Up until about two years ago, I believed that DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) was not only a right but also a responsibility for our free country—to mandate the respectful and equitable treatment of all people in order to rid ourselves of the stain of racism that has long plagued this nation. Then, I personally experienced a racist incident within an institution that boasted an entire department of DEI officers, offices, and employees. This institution prided itself on its strong DEI program, which was supposedly designed to be a safe space for individuals like me who might endure racism in the workplace. However, a colleague continued to make racially inappropriate comments to me and was consistently unkind in meetings and other interactions. Other coworkers witnessed these incidents, which made my case strong. I reported these experiences to DEI leadership, initially believing I had an advocate who would help me navigate the hurt and hold my coworker accountable. I thought that with such a robust DEI program, they would support me in a healthy and meaningful way. What I discovered, however, was that the DEI program wasn’t there to help those of us who were hurting. Instead, it seemed designed to silence us, creating a “catch-all” for racist incidents so that the president wouldn’t have to face the issue directly, and the institution could avoid the appearance of being racist. It was all an illusion.
I received a letter stating that they had “verified” my experience, and my coworker was asked to read a book. My bosses took her out to dinner to check on her, and then everything went silent. She continued to be problematic, and the DEI offices were instructed to drop the case. The HR representative who had been helping me was eventually let go, and nothing changed in that workplace.
This was a major eye-opener for me. I realized that I could handle racist experiences better through my own strength, will, and the support of my family and friends—those who could minister to me and offer wisdom on how to navigate the pain—rather than wasting time with lawyers, leadership meetings, and the façade of a DEI program that was never truly meant to help me. While many view the recent end of DEI across the country as a setback, what if it’s actually a step forward? Hear me out before you judge. When I came to the painful realization that the institution cared more about hiding my experience than addressing it, I did some research through the EEOC and discovered that the same institution had multiple cases pending against it for failing to truly address racism. I learned of other faculty and staff enduring daily racism, creating a culture of fear and oppression. Many workers carried the weight of not being able to express their hurt and frustration over constant racist incidents. The institution, known as a premier research institute, attracted people who wanted the prestige of having it on their CV, despite the toxic environment.
In one final attempt to address the racism I was facing, I requested a mediator to help resolve the tension between my colleague and me. Even though she had read a book and attended a few “trainings,” nothing was changing in the workplace. I shared this with the DEI person, and she suggested that we both attend a book talk together, where I could share my experience openly with my co-worker and an audience of people I didn’t know—none of whom were involved in the conflict. I couldn’t see how this would help, except to embarrass my colleague. I wasn’t looking for revenge or to shame anyone—maybe some might think I’m weak-minded for feeling this way—but I was trying to follow the principle taught in Matthew 18:15-18, which outlines several steps that should lead to authentic reconciliation. I believed that starting with a private meeting could help us address our conflict by listening to and engaging with one another. Jumping straight into shaming felt counterproductive to me. After begging multiple times for a mediator, I was bluntly told, “The university does not offer mediation for these occurrences.” That’s when I realized my vision for racial healing was worlds apart from the university’s. At that point, I lost all hope. DEI without steps towards reconciliation is merely judgement and condemnation. In Christ, I firmly believe that only He is the judge. My role is to love unconditionally, and that doesn’t mean avoiding the truth or compromising on what’s right. We will never end racism by pretending it doesn’t exist—racism is real, and it continues to harm people today. Forcing change on those people, institutions or systems that don’t want it doesn’t work because true transformation has to come from the heart. Focusing our energy on strengthening and supporting those who do want to end racism allows us to create lasting, meaningful transformation while fostering a culture of growth, understanding, and genuine healing. By empowering them, we can spark a movement that naturally transforms the culture and inspires broader change. Ignoring racism makes us complicit in its ongoing existence. However, we also won’t end racism through vengeance. As MLK wisely said, “Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”
Realizing that nothing would change, I decided to focus on making the best of my experience so that I could be proud of having it on my CV and the valuable experience I gained. I learned a great deal during my time there, and I’m proud to say I survived without getting blacklisted!
My decision to move on from this experience came after a conversation with a lawyer who told me that my case was strong (I kept every email and all the documentation) and I’d likely win. However, it would be a long, public battle that could potentially end my academic career. I had to weigh the cost. I considered transferring to another department within the institution, but as I was submitting my application, my husband noticed, “Baby, as you turned that in, you looked sad. Maybe you don’t want to work there anymore?” After he said that, I emailed the department, withdrew my application, and informed them that I had decided not to work for the institution at all. They asked why, and I was honest about my experience. I explained that for my own healing, I felt it was best to find a more welcoming place to work. I wanted to be free from any memory of that experience and I did not want to work for a place where there was not a sincere desire to bring racial healing. My husband encouraged me to take a few months off to reflect, heal and carefully search for a new opportunity. Over time, I applied for a position outside the institution, which helped me fully disconnect from the toxic environment I had been in.
After meeting with the lawyer and reflecting on what I was willing to sacrifice, I realized just how much I truly love academia. I came to the honest conclusion that I wasn’t willing to fight this battle just to make a statement and risk losing something that means so much to me.
