The Cost of Silence: How DEI Rollbacks Are Erasing Disability from the Conversation

Person tied to a ship’s mast in stormy seas, surrounded by flying papers, rough waves, and glowing lights on rocky shores—symbolizing focus amid chaos and distraction.

I’ve been thinking a lot about sirens. Not the ones on ambulances—the other kind. The ones Chris Hayes describes in The Sirens’ Call: mythic, seductive, dangerous. They don’t just scream for your attention—they lure it, sing to it, steal it. And they drag you straight into the rocks.

What happens when an entire government starts operating like that?

Over the past few weeks, the Trump administration has turned civil rights enforcement into political theater. Agencies like the EEOC and Federal Communications Commission are being used not to protect marginalized groups—but to punish them. DEI programs that once opened doors for Black and Brown students, queer workers, and yes, disabled professionals, are being framed as threats. The EEOC has launched investigations into university internships and law firm diversity programs. The FCC is probing The Walt Disney Company over inclusive storytelling. The OFCCP, once a watchdog for federal contractor discrimination, is being gutted from the inside. And while that’s happening, the president is casually floating the idea of a third term—telling NBC News, “There are methods.”

It’s not just authoritarian. It’s a masterclass in distraction. And in that swirl of headlines and spectacle, something deeply dangerous is happening: disabled people are disappearing from the narrative. Again.

We are not just being excluded. We are being erased. DEI policies that included disability are being dismantled. Federal workers with disabilities—many who’ve built careers serving their country—are being laid off or pushed out, quietly and en masse. States like New York and Wisconsin are scrambling to rehire them, but the national spotlight is elsewhere. The sirens are too loud.

Chris Hayes writes, “Attention is the substance of life… Every moment we are awake, we are paying attention to something.” That means what we don’t pay attention to? It can be just as powerful. Just as dangerous. I’ll be honest—this isn’t theoretical for me. I’ve been in the rooms where disability was a box no one wanted to check. Where accessibility was always someone else’s job. Where inclusion didn’t extend to people like me. And now those gaps have become openings for erasure, policy by policy, silence by silence.

We’re watching a full-scale rollback of civil rights—framed as “equity” for those who already hold power—and it’s working because we’re not paying attention to who’s falling through the cracks. Especially disabled folks. Especially those at the intersection of race, gender, and disability.

So here’s my ask: Pay attention. Look past the spectacle. Follow the stories that aren’t being told. Because attention isn’t just a resource. It’s a form of protection. And when we withhold it, people get hurt.

The sirens are singing louder every day. Some of us are still tied to the mast. Don’t look away.

Why Lying About Disability Hurts Everyone

Silhouetted wheelchair user navigating through a bustling airport terminal during sunrise or sunset, with warm golden light streaming in from large windows ahead. The reflection of the light creates a glowing effect on the polished floor. Other travelers with luggage are blurred in the background, adding a sense of motion and activity to the scene.

Thanksgiving this year marked a bittersweet milestone for me: my first flight since the passing of my service dog, Canine Companions® Pico. Navigating air travel without his steadying presence was an emotional adjustment, but it also brought a new set of challenges to the forefront—ones I hadn’t anticipated as a wheelchair user.

Picture this: It’s the early hours of the morning, and I’m at DCA, waiting to board my flight to Seattle. Between navigating Transportation Security Administration (TSA) Pre-check, managing my luggage, and coordinating the safe onboarding of my wheelchair, I was already juggling more than most travelers might consider. And then came the questions.

The heightened interest in the mechanics of my Alber GmbH power-assist wheels meant fielding inquiries from airline staff who were understandably curious about the technology I rely on for mobility. Half-asleep and longing for coffee, I found myself explaining the specs of my chair like I was pitching a new gadget on Shark Tank ABC.

The lesson I learned? Preparation is survival. Much like I once traveled with paperwork to verify Pico’s working status, I now carry a one-page cheat sheet detailing everything about my wheelchair frame and wheels. It’s a necessity for safety reasons, and because of the pervasive scrutiny many disabled travelers face—scrutiny amplified by dishonest actions like those described in a recent viral story.

A passenger on a United Airlines flight tried to exploit early boarding by claiming he had a disability due to recent knee surgery. However, his actions unraveled when he requested a seat in the exit row, where passengers must confirm their ability to assist in emergencies—something Federal Aviation Administration regulations prohibit for people with certain disabilities. Faced with the choice of admitting he lied or forfeiting the coveted exit row seat, he indignantly claimed he was suddenly "fine" to sit there after all.

When individuals fake disabilities, it undermines the trust needed for systems like pre-boarding to work. Those of us with legitimate needs find ourselves subjected to greater scrutiny. Additionally, exploiting accommodations reinforces the false idea that they’re perks instead of rights—conveniences to be gamed rather than tools for equity. This attitude chips away at the dignity of those who rely on these systems. Disability is not a monolith, but one thing unites us: the barriers we face are real. Every "clever hack" or deception makes the rest of us pay a higher price, emotionally, physically, and logistically.

We, as a society, must do better. We must normalize empathy over suspicion and remember that accessibility isn’t just a checkbox on a corporate DEIA plan—it’s a commitment to dignity, inclusion, and equity for all.

Planning to lie about a disability to get early boarding? Read this

Why Removing Equity from DEI Is a Step Back for Disability Inclusion

Two hands, one from the top left and the other from the bottom right, grasp a large, yellow letter 'E' against a grey background, symbolizing the tug-of-war over the concept of equity in DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) initiatives. Credit: Annelise Capossela/Axios

Recently, I've been reflecting on the troubling trend of companies removing 'equity' from their DEI initiatives, a move now endorsed by the SHRM. This shift is particularly harmful to the disability community.

Equity ensures that everyone has what they need to succeed. For disabled employees, this might mean accessible workplaces, assistive technology, or flexible work arrangements. SHRM's decision to drop 'equity' from its strategy undermines these critical supports. The Wall Street Journal's Ray Smith reports the organization is "moving away from equity language to ensure no group of workers appears to get preferential treatment." However, this perspective ignores the unique barriers faced by the disability community and other marginalized groups.

Removing equity from DEI efforts sends a concerning message: that the specific needs of marginalized groups are less important. This is not just a theoretical issue; it's a tangible setback. A recent piece by Bloomberg's Khorri A. Atkinson explored the impact on colleges and universities that have already begun eliminating hundreds of DEI-related jobs, impacting support for historically marginalized students. In the workplace, this trend could mean fewer accommodations and less understanding of the unique challenges faced by disabled employees.

Moving through the world with various disabilities, I’ve experienced firsthand the difference that equitable policies make. Equity isn't about giving some people an unfair advantage; it's about leveling the playing field. Without it, disabled employees like myself are left at a significant disadvantage.

We need to recognize that inclusion without equity is incomplete. Equity should be uncontroversial. It just means equality of opportunity. “Who are the people that find 'equity' confusing?" Deb Muller, the CEO of HR Acuity, told Axios’s Emily Peck. This is why the removal of 'equity' is so alarming—it risks undoing years of progress and harms those who rely on these measures the most.

I urge my fellow advocates and allies to speak out against this shift. It's crucial that we maintain a holistic approach to DEI that includes equity. We need to push for policies that recognize and address the diverse needs of all employees.

What are your thoughts on SHRM's decision to drop 'equity' from their DEI strategy? How do you think this will impact the disability community and other marginalized groups?

When DEI gets downgraded to I&D