It was the second Wednesday of my fall senior semester at Emory University, and I had just gotten out of a seminar when I turned on my phone to check my email. One new message. The subject line was unassuming: Update on DEI Offices and Programs. The sender was unremarkable: the office of our (interim) president. But the first line of the email was a gut punch. My steps slowed in the hallway as I scanned the page. “This is a hard and important statement to make…” the email read. It got worse from there — my school is officially shutting down its DEI programs and offices.
It’s difficult to describe this kind of disappointment. To many minority students, including myself, it is not an unfamiliar feeling; many of us are taught from a young age not to expect institutions to look out for us. Still, it’s easy to hold onto hope that there’s truth behind the reassurance we were given as fresh-faced first-years: “There are people here to help you.” I’d held onto the hope that colleges’ commitments to their students would withstand the onslaught of attacks from a federal government (attacks that countless judges say are unconstitutional, BTW). But all my faith melted away when a single email that touts DEI programs as a “a statement about who we are and what we believe in” also announces the closure of those programs in the span of a couple paragraphs.Â
Emory University is not the first U.S. college to be faced with government-induced challenges related to DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) programs. Across the country, offices are being closed and staff are getting laid off (if they aren’t lucky enough to get by with a name change or some website censorship, of course). Students of all sorts of backgrounds are finding their safe spaces rebranded or closed completely, their trusted advisors unceremoniously fired, and their support systems dismantled.
BREAKING: Emory will be discontinuing its DEI programs and offices, a response to “federal laws and mandates.”
“The standards are clear, and we must act accordingly,” interim president Leah Ward Sears wrote to the Emory community.
— Jason Armesto (@rmest0) September 3, 2025
Logically, I understand the arguments behind these decisions. In 2024, over $600,000 of Emory’s research funding came from the federal government. I get why Emory feels the need to comply with the government — the loss of funding for not complying would be astronomical. But recent history has shown how fickle this government is. Emory may not have the same name recognition as Harvard, which has been fighting federal funding cancellations with the full strength of Harvard Law, but I wish my school was putting up some kind of fight for its students — or that we’d do anything other than scramble away from what we claim to stand for.Â
Even Emory’s writing center, where I’ve worked for the majority of my time at Emory, had its statement to anti-racism, equity, and inclusion removed from its website. That page was the culmination of years of work from staff and students who worked together to improve student confidence around their own language. To have it censored so suddenly and forcibly felt like more than an overt oppression of free speech — it felt like Emory was saying that it did not, in fact, remain committed to making each member of its community feel “valued and respected.” At least, not in the same way. Not publicly.
My commitment to DEI remains unwavering
Who do we turn to in times like these? I turn first to my friends and classmates. We rant our feelings on it, we cope with humor, we hold each other physically to support each other emotionally. I talk to faculty members in various departments who I know to be fervent supporters of DEI programs. I talk to staff who may not work for the closing offices, but who have pointed hundreds of students in their direction over the years. And yes, I write essays like this one to assure students at campuses I’ve never set foot on that they are not alone, and we are all hurting together.
Most importantly, though, I make sure that my commitment to DEI remains unwavering, even if my university’s doesn’t. Whether as a writing center staff member or as a queer, Black, female student, I’ll find ways to support my fellow minority students and build support chains that will extend to current underclassmen and future students. Because when our institutions fail us, it’s up to us to look out for each other and make change where we can.