In times like these: I am a DEI Hire

Legal protections I had at the start of the year are now gone.

Feb 17, 2025

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This piece is part of a series addressed to family and friends, addressing current political and social issues from the perspective of my studies and experiences.

Dear friends and family,

It's a horribly cold day in Minneapolis. It's 9:10am on President's Day, a chilly -13 degrees ("feels like -21"). I ordered my oatmilk cappucino at Silver Fern extra hot, and I'm sitting next to a decorative firepit filled with wine corks. And, on this President's Day, I'm thinking about President Donald Trump and you.

I'll just say what you all probably know based on the above paragraph (which, reading it back, I can recognize makes me sound I am an insufferable midwest liberal corporate millennial): I didn't vote for him.

I know many of you did. If I'm being honest with you and with myself, I struggle with that sometimes. Actually, I struggle with it a lot. Despite the relative comfort of my life, I've felt a lot of stress and anxiety since he took office. I worry about my future, whether the things I am building for myself will be taken from me. Already, some legal protections that I had at the start of the year are gone (more on that below). At times I feel anger over the unmasking and unfolding of this administration’s agenda. At times I feel attacked by it.

I also know that I have family and friends who voted for him and who love me deeply, who want a better world, who put a lot of thought into the election. What I'm writing here is largely for you. (Of course, this is also just generally for people I know and love who I want to share my experiences with.)

My goal here is not necessarily to change your politics. Politics is a complicated thing. A lot of people would take me to be midwest liberal. But I've read hundreds of pages of conservative political philosophy, which I found admirable and compelling and which I've attached myself to in many ways. I also have my law degree, which--as conservative thinkers have been pointing out for decades--gives my views a sort of conservative bias. I feel an attachment to the rule of law. While I believe many laws should change, I also believe they should be changed through legally-defined processes. I'm not a revolutionary by nature. I believe that the deepest, most lasting, and least violent forms of change are those which occur through slower processes. Maybe some of this comes from my Christian background as well. I believe in processes of development.

I believe an important part of this development is the sharing of stories. I've been really fortunate to have met and learned from and loved people with really diverse backgrounds: from the pro-life activists I surrounded myself with in Texas, to Baptist bible scholars I dialogued with in Michigan, to queer somewhat socialist graduate student friends living in Indiana, to children who had fled violence in Central America that I got to represent in a legal clinic, to corporate professionals in Minnesota who lost their livelihoods to debilitating illnesses in their thirties and I was representing at a social security disability law firm, to high powered finance executives on the East Coast struggling to reconcile toxic work environments with their care for others, to family members in various places who own MAGA hats, to a funny pious member of my family who told those other family members after the 2020 election that they needed to burn those hats, as if in ritual to expel bad spirits. I have loved getting to know all of these people and have learned a lot from them. I believe my life is better for having gotten to see how they live and love and think in so many different ways.

In our current environment, we are not encouraged to vulnerably open ourselves up to each other. We are encouraged to shoot off sound-bytes, biting comments about how people who see the world differently are uncaring or stupid or even evil. I understand where these sorts of comments are coming from. I honestly don't blame a lot of people for them. Many Americans right now feel like vulnerable animals backed into corners, and are thrashing around to try to protect themselves. I struggle with maintaining composure at times. I struggle with some of those more callous feelings.

But ultimately I want something different. I want the sort of change that comes from connection. That's what this is about.

I'm going to talk about politics here. But I'll try to keep the primary focus on areas where I have had personal experiences, or where I have a unique kind of expertise.

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Today's topic: "DEI hires."

Right now, "DEI" is undergoing significant change in this country. In his first round of Executives Orders on January 20, President Trump ordered the "termination of all discriminatory programs, including illegal DEI and 'diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility' (DEIA) mandates, polices, programs, preferences, and activities in the Federal Government." The day after, President Trump issued another executive order "ending illegal discrimination and restoring merit-based opportunity." It referenced the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and argued that many institutions have "adopted and actively use dangerous, demeaning, and immoral race- and sex-based preferences... that can violate the civil-rights laws of this Nation."

