DEI Is Dead. But Why Should We Care?

From Representation to Power: The Fight That Comes Next

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I. From Affirmative Action to DEI—A Failed Promise

For decades, affirmative action and diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives have been presented as solutions to systemic racial inequality in the United States. They were meant to correct past injustices, level the playing field, and create pathways for Black Americans to access education, employment, and wealth-building opportunities. From President Lyndon B. Johnson’s 1965 executive order mandating affirmative action to the rise of corporate DEI programs in the 21st century, these policies promised progress, fairness, and economic justice.

Yet, over 50 years later, Black Americans remain at the bottom of nearly every economic indicator. Median Black household wealth is still one-fifth that of white households. The Black unemployment rate continues to hover at twice the rate of white unemployment, just as it did in the 1960s. Despite decades of diversity initiatives, Black professionals remain underpaid, under-promoted, and underrepresented in leadership—raising serious questions about whether these programs were ever intended to have a meaningful impact. If affirmative action and DEI were designed to close the racial wealth gap and increase Black economic stability, why have these disparities remained largely unchanged?

The uncomfortable truth is that affirmative action and DEI were never designed to bring true racial justice or Black economic justice. They were, at best, a compromise, and at worst, a distraction—a way to provide symbolic victories while maintaining existing power structures.

Now, with DEI under attack, affirmative action struck down by the Supreme Court, and corporations quietly retreating from their racial justice commitments, many Black Americans fear a major loss. President Donald Trump’s executive orders terminating all affirmative action and DEI-related mandates initiated under previous administrations and broadly banning DEI activities within the federal government, effectively reversing decades of efforts to enhance diversity and inclusion have sparked a crisis.

But what exactly have we lost? If these programs failed to uplift Black people collectively, why should their disappearance be mourned? And more importantly—what should replace them?

The death of DEI should not be seen as a loss but as a turning point. The question isn’t how to save corporate DEI—it’s how to achieve economic justice for Black Americans.

II. The Evolution of Affirmative Action and the Rise of DEI

The Origins of Affirmative Action: Labor Policy, Not a Racial Remedy

When people hear the term “affirmative action,” they assume it has always meant a racial justice policy for Black people. But that’s not how it started. The phrase first appeared in 1935, buried deep in the National Labor Relations Act —a law meant to address union-busting and unfair labor practices. Employers accused of discrimination were ordered to take “affirmative action” to correct violations, but this had nothing to do with race. It was a labor term, not a civil rights policy.

It wasn’t until the 1960s that civil rights activists repurposed the term, pushing the government to take affirmative action to undo the racial discrimination that had locked Black Americans out of jobs, schools, and wealth-building for generations. The phrase was now politically charged—but even in its new life, affirmative action was never solely for Black people.

Civil Rights: The First Compromise

By the early 1960s, Black activists were demanding more than desegregation; they demanded economic justice. The Civil Rights Movement had exposed the reality that even after segregation was outlawed, Black people were still being excluded from jobs, higher education, and homeownership. Civil rights leaders knew that simply removing racist barriers wouldn’t be enough—they needed proactive policies to reverse decades of exclusion.

In 1961, John F. Kennedy issued Executive Order 10925, requiring federal contractors to “take affirmative action” to ensure non-discriminatory hiring. This was the first time the phrase was used in a civil rights context, but there were no enforcement mechanisms, and it had little impact.

Then came the Civil Rights Act of 1964—a landmark law that finally outlawed racial discrimination in public accommodations, employment, and education. But even this law contained a major political compromise: while it was championed as a win for Black America, it was never exclusively about Black people.

From the moment the bill was introduced, legislators expanded its protections to include “race, color, religion, sex, or national origin.” This was not a coincidence. White political leaders, unwilling to pass a bill that explicitly focused on Black people, broadened the language to create a more “universal” framework. Some even hoped that adding gender protections might weaken the bill’s passage by dividing supporters. Instead, the law passed—but it ensured that the benefits of civil rights legislation would be spread across multiple groups, rather than focusing on repairing the unique harm done to Black Americans.

“You do not take a person who, for years, has been hobbled by chains, liberate him, bring him to the starting line of a race, and then say, ‘You are free to compete with all the others,’ and still justly believe that you have been completely fair.”

