In 2023, America’s U.S. Supreme Court eliminated race-conscious affirmative action in college admissions. Two years later, its impact isn’t simply reshaping how college admits are made—it’s triggered a more pervasive attack against diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) in American education.

All this, declaring race-based admissions unconstitutional, was merely a beginning. Members of Congress—particularly in this one—have specifically targeted DEI offices, training programs for professors, and coursework covering systemic racial discrimination or gender identity for outright attack. Bills to cap or defund DEI programs at state universities and for K–12 education have been introduced in over 30 states, or enacted. Entire DEI offices have been abolished in Florida and Texas. Some professors resigned. Others now refuse to teach certain subjects.

It is part of a larger “culture war” being waged in classrooms. For teens like me, to begin with, the word is out and unambiguous: your identity is political—and not necessarily welcome.

Let’s be real. DEI is not flawless. It can be performative. However, to numerous students of color, LGBTQ+ students, and first-gen students, DEI equates to visibility. Safety. Being represented. Resources. And now, with DEI in danger, it shouldn’t be a shock that people think those are being stripped.

The ripple impact can be found everywhere. Black and Hispanic student admissions at top universities like Harvard and UNC declined following the 2023 decision. Some previously willing-to-assert racial diversity institutions have backed away. Minority students are second-guessing where they apply—whether they’re welcomed at all, a survey by Education Trust found.

Meanwhile, campus and school DEI titles are being renamed quietly with language like “student success” or “belonging” with not a word about aspirations by gender or by race. Such euphemisms are nice-sounding, but they dodge the real conversation: inequity doesn’t change. Ignoring identity doesn’t level the playing field.

They claim we’re becoming a “meritocracy.” How can we even have a conversation about merit when not everyone has equal access to AP courses, mental health care, healthy neighborhoods, or teachers who share a common appearance? Getting rid of DEI doesn’t get rid of lack of balance. It makes it harder to define.

As a student, I can see how DEI programming—whether it’s small, whether it’s subtle—can truly change lives. A Black Student Union club meeting. A Pride poster in a counselor’s office. A teacher who will challenge uncomfortable histories about our shared past. These moments are everything, especially for those students who are fighting to define themselves and where they belong.

We’re living in a time in which books are being banned, teachers are being silenced, and children are learning to be scared about “inclusion.” That isn’t protecting anyone—it’s keeping us from growing up in reality.

Where do we go from here?

We remember. We resist erasure from our histories. We rebuild. DEI is not dying; it’s surviving, it’s evolving, it’s adapting day by day within a hostile environment. But if young people keep speaking up, organizing, and showing up, it cannot be eradicated.

This isn’t political. This is personal. This is about the future of education—and every student in it.