When We Erase DEI and Civil Rights Protections, We Erase Ourselves

By Maha Elgenaidi, Founder and Executive Director (Bio)

July 21, 2025

Can anyone honestly claim to be free of bias?

Bias doesn’t always announce itself. It creeps in quietly—shaped by our education, media, and history. We carry assumptions, conscious or unconscious, about the people around us:

That a Black colleague was hired to check a diversity box.
That a Jewish person who supports Israel is indifferent to Palestinian suffering.
That a Muslim woman in hijab is oppressed or anti-feminist.
That Arabs are inherently threatening.
That Asian women are passive.
That Hispanic people are likely undocumented or destined for menial labor.
That Muslims are trying to convert us.
That gay men are promiscuous.
That women aren’t suited for strong leadership.
That White men can’t possibly understand what marginalized communities endure.
That Christians don’t care about defending the religious freedoms of others.

We may tell ourselves these are just fleeting impressions—harmless thoughts. But they’re not. More often than not, we believe them to be true—and those beliefs pave the road to discrimination. The very kind of discrimination that civil rights laws and DEI initiatives were created to prevent.

Because when we fear Arabs moving into our building, we may “just happen” to rent to someone else.

When we assume Black or female professionals aren’t as capable, we may “just happen” to pass them over for promotion.

When we perceive Jews as callous, we may “just happen” to exclude them from leadership spaces.

When we view hijab-wearing women as backwards, we may “just happen” to deny them advancement.

It’s not that most of us are inherently racist, sexist, or bigoted. Rather, most of us were never taught to see the full humanity of others.

Our public education system has fallen short, failing to teach the legacies of slavery, colonialism, and imperialism that shape our modern worldviews. And our media often reinforces these biases, selectively reporting stories that mirror our fears.

Dismantling DEI offices and rolling back civil rights protections—as some institutions and states are now doing—doesn’t make us freer. It buries our heads in the sand. It blinds us to both our biases and our shared humanity.

These measures weren’t built to shame or divide us. They were designed to confront biases which lead to discrimination, exclusion, and unequal access—realities that still persist in our schools, workplaces, hospitals, and neighborhoods.

Without them, we default to a system that favors the powerful, excuses prejudice and isolates the most vulnerable. What feels like neutrality to some is, in practice, license for indifference and deepening inequality.

True freedom doesn’t come from the absence of accountability—but from the presence of justice.

When we remove the tools that help us challenge discrimination and uphold equality, we don’t move forward—we choose ignorance over responsibility, and comfort over courage.

Such rollbacks don’t eliminate bias—they entrench it. They obscure the interpersonal prejudices and structural barriers that affect Americans of all backgrounds—Black, Brown, and White. And they send a chilling message to marginalized communities: your safety, dignity, and contributions no longer matter.

America should be proud of its efforts to become more inclusive—a journey that has always been marked by struggle, correction, and resilience. Our strength has never come from sameness, but from a patchwork of people who sought freedom, safety, and opportunity.

From the beginning, people came here fleeing hardship or seeking freedom:

• English Protestants escaping religious persecution.
• Germans and Scandinavians fleeing famine and political unrest.
• Irish Catholics escaping the Great Famine and anti-Catholic bigotry.
• Italians fleeing poverty and discrimination.
• Jews escaping pogroms and the Holocaust.
• Vietnamese refugees after the fall of Saigon.
• Somalis, Salvadorans, and Haitians fleeing violence and instability.
• Afghans, Syrians, and Ukrainians displaced by war.
• Chinese immigrants came during the Gold Rush and railroad expansion.
• Indian and Pakistani families sought refuge and opportunity after partition.
• And immigrants from Mexico, the Philippines, Ethiopia, Korea, and the Middle East all came in search of a better life.

Despite their many contributions, U.S. immigration policy remained restrictive and discriminatory until reforms in 1965, which began to open doors more equitably. Since then, each wave of migration has reshaped this country—not just in culture or cuisine, but in resilience, innovation, and our understanding of shared humanity.

And long before any of these groups arrived, Indigenous nations governed this land with sophisticated political systems—most notably the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) Confederacy, whose principles of unity and consensus helped inform American democratic thought.

And much of this nation was physically built by centuries of unpaid Black labor. Moreover, African Africans have contributed to every facet of American life, culture, and innovation—when they have been allowed to or seized the opportunity to.

We need to learn these stories—and tell them fully.

We need to hear not just what America gave to its people, but what they gave back in return.

And we must recognize that justice, equality, and inclusion are not fringe values—they are the lifeblood of democracy.

The erosion of DEI programs and civil rights enforcement won’t return us to greatness. It drags us backward—into ignorance, division, and a dangerous nostalgia for a time when fewer people were seen, heard, or protected.

Greatness has never come from denial. It comes from reckoning—with our past, our failures, our blind spots, and our capacity to grow.

If we truly want to be great, we must start with honesty—honesty about who we are in our ignorance: a nation that has too often excluded, stereotyped, and marginalized entire communities.

And we must be just as honest about who we still need to become: a people willing to face uncomfortable truths, expand opportunity, and uphold the dignity of all.

The path forward isn’t paved with erasure or euphemisms. It’s built with accountability, courage, and action. Here’s where we begin:

Personal Reflection and Education

• Educate yourself about the histories and lived experiences of communities different from your own—especially what was left out of your schooling.
• Examine your own biases—not to feel shame, but to cultivate greater awareness and empathy.
• Have the hard conversations—with your family, coworkers, and neighbors. Growth begins with dialogue.

Civic and Institutional Engagement

• Support civil rights protections and DEI initiatives in your schools, workplaces, and communities. Advocate for their full implementation and funding.
• Hold institutions accountable when they roll back protections or fail to uphold equity. Silence is complicity.
• Show up for marginalized communities—when hate surges, when policy debates erupt, and in the everyday decisions that shape belonging.

Collective Vision and Responsibility

• Reject false nostalgia. Greatness doesn’t lie in returning to exclusion—but in building a future grounded in justice and shared humanity.
• Commit to inclusion not just in principle, but in practice—through policy, education, representation, and repair.
• Remember: protecting the rights of others protects your own. We rise—or fall—together.

Our democracy is only as strong as our willingness to see one another fully—and to stand up for each other boldly. 

Let’s not look away. Let’s do the work.