I love working in this space. I love the smell of old buildings and the daily interactions with scholars across disciplines. I love the students, the events, the dinners, and the gatherings that leave me feeling invigorated. I love the conferences, the libraries, the history—academia is a space that brings me joy. I realized that instead of fighting a system that might take away something I hold dear, I’d rather focus on finding a healthier place to continue my work in racial healing and K-12 classical education. I came to understand that activism in this form was not my calling.
Now, why should a person continue being an activist in an institution that has a DEI program? Others likely ask themselves the same question. The answer is simple: because, in many places, DEI programs are a smokescreen, hiding from the real issue of racism.
To me, the end of DEI is revealing which institutions were truly committed to racial healing. It allows us to see which places are genuinely safe for people to work. It exposes those institutions that weren’t doing the work for the right reasons but only to appear popular, wearing the label of “I am anti-racist” without truly engaging in the mission. We see evidence of this with various companies and organizations ending their DEI programs right after the election, and without any real pressure from the government. It almost feels like they’re saying, “Whew, I’m so glad that’s over!” My experience taught me that DEI was often created within institutions still led by racist and/or White supremacist leadership. It’s like imagining a slave owner being forced to show kindness and fairness to the people they once enslaved! One of the reasons Reconstruction failed is because the people leading the charge were still steeped in White supremacy! I respect Lincoln, but let’s be honest—he was still wrestling with his own racist views. Despite his efforts to do what was right, largely through his relationships with figures like Frederick Douglass, racism had deeply impacted him too. He needed healing himself! So how could he possibly heal America when his own heart and mind were still jacked up and struggling with the very issues he was trying to address?
Institutions truly committed to racial healing won’t be discouraged by the end of DEI because they understand this isn’t just a political or trendy act—it’s a mission to build spaces where ALL of us can genuinely live together in community. Authentic DEI is not just an acronym or a label; it’s a way of life. It’s about listening, forming meaningful relationships, decentering any one race, and loving your neighbor. We’re in a unique season where we’re free from the mandate to “not be racist,” and now, we can focus on creating spaces and communities that truly want to heal our land.
Looking at how some people are celebrating the end of DEI and reveling in the idea that they no longer have to care, I don’t feel hurt. I feel relieved because now I can truly see who is sincere. The end of DEI shouldn’t mean that people stop caring about racism and inequity; it should mean that people rise to the occasion of doing meaningful, authentic work to bring us together.
The end of DEI is also a call for each community to come to a place of loving themselves and one another. I can speak for my own community when I say we must stop seeking validation or acknowledgment of our humanity from America or the White community. One of the lessons I value most is how my ancestors had to come to a place of truly loving themselves before they were equipped to fight these battles. They had to heal and come together first. There’s still a great deal of discord in my community where we struggle to support one another. We still have that plantation mentality where we compete for a place in the Big House, trying to escape the heat and toil of the field. We sell each other out, hurt one another, and backstab just to gain favor or secure a job or promotion.
When I look at movements like the Civil Rights Movement or the Abolitionist Movement, I see examples of Black and White people coming together, risking everything to heal our land. We see Harriet Tubman risking her life to help others reach freedom. We see John Brown, a White man, risking his life for Black people’s freedom. We see Viola Liuzzo leaving her children behind to drive Black people to safety during the bus boycotts. All of this happened before DEI because treating people humanely isn’t a political act. Wanting everyone to be treated with kindness and respect is not political. Listening and engaging in civil discourse isn’t political. All of this is simply living out “Love your neighbor as yourself.” It’s “A friend loves at all times.” It’s “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
We don’t need DEI; we need changed hearts. DEI was just a band-aid, a façade hiding the deep wound of racism that continues to eat away at hearts like a cancer. Now, I’m glad to see which hearts have truly changed and which institutions are sincere in creating a space where we can all dwell in unity and love. I’m not interested in performative programs that have no real intention of ending racism. I’m not interested in DEI programs that cultivate bitterness and “keeping records of wrongs,” where guilt and shame weigh so heavily on people that they can’t find the strength to change. Love keeps no record of wrongs. Perfect love casts out fear. The DEI programs I’ve witnessed haven’t nurtured love and forgiveness; they’ve only piled on guilt without offering any direction on how to lay it down.
The DEI programs I’ve encountered have centered on the Black experience, instead of uplifting ALL stories of marginalized people impacted by America’s racism. These programs have also failed to elevate the stories of people from all backgrounds—White, Black, Native, Latino—who have worked tirelessly to end racism. There’s been little discussion about how we’ve come together, and yet history shows us many examples of when we fought together—these are the stories that have pushed America forward, but for some reason, we rarely elevate them.
I don’t see the end of DEI as the end of progress; rather, it’s an opportunity for a new beginning. The old way was inauthentic. Most DEI programs in America were a mirage—meant to hide racism without ever addressing it, or done reluctantly because institutions were mandated to “love their neighbor” when they truly preferred to love only themselves or their own community.
In a world where the media may not want me to feel hopeful, I find myself feeling more hopeful than ever. Now, I can see the truth more clearly and focus on those who genuinely want to continue the work from a place of authentic desire to bring healing and change. Maybe DEI hasn’t truly ended, but it was more of a seed that tried to start the work. Now, that seed is buried—but may it take root and give birth to something more fruitful that will nurture us all.
Dr. Anika T. Prather 