“You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You’ll learn things you never knew you never knew.”
— “Colors of the Wind,” Judy Kuhn (1995) for “Pocahontas”
These words capture a truth I’ve lived firsthand. Being perceived as “foreign” isn’t just about nationality — it’s about the unspoken rules of belonging, the silent barriers that determine who is welcomed and who is questioned.
It’s human nature to distrust what feels foreign.
Trust me — I would know. I’ve been foreign in seven countries. Seven places where my name, my accent, my existence raised questions before my work could even speak for itself.
The strange part? I don’t change. My ambition stays the same. My talent, my drive, my intelligence — unchanged. But how I’m received? That’s a different story.
In Southern California, people welcomed me. Why? Because they’d seen smart Iranian women before. I wasn’t an anomaly. I was just another professional.
In Belgium? I was questioned. Suspicion dripped from every interaction.
“Why are you here?”
“Did you get into the Ph.D. program because of DEI?”
“Did you ... sleep your way in?”
There was no DEI program at that school that I applied through. I was there because I was qualified. But that didn’t matter. The assumption wasn’t about facts — it was about comfort. I didn’t look like what they expected. I didn’t fit their idea of who belonged.
And that is the truth about DEIB.
The real conversation isn’t about getting through the door. It’s about what happens once we’re in — about proving ourselves over and over again, while less qualified people skate by on the comfort of familiarity.
Let’s get real.
The loudest critics of DEIB claim it gives unqualified people opportunities they didn’t “earn.” That’s rich — coming from the same people who’ve quietly benefited from unspoken handouts for centuries.
DEIB was never about lowering standards. It was about finally applying them — equally.
And now that the playing field is shifting, some people are desperate to turn back time.
Right now, law firms and corporations are sprinting away from DEIB. Quietly “restructuring” programs. Watering down commitments. Hoping no one notices.
We notice.
The firms that brag about diversity but whose C-suite looks like a country club roster?
We see them.
The companies that post a Black History Month statement but have never made a Black executive a decision-maker?
We see them.
The leaders who claim they “just want the best candidate” while hiring people who look exactly like them — over and over again?
We. See. Them.
The thing is, I don’t need their fake commitments. None of us do. Because real change never came from people like them. It came from people like us.
Here’s the part they don’t want to talk about: The more of us who rise to leadership, the harder it becomes for them to ignore us.
We don’t just need representation — we need decision-making power. We need to be the ones setting policy, shaping hiring practices, mentoring the next generation, and proving that a diverse, equitable, and inclusive workplace isn’t just possible — it’s necessary.
And I know firsthand how much leadership matters.
I got into my Ph.D. program not because of a quota but because one female professor saw the potential in a female scholar. She didn’t dismiss me as a “stupid North American” because she had lived in Miami. She didn’t judge my accent because she understood accents don’t define intelligence. She saw my work for what it was — excellent. And that’s the difference real leadership makes.
Because here’s what happens when we lead:
I’m not here because of DEIB. I’m here because I belong here.
And I’m going to make damn sure others know they belong too.
DEIB isn’t dying. It’s evolving.
Because no matter how many programs are slashed, no matter how many press releases claim “business priorities have shifted,” one fact remains: The workforce isn’t going back to the way it was.
We belong. We’ve always belonged. And we’re not asking for permission to take up space.
Let them erase the words “diversity” and “inclusion” from their websites. Let them pat themselves on the back for dodging accountability.
We don’t need a seat at their table. We are building our own.
And trust me — when they finally realize that diverse teams win, when they come running back to DEIB under a new name, acting like they discovered something groundbreaking?
We’ll be here. We always have been.
The views expressed in this article are the personal views of the author and are not official policy positions of the American Bar Association.
