When the Personal Becomes Political: Why DEI Matters More Than Ever
I woke up this morning intending to write something lighthearted. After two days of deep dives into immigration and housing, I was ready for a change of pace. But as often happens, the world had other plans. This is precisely why I avoid announcing future topics—news has a way of reshaping our priorities.
Today, April 24, 2025, I learned that a federal judge in New Hampshire temporarily blocked the Trump administration’s directive to eliminate diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) programs in K–12 public schools. This ruling came in response to a lawsuit filed by the National Education Association and the American Civil Liberties Union, which argued that the administration’s guidance infringed upon teachers’ First Amendment and due process rights. (Source: AP News)
The administration’s February memo had warned schools that continuing DEI practices—deemed discriminatory under federal civil rights law—could lead to the loss of funding and legal action by the Justice Department. The memo also expanded a 2023 Supreme Court ruling against race-based college admissions to broader aspects of education, including hiring and scholarships. (Source: AP News)
As someone who is visually impaired, I find this development deeply concerning. DEI isn’t just about race or gender; it’s about creating an inclusive environment for all marginalized groups, including people with disabilities. These initiatives aim to ensure that everyone has equitable access to education and opportunities.
Some may perceive DEI as catering solely to specific communities, but it’s far more encompassing. It’s about recognizing and addressing systemic barriers that affect various groups—be it due to disability, socioeconomic status, or other factors. Eliminating DEI programs risks silencing these voices and reversing progress made toward inclusivity.
In the following sections, we’ll delve deeper into what DEI truly entails, its significance in our educational system, and the potential ramifications of dismantling such programs. Let’s explore this together and consider the broader implications for our society.
Learning Along the Way: What DEI Means to Me
Growing up, I knew my mother had fought hard for me to have the right to attend public school. Alongside other parents, she advocated for a program that would allow visually impaired children to receive their education in a regular school setting—not sent away to an institution or a blind school, but raised in the community, among their peers.
The program they fought for eventually ended up at a school in Flint, Michigan known as Durant-Tuuri-Mott Elementary—often called DTM for short. At the time, it was one of the only schools in the area with a resource room, a space designed specifically for students like me. That’s where I went, not because it was where my mother originally intended, but because it was the only place equipped with trained professionals who could provide the support I needed. These teachers were called VI teachers—short for “Visually Impaired”—though the formal title may have changed over the years.
Back in 1972, when I was born, there were very few options for blind children to be educated within the public school system. Many were sent away to schools for the blind or even placed in institutions. But my mother said, “No way. I’m not having strangers raise my daughter.” And so, she fought. And because she did, I was able to grow up with a right that every child should have—to be included. To learn. To belong.
That right didn’t just benefit me—it benefited other children too. Inclusion isn’t a one-way street. When kids with disabilities are educated alongside their peers, everyone gains a broader sense of empathy, awareness, and understanding. It enriches classrooms and communities alike.
So when I started hearing news about the Trump administration wanting to dismantle DEI programs in public education, I’ll admit—I didn’t fully understand what that meant at first. I thought, “What is DEI, exactly?” I don’t have a child in school, and I’ve never had children of my own, so I haven’t had a direct reason to keep up with all the specifics.
But after hearing more and more about it in the news, I began to look into it. And as I learned, it hit me: DEI is exactly what helped make my education possible. It’s what still helps children today—children who are blind, or who have learning disabilities, cognitive delays, or physical challenges—receive the support they need to learn in inclusive environments.
So I’m writing this not just to inform, but to learn alongside you. I know a little—but I’m learning more as I go. And the more I learn, the more I see why this matters so much.
What Does DEI Actually Do?
At this point in the blog, I want to pause and say: I’m learning about this right alongside you. I knew that Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion—DEI for short—was important. I could tell it mattered, especially when I started seeing it in the news more often. But I didn’t really know what it all included or when these programs began. I had no idea how far-reaching it was until I started researching for this post.
So now, let’s explore what DEI actually is—what it does, who it helps, and how it plays a role in schools today.
