They Took DEI, So We Took Their Government

There is an old saying that you should be careful who you push out of the room, because one day you might discover that the very people you pushed out are the ones holding the keys to the building.

Well, America, look who has the keys now.

They came after diversity, equity and inclusion. They attacked affirmative action. They demonized the word "woke." They questioned the value of Black history, challenged voting rights protections and treated diversity as though it were some kind of national disease.

They told us DEI was dead. They told us woke was broke. They told us that qualifications mattered more than representation, as though Black people had spent generations asking for opportunities we hadn't earned.

They wanted us out of the boardrooms, out of the classrooms, out of the executive suites and away from the tables where decisions were being made.

But somewhere along the way, they forgot something.

You can eliminate a DEI department, but you cannot eliminate Black determination. You can remove a diversity officer, but you cannot remove Black excellence. And you can close the door to opportunity, but you cannot stop a people who have spent generations learning how to build doors of their own.

And on Election Day 2026, America witnessed something remarkable. We didn't just complain. We didn't just protest. We didn't just march. We organized. We registered. We mobilized. And yes, some of us rested, recharged, line danced and showed up at the polls with the same rhythm that has carried our ancestors through some of this nation's darkest chapters. And when the votes were counted, Black political leadership had made history.

Consider what happened. Keisha Lance Bottoms made history in Georgia, becoming the first Black woman elected governor of an American state. Aaron Ford broke barriers in Nevada. David Crowley made history in Wisconsin. Byron Donalds, a Republican, won Florida's governorship. Wes Moore secured another term in Maryland.

Five Black governors elected in one election cycle. Let that sink in. These victories did not belong to one political party, one ideology or one region of the country. They represented something larger: Black candidates demonstrating that their qualifications, leadership and political appeal could carry them into some of the most powerful offices in America.

And the significance did not stop at the governors' mansions. Juliana Stratton won a seat in the United States Senate. Cory Booker secured another term. Black candidates won congressional races and continued to build a presence in the halls of government.

Now, the numbers deserve some perspective. Black representation in Congress did not increase across the board. In fact, the Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies projected a modest decline in the overall number of Black members of Congress.

But that does not diminish the historic breakthroughs in gubernatorial leadership. Because sometimes progress is not measured simply by how many seats you occupy. Sometimes it is measured by which doors you have finally opened. And these doors had been closed for a very long time.

Here is what makes this moment particularly satisfying. For years, opponents of DEI insisted that America should be a meritocracy, a country where people advance because of their ability, education, experience and accomplishments rather than their race or gender.

Well, look at the results. Look at the candidates. Look at the resumes. Look at the voters who entrusted them with leadership.

You said you wanted qualifications. We brought qualifications. You said you wanted leadership. We brought leadership. You said you wanted excellence. We brought excellence. And when you tried to remove the opportunities, we went after the offices that help create them.

And let me say something about Black women. Because this is the part of the story that deserves special attention.

Across this country, Black women have earned degrees, managed corporations, directed government agencies, led nonprofit organizations, built businesses, educated generations and kept institutions functioning even when they were denied the recognition they deserved. They have been among the most dependable organizers, strategists and mobilizers in American politics. Yet they have too often been the first questioned, the first overlooked and the last celebrated.

When government agencies and corporations began dismantling diversity initiatives and reducing workforces, the message many Black professional women heard was unmistakable: Your presence is no longer a priority.

Imagine that. After generations of being told to get an education, earn the credentials, work twice as hard and prove yourself, suddenly even those accomplishments were not enough to protect opportunities. But here is the beautiful irony.

When you underestimate educated Black women, you may discover that you have underestimated some of the most politically sophisticated, resourceful and determined people in America.

You may remove them from an office, but you cannot remove their education. You may eliminate their positions, but you cannot eliminate their experience. You may take away their titles, but you cannot take away their intelligence. And you certainly cannot take away their vote.

I am not suggesting that every Black woman affected by workforce reductions became a political candidate, or that these election victories were the direct result of DEI policies being dismantled. What I am saying is that America has repeatedly made the mistake of confusing exclusion with defeat.

