DEI has now become a household term. Did you know what it meant, say, a year ago? Had you even heard of it? Me neither. But I certainly remember what it was like when there was no effort made to recognize the principles of diversity, equity and inclusion.

Shortly after graduating from college, I accepted a position as a teacher at a local school, but I soon learned that my starting salary in no way matched that of a fellow new hire, a male teacher. Of course, I asked the person in charge why we had such a big discrepancy between our salaries.

“Well,” he said. “He is making more because he has a family to support.” (I was a married woman with a 4-year-old.) And that settled that.

During my growing-up years, I learned that a woman’s place was in the home; that they should speak only when spoken to in public; that they should always behave properly; and that they should take their places behind men. I mean, “Read the Bible.” People who know me know I never paid very good attention to those lessons. Today, my church has two fabulous female pastors.

I had the fun privilege of attending school and living in a variety of places during my elementary and junior-high years. Tulsa was one of my favorites because my two sisters and my little brother were there. And we had a patient, teaching grandmother in-house, not to mention entertaining parents. My summers were brightened by vacationing with my Ableson clan. Tulsa was a safe, fun, adventurous place.

About 40 years later, guess what I heard about Tulsa? Yes, Tulsa had witnessed one of the most violent racial explosions in the country in the early part of the 20th Century: an incident known as the Tulsa Race Massacre. People had been viciously murdered; an entire, thriving cityscape had been leveled and to make sure Greenwood never came back; and city leaders ran an interstate right through the middle of it. People are still identifying bodies.

A black and white photo of buildings in the foreground and a cloud of smoke in the background.
White supremacists burned a predominantly Black Greenwood, Okla., community to the ground in 1921. Photo courtesy Wikimedia

Yep. My siblings and I had never heard a peep about this tragedy in all our time living in  Tulsa. Not. A. Peep.

My sisters and I made the trip to Greenwood a couple of summers ago when we were all in Tulsa. It was heartbreaking and shattering in so many ways—not the least of which is that we had grown up oblivious to the carnage and chaos the riots had wrought.

So, back to DEI. Diversity, equity and inclusion programs and policies offer opportunities for younger generations to learn about what can happen to a society when whole groups of people are not treated as human beings, when folks are being excluded from decisions that directly affect them, and when people are treated as inferior and not worthy of the benefits offered to the controlling group.

I know. I know. Those of us from the South who are white are burdened with the heavy load of what our forebearers did, and we’d rather forget it or not let others know. So we bury it. Or, conversely, some beat their chests and wave battle flags glorifying “The Lost Cause” of keeping people enslaved. Do we really want to raise students who have no clue what can actually happen in human society? On their own soil? Do we really want to raise generations who have no idea how bad it can get if someone doesn’t stand up for what’s right? I hope not.

So, yes, I think DEI is a good thing. It is not a dirty word. We white grownups need to acknowledge our own life experiences before DEI was a thing. We women need to acknowledge the same. And, if we are the folks who truly follow the gospel of Jesus where he says we should love our neighbors as ourselves, we will most assuredly want to offer everyone the same opportunities we have. If it takes implementing programs and awareness like DEI, so be it.

This MFP Voices opinion essay does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.

Pam Johnson is an author, consultant and the current chair of MFP’s Board of Directors. Before venturing out on her own as a publicist, political strategist, and media-and issues-management consultant, Pam was the executive director of the Mississippi Commission on the Status of Women and the Mississippi Association for Justice . She was assistant secretary of state for policy and publications and served as the office of the state auditor’s first communications coordinator. Pam participated in the first Mississippi Book Festival as the author of “Justice for Ella” (iUniverse, 2014), a true story of Mississippi’s civil-rights era featuring two brave women who beat the harsh system of discrimination and segregation in 1960s-era Noxubee County. The late columnist Bill Minor likened the work to Mississippi’s true version of “To Kill a Mockingbird.” Pam is a past president of the Board of Directors of the Center for Violence Prevention, a domestic-violence shelter in Pearl, Miss., that serves survivors of interpersonal violence and human trafficking. She was on the team that helped establish the SANE program, which provides sexual-assault victims compassionate and effective care, in Mississippi, resulting in a stronger system for successful prosecution of attackers. Pam served on the Board of Trustees of Leadership Greater Jackson and is a proud union member, helping to promote good-paying, secure jobs for Mississippi workers. She has been a public-school teacher, a news editor of two weekly newspapers, a magazine publisher, a florist, a lobbyist, an advocate, and was twice elected alderwoman in her hometown of Mount Olive. She holds a Bachelor of Science degree in English secondary education from the University of Southern Mississippi and is a long-time associate member of the Mississippi Press Association.