The Crumbling Foundation: My Life as the ‘Only One’ in the DEI Era
As a Black staffer at WIRED, a publication that often gazes into the future, my position can feel surprisingly fragile. It’s a feeling that whispers in quiet moments, a question I sometimes pose to friends, colleagues, and anyone else navigating the often-treacherous waters of modern media: “Was I a DEI hire?” It’s a loaded question, born from years of experience in an industry known for its high turnover, a persistent lack of diversity, and a perpetual existential dread.
Eight years at WIRED as a writer is a significant tenure, especially in the fast-paced, often ephemeral world of news. For a Black individual in this space, it can feel like an eternity. We trade stories over dim bar lights, tales of microaggressions and corporate missteps, often marveling at how long we’ve managed to survive. My own joke, a defense mechanism perhaps, is that I’ve lasted this long precisely because I’m Black. There’s no concrete proof, of course, just a lingering intuition, a byproduct of being ‘The Only One’ in too many rooms, rarely by choice.
Journalism, particularly at its upper echelons, remains stubbornly white. To be the sole Black writer on staff, and one of a handful in the publication’s 30-year history, is a glaring organizational failure, yet unfortunately, a common industry reality. We write about the future, dissecting its potential, but often fail to reflect its evolving demographics.
The Weight of Representation: More Than Just a Byline
Your role shapes you, but you also shape your role. You become the voice for a particular narrative, often funneled into the ‘race beat.’ Your stories become a chronicle of tragedy: the killing of another Black person gone too soon. You meticulously retrace their final moments in Minneapolis, in Georgia, in New York, in countless towns across America. You’re asked to imbue these painful accounts with a certain poetic resonance, to find meaning in a recurring, grim equation: Black life in America is, at best, conditional. For a long time, I accepted this role because, frankly, no one else was there to do it.
And those were, in many ways, the ‘good times.’ Today, race feels like a career-ending liability in a way it hasn’t for decades. Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives are being systematically dismantled, and the federal government, often echoing the sentiments of MAGA proponents, has weaponized the term DEI, transforming it into a slur, frequently directed at Black individuals.
“That became the problem—and the ignorance,” says Kai Lawson, an executive and former DEI lead at Dentsu Creative. As the year 2025 draws to a close, it’s hard not to internalize this shift. It feels personal, like a target has been painted squarely on my back.
The Rise and Fall of the DEI Movement: An Oral History Rewritten
Initially, my ambition for this piece was to craft an oral history of DEI, tracing its arc from inception to its potential demise under the Trump administration and beyond. But as I delved deeper, interviewing 32 professionals and leaders deeply entrenched in the ‘DEI space,’ the chorus of voices became less a linear narrative and more a complex tapestry of experiences. It led me to a different conclusion: DEI, in its current form, was perhaps never destined for sustained success.
DEI, a term whose roots trace back to the 1980s and was coined by leadership coach Lewis Brown Griggs, has always aimed to level the playing field for career advancement. Women, veterans, LGBTQ+ individuals – many have benefited from these principles, however they were framed, be it affirmative action or preferential hiring. Yet, in contemporary discourse, when we speak of DEI, it’s often implicitly understood to be centered on Black individuals.
The year 2020 proved to be a watershed moment. Black men held a mere 3% of management roles, and women of color were among the least visible in senior leadership positions. DEI efforts were already on a ‘downward trend,’ notes Melinda Epler, a strategist and co-founder of the Tech Inclusion Conference. The pandemic, while disruptive, didn’t halt this trajectory. However, the murder of George Floyd in May 2020 ignited a national reckoning on racial justice. Conversations extended beyond traditional activist circles, fostering a fleeting, unified belief that racism was not merely individual bias but a deeply ingrained institutional feature of American society, ripe for dismantling.
The George Floyd Economy: A Fleeting Boom
Floyd’s death compelled corporate America to act. Leaders across tech, entertainment, finance, and advertising pledged to address past injustices. Suddenly, as Lawson observes, there was a “premium on Black talent.” Historically, companies engaged in “random acts of diversity,” according to Karen Horne, former senior vice president of North America DEI at Warner Bros. Media. But as DEI work became more formalized, practitioners strived to translate these efforts into tangible progress. “Before that, we had been treating racism as a theoretical exercise,” says Latasha Gillespie, former global head of DEIA at Amazon Studios and Prime Video.
