You Can Take Away DEI, But I’m Still a JEDI

Transforming Justice, Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion into Action, No Matter the Policy

Yesterday, January 22nd, 2025, President Donald Trump issued an executive order rolling back decades of progress on diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives. This action not only revoked a 1965 directive by President Lyndon B. Johnson—one of the foundational policies of affirmative action—but also extended its reach into federal agencies and private organizations. Federal employees dedicated to DEI work were placed on administrative leave, and many corporations scaled back their programs, leaving countless individuals wondering what the future holds for meaningful change.

For me, this is more than a political headline—it’s personal. As someone whose life’s work is deeply rooted in justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion (or JEDI, as I prefer to call it), I’ve experienced firsthand what happens when these values are treated as optional rather than essential. I’ve been in spaces where DEI was nothing more than a performative checkbox and seen how that eroded trust and perpetuated harm. But I’ve also experienced the transformative power of JEDI principles when they’re applied with sincerity and intention.

The truth is, no executive order or policy rollback can erase the need for this work. DEI, or JEDI, isn’t about compliance; it’s about how we treat one another, how we design systems, and how we create spaces that honor the full humanity of every individual. It’s about fostering environments where everyone—not just the privileged few—has the opportunity to thrive.

And yet, this rollback is a stark reminder of how fragile progress can feel. For marginalized communities, including my own, it’s another example of how quickly systems can shift to undermine our voices and our value. I don’t typically write about politics—let’s face it, there’s already an ocean of discourse out there—but sometimes the tides pull you in. Sometimes, staying silent feels like complicity.

I’ve always felt like just another fish in the sea when it comes to this topic, but if I’m honest, this fish swims alone. I don’t do tribalism, and I don’t buy into the divisive rhetoric that dominates our political landscape. Instead, I want to talk about how we hold onto the heart of this work when institutions fail us. I want to share reflections on my journey navigating both sides of the political spectrum, working within systems that often fail the very people they claim to serve. Because the truth is, we don’t need policy to practice JEDI work. We need courage, community, and commitment.

Let’s start with my roots.

Growing Up with the Conservative Buddha

My dad’s family nickname, The Conservative Buddha, perfectly encapsulates the kind of conservatism I grew up with. It wasn’t about control or rigidity—it was about balance, thoughtfulness, and accountability. My dad held strong values: he believed in hard work, fiscal responsibility, and self-reliance. But unlike the louder, more aggressive forms of conservatism I often see in today’s political discourse, my dad modeled these principles with a quiet dignity and an unwavering respect for others.

He earned that nickname because of the way he listened. He didn’t impose his beliefs; he offered them like an open hand, leaving space for others to reflect and respond. He was deeply reflective, asking questions that encouraged self-awareness and personal growth. His approach to life, and by extension to politics, was rooted in a sense of justice—not the kind of justice you find in slogans or political campaigns, but the kind that starts with the recognition of everyone’s inherent dignity.

This is where I want to introduce the JEDI framework—Justice, Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion—not as a set of buzzwords, but as a deeply human practice. In many ways, my dad modeled justice in its simplest form: he treated people with fairness and integrity, regardless of their background, beliefs, or choices. His respect for diversity wasn’t performative; it was foundational. And while he may not have called it inclusion, his ability to hold space for others’ perspectives exemplified what true inclusivity looks like.

In practice, JEDI isn’t about checking boxes or hosting corporate training sessions. It’s about living the values of respect, fairness, and belonging in every interaction. It’s about creating systems where everyone has an equal opportunity to thrive. My dad didn’t need a formal framework to embody these principles—they were simply part of who he was.

Balanced but Not Blind: A Unique Conservative Upbringing

Growing up in my household was a balancing act between traditional conservative values and an openness that set us apart. My parents emphasized the importance of family, hard work, and self-reliance, but they also taught me that my worth wasn’t tied to my achievements. This wasn’t the kind of conservatism that adhered to rigid hierarchies or patriarchy; it was rooted in mutual respect, intellectual curiosity, and fairness.

