Diversity, equity and inclusion threatens a dominant narrative — whiteness, heterosexuality, patriarchy
What if, in a world that promotes unity through diversity, the concept of inclusion silently creates new divisions?
Diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) is being promoted as the path to a more just and equitable world. It promises to create psychologically safe spaces, promote social cohesion and strengthen authenticity in the workplace and in society. We call on people to bring their whole selves to the table, challenge prejudices and name injustices. And yet, after decades of this work, we have to ask ourselves: “How far have we come?”
If the answer is, “Not far enough,” then perhaps we are overlooking something fundamental. Perhaps DEI does not protect in certain contexts, but endangers.
Now before you assume that this is a call against inclusion, let me explain. I have long been an advocate of the principles of DEI. But I also recognise that we have seen it as the solution, even though it is, at best, a partial measure. The real problem lies in the dominant narratives that define society — and the power structures that perpetuate them. In this environment, DEI not only fails, it also provokes backlashes that are often violent.
Take the brutal murder of Imam Muhsin Hendricks in the Eastern Cape. Much of the coverage speculated that his murder was due to his sexual orientation. In particular, his identification as queer as well being as an Islamic religious leader, which is generally considered unacceptable. But this account is incomplete. He was not murdered because of who he was. He was murdered because of who “we” are.
By “we” I mean the prevailing belief system within Islam as interpreted by those in a position of authority. The existence of Imam Hendricks as an outspoken Muslim cleric challenged the religious and cultural orthodoxy.
The Muslim Judicial Council (MJC), an umbrella body of Islamic clerics that oversees critical functions that promote the principle of Islam In South Africa, issued a fatwa (religious ruling) in 2022 declaring that same-sex relationships are incompatible with Islam. In a society where moral and religious authority is exercised as absolute power, Hendricks’s identity was perceived as a threat that needed to be neutralised.
To be clear, I am not saying that The MJC is responsible for the killing of Hendricks and it could be argued that the body cannot be held responsible for decisions made by individuals who act on their own volition. The MJC made their position very clear in condemning the callous act with an official and authoritative statement: “The sanctity of human life is a fundamental tenet of Islam, and the unlawful taking of life is a grave transgression, both in religious jurisprudence and within the legal framework of the Republic of South Africa,” it said.
What I do want to draw attention to is the power inherent in dominant narratives.
The position publicly taken by the MJC, as the religious authority, in issuing the fatwa condemning Hendricks served to reaffirm the prevailing belief that being queer is indeed unholy and unacceptable and making the role as a religious leader particularly contentious given the potential to influence.
In that context, it is conceivable that religious protectionists, emboldened by the dominant worldview, could conveniently suppress Islam’s core teachings of peace, forgiveness and divine judgment and act to preserve their version of Islam, excluding all others. In preserving their worldviews, those responsible for the threats assumed a role that Islam reserves for divine judgment.
A similar dynamic is at play with the small, but vocal, group of white Afrikaner farmers who are calling for the US government to intervene and even asking President Donald Trump to save them.
Their fear is not just about land reform or economic policy but also the collapse of the dominant narrative that once guaranteed supremacy. South Africa was built on white protectionism, and the more the political landscape changes, the more this fundamental security erodes. The result? Appeals to external forces to restore the old order.
And then there is the broader global resistance to DEI, exemplified by the Trump administration making it illegal to promote DEI initiatives. Figures such as Elon Musk and prominent white South Africans have actively supported this decision. And why? Because DEI once again threatens a dominant narrative — the unchallenged authority of whiteness. It is worth repeating that the dominant narrative in any society and in all contexts serves to determine who belongs and who is marginalised.
This is also why the demand for “representation” is so important. The demand for representation of difference is underpinned by the belief that diversity disrupts the power of dominant narratives that serve to marginalise. Moreover, inclusion is a prerequisite for belonging.
This was also the idea behind the concept of the “rainbow nation”, which was touted at the dawn of South African democracy as a means of including the historically marginalised and a protracted period of resistance that saw many murdered. In that case, violence and murder were supported by another divinely inspired narrative, of white dominance, supported by a judiciary that legitimised the dominant narrative of apartheid.
In my forthcoming book, A Race to Heal, I address these issues in detail and argue that South Africa’s struggle for cohesion can only succeed if the deep-rooted historical narratives of dominance are understood, dismantled and revised. We cannot continue to advocate for inclusion in spaces whose historical foundations are still relatively intact. That is, we cannot do so without considering the inherent risks involved. Inclusion and belonging are desirable, but not without personal and professional risks, if the dominant narratives are not aligned with the needs of different groups.
We, for example, tell people to “fully engage” in environments that have not structurally changed. We encourage authenticity in spaces where power is not shared, only tolerated. In such spaces, advocating for inclusion is not only ineffective, it can be fatal.
The same principle applies to gender-based violence. The dominant patriarchal structure does not see women as equal partners in society. Here too, DEI places individuals in danger without dismantling the structures that make their empowerment a threat. It encourages women to step into their power, but when that power threatens entrenched dominance, the response is often violent suppression.
Women are urged to claim their space and challenge sexism, yet in societies where patriarchy dominates, these calls are often met with hostility, marginalisation, or even violence, as those in power seek to maintain control.
When the illusion of male authority is shattered, backlash follows swiftly, whether through harassment, exclusion or femicide. This is not merely a matter of individual misogyny but a deeply entrenched system — where laws, cultural norms and institutions tacitly uphold male dominance, making any challenge to the hierarchy not just unwelcome but dangerous.
In workplaces, women are often encouraged to pursue leadership roles, yet the structural barriers that make such leadership unsustainable remain unaddressed. Tokenism, much like performative DEI efforts, provides visibility without security. Without meaningful shifts in power and accountability, inclusion efforts do not create equity — they reinforce vulnerability.
DEI fails because it assumes that inclusion is the end goal rather than a stepping stone. Before we ask people to be bold, to be visible and fully present, we need to dismantle the power structures that make such visibility a risk. This means:
Reframing the conversation: instead of just advocating for inclusion, we need to focus on challenging and changing dominant narratives that perpetuate exclusion and violence.
Analysing power: Who has the power and how do they justify maintaining it? Until we address this, DEI will always be met with resistance, often including violence.
Structural interventions: Rather than just promoting representation, we need policies that fundamentally redistribute power — legally, economically and socially.
If DEI has become a feel-good slogan, rather than a real catalyst for change, we need to rethink our approach. Inclusion without equity and visibility, without security, is an empty promise. Failing to dismantle the narratives that sustain power is like asking people to put themselves in harm’s way without a safety net.
Before we ask people to reveal their “authentic selves”, we need to ask ourselves: “Are we offering them the protection and support they truly deserve? Are we actively challenging the power structures that jeopardise them?” True inclusion can only take root if we tackle these systemic issues head-on.
Consider the words of Hendricks, who acknowledged the risks of being a gay cleric and declared that his need to be authentic was greater than his fear of death. His courage reminds us that, while the pursuit of authenticity is essential, it must be underpinned by real structural change.
Only by facing up to this reality can we bring about real change — and prevent further, avoidable, loss of life.
Dr Sorayah Nair is a clinical psychologist, founder of Business Health Solutions and an advocate for social justice and mental health. She specialises in leadership development and diversity, equity and inclusion strategies and her work contributes to the conversations about healing and change in post-apartheid South Africa.