In 2021, Big Tech vowed to increase Black and Latino representation in senior leadership, joining 83% of US organizations that actively pursued DEI initiatives that year. Significant financial investments poured into social and racial justice organizations. This influx of capital spurred the creation of a new industry of DEI professionals, with the chief diversity officer title reaching unprecedented vogue, accompanied by substantial salaries. One estimate from McKinsey suggested an infusion of $340 billion into racial equity initiatives, effectively ushering in what many dubbed ‘The George Floyd Economy.’
Companies like PayPal launched $500 million funds to support minority businesses, Netflix committed approximately $100 million to financial institutions aiding Black communities, and Meta invested $25 million in its inaugural Black creator incubator, We the Culture. “One thing that Silicon Valley understands is data,” remarks Ashley Mosley, a former account executive at Twitter and co-lead of the employee resource group Blackbirds. “And once they started to understand that more, for some people it clicked.”
President Biden’s executive orders aimed at strengthening diversity efforts within the federal government further encouraged private sector adoption. For many Black employees, including myself, this period offered a palpable sense of empowerment. The assignments were significant, the impact undeniable. My work on a particular piece even led to a Hulu documentary. For a time, it felt as though genuine progress was within reach. “It was the peak of the bell curve,” states Karen Driscoll, a consultant at Raben.
Lybra Clemons, who served as the chief diversity, inclusion, and belonging officer at Twilio, recalls the company’s commitment to an “anti-racist” philosophy, inspired by Ibram X. Kendi’s influential book. “This was a company that built itself on being very open and progressive,” Clemons explains. “And the CEO was committed to that vision. And there were other CEOs who were as well. In retrospect, I don’t think anyone really knew how impossible it was.”
Vernā Myers, a diversity consultant with over three decades of experience, became Netflix’s first vice president of inclusion strategy in 2018. She viewed DEI as a crucial “scaffolding” to help people of color overcome economic disadvantages. Yet, even as anti-Black racism became a national focal point and conversations around hiring bias, pay equity, and organizational fairness resurfaced, she harbored apprehension. “You’ve got this horribly devastating event, and you’re thinking, ‘Is this what it took?’” Myers reflects.
The Illusion of Change: When Activism Meets Capitalism
Corporate America, it turned out, had limited appetite for fundamental change. “What are the practices that allow you to hire 20 percent more Black people that quickly if you weren’t doing that before? It was positive discrimination,” asserts Darren Martin Jr., CEO of the consultancy Bold Culture. Many recognized that these gains weren’t a genuine remedy for systemic flaws, that DEI was framed as a cultural issue when, in reality, it’s an economic one. It has always been about class, about America’s persistent decisions regarding resource allocation. “There was this expectation that you, a 75-year-old company, could somehow install this person and they would resolve all of your cultural ills in a matter of two years,” says Jarvis Sam, a consultant and former chief DEI officer at Nike.
This work took a profound mental toll. “It was exhausting,” Myers shares, a sentiment I deeply resonate with. I recall an assignment that required me to repeatedly watch and analyze a video of Ahmaud Arbery’s murder, searching for meaning in the senseless violence. The work was impactful, but as Myers notes, “it comes at a cost.” She recounts a haunting moment when a colleague remarked, “It’s like they’re nursing at our tits again.” Every leader sought guidance on what to say, and she found herself offering them comfort and counsel. “Every leader was calling you, ‘What do I say? What do I say? What do I say?’ And little by little, you were giving them the milk and nurturing them.”
Lawson articulates this dynamic succinctly: “My job was not to cure racism.” Shortly after Floyd’s death, her company tasked her with proposing solutions to better support Black employees. “We came up with the real ideas—better pay and promotions. I brought it to the head of HR and they said, ‘None of this seems like it’s going to give us a headline. I need something that’ll help get us a headline.’” That’s when the true nature of the situation became clear: “The corporate function of DEI is not to actually make things better—it is to pacify.”
The realization dawned that corporate activism, if it even existed, had inherent limitations. It was a reactive gesture, not a catalyst for genuine behavioral change. “It was a microwave approach,” Martin says. Judy Jackson, then the global head of culture at WPP, witnessed the shift firsthand. Employee fatigue with the topic grew, and leaders became weary. DEI burnout was palpable. “It was, ‘Can we talk about something else?’” Jackson recalls. DEI, she notes, “can sort of encourage a sense of us versus them, which is not its intent. People would say things like, ‘Well, I want to start a white ERG.’”