For example, while my dad listened to Rush Limbaugh (bless his heart), my mom always countered with her own wisdom: “Think for yourself. Work hard, but don’t forget you’re valuable just because you’re you.” These competing messages created a dynamic that taught me the value of nuance. My parents didn’t just encourage me to work hard; they encouraged me to question everything—even the values they themselves held.

This foundation gave me a strong sense of justice and equity, principles I’ve carried with me into my adult life and work. Justice, in our household, wasn’t about punishment or reward—it was about doing right by people. Equity was implicit in how my parents treated me and others, with the understanding that people have different needs and that fairness doesn’t always mean treating everyone the same. My upbringing wasn’t perfect, but it gave me a framework for seeing the world in a way that values both individual effort and collective responsibility.

What Does JEDI Look Like Here?

When we talk about Justice, Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion (JEDI), it’s easy to get caught up in abstract concepts. But in practice, it looks a lot like what my parents modeled:

• Justice means advocating for what’s right, even when it’s uncomfortable. My parents taught me to stand up to bullies, whether they were in the schoolyard or in positions of power.

• Equity is recognizing that not everyone has the same starting line in life. While my parents worked hard to provide opportunities for me, they were also aware of the systemic barriers that others face.

• Diversity means valuing people for their unique contributions, not forcing them into molds. My family celebrated intellectual curiosity and respected differences of opinion.

• Inclusion means creating spaces where everyone feels they belong, whether that’s at the dinner table or in broader social contexts.

These lessons taught me that political labels mean little without the principles and actions to back them up. True conservatism, at its best, should strive for a world where everyone can thrive—not just those who conform to a narrow set of expectations.

Marrying a Republican: Lessons in Rigidity and Redemption

When I married a Republican in my early twenties, I thought I was making a choice rooted in shared values. I came from a conservative family, after all—one that emphasized respect, hard work, and self-governance. These seemed like universal principles at the time, ones that anyone with a good heart could embrace.

But as it turns out, shared values don’t always mean shared visions. What I mistook for compatibility was, in reality, a lack of understanding about the more insidious ways rigid systems—be they political, social, or relational—can manifest.

Patriarchy Up Close and Personal

For 16 years, I lived in a patriarchal relationship that chipped away at my sense of self. The very same rigidity I would later critique in political systems had rooted itself in my personal life, shaping expectations, communication, and power dynamics. Decisions were not shared, and my voice was often secondary to his.

Leaving that marriage wasn’t just an act of survival—it was an act of reclaiming my autonomy, intellect, and worth. It forced me to confront how deeply ingrained patriarchal norms had influenced not only my relationship but my understanding of conservatism.

Bridging Conservative and Transformative Values

While that relationship almost destroyed me, it also provided clarity about what I value most. It taught me that conservatism doesn’t have to mean control or rigidity. It can mean accountability, responsibility, and stewardship when practiced with humility and care. But conservatism must also be willing to evolve—it must make space for equity, mutual respect, and the dismantling of harmful norms.

In that way, I didn’t abandon the conservative principles I grew up with—I transformed them. I hold on to the merit, hard work, and family values my parents instilled in me, but I’ve stripped them of the patriarchal structures that once confined them. My understanding of conservatism is no longer about maintaining the status quo; it’s about building systems of equity, respect, and inclusion that honor everyone’s autonomy and contributions.

JEDI Reflections: Relationships as Microcosms

This experience reinforced for me that justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion are not just systemic issues—they are deeply personal ones. They start in our relationships, in the ways we communicate, collaborate, and share power.

• Justice in relationships means recognizing when one partner’s needs, voice, or autonomy are being ignored and addressing those imbalances.

• Equity means ensuring that both partners have the resources and support they need to thrive—not just economically, but emotionally and intellectually.

• Diversity in relationships invites us to embrace different perspectives and approaches, understanding that there is no single “right” way to navigate life.