And history has repeatedly proven otherwise.

There is something deeply American about what happened in this election. For generations, Black Americans have fought to participate fully in a democracy that did not always recognize their humanity, much less their right to govern.

Our ancestors were denied the ballot. They were subjected to literacy tests, poll taxes, intimidation and violence. They marched across bridges, sat at lunch counters, endured jail cells and sacrificed their lives so future generations could exercise the most basic rights of citizenship.

And now, descendants of those same people are being elected to lead states where their ancestors once struggled simply to cast a ballot. Think about that. In Georgia, the state that gave us the political leadership of segregationist governors, the voters have now elected a Black woman to occupy the governor's office.

That is not merely a political victory. That is history answering history. That is the past meeting the present. That is a reminder that the arc of American democracy, while never guaranteed to bend toward justice, can be moved by people determined enough to push it.

And that brings me to the title of this column. They Took DEI, So We Took Their Government."

Now, before somebody gets carried away, let me be clear.

The government does not belong to white people, Black people, Democrats or Republicans. It belongs to the American people. And Black Americans are not outsiders seeking permission to participate. We are Americans exercising our rightful ownership in a democracy our ancestors helped build, defended and struggled to make more perfect.

That is the point. We did not have to overthrow the system. We used it. We did not have to abandon democracy. We participated in it. We did not have to ask anybody to give us power. We persuaded voters to entrust us with it. And perhaps that is the most powerful response to those who believe diversity and excellence cannot coexist.

The voters themselves demonstrated otherwise. But I want to offer one word of caution. Winning an election is not the same as winning equality. Electing Black governors does not automatically eliminate discrimination, close the racial wealth gap, improve struggling schools or guarantee affordable health care.

Representation is important, but representation without results is simply symbolism. Those who have made history must now make a difference. They must govern with integrity, protect the rights of all citizens, expand economic opportunity and demonstrate that leadership is measured not by the color of the person holding the office, but by the lives improved because that person holds it.

And we, as voters, must hold them accountable. Because the goal was never simply to put Black faces in high places. The goal was to make those high places work for everybody.

Still, I refuse to allow the responsibilities of tomorrow to diminish the significance of what happened yesterday. I love being Black. I love our resilience. I love our creativity. I love the way we can turn pain into purpose, setbacks into strategy and rejection into renewed determination. I love that after everything this country has put us through, we continue to believe enough in its promise to fight for a greater role in shaping its future. And I especially love the fact that when some people thought dismantling DEI would somehow diminish Black ambition, Black candidates were busy making history at the ballot box.

There is a lesson here for every young Black boy and girl who has ever been told that a particular office, profession or opportunity was beyond their reach. Don't let somebody else's limited imagination become the boundary of your ambition.

If they close the door, find another entrance. If they remove the chair, build another table. If they question your qualifications, let your accomplishments answer. And if they tell you that you do not belong in the room where decisions are made, perhaps it is time to run for the office where those decisions are made.

Because sometimes the greatest response to rejection is not an argument. It is an achievement. Sometimes the greatest response to discrimination is not anger. It is excellence. And sometimes the greatest response to those who try to diminish your place in America is to remind them, through the power of the ballot, that America belongs to you, too.

They said woke was broke. They said DEI was dead. They thought removing diversity programs would somehow remove the people those programs were intended to help.

But they forgot that Black excellence existed long before DEI became an acronym. It existed before affirmative action. It existed before the Civil Rights Act. It existed when our ancestors were forbidden to read, forbidden to vote and forbidden to dream beyond the circumstances into which they were born. And it will exist long after today's political arguments have faded into history.

So yes, I am celebrating. Not because Black Americans have taken something that belongs to somebody else. But because we are continuing to claim what has always belonged to us. Our voice. Our vote. Our opportunity. Our rightful place in the American story.

They tried to take away diversity, equity and inclusion. But they could not take away our determination, our education or our ability to lead.

They took DEI. And we took our rightful seats at the table of government. And the beautiful thing about democracy is that those seats were never theirs to keep from us in the first place.