That executive order further said:

"Illegal DEI and DEIA policies... also undermine our national unity, as they deny, discredit, and undermine the traditional American values of hard work, excellence, and individual achievement in favor of an unlawful, corrosive, and pernicious identity-based spoils system.... [I]n case after tragic case, the American people have witnessed first-hand the disastrous consequences of illegal, pernicious discrimination that has prioritized how people were born instead of what they were capable of doing... I therefore order all executive departments and agencies (agencies) to terminate all discriminatory and illegal preferences, mandates, policies, programs, activities, guidance, regulations, enforcement actions, consent orders, and requirements. I further order all agencies to enforce our longstanding civil-rights laws and to combat illegal private-sector DEI preferences, mandates, policies, programs, and activities."

President Trump has rescinded past Executive Orders aimed at protecting various marginalized groups. This included President Biden's Executive Order 13988, which was aimed at "preventing and combating discrimination on the basis of gender identity or sexual orientation." EO 13988 was aimed at protecting me specifically. I'll come back to that. But first I'll share some of my personal story.

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I grew up in a wonderful family. We weren't perfect. We didn't always know how to love or support each other. My parents were not equipped to raise and support a gay kid who didn't know how to accept or talk about his feelings. They did their best. But I had a hard time.

No one around me would have guessed that. By most measures, I was an extremely successful kid. I worked hard. I enjoyed school, and I got good grades. I had a great group of friends. And, while I was bullied some in high school, I also received a lot of love and support from my classmates. After high school, I went to an extremely competitive college, and then I had full scholarships for a joint graduate program, pursuing a J.D. and my Masters in Catholic Studies.

By the time I was in graduate school, I had "come out" as gay and had started speaking and writing professionally on exploring how gay people can live flourishing lives within the context of Catholic teaching on sexuality. While pursuing my graduate studies, I would be flown to speak at colleges, to advise on an international meeting involving the pope, and to participate in exploratory groups on what it means to live a "traditional sexual ethic" in Christian communities. All that time I was personally struggling to understand myself, but I worked really hard to try to create space for myself and others while navigating our Christian faiths in this complicated world.

Many of you have hard this story, but for those of you who haven't... After my first year in my graduate program, the head of the Catholic Studies department asked me to take an internship working for the Vatican at the United Nations in Geneva. I was told they “cannot think of a better candidate." I was the only person asked to apply. I shared that I was gay, though committed to Church teaching. The department head told me this would not be an issue. I was ecstatic. I told my friends and family about the opportunity. I knew this would change my life. Doors opened for people who took this opportunity. Past interns from the program now work for major Catholic conferences and national legal organizations. Even last week, I saw that one past intern was speaking at the UN and publishing an essay in a major outlet.

But that future never materialized for me. The department came back to me and shared that, after further consideration, the papal nuncio had decided it was not a good time for a gay person to take the internship. My application was rejected. My dreams were crushed.

They selected another student, a friend of mine, for the internship. I didn't tell that friend about my experience. I knew that they were objectively far less qualified than me. But they were smart, and I was proud of them and knew they would do well. At the same time, I had to struggle over the next year as they shared with me the amazing experiences they were having, experiences that I would never have... because I was gay.

I so badly wanted to work for the Church, to make use of my four years in college studying classical and Catholic philosophy, and then my three years in graduate school studying Catholic Studies and law. I wanted to bring my education, skills, and experiences together to serve my Church and better my community. Around the end of law school, I had lunch with a law school professor, a respected member of the Catholic community and a parent of kids who had gone through the local Catholic school system. I told her I was considering applying for jobs teaching at some local Catholic schools. She was very direct with me. Among other things, she told me, "A lot of parents wouldn't like a hot young gay guy teaching their kids, even if you were celibate." It was hard to hear. But I'd rather hear the horrible truth than get my hopes up over falsehoods. I appreciated her honesty, even while I saw more hopes and dreams crushed.

As I've shared these stories with others, I've come to learn how common they are. I've connected with people across the country who, when their Christian employers found out they were gay, were fired and replaced with less qualified straight candidates. For many years, Christian communities have committed to giving less qualified candidates opportunities, on account of their sexual orientation.

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Several years ago, a friend of a friend unexpectedly became pregnant. She was single and not in a place to raise a child. I offered to adopt the baby if she carried to term. I'd always told myself that, as someone who is pro-life, this is the sort of thing I would commit myself to. I would put my future on the line, in the name of supporting the unborn.

But she chose not to carry the baby to term.