• Inclusion means creating space for both individuals to grow and contribute authentically, without fear of judgment or dismissal.

Carrying the Lessons into Advocacy

My marriage taught me that rigidity—whether in relationships or ideologies—is the enemy of growth and connection. It also showed me the transformative power of self-reflection and accountability. Just as I learned to dismantle the patriarchal dynamics in my personal life, I strive to do the same in the systems I work within.

These lessons shape my approach to advocacy and political engagement. They remind me that change starts at the smallest levels—in our homes, our relationships, and our communities—and radiates outward.

Experiences on the Left: The Illusion of Progress

Leaving my marriage marked the beginning of a profound transformation—not just personally, but politically. As I sought to rebuild my life and reestablish my sense of self, I gravitated toward spaces that promised progress, equity, and inclusivity. For a time, I worked with a social justice nonprofit. I believed I had found a home for my values and ideals, a place where the principles of Justice, Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion (JEDI) were actively practiced.

It didn’t take long, however, for the cracks to show.

While the nonprofit world often positions itself as a bastion of progress, what I encountered was a system rife with its own forms of rigidity, performative activism, and even outright hypocrisy. It was heartbreaking. I watched organizations pay lip service to JEDI principles while perpetuating the same exclusionary practices they claimed to oppose.

For example, meetings designed to address inequity and foster inclusion were dominated by a handful of voices—usually those at the top of the hierarchy—while others were silenced or sidelined. Important decisions were made behind closed doors, far removed from the communities the organization was supposed to serve. And despite the rhetoric of empowerment, dissenting voices—especially those that came from marginalized individuals—were often dismissed or punished.

JEDI Reflections: Beyond Performative Activism

My experience in the nonprofit sector revealed the difference between performing JEDI principles and truly embodying them. Here’s what I learned about what justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion should look like:

• Justice means holding institutions accountable, not just for their external impact but for their internal practices. It’s not enough to advocate for change in society; organizations must also address their own power dynamics, biases, and inequities.

• Equity requires more than equal access—it demands recognizing and addressing systemic barriers that prevent marginalized voices from being heard, both within and outside the organization.

• Diversity cannot stop at optics. True diversity involves amplifying a wide range of perspectives and ensuring they inform decision-making at every level.

• Inclusion isn’t about making space at the table for marginalized voices; it’s about reconstructing the table itself so that everyone has the opportunity to shape it.

When the Left Mirrors the Right

What struck me most during my time in the nonprofit world was how the left’s rigidity mirrored the right’s, albeit in different ways. While conservative spaces often clung to traditional norms and hierarchies, many progressive spaces were equally inflexible in their adherence to ideological purity.

I witnessed colleagues tear each other down over minor differences in opinion, branding dissenters as “problematic” or “not progressive enough.” Instead of fostering collaboration, these spaces often became battlegrounds of moral superiority, where performative outrage replaced meaningful dialogue.

In the same way that conservative spaces can ostracize those who challenge traditional values, progressive spaces can exile those who fail to meet their exacting standards. The result, in both cases, is the same: the silencing of diverse perspectives and the perpetuation of exclusion.

Carrying the Lessons Forward

These experiences forced me to confront my own assumptions and biases. They taught me that no ideology or political affiliation has a monopoly on justice or equity, and that true change requires looking beyond labels and slogans.

Today, I approach my work with a deep commitment to practicing what I preach. Whether I’m facilitating a meeting, designing a program, or simply engaging in conversation, I strive to create spaces where everyone feels valued, heard, and empowered to contribute.

Justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion are not abstract ideals; they are practices that must be lived and embodied every day. They require humility, self-reflection, and a willingness to learn from both successes and failures. And most importantly, they demand that we hold ourselves—and the systems we participate in—accountable.