~Lyndon B. Johnson

A year later, in 1965, Lyndon B. Johnson issued Executive Order 11246, which finally gave affirmative action some teeth. It required government contractors to actively recruit and promote minorities, shifting the policy from a passive non-discrimination rule to a proactive hiring strategy. This was a major step forward—but again, it was never exclusively for Black people.

Then, in 1967, Johnson expanded affirmative action to include gender. This shift further diluted the policy’s original racial focus. Now, white women—who had not been enslaved, redlined, or shut out of generational wealth-building—were set up to become affirmative action’s biggest beneficiaries.

Bringing home the bacon and frying it up in a pan

By the 1970s, affirmative action was fully in place—but the biggest winners weren’t Black Americans. While Black workers were still struggling for fair wages and stable jobs, white women were quietly advancing into professional roles under affirmative action policies.

Corporations, faced with new hiring mandates, found it easier to hire white women than to integrate Black employees into white-dominated workspaces. White women were still “diverse” under the law, and their hiring helped companies meet affirmative action quotas without addressing anti-Black discrimination.

By the 1980s, white women were advancing in corporate America under affirmative action policies, but they weren’t aware that these policies were the reason. Instead, they were told that their entry into the workforce was part of a larger cultural and feminist revolution—that they were “having it all.” The new working woman was portrayed as liberated, independent, and breaking barriers by stepping into offices, boardrooms, and factory floors.

But this shift wasn’t really about progress. It was about profit. As wages stagnated, corporations expanded their workforce by pulling in women—not as a gesture of equity, but as a way to keep wages low. In the 1960s and 70s, one salary—typically a male head-of-household wage—was enough to sustain a middle-class family. By the 1980s, that was no longer the case. With two incomes covering what one salary once did, corporations had no incentive to raise wages.

And while families were adjusting to a new economic reality that required two working parents, corporate executives saw their wages skyrocket. Between 1978 and 2019, CEO pay rose by 940%, while typical worker wages increased by only 12%. The very companies that claimed to be “empowering women” were simultaneously hoarding wealth at the top and making it impossible for families to survive on a single salary.

Ironically, even as white women became the biggest beneficiaries of affirmative action, they too were victims of the changing labor economy. What was sold as "liberation" was actually labor exploitation—a two-job expectation where women worked outside the home while still carrying the majority of household and caregiving duties.

And yet, affirmative action was still publicly framed as a “Black program”—even as its actual benefits flowed elsewhere. White women didn’t see themselves as affirmative action hires; they believed they had earned their place through sheer talent and hard work. Meanwhile, Black workers remained disproportionately in low-wage jobs, underrepresented in leadership, and falsely blamed for supposedly taking opportunities away from white men.

By the 1980s, white women had become affirmative action’s true success story—not because they fought for it, but because they unknowingly benefited from policies fought for by Blacks that were never designed to center them in the first place. They were placed in opposition to Black workers, even though both groups were ultimately being used to uphold corporate profit structures.

This begs the question: Who truly benefits from racial and gender division, and why has it been so effectively maintained?

The War on Affirmative Action: A Fight Black People Lost While White Women Kept Winning

Even as white women quietly thrived under affirmative action, conservatives launched a full-scale war against it—using Black success stories as evidence that it was no longer needed.

• 1978: Regents of the University of California v. Bakke struck down racial quotas.

• 1980s–1990s: Reagan and Bush weakened affirmative action enforcement.

• 1996: California’s Prop 209 eliminated affirmative action in state hiring and education.

• 2023: The Supreme Court struck down affirmative action in college admissions.

But here’s the irony: the same white women who benefited most from affirmative action haven’t fought to save it. Instead, as the policy became politically toxic, they distanced themselves—leaving Black students and professionals to take the fall.

For decades, affirmative action was framed as a Black program, primarily debated in the context of college admissions, while DEI was marketed as a solution to workplace racial disparities. Yet, there is no real evidence that either policy significantly increased Black representation in the workforce. Affirmative action may have opened some doors in higher education, but it did not translate into greater hiring, promotions, or economic mobility. Black workers were told that these policies would be their ticket to success, but the data tells a different story.

In 1966, Black workers made up 8% of the U.S. workforce. By 2020, that number had grown —to 14%. Despite these gains, Blacks have largely been left out of leadership roles. Meanwhile, white women’s representation in professional roles skyrocketed—rising from 31.5% in 1966 to nearly 50% by 2013 with 51.7% of women occupying management roles.