The Tide Turns: Regression and Retreat
By the close of 2022, DEI transitioned from a booming trend to a struggling initiative, ushering in a period of “blatant regression.” “Someone on LinkedIn told me we were contributing to America’s race problem,” Sam recounts. As economic uncertainties mounted, DEI budgets were among the first to be cut, leading to the termination of numerous DEI-related positions. When I inquired about this period with a DEI executive, questioning the apparent lack of tangible improvement and its resemblance to corporate theater, her response was blunt: “This is corporate America—what are you expecting? It’s as good as it was ever going to get.”
The Political Assault: DEI Under Fire
A stark illustration of the battle lines emerged on a frigid January morning at Washington D.C.’s Capital One Arena. Following a rally where President Trump rescinded numerous executive orders, he signed a new one aimed at ending “radical and wasteful” preferential treatment in federal agencies. This was followed by an order targeting DEI programs in the private sector, and the appointment of officials tasked with investigating companies upholding DEI standards.
Trump’s administration has maintained a uniquely hostile stance on diversity issues. Historical Black figures were removed from national websites, the National Museum of African American History and Culture faced scrutiny, and federal job cuts disproportionately affected Black workers, a sector where they have historically been overrepresented. This pattern of actions from a federal government that appears to question the legitimacy of Black life is deeply concerning. “Why would we expect the Ku Klux Klan not to burn a cross?” asks a former engineer at Twitter and Google. “That’s what they do. He [Trump] is a racist, and he’s pandering to racist people.” The summer saw Black unemployment surge to its highest point since 2021, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics.
In America, race remains an inescapable reality. The very inevitability of old power imbalances and racial hierarchies is pushing industries to their limits.
The Fine Print of Progress: A History of Backlash
It’s a historical truth not easily digestible: Black people have persistently faced systemic and often insurmountable barriers throughout American history. No other racial group has endured such extensive exploitation, brutal enslavement, or continuous disenfranchisement. Progress has been achieved in spite of these obstacles, but empowerment has always come at a steep price. There exists an unspoken caveat, a subtle reminder: You are permitted to advance only so far, to achieve only so much. This inherent limitation made DEI a perceived threat to those invested in maintaining the status quo. DEI threatened to elevate not just a select few, but the fortunes of many, potentially initiating a marginal, yet significant, reordering of America’s class structure. “Some of us got great big jobs with these great big bonuses and brought these great big homes and created these great big lifestyles,” Lawson shares. However, for Black individuals who achieve success and aspire to more, to reach beyond prescribed boundaries, the antagonism, hate, and history of systemic oppression inevitably reveal their true intent. “Every time there’s been an advance, a call for a reckoning, a sense in which more fundamental transformative possibilities are on the table, there has come after that a backlash,” explains legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw. “The crux of anti-Black racism is the idea of our deficit.”
In the summer of 2023, the Supreme Court effectively dismantled affirmative action in college admissions, deeming race an impermissible factor. “It was America being America,” says tech engineer Leslie Miley. “Stevie Wonder could’ve seen that coming.” This ruling invigorated opposition to DEI, leading to a surge in legal challenges. In July, thirteen Republican state attorneys general alerted 100 of the largest US companies, arguing that the Supreme Court’s decision could extend to private entities, including employers.
The following month, Edward Blum, an anti-affirmative-action activist instrumental in orchestrating the aforementioned cases, put this theory into practice. A group he leads filed a lawsuit against the Fearless Fund, an Atlanta-based venture capital firm supporting women of color entrepreneurs. Although the parties eventually settled, Blum’s objective was largely achieved. The case, Epler suggests, represented a “big tipping point,” as it leveraged anti-discrimination laws intended to protect, not hinder, Black women. By the end of 2023, major corporations such as Meta, Tesla, DoorDash, and Lyft had reduced their DEI teams by 50% or more.
The Quiet Exodus: Self-Preservation in a Hostile Climate
Panic ensued. One Black tech worker in San Francisco, who requested anonymity, took drastic measures. “I knew what was coming,” they confided. “Anything that had to do with DEI, the election, or voting, I deleted. I deleted a bunch of tweets. I redid my bio, unlisted Medium articles, removed previous job posts from LinkedIn. I don’t want to be seen as a DEI hire or connected to people who talk about it. We’re in the first year of a new administration, and we have a long road ahead of us. Put your own oxygen mask on first. Take care of yourself.” In the process of completing this story, no fewer than three individuals who had initially agreed to go on the record requested anonymity, citing the changed climate. “The climate is not the same today as it was in March," one tech executive stated. “I would not say those things today due to the pattern of retribution.”