Experiences in Government: Performative Equity and Tokenism

After my time in the nonprofit sector, I transitioned to government work, hopeful that this would offer a more structured and impactful avenue to advocate for systemic change. I was hired by the Oregon Health Authority (OHA) under the banner of an equity initiative, a program explicitly designed to bring lived experience into the policymaking process for behavioral health. It seemed like a perfect fit—a chance to use my expertise and lived experience to make a tangible difference.

But much like my time in the nonprofit world, the reality didn’t match the promise.

While the initiative had all the right language—equity, inclusion, transformation, lived experience—the implementation was deeply flawed. My role quickly felt more performative than purposeful. I was brought in as a "representative" of lived experience, but the structures I was working within weren’t designed to value or integrate my contributions meaningfully. Instead, my presence seemed more like a box to check than a voice to amplify.

For instance, I was often expected to share my insights in meetings, but those insights rarely influenced the decisions being made. The people in power—the ones crafting the policies and driving the initiatives—remained insulated from the voices they claimed to center. Decisions were made without authentic collaboration, and I found myself increasingly sidelined in discussions I was hired to inform.

JEDI Reflections: When Equity Becomes a Facade

This experience highlighted a critical distinction between the rhetoric of equity and its practice. In theory, JEDI principles were at the heart of the initiative, but in practice, they were little more than window dressing. Here’s what I learned about what JEDI work should—and shouldn’t—be in government contexts:

• Justice means ensuring that initiatives are not just inclusive in name but transformative in practice. It’s not enough to say the right words; systems must be restructured to elevate marginalized voices and redistribute power.

• Equity demands more than token representation. It requires creating environments where lived experience informs every stage of decision-making, from policy design to implementation.

• Diversity isn’t just about who is in the room; it’s about whose voices are heard and whose perspectives shape outcomes.

• Inclusion is more than inviting someone to the table—it’s ensuring they have a say in how the table is set and what’s on the menu.

Carrying the Lessons Forward

What I experienced at OHA was a microcosm of the larger systemic challenges facing equity initiatives in government. Performative inclusion doesn’t just fail to create change—it erodes trust and reinforces existing hierarchies.

As someone deeply committed to transformative social change, this experience reinforced the importance of pushing for more than surface-level reform. True equity work demands that systems not only invite marginalized voices to the table but also redesign the table itself to center those voices in meaningful ways.

These lessons now inform everything I do, from my work with The Compassion Collective to my advocacy for neurodivergent individuals. Real JEDI work is not about appearances; it’s about action, accountability, and the courage to dismantle the systems that perpetuate inequity.

When we reduce equity initiatives to performative gestures, we not only fail to create meaningful change but also erode trust in the systems meant to serve marginalized communities. My time at OHA was a painful reminder of this disconnect, yet it also strengthened my resolve to push for systems that truly embody their stated commitments and uplift the people they are designed to support.

JEDI in Action: Transforming Principles into Practice

This brings us to the heart of the matter: JEDI in Action. Justice, Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion (JEDI) are more than just buzzwords or lofty ideals tucked into corporate mission statements. When stripped of performative posturing and implemented with sincerity, JEDI becomes a dynamic force for transformation—not just in workplaces, but across entire communities. It’s not about the rhetoric; it’s about the real, tangible impact of action.

One example that comes to mind is my experience working within The Compassion Collective. When we first established our shared governance model, we prioritized inclusion and equity at every step. Instead of assuming a top-down hierarchy, we implemented a consent-based governance structure where all members have a voice. Decisions are made collaboratively, and proposals require both consent and the absence of valid objections to move forward. This process doesn’t just empower individuals—it builds trust and ensures that every voice, especially those from historically marginalized backgrounds, is valued.

One of the most tangible examples of JEDI principles in action comes from my recent advocacy within Oregon’s Vocational Rehabilitation (VR) system. As an autistic professional navigating a deeply flawed and paternalistic structure, I experienced firsthand how these systems often fail the very people they are meant to support. Through The Compassion Collective, I gained the courage, support, and feedback to voice my concerns at a State Rehabilitation Council (SRC) listening session.