Even in corporate DEI programs, Black people remain drastically underrepresented in leadership. By 2021, only 4 of the Fortune 500 CEOs were Black — less than 1%. If DEI was truly reshaping corporate America with more Black faces, why are the numbers still stagnant?

And yet, despite the lack of measurable impact, the common sense has been that affirmative action and DEI were advancing Black workers—because that’s what we were told to believe. Black professionals have fought to defend these policies, believing they were fighting for their own economic future, while the true beneficiaries remained silent.

But the cost isn’t just economic—it is psychological. Black professionals have been tokenized, told they are only in the room because of affirmative action or DEI, forced to prove their worth in ways their white counterparts never have to. They are derided as unqualified, dismissed as diversity hires, and looked down upon—even in cases where their credentials far exceed those of their white peers. And yet, the data makes one thing clear: there is no real evidence that these programs gave them any advantage much less an unfair one.

What does it mean when Black workers are forced to carry the stigma of a policy that didn’t even benefit them? This is more than just misplaced resentment—it is a kind of psychological hate crime. It is the deliberate manufacture of humiliation, self-doubt, and isolation, all while the real beneficiaries—white women—move through the workforce without suspicion.

The Birth of DEI: A Corporate Alternative to Affirmative Action

By the 1990s, affirmative action was under attack, and corporations needed a new strategy. Rather than defending race-based hiring policies, they pivoted to a more palatable alternative: “diversity.” What had once been framed as a corrective for racial injustice was now repackaged as a corporate asset. Diversity training exploded, not as a moral imperative, but as a risk management tool—a way for companies to reduce legal liability in discrimination lawsuits while appearing progressive. The conversation shifted from justice to profit, with companies claiming that diverse teams were simply “good for business.” Blackness, once the moral and legal center of affirmative action debates, was just one identity among an increasing number under the expanding DEI umbrella.

A major shift came in 1989 when legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw introduced the concept of intersectionality. At its core, intersectionality was a radical critique of power. Crenshaw, a key figure in the development of Critical Race Theory (CRT)—which argues that racism is embedded in legal and social systems—coined the term to specifically explain how Black women’s experiences of oppression were ignored by both the feminist and civil rights movements.

At the time, feminism was largely centered on white women’s struggles, while civil rights discourse was dominated by the experiences of Black men. Black women, whose oppression was shaped by both race and gender simultaneously, were often left without legal or social recognition of our unique challenges. Intersectionality was meant to expose these gaps in justice. It wasn’t just about identity—it was about how systems of oppression overlapped and reinforced each other, creating distinct forms of marginalization.

But as the idea gained traction outside of legal scholarship, it didn’t remain the sharp tool of critique that Crenshaw had intended. By the 2000s, corporations and universities absorbed intersectionality into DEI, but instead of using it to challenge structural oppression, they used it to expand the diversity conversation beyond race.

Intersectionality, by its very nature, highlights multiple forms of marginalization—but in doing so, it can shift focus away from the specificity of Black oppression and toward a broad, all-encompassing diversity framework. In corporate spaces, this meant that Black people were no longer centered in conversations about systemic discrimination. Instead, race became one identity among many, competing for attention within the DEI framework.

And yet, even as DEI diluted race-specific justice, it still leaned into the common narrative that Black workers were its primary beneficiaries. The public perception remained that affirmative action and DEI were kinds of “handouts” for Black people, even as the policies themselves became more and more disconnected from Black economic advancement.

III. Spoiler Alert: DEI Didn’t Actually Help Blacks

If DEI and affirmative action were truly transformative, wouldn’t we expect to see clear evidence of economic advancement for Black Americans? We would expect higher wages, greater wealth accumulation, and an increased presence in leadership positions. But the data tells a different story.

Common Sense vs. Fact

Since the 1960s, Black educational attainment has surged. In 1968, only 4% of Black Americans had a bachelor’s degree; by 2021, that number had risen to 26%. This is a significant increase particularly given that only 37% of Americans graduate from college. And at first glance, this suggests significant progress. But when we examine economic outcomes, the reality is grim.

• Black college graduates still earn less than white high school graduates. As of 2023, the median wage for a Black worker with a college degree is about the same as that of a white worker who never attended college.

