Why We Still Need DEI and Affirmative Action

Sep 24, 2025

Demonstrators from an organization calling itself Anti-Bakke Decision Coalition carry signs as they march before the federal court house in Foley Square in New York City on June 30, 1978. Photo by Dan Goodrich/AP Photo.

There’s been a troubling rise in rhetoric that questions the very need for programs like affirmative action and diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI). Politicians and online voices dismiss them as unnecessary or even harmful, as though America has already overcome centuries of systemic inequality. But these initiatives were never about handing out ‘unearned’ rewards. They were born to counteract deliberate exclusion—to address centuries of slavery, segregation, Jim Crow, and institutional barriers that shut entire groups out from opportunities.

Affirmative action emerged in the 1960s after President John F. Kennedy signed Executive Order 10925, requiring federal contractors to take “affirmative action” to ensure equal opportunity. This was later strengthened by President Lyndon Johnson’s Executive Order 11246, mandating proactive steps to treat workers fairly. These policies went further than the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which outlawed employment discrimination but did not in itself repair generations of damage. Affirmative action acknowledged that equal treatment on paper meant little if entire communities had been denied access to education, jobs, and capital for centuries.

From there, DEI evolved–not only to open doors–but also to change the environments inside. Affirmative action was about access, DEI is about belonging. By the 1980s and beyond, DEI expanded to include not only race and gender, but also religion, disability, sexual orientation, and other identities. Its’ goal was to dismantle bias in institutions and workplaces, ensuring that once someone got in the door, they could truly thrive. The idea wasn’t charity, but rather, a recognition that diverse environments foster innovation, resilience, and fairness.

And yet, despite this long history, DEI is under attack.

A recently resurfaced video shows political commentator Charlie Kirk saying of Black professionals: “If I see a Black pilot, I’m gonna be like, boy, I hope he’s qualified.” His comment reduces highly trained professionals to their skin color, erasing the immense effort, persistence, and sacrifice it often takes for people of color to reach those positions. The cruel irony is that, for many of us who grew up as minorities in America, we know the opposite to be true: when we see a Black pilot, doctor, or leader, we know we are in good hands, because that person has had to work twice as hard, jump twice as many hurdles, and prove themselves beyond reproach just to stand where others are welcomed without question.

I say this not from theory but from my own life. I am a first-generation immigrant, the proud daughter of an Afro-Cuban immigrant. Growing up, I learned quickly that nothing would ever be handed to us. We had to learn the language, the cultural codes, the unspoken rules of etiquette in schools and workplaces. We were expected to assimilate, always under a microscope, our mistakes magnified. I recently discussed this with a friend who grew up without that weight, admitting she never thought about race when meeting a trained professional. But for me, I have always noticed, and have always felt safer when I saw someone who looked like my family. I knew they had beaten the odds.

It reminds me of the Privilege Walk exercise often done in schools, where students step forward or backward depending on their advantages or disadvantages. By the end, you can see who has been pulled back by systemic forces before they ever had a chance to compete. Privilege doesn’t mean your life wasn’t hard, it means your identity wasn’t another obstacle stacked against you.

Take Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson. When President Biden nominated her in 2022, she brought more judicial experience than four of her colleagues combined, yet her confirmation process was drawn-out, contentious, and laced with insinuations about her competence. Compare that to Amy Coney Barrett’s fast-tracked confirmation just weeks before a presidential election, despite her relatively limited judicial experience. The difference? Politics, yes, but also race and gender expectations that magnify scrutiny for Black women while granting others the benefit of the doubt.

Or look at Vice President Kamala Harris, routinely derided as a “DEI hire.” This framing is not just dismissive, it is a racist dog whistle meant to strip away her decades of public service. As a prosecutor, Attorney General, Senator, and Vice President, reducing her to a false and harmful token is not only racist–it’s inaccurate. Meanwhile, Donald Trump threatened lawsuits to hide his academic records while falsely claiming to be top of his class, and yet these qualifications are still rarely questioned.

The truth is stark: minority candidates must constantly prove their electability, raise money from donor networks that are overwhelmingly white, endure prejudice from voters, and face disproportionate threats and harassment in order to campaign. Success for them is not handed out as charity, it is won through perseverance against forces specifically designed to hold them back.

This is why DEI and affirmative action are not luxuries–they are necessities. They are sometimes imperfect tools, yes, but without them the playing field tilts toward the powerful and privileged, leaving behind the very voices that enrich and strengthen our communities the most. To question the qualifications of someone because of their skin tone, their accent, or their gender is not only wrong, it ignores the lived reality that those individuals are, more often than not, the most qualified in the room.

Dismantling DEI doesn’t erase inequality, it deepens it. We cannot afford to return to a society where merit is measured by proximity to whiteness, wealth, or privilege. We need policies that honor the resilience of those who have fought to belong and that ensure the next generation doesn’t have to fight the same battles.

True equality isn’t passive. It must be built, protected, and defended, again and again.

Edited by Hannah Neuman