DEI stands for Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion. These programs exist to help schools (and workplaces) become more welcoming, fair, and representative for everyone—especially people who have historically been left out, mistreated, or overlooked.
- Diversity means making sure that different kinds of people are represented—this includes differences in race, gender, disability, culture, language, and more.
- Equity means recognizing that not everyone starts from the same place, and giving people what they need to succeed—not just treating everyone the same.
- Inclusion means building environments where everyone feels valued, safe, and able to participate fully—not just present, but involved.
These ideas started showing up in education more formally in the late 1990s and early 2000s, especially as people began calling out inequalities in school systems. After the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) was reauthorized in 2004, more schools began including students with disabilities in general classrooms. Around the same time, schools also started building support for students from different language backgrounds, LGBTQ+ students, and those from low-income households.
DEI programs can include things like:
- Training teachers to recognize unconscious bias
- Making classrooms more accessible for students with disabilities
- Offering translated materials or English language support
- Creating safer school environments for all genders and identities
- Making sure school rules don’t punish certain groups more harshly than others
As someone learning about this for the first time, what I’ve discovered is that DEI isn’t about giving special treatment—it’s about removing unfair barriers. It’s about helping every student feel like they belong and giving them the support they need to succeed.
Why Are DEI Programs Under Attack?
Initially, I thought the controversy surrounding DEI programs was primarily about their support for transgender students. While that aspect is indeed part of the discussion, I’ve come to understand that the opposition is more extensive and multifaceted.
As I was researching this section, I started off in a calm, curious mindset. I just wanted to understand the bigger picture. But once I began to see why some people want to dismantle DEI programs, I got angry. Really angry. Because what I began to see was the idea that if disabled students—or students who need any kind of help—get support, it somehow takes something away from other kids. That just blows my mind.
Let me share a story that still sticks with me. When I was in high school—at Howell High School in the early 1990s—I had an amazing English teacher named Mr. Norton. He didn’t like students leaving class early unless it was really necessary, but when I explained to him how hard it was for me to get through the packed hallways with my BrailleWriter, he listened.
A BrailleWriter is a heavy, mechanical device used by blind students to write in braille—sort of like a braille typewriter. I often had to carry it between classes. I’d hold it close to my body, but even then, people would bump into it in the hallway. Some kids teased me and joked, “You’re hitting people with your BrailleWriter!” Most of them understood it wasn’t really my fault, but the crowded halls made everything harder.
So Mr. Norton agreed to let me leave class five minutes early. That helped, but even with the head start, it was tough. Howell High is a large school, and I could be clear across the building. I’d stop at the resource room to drop off my BrailleWriter, then head to lunch, but by the time I got to the cafeteria, the line was already forming—and people would cut in front of me. I’d end up with only a few minutes to eat.
I remember a girl in a wheelchair was allowed to go to the front of the line. I didn’t ask for that, and I probably should have. Not because I wanted special treatment—but because I deserved the same chance to eat my lunch like everyone else. That’s what equity looks like. Recognizing that some of us have more barriers, and that it’s okay to ask for help to level the playing field.
Looking back, I wish I’d spoken up more. But I was a teenager. And teenagers—especially disabled teenagers—don’t always want to draw attention to themselves. DEI programs, if implemented well, help schools recognize those moments. They help teachers and staff learn how to support students in subtle but powerful ways that don’t single them out—but do lift them up.
DEI isn’t about favoring one group over another. It’s about making sure every student can succeed—even if they need to take a slightly different path to get there.
In recent years, DEI initiatives have faced increasing scrutiny, particularly from conservative groups and political figures. Critics argue that these programs promote divisive ideologies and prioritize identity politics over individual merit. Some believe that DEI efforts, by focusing on race, gender, and disability, inadvertently marginalize other groups, leading to what they perceive as reverse discrimination.
One major example was the Trump administration’s executive orders aimed at curbing DEI in education. These orders targeted accrediting bodies and threatened to withhold federal funding from schools using DEI principles, claiming they encouraged unlawful bias or ideological indoctrination [AP News].