• Black homeownership rates remain virtually unchanged since the 60s. In 1970, 42% of Black families owned homes; today, that number is just 44%—while white homeownership has risen to 74%.

• The racial wealth gap is as wide as ever. The median Black household holds one-fifth the wealth of the median white household, and much of white wealth is inherited.

The real picture is more education, more corporate diversity programs, yet almost no economic gains. And yet, the “common sense” understanding remains that DEI and affirmative action gave Black workers a leg up.

Why is this? Why is the dominant narrative so detached from reality?

A Lesson in Gramsci’s Cultural Hegemony

Italian philosopher Antonio Gramsci argued that ruling elites don’t just control people through force—they control them through ideology. Through education, media, law, and corporate culture, those in power shape what we perceive as "common sense"—a dominant worldview that justifies inequality by making it seem natural, inevitable, or deserved.

DEI and affirmative action were never truly designed to close the racial wealth gap, but through hegemony, we were conditioned to believe otherwise. We were told that these policies were race-based remedies meant to uplift Black people, that Black workers benefited from them at the direct expense of white workers, and that DEI was fundamentally reshaping corporate America in our favor. The ruling class does not need truth on its side—it only needs control over the narrative. And for decades, we have been fed a comforting but false story: that affirmative action and DEI were instruments of racial justice when, in reality, they were mechanisms of political appeasement that benefited others far more than they did us.

This is why white conservatives resent these programs, despite their minimal impact on Black advancement. And this is why many Black professionals feel grief and anger at their dismantling—even when the data shows these programs never actually helped us.

But perhaps the most damaging myth—the one that underpins it all—is the myth of meritocracy.

The Lie of Meritocracy: It’s Time to Cancel the American Dream

The mythology of the American Dream tells us that success is the result of hard work, talent, and personal responsibility. If you fail, it’s because you didn’t work hard enough or couldn’t perform. This is the foundation of meritocracy—the idea that economic rewards reflect individual effort. But this is a myth, one of the most powerful ideological tools ever created. A significant portion of white wealth is inherited, yet white success is framed as the result of hard work rather than generational advantage. Hiring is driven by networks and “cultural fit”, yet white professionals believe they landed jobs purely through merit, ignoring the invisible advantages of whiteness in hiring and promotions. Government policies such as the GI Bill, redlining, and preferential home loans directly built white wealth while systematically excluding Black Americans. And yet, the narrative of white success remains rooted in the illusion of individual effort.

At the same time, the myth of meritocracy frames Black struggle as warranted. If DEI and affirmative action existed, the logic goes, Black workers must have been given special treatment. Any Black person in a leadership role is assumed to be there not because of talent, but because of racial favoritism. No matter how hard we work, our qualifications are met with suspicion, our achievements dismissed as the product of lowered standards.

This is why Black workers feel the weight of being labeled “DEI hires.” The myth of meritocracy casts doubt on our qualifications, even when they exceed those of our white colleagues. It forces us into an impossible bind: if we succeed, our success is seen as illegitimate. And if we fail, it’s seen as proof that we didn’t deserve the opportunity in the first place.

This is psychological warfare—a deliberate, systematic effort to make us internalize the belief that we are inherently less capable. It is a psychological hate crime, designed to manufacture self-doubt, erode confidence, and keep us perpetually on the defensive.

And so, we defend DEI—not because it worked in fact, but because we were falsely conditioned to believe it was providing us opportunity. These policies were presented as progress, even as they failed to deliver real change. Yet, their failure was not accidental—it was built into the system from the start. And now, rather than those who designed its shortcomings bearing responsibility, Blacks are left carrying the stigma of its failure.

Let’s Let White Women Fight their own Battles

This is the final contradiction: the biggest beneficiaries of both affirmative action and DEI have always been white women. In fact data suggests that Blacks benefited the least of all groups from Latinx to LGBTQ+ to Asians.

And yet, as DEI crumbles, it is Black workers—not white women—who are calling for boycotts, organizing protests, and defending these policies. We are fighting for a system that never uplifted us, while those who continue to gain the most stand on the sidelines.

Why?

Because white women were never told that affirmative action helped them. They were allowed to believe their success was earned. They never had to carry the stigma of being “diversity hires.”

But Black workers? We’ve been forced to live under a false and dehumanizing narrative—one that said any success was never truly ours.