Some anticipate a further deterioration of the situation. For many, including family and friends, the negative impacts are already being felt. “I don’t even think we’re at the tip yet,” Mosley states. “A lot of really terrible things are going to happen as people try to reset the country. People have a right to feel panicked.” This spring, over 300,000 Black women reported being displaced from the US workforce, and a November federal jobs report indicated that Black unemployment rates were nearly double the overall national average. My earlier assertion that it’s hard not to take this personally was an understatement. I cling to the comforting fiction of my status as ‘The Only One,’ though it may no longer offer protection: the Black middle class is being systematically erased.
The Unclear Blueprint: Why DEI Stumbled
There was a near-universal agreement among those I interviewed that the overarching goals of DEI were never clearly defined. A lack of shared plans and priorities existed among DEI practitioners, both internally and at a broader, industry-wide level. “There were some gaps in the collective narrative,” says Rachel Williams, a former head of DEI at Google X. Or, as Jackson puts it, “No one had the playbook.” The appointment of opportunistic individuals as figureheads further undermined the cause. Moreover, regardless of hiring numbers or outlined benchmarks, a company’s genuine desire for change is paramount. McKinsey’s research never suggested that simply placing a person of color in a role would automatically yield significant financial returns. “The minute you try to make a capitalistic organization become a social justice organization, that’s when you are going to fail,” Gillespie asserts.
Driscoll adds a crucial point: “The fact that we use the acronym is also problematic and was to our detriment,” as it inherently evokes notions of “quotas over the qualifications.” Ultimately, the prevailing interpretation of DEI amounted to a superficial reordering of the Black professional class.
However, as Sam wisely points out, “governments don’t backlash against things that aren’t working. They let it die on the vine. What that implies is that we did make progress.” I recall Myers’ observation about DEI serving as a vital scaffolding for many individuals. The current landscape suggests that this scaffolding will be largely absent in the foreseeable future. The mishandling of DEI does not negate its inherent value.
The Road Ahead: Reimagining Inclusion in a Shifting Landscape
I concluded every interview for this story with the same question: “Where does DEI go from here?” I sought to understand if and how its mission could be reimagined. Would its objectives evolve? Was there still hope for its potential impact? Could the hollow, opportunistic iteration be replaced by something more authentic and meaningful?
From Washington D.C., Driscoll offered a somber perspective: “Hope is not the first emotion that comes up for me during this time. It’s something that I have to be intentional about reaching for.”
It’s a difficult path. During the reporting of this article, Teen Vogue, a sister publication to WIRED under Condé Nast, experienced layoffs. According to their union, the majority of those terminated were women of color or transgender individuals, including the two Black women on the editorial team. (A Condé Nast spokesperson stated, “While many companies have rolled back their diversity, equity, and inclusion functions, Condé Nast continues to maintain a dedicated D+I team and publishes an annual D+I report.”) NBC News significantly reduced its diversity teams, and CBS News dissolved its race and culture editorial teams. BET also downsized its staff in anticipation of the Paramount-Skydance merger. One headline poignantly asked, “Has the Media Reached the End of Its DEI Era?” If the social cost of an all-white workplace is no longer a concern, where does this dispossession end? It’s understandable why I question whether my tenure here is on borrowed time.
Yet, just as race remains an inescapable aspect of the American experience, so too does the undeniable fact that the United States is growing increasingly diverse. “You can go ahead and play to one faction of our demographics in this country that is slowly losing buying power if you want to, but you are then planning for your company’s demise,” Williams warns.
What I can state with absolute certainty now is that every aspect of my life feels more precarious than I’ve previously admitted: my personal pursuits, my professional career, my financial stability, my future. What lies ahead? It is my profession to meticulously document the forefront of history, to ensure that the dominant narrative – the one shaped by distorted social media feeds, fleeting TikTok clips, and superficial cable news symbolism – does not misrepresent the reality of what has occurred and what is transpiring. To paraphrase sociologist Tressie McMillan Cottom, I have built a career writing about identity and race because, for an extended period, it was the primary avenue for Black writers to assert legitimacy in public discourse, a discourse largely defined by its exclusion of Black voices.
This is my work. And so, here I am again, engaged in the very act that feels both arduous, contradictory, necessary, beyond my designated responsibility, and perhaps, ultimately, beside the point. It has taken me the better part of a year to reach this juncture, to acknowledge certain uncomfortable truths I cannot retract. I have resisted writing the parts of this narrative that involve me directly. But how could I not? The unsettling and inconvenient truth is that I am intrinsically a part of this story. For years, I’ve reassured myself with the notion that they wouldn’t fire the only Black writer on staff. But that is a dangerous illusion. More importantly, it’s no way to live.