The uncomfortable truth about opportunity in America

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We find ourselves at a painful crossroads — teetering between hope and despair, between the desire to educate and the exhaustion of repeating the same patterns. Reflecting on the past five years, the conversations I’ve had, the spaces I’ve entered and the questions I’ve answered, it’s clear that we are not addressing the real issue.

When George Floyd’s murder ignited a global reckoning, I was inundated with questions from people who earnestly wanted to help. Many of these were Republicans asking, “What can I do?” We sat together in rooms where the air was heavy with discomfort but also charged with possibility. These individuals sought ways to support change, often looking to fund initiatives that promised to make a difference. Yet the more I spoke to policymakers and community stakeholders, the more I realized that the framing mattered.

When I approached the conversation through an economic lens, they got it. Talk about workforce shortages, or missed economic potential and the room would lean in. Hope stirred. Policymakers grew excited about addressing these crises in actionable ways. I saw that same hope take root in Minneapolis, where efforts to diversify the police force reflected an understanding that talent exists everywhere, even in neighborhoods we often overlook. The next future Ben Carson might be walking the streets of north Minneapolis right now. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: In America, his potential might still be dismissed, not because of his promise but because of his skin color.

The data is stark. Black Americans comprise just:

These aren’t just numbers. For generations, merit was never the real criterion. Your skin was the gatekeeper. And now, as those gates inch open, the reaction from some corners is not a celebration of untapped potential but a retreat into defensiveness. Too often, people perceive the economic advancement of Black Americans as a threat rather than a national strength.

We often frame diversity, equity and inclusion as a fight for fairness. But fairness isn’t the core issue — access is. Access to opportunity. Access to resources. Access to belief. True equity isn’t charity or lowering standards. It’s about recognizing the inherent humanity and potential that exists in every community, if only we’re willing to nurture it.

Most people say they want to live in a post-racial society, but the truth is we still very much live in a racialized world. Our churches, neighborhoods and streets reflect this reality. We have failed to embrace what it means to live in a multicultural world. Being “colorblind” is unrealistic and counterproductive. Ignoring race denies identity and diminishes lived experiences. I don’t want to erase identity; I want to see it — and remove the barriers that limit its ability to thrive.

Some say protections like affirmative action and workplace discrimination laws are no longer necessary. However, history shows otherwise. Without safeguards, power consolidates and inequities persist. The data proves it:

This isn’t meritocracy. It’s systemic exclusion.

The question isn’t whether protections are necessary — the data makes it clear they are. The real question is whether we’re brave enough to confront the uncomfortable truths about power and privilege. Are we ready to move beyond outdated narratives that frame DEI as a “burden” or a “threat?”

Let me be candid: Today’s conversations about equity and representation feel eerily dated. They remind me of a time when our elders marched for the same rights we still fight for. Haven’t we evolved? Representation isn’t about optics; it’s about possibility.

The pushback against DEI isn’t about merit — it’s about fear. But equity isn’t a zero-sum game. When every zip code can nurture its talent, our economy grows stronger, our communities healthier and our nation closer to its ideals.

Adair Mosley is CEO of the African American Leadership Forum, based in the Twin Cities.