This is truly act of psychological warfare: not only were we denied the economic benefits of DEI, but we were also burdened with its stigma. We internalized the belief that we were given something we didn’t deserve—when in reality, we got almost nothing at all.

Now that DEI is gone, the real question isn’t how to bring it back.

The real question is: What do we build in its place?

IV. The Limits of Black Self-Sufficiency: The White Backlash Problem

For over 400 years, Black people in America have never passively accepted oppression. We have resisted in every way possible—through uprisings, legal battles, economic independence, and cultural innovation. Even when we tried to assimilate or work within the system, white backlash ensured that any progress was either crushed, co-opted, or met with violent suppression.

Throughout history, oppressed peoples have generally had four choices: assimilate, migrate, resist, or acquiesce. Black Americans have attempted each of these strategies, but none have secured our liberation from racial oppression.

Assimilation: The False Promise of Inclusion

Black people have long attempted to assimilate into white society, believing that proving our worth and adopting the dominant culture would lessen the effects of racism. The "Talented Tenth" strategy, popularized by W.E.B. Du Bois, encouraged a small, educated Black elite to integrate into mainstream white institutions, proving that Black people were capable of leadership and intellectual achievement. In the decades following the Civil Rights Movement, assimilation took the form of trying to gain access to corporate jobs, political representation, and entry into elite universities. Many believed that by gaining visibility and success in white-dominated spaces, racial barriers would break down over time.

But assimilation never worked as promised. No matter how well Black people spoke, dressed, or conformed, we were still locked out of economic power and real political influence. Even the supposed victories of integration often came at a devastating cost—Black schools and businesses were shut down, Black teachers lost their jobs, and entire Black neighborhoods were dismantled in the name of urban renewal. Integration didn't lift Black America—it gutted Black communities while preserving white power structures.

Migration: Escaping Oppression, But Not Inequality

When inclusion failed, many Black Americans chose to leave. The Great Migration (1916–1970) saw over six million Blacks flee the South, escaping lynchings and economic exclusion in search of opportunity in the North and West. But while Black migrants found better wages in cities like Chicago, Detroit, and Los Angeles, they also faced housing discrimination, redlining, and racial violence.

Now, a new wave of Black migration—Blaxit—is taking shape. Many Black Americans are choosing to leave the U.S. altogether, seeking safety, opportunity, and dignity in Africa, Latin America, and the Caribbean. This is a powerful statement of disillusionment with America’s false promises—but migration has never been a full solution. Whether in the North, abroad, or even in predominantly Black cities, white economic control still dictates Black life. There is no escaping systemic racism when white power structures own the banks, dictate trade, and control global financial institutions.

Resistance: Our Ever-Present Struggle for Justice

From slave rebellions to the Black Panthers, Black Americans have a deep history of fighting back. We have built independent schools, businesses, and political organizations, from the Freedmen’s Bureau to the NAACP, Garvey’s UNIA, and the Nation of Islam. Even today, movements like Black Lives Matter and reparations activism continue this legacy of resistance.

But every time Black resistance gains ground, white backlash follows. After Reconstruction, the South swiftly imposed Jim Crow laws, stripping Black Americans of political and economic gains. After the Civil Rights Movement, mass incarceration and the War on Drugs criminalized Black communities, effectively replacing segregation with a new form of racial control. And after Obama’s presidency, a wave of white nationalist resurgence made it clear that symbolic representation was no substitute for real structural change.

Resistance is necessary, but history shows that resistance alone is not enough. Without structural change, we are forced into an endless cycle of progress and reversal.

Acquiescence: The Cost of Silence and Survival

For some, survival has meant acquiescence—avoiding confrontation, laying low, and doing what is necessary to get by. In every era, there have been Black leaders who collaborated with white power to maintain their own status, from certain Black elites during slavery to modern-day politicians who refuse to challenge systemic racism.

But even for everyday Black Americans, the pressure to stay silent, not challenge authority, and “go along to get along” is ever-present. Acquiescence does not mean acceptance—it often means exhaustion. When every effort at progress is met with violence and sabotage, survival sometimes means choosing battles carefully. But silence has never saved us.