During the session, I shared my story of encountering ableism, dismissiveness, and a lack of trauma-informed practices within VR services. Speaking first, I laid the foundation for others to share their own experiences, and together, we highlighted systemic issues and proposed actionable solutions. Empowering clients to lead their own programs, hiring actually autistic professionals, and ensuring trauma-informed, inclusive practices were among the changes we advocated for.

These experiences reminded me that true justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion go beyond rhetoric—they require collaboration, accountability, and listening to those most impacted by systemic barriers. Advocacy is about transforming systems so they genuinely serve the people they claim to support.

JEDI in action also looks like community-driven policymaking. During my time at the Oregon Health Authority, I witnessed the limitations of performative equity initiatives. However, I also saw glimpses of what’s possible when lived experience is treated as an asset rather than a checkbox. For instance, one initiative sought to redesign behavioral health services by centering the voices of those directly impacted. While the overall execution fell short, the moments of authentic collaboration—when policymakers actually listened to and incorporated feedback—were powerful reminders of what’s possible when systems are designed with, rather than for, communities.

So what does JEDI look like when it’s done well? Here are a few key practices:

• Justice: Systems that are not only fair but actively dismantle inequities. For example, community organizations that reallocate resources based on need rather than equality alone.

• Equity: Recognizing and addressing systemic barriers, like offering flexible work arrangements for parents or individuals with disabilities to level the playing field.

• Diversity: Going beyond representation to ensure diverse voices shape decisions. This could mean creating advisory councils that reflect the lived experiences of the communities they serve.

• Inclusion: Rebuilding systems so that everyone—not just those already in power—has the opportunity to contribute meaningfully. For example, designing accessible voting systems or creating leadership pathways for marginalized groups.

JEDI work is not easy, nor is it quick. It demands a deep and ongoing commitment to learning, self-reflection, and the often uncomfortable process of dismantling and rebuilding systems. Yet, when done with intention and authenticity, it has the power to transform environments into spaces where every individual feels valued, supported, and empowered to thrive.

Personal Lessons as a Bridge to Integral Politics

This understanding of transformation extends beyond systems and organizations—it is deeply personal. In many ways, the lessons I’ve learned from my own life mirror the challenges and opportunities we face on a larger societal scale. My marriage, for example, wasn’t just a lesson in relationships; it reflected the very dynamics that underpin our political and social systems. The rigidity, the imbalances of power, and the resistance to change I experienced are the same dysfunctions that keep so many of our institutions stuck.

But my marriage wasn’t the only experience that shaped this vision. My work in nonprofits, my role within government systems, and my upbringing in a conservative yet open-minded family all contributed to this understanding. These experiences profoundly shaped my vision for what I call integral politics—a model that transcends binary thinking, embraces complexity, and creates space for inclusion, balance, and collective growth.

Beyond Rigidity: The Case for Adaptive Politics

In every area of my life—personal, professional, and political—I’ve seen how rigidity serves no one. Fixed hierarchies and inflexible systems, whether in a household or a government, leave little room for innovation, adaptation, or equity. In contrast, an adaptive framework—one that evolves in response to the needs of all stakeholders—creates the conditions for thriving.

Integral politics, as I envision it, requires us to:

1. Embrace Complexity: Just as relationships thrive when both partners’ unique perspectives are valued, politics must move beyond oversimplified binaries. It’s not about choosing conservatism or progressivism—it’s about synthesizing the best of both.

2. Balance Values: My conservative upbringing taught me the importance of accountability, responsibility, and self-reliance. My progressive evolution emphasized inclusion, empathy, and systemic change. These aren’t contradictory; they’re complementary when held in balance.

3. Center Justice and Equity: True equity doesn’t just redistribute resources—it redistributes power. It ensures that everyone has the opportunity to contribute meaningfully, whether in a family, a workplace, or a democracy.

The Role of JEDI in Integral Politics

Justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion (JEDI) are often dismissed as “progressive buzzwords” by those resistant to change. But at their core, these principles are about fostering a more functional, humane society. My time in government and nonprofit work exposed me to both the potential and pitfalls of these principles.