DEI is also often tied to critical race theory (CRT) in public discourse, even when the two are distinct. Some opponents argue that DEI and CRT portray the country as fundamentally racist and divide people by race or identity. But those criticisms often miss the point: DEI, at its heart, is about fairness and access, not blame or guilt.
Public opinion remains mixed. While many support DEI values, some worry about its execution—whether it goes too far or becomes mandatory in ways they disagree with [AAPOR].
But to me, the idea that helping someone like me—someone who just wanted enough time to eat lunch—somehow harms other students? That’s the part I can’t accept. DEI isn’t a threat. It’s a promise. A promise that we all deserve the chance to learn, thrive, and belong.
What Happens If DEI Programs Go Away?
Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion programs aren’t just about buzzwords or checklists—they’re about people. They help ensure students from all walks of life can access the tools, support, and understanding they need to thrive. Without DEI, those safety nets begin to unravel, and the impact ripples far beyond the classroom.
Public schools receive funding from both state and federal sources, and some of that money is designated to support students with disabilities or special needs. When schools have the flexibility and guidance of DEI frameworks, they are more likely to prioritize that funding toward essential services—like hiring trained aides, adapting learning materials, or building accessible spaces. But when DEI is removed or weakened, those priorities can shift, and the students who need the most support may find themselves without it.
Let me give you an example close to home: my niece Erica. Erica will be 14 in June, and she has Dravet syndrome, a rare and severe form of epilepsy that causes prolonged and frequent seizures, often triggered by heat, light, or even mild illness. Children with Dravet syndrome can experience developmental delays, learning challenges, and a need for constant monitoring and emergency care protocols in school settings.
Erica has had grand mal seizures. She’s had the ambulance rides. She’s lived through everything that comes with this condition. Thankfully, CBD treatments have helped her tremendously in recent years—but her challenges are still real. At school, she’s had a full-time aide to help her navigate the day safely. That aide’s job is to assist with learning accommodations, monitor for signs of seizures, and support Erica in moments when her condition makes communication or participation more difficult. It’s not a luxury—it’s a necessity.
Because of that support, Erica has been able to participate in school activities, and even play on the basketball team with the other kids in her elementary school. She’s not isolated. She’s involved. She’s learning. And despite everything, she gets good grades and is doing amazingly well in school. I know it has to be challenging for her—but she’s thriving, and that wouldn’t be possible without the help she receives.
Imagine if the funding for that aide didn’t exist. Imagine if there was no one available to help her through the school day. What would happen to Erica? Would she be sent to a segregated setting? Would she fall behind? Would she stop going to school altogether?
DEI helps make sure those things don’t happen—not just for Erica, but for students with autism, learning disabilities, mobility needs, chronic illnesses, and many others who rely on that extra layer of care to be fully included.
Without DEI programs, schools may cut back on accessibility accommodations, reduce cultural or language support services, or eliminate staff training that helps educators understand the challenges faced by marginalized students. For students with disabilities, English language learners, LGBTQ+ youth, and others already facing barriers, this can mean being pushed further to the margins.
Policies designed to prevent bias may be weakened or ignored altogether. Disciplinary practices could become more punitive toward students of color or those with disabilities, as studies have already shown these students are disproportionately suspended or expelled. And students who face bullying or discrimination may no longer have a clear support system in place.
Even in schools where DEI programs aren’t officially dismantled, the chilling effect of legal threats or political pressure could cause administrators to hesitate when addressing equity concerns. Teachers may avoid difficult conversations about race, gender, disability, or inclusion—not because they don’t care, but because they fear professional consequences.
The loss of DEI also affects students who don’t belong to marginalized groups. A truly inclusive environment benefits everyone—it fosters empathy, communication, critical thinking, and collaboration. When students are exposed to a variety of perspectives and learn to respect differences, they become more prepared for the diverse world beyond school.
In other words, DEI isn’t just about protecting the vulnerable—it’s about building stronger, more compassionate communities. Taking it away doesn’t create fairness. It creates silence. And for those who’ve already struggled to be seen or heard, that silence is especially dangerous.
As someone who has benefited from inclusive education—because someone, somewhere, decided I deserved the chance to learn alongside my peers—I can’t help but ask: What happens to the next generation if we stop believing that’s worth protecting?