The Unique Struggle of Black Americans

Unlike other racial or ethnic groups in the U.S., Blackness itself is a construct born from oppression. Asian Americans, Latinx communities, and Indigenous peoples have ethnic and national identities that predate their experiences in the U.S. But "Blackness" as an identity was forged in the bloody waters of the transatlantic slave trade.

We did not immigrate here. We were trafficked here. Our language, history, and cultural connections were deliberately erased so that we could be seen as property, not people. This is why the struggle for Black liberation is fundamentally different from that of any other group. While other communities may seek representation, equity, or citizenship rights, Black Americans are fighting against the very foundation of white supremacist capitalism—a system built on our ancestors’ forced labor.

The Civil Rights Movement’s Unfinished Work

Many today look at the Civil Rights Movement as a success, pointing to the end of segregation, voting rights, and legal protections. But despite these victories, Black Americans remain a permanent underclass. The racial wealth gap is virtually unchanged. Mass incarceration replaced Jim Crow, ensuring that Black communities remain over-policed and under-protected. Homeownership rates are the same as in 1968, denying Black families the generational wealth that homeownership provides. Corporate America boasts about DEI, yet Black leadership remains stagnant, with little actual redistribution of power.

Meanwhile, the system allows a select few to become symbols of progress, even as most Black Americans remain locked out of true economic and political mobility. Figures like Obama, Oprah, and Kamala Harris are elevated—not because they represent broad Black advancement, but because their success creates the illusion that racial barriers no longer exist. They are used as tokens of “racial progress” in a system that remains fundamentally unchanged. A handful of highly visible Black elites does not negate the reality that the vast majority of Black Americans continue to face systemic disenfranchisement.

Beyond Self-Sufficiency: The Need for Structural Power

Black self-sufficiency has never been the problem—Black people have always built wealth, institutions, and culture. The problem is white backlash and systemic sabotage. Every time Black communities gained power, they were burned, bombed, or dismantled through policy. The lesson is clear: self-sufficiency alone is not enough. We don’t just need self-reliance—we need structural power that cannot be easily dismantled.

V: What Comes After DEI?

Why Reparations Must Be Central to the Strategy

For decades, the idea of reparations for Black Americans was dismissed as impractical, unrealistic, or politically impossible. But that is no longer the case. Reparations have moved from the margins to the mainstream, emerging as one of the most pressing racial justice debates of our time.

At the federal level, H.R. 40, the long-proposed bill to study and develop reparations proposals, continues to gain traction. Originally introduced in 1989 by Rep. John Conyers and later championed by Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee, H.R. 40 does not mandate reparations payments—it simply calls for a commission to study the issue. Despite decades of resistance, the bill has amassed over 200 congressional co-sponsors and has been publicly endorsed by leaders like President Biden, though it remains stalled without full Democratic backing. The bill’s slow movement through Congress highlights a key reality: even the smallest steps toward reparations face immense institutional pushback.

At the state level, California has taken the most ambitious approach. In 2020, Governor Gavin Newsom signed Assembly Bill 3121, creating the California Reparations Task Force—the first government-commissioned study of reparations at the state level. After two years of research and public hearings, the task force released its final report in 2023, recommending direct cash payments, land restoration, and policy changes to address housing discrimination, health disparities, and mass incarceration. However, despite these recommendations, California lawmakers have resisted translating them into actual legislation. Critics argue that the state lacks the funds for direct cash payments, while supporters insist that failing to act would expose the entire process as performative.

Beyond the U.S., reparations are a global human rights issue. The United Nations has repeatedly called out the U.S. for its racial caste system, citing violations of international human rights treaties. In 2021, the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights issued a historic report on racial justice, urging nations to take immediate steps toward reparations. The report specifically criticized the U.S. for failing to provide compensation for slavery and systemic racism, calling on the government to implement policies that address the long-term consequences of racial injustice.

Reparations are not just about compensation—they are about correcting structural inequities that DEI and affirmative action never touched. The racial wealth gap remains one of the starkest indicators of systemic racism, with Black families holding only one-fifth the wealth of white families. Generations of housing discrimination and land theft have locked Black Americans out of the single most important driver of generational wealth: homeownership. Structural disparities in healthcare and education continue to shorten Black life expectancy and limit economic mobility. Unlike DEI, which was about symbolic inclusion in white-controlled institutions, reparations demand a fundamental redistribution of power and resources. And the world is watching. Reparations are a globally recognized demand. The U.S. can no longer ignore them without pressure from within and beyond.

