families with disabled children. The program ended in 2023.
For an individual infected by an anti-Arab or anti-Muslim bias to identify these people-to-people efforts with support for terrorism is so wrong that it defies understanding. And for a person of Mr. Musk’s standing in this administration to have amplified this message with a repost and comment is irresponsibly dangerous.
As welcoming and inclusive as the U.S. can be, we also must acknowledge that our country has a history of hate and violence, a disproportionate amount of which in recent decades has been directed at Arab Americans and supporters of Palestinian rights. After a former employee of mine at the American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee was murdered in 1985, I was asked to testify before the U.S. Civil Rights Commission and the U.S. Congress on hate and violence directed against my community. In my testimony I noted how the environment for hate crimes against Arab Americans was fostered by those who have incited against us. I observed that when we have been called terrorists or terrorist supporters (sometimes by respected pro-Israel groups), it has spurred some to use violence against us. I know this personally from the content of death threats I have received over the years.
In the last two decades alone, there have been four convictions of individuals who have threatened my life and the lives of my family and my staff. These threats have most often been accompanied by accusations of terrorism or support for terrorism.
And so, I take it seriously when a person as powerful and well-positioned as Mr. Musk irresponsibly charges my institute with being a supporter of terrorism. That his post has been viewed by nearly 20 million people makes it even more concerning, as it only takes one deranged individual who has read it to decide to respond by striking out in an act of violence.
Some have cautioned us not to react to Musk’s incitement, hoping that it would just fade away. I disagree. In the end, the best defense we have is to point out both how wrong he has been and the danger posed by his words.