Before We Talk About Solutions, Here’s One More Thought
I could take this conversation in a lot of directions, but the main purpose of this post is simple: to say that DEI matters. And removing it would be devastating for so many people.
As someone with a disability, I can speak most clearly from that perspective. When I was in school—graduating in 1992—they weren’t calling it “DEI” yet, at least not in the way we understand it now. The term didn’t gain traction in education until the late 1990s and early 2000s. But programs built on the same principles of inclusion and equity already existed. I had access to trained teachers, assistive tools, and resource rooms because of earlier legislation like the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), which had just been reauthorized in 1990.
So no, it may not have been called DEI—but I still benefited from the kinds of support that DEI now helps formalize and expand. Teachers and schools made space for students like me because someone fought for it. Parents, advocates, lawmakers—they worked to make sure disabled kids weren’t forgotten. And that made all the difference.
What DEI has done is take those patchwork efforts and give them a name, a framework, and a stronger foundation. It hasn’t made everything perfect, but it has made it more intentional. DEI pushes schools to ask the hard questions: Who’s missing? Who needs more? How can we make sure no one is left behind?
I’m not here to tell you how to feel about every issue that falls under DEI. I know it touches on complicated things—race, gender identity, ability, income—and not everyone agrees on how to handle them. But here’s the bottom line: if you don’t like how something is being done, you don’t destroy the whole system. You talk about it. You suggest improvements. You call your school board, your representatives, your community leaders. You advocate for reform. But you don’t abandon the people who rely on it just because it makes someone else uncomfortable.
Because if we start saying that only the “normal,” the “strong,” or the “uncomplicated” are worthy of support—then we are headed down a dark road. That’s not a free society. That’s not compassion. That’s not what we’re supposed to be about.
I said this in my immigration post too, and I’ll say it again here: If we continue down this path of discarding the vulnerable, we will become an uncompassionate society. And if you think your comfort matters more than someone else’s survival, ask yourself—what kind of country does that build?
How We Can Protect DEI Going Forward
If you’ve made it this far, you already care. You’ve taken the time to listen, to reflect, and to imagine what schools look like when we put compassion and fairness at the center. That’s where change begins—but it can’t end there.
Protecting DEI means standing up for the people it’s meant to serve—students with disabilities, students of color, LGBTQ+ students, students learning English, students living in poverty, and all those who navigate the world with additional barriers. It means making sure those students are not forgotten when budgets are cut, policies are debated, or school boards are pressured to take shortcuts.
So what can you do?
- Speak up at the local level. School board meetings, district planning sessions, PTA conversations—these are the frontlines. If DEI programs are being challenged or quietly removed, your voice matters.
- Contact your elected officials. Let your representatives know that you support inclusive education. Ask them how they’re protecting vulnerable students in your state or district.
- Support educators and staff. Teachers, aides, counselors, and administrators are under enormous pressure. A simple “thank you” or note of encouragement can mean more than you think. If they know you have their back, they’re more likely to speak up too.
- Stay informed and help others understand. Share stories. Share facts. Challenge misinformation. Not everyone knows what DEI really is—and you can help clear that up, one conversation at a time.
- Protect the spirit of inclusion in your everyday life. Whether you’re a parent, a student, a neighbor, or a voter—your attitude sets the tone. Show people what inclusion looks like in action.
This isn’t about politics. It’s about people. About children. About what kind of society we want to build—one where we only value those who fit a mold, or one where we make space for everyone to succeed.
DEI may not be perfect. But the answer to imperfection isn’t erasure. It’s care. It’s listening. It’s action. And it starts with each of us refusing to let the most vulnerable be left behind.
We protect DEI by remembering what it stands for: dignity, fairness, access, and empathy. And by believing, even in difficult times, that every student deserves to feel seen, supported, and safe. That’s a future worth fighting for.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope you’ve learned something through this post—as I have while writing it. These issues aren’t always easy to talk about, but they matter. And it’s only by learning together that we can start building something better for everyone.
Notes from the edge of the system 