The Global Black Strategy: Pan-Africanism, the Global South, and Human Rights Law

As the U.S. remains locked in political battles over racial justice, many Black Americans are beginning to think beyond national borders. The reality is that the fight for Black liberation has always been global. From the anti-colonial struggles of Africa to the civil rights and Black Power movements of the U.S., Black people across the world have long understood that our struggles are interconnected.

One of the most powerful strategies available today is Pan-Africanism—the political and economic unification of people of African descent. First championed by leaders like Marcus Garvey, Kwame Nkrumah, and Malcolm X, Pan-Africanism emphasizes the need for Black nations and communities to build independent economic and political structures. Historically, the idea faced setbacks due to neocolonialism and Western economic control over African nations, but today, new opportunities are emerging. The African Union, regional trade agreements, and technology-driven economic initiatives are creating stronger ties between Africa and the global Black diaspora. For Black Americans, investing in Africa, supporting Pan-African economic initiatives, and fostering stronger transnational alliances can serve as a powerful counterweight to systemic racism in the U.S..

Another key strategy is aligning with the Global South—a term that refers to Africa, Latin America, and much of Asia, where nations are increasingly pushing back against Western economic and political dominance. The U.S. is no longer the uncontested global superpower it once was. Countries in the Global South are forming new trade alliances, rejecting U.S. influence, and developing economic models that prioritize self-determination. Black Americans have an opportunity to build relationships with these emerging powers. Strengthening trade, business partnerships, and political alliances with the Global South can provide new economic opportunities for Black entrepreneurs and workers.

Finally, using human rights law as a tool for Black liberation offers another avenue for structural change. The U.S. civil rights framework has consistently failed to deliver true racial justice. Every major legal victory—whether Brown v. Board of Education, the Civil Rights Act, or voting rights protections—has been rolled back or weakened over time. International human rights law provides an alternative path forward. Organizations like the United Nations, the International Criminal Court, and international human rights commissions offer legal mechanisms that can hold the U.S. accountable for its treatment of Black Americans. South Africa’s anti-apartheid movement succeeded in large part because of global pressure, forcing Western governments to implement sanctions. The U.S. should face the same level of scrutiny for its ongoing racial caste system.

America has always framed Black oppression as a domestic issue—something to be handled internally, without outside intervention. But history proves otherwise. The world has always played a role in dismantling racial apartheid. If we are serious about real liberation, we must think beyond the borders of the U.S. and engage in a truly global fight for justice. Black Americans must stop thinking of ourselves as a purely domestic group—we are part of a global struggle, and we have international leverage.

VI. Fighting for Power, Not Representation

For decades, we have been playing defense—fighting to protect policies like affirmative action, voting rights, and DEI from being dismantled. But playing defense means we are always reacting to attacks rather than setting the agenda. As long as we remain in this defensive position, we are merely fighting to preserve policies that were never designed to bring true liberation anyway.

At this point in the struggle, we must shift our focus toward going on the offensive. Instead of fighting for DEI, we should be demanding reparations. Instead of celebrating “first Black CEOs,” we should be creating Black-owned financial institutions. Instead of waiting for white institutions to give us a seat at the table, we should be building the tables ourselves—globally.

White women were the true beneficiaries of affirmative action and DEI, yet they aren’t fighting to save these programs. Why? Because they don’t have to. Their wealth, networks, and privileges remain intact—they gained real structural advantages, while Black people were left with the illusion of progress.

Meanwhile, many Black people have been falsely convinced that these policies benefited us—despite the data proving otherwise. We were told we were being “helped,” when in reality, we were tokenized, used as political pawns, and given crumbs instead of real power. The cycle of white backlash ensured that any gains were temporary, while the underlying system of economic and political exclusion remained unchanged.

The time for symbolic inclusion is over. It is time to reject the illusion of progress and demand real transformation. Tweaking at the edges will never change the system, and therefore, it will never solve this problem. A thousand points of light are no match for the sun. We could go around and around like this for another 400 years—or we can break the cycle and demand structural change.

DEI’s collapse is not the end of the fight—it’s the start of something bigger. If we seize this moment, we can finally shift from fighting for representation to fighting for power. The systems that oppress us are not inevitable. If we choose transformation over illusion, maybe we can finally be free.

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