• Justice ensures that systems—whether political, economic, or social—are accountable to the people they serve. It’s about dismantling unfair practices and creating frameworks where fairness is built into the structure.

• Equity recognizes that one-size-fits-all solutions don’t work. Just as my conservative parents tailored their support to my individual needs, equitable policies ensure that resources are distributed based on context and need.

• Diversity isn’t just about representation; it’s about valuing the unique strengths and perspectives that different groups bring to the table. Imagine what politics could look like if we treated every voice as an asset, not a threat.

• Inclusion means creating systems where everyone—regardless of their background or identity—can participate fully and authentically. In politics, this looks like accessible voting, community-driven policymaking, and leadership that reflects the diversity of the population it serves.

Relational Politics: Lessons from the Personal

If there’s one thing my personal journey has taught me, it’s that relationships are the foundation of everything. Politics is no different. At its core, politics is about relationships—between individuals, communities, and institutions.

An integral approach to politics would prioritize:

• Collaboration over Competition: Just as successful relationships rely on teamwork, political systems thrive when leaders and citizens work together toward shared goals.

• Empathy as a Tool for Change: My lived experiences have shown me the transformative power of empathy. When we approach political challenges with a genuine desire to understand, we create space for solutions that benefit everyone.

• Accountability as a Form of Respect: In relationships, accountability is a sign of care. In politics, it’s a sign of respect for the people and communities who are impacted by decisions.

The Vision: An Integral Politics for the Future

Imagine a political system where:

• Leaders prioritize long-term, sustainable solutions over short-term wins.

• Communities are empowered to co-create policies that reflect their unique needs and values.

• Equity isn’t an afterthought but a guiding principle.

• Ideological rigidity is replaced by adaptability, and policies are driven by evidence, empathy, and the collective good.

This is the vision of integral politics that I strive to advocate for. It’s a vision rooted in the lessons I’ve learned—from my family, my marriage, my personal growth, and my professional experiences.

A Call to Action: Practicing Integral Politics in Daily Life

If there’s one lesson my journey has taught me, it’s this: systemic change begins with individual action. Each of us has the power to contribute to a more just, equitable, diverse, and inclusive world—not through grand gestures, but through small, intentional steps that ripple outward.

Here are some ways to begin practicing integral politics in your own life today:

• Engage in Local Advocacy: Start by identifying an issue in your community that you care deeply about. Attend meetings, join discussions, and use your voice to advocate for meaningful change. Your lived experience is a valuable asset in shaping solutions.

• Foster Inclusivity in Your Workplace: Reflect on your workplace culture. Are diverse perspectives truly valued? Are systems in place to ensure equitable opportunities for all? Speak up, suggest changes, and model inclusive practices in your own interactions.

• Rethink Your Interactions: In your personal relationships, practice empathy and accountability. Seek to understand perspectives that differ from your own, and approach disagreements as opportunities for dialogue and growth, rather than division.

• Support Marginalized Voices: Whether it’s by amplifying the work of grassroots organizations, contributing to mutual aid efforts, or simply listening to someone’s story without judgment, find ways to center and uplift those whose voices are often sidelined.

• Challenge Rigid Systems: When you encounter hierarchies, structures, or norms that exclude or harm, ask yourself how they can be adapted or transformed. Sometimes, the most radical change starts with a single question: “How can this system better serve everyone?”

By taking these steps, you become an active participant in integral politics—not by choosing sides or subscribing to ideological purity, but by embracing complexity, fostering relationships, and striving for collective good. True change isn’t about waiting for policy shifts or top-down mandates. It’s about embodying the values we wish to see in our communities, every single day.

So, I invite you to reflect: What’s one small action you can take today to bring us closer to a more equitable and inclusive world? Start there, and let that action be the first step in a much larger journey. Together, we can create the kind of future we all deserve.