I thought about that baby in 2019, when I read about a married same-sex couple that tried to enroll their child in a Catholic elementary school in Kansas. The school refused admission, and the Archbishop for the Archdiocese of Kansas City made it clear that, as a matter of policy, children of same-sex couples would not be admitted to the Archdiocese's Catholic schools, regardless of whether or not those couples were seeking to live in accordance with Catholic teaching.

The message those children get: because we believe your parents are probably sinning, you are not welcome in our schools. I really struggle with the ways Catholic communities would choose to ostracize innocent children in this way, and at such a large scale. This impacts whether I would want to raise potential children in Catholic communities. Like the case of my internship, this isn't a matter of whether I agree with Church teaching or try to live by it. It's just because of who I am. And my children would be punished by my Catholic community because of this too. What kind of parent would have their kid formed in those types of environments?

I wonder what the life of that kid would have been like, if she would have carried the baby to term and I would have adopted. How would I have been punished by my Christian community for adopting this baby? How would that kid be punished for being my child? Did both that child and I avoid deep unfairness and heartbreak in this world because she chose to have that abortion? They’re horrible questions, but they’re the questions that come to mind.

I have many friends with children who have never and will never have to ask themselves these sorts of questions. Because so much our world is designed to support people like them, and not people like me. I have to work extra hard to care for myself and the people around me.

And I will.

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Still, the world has improved for people like me, in significant ways. It's not lost on me that twenty years ago, the sex I've had as an adult would have landed me in prison in my home state of Texas. This was changed because the 2003 Supreme Court case Lawrence v. Texas overturned the law that would have made me a criminal. On the other hand, it's also not lost on me that Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas dissented in Lawrence v. Texas, that he would rather Texas be able to send me to prison, and that in 2022 he stated he would want to reconsider Lawrence vs Texas, potentially turning me into a criminal in my home state again.

I think about two possible worlds. In one world, the world of Texas law before Lawrence v. Texas, someone is trying to attack me in some way. They know that I'm having sex with another man. They call the police, claiming someone with a weapon is in my home, knowing the police wouldn't need a warrant to enter. The police break into my home, see that I'm having sex, and charge me with a misdemeanor. (This is exactly what happened in Lawrence v. Texas). If this happens three times in Texas, I can be charged with a felony, which could result in significant jail time, and derail my life as a whole. I might lose my career, have to rely on my parents for housing and income, and struggle to experience myself as a valuable and valued member of society. All of my talent, my education, and my hard work would be wasted, and I would be a criminal. Me. A criminal. Of course, many Christians do want me in prison. They want me to suffer violence. They've told me so.

In another possible world, the world I actually live in, advocates for LGBTQ rights have fought against laws that discriminate against people like me. They have successfully overturned that Texas law. I am open about my experience of the world. I have received multiple graduate degrees. I can be intimate with others without fearing becoming a felon. And I contribute to society in many ways, including through a professional career that I love.

Even though I live in that second world, I also know that I continue to face discrimination in various ways. Studies over the last ten years have found that same-sex couples experience a 3-8% lower approval rate and up to .2% higher interest rates for loans than similarly situated opposite-sex couples. Another study also found that housing providers are less likely to respond to rental inquiries from same-sex couples, and are more likely to quote male same-sex couples for higher rent. (I also want to note that this particular study was available on the research website for the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, but it seems to have been removed by the Trump administration after February 2.)

Historically, the law has not helped people us. Texas law does not prohibit those sorts of discriminatory housing practices for people like me. (This is part of the reason why I choose to live in Minnesota, a state that I feel really does care about people like me, and which shows this care in the law.) Federal law also has not been helpful in the past. Neither the Fair Housing Act, the Equal Credit Opportunity Act, nor the 1964 Civil Rights Act expressly prohibit discrimination against LGBTQ people.

But this changed in 2021, when President Biden signed Executive Order 13988. The year before, the Supreme Court had ruled in Bostock v. Clayton County that Title VII of the Civil Rights Act protects employees from discrimination based on sexual or gender identity. (Justices Samuel Alito and Clarence Thomas dissented in the case.) For the first time, I knew I could be protected from employment discrimination because I was gay, even if these protections wouldn't be enforceable when it came to many religious employers. In Executive Order 13988, President Biden extended these protections beyond just employment discrimination, to protect people like me from discrimination when it came to other areas, such as housing. For the first time, the Fair Housing Act would federally be used to protect me.

On January 20, 2025, President Trump rescinded Executive Order 13988. Because of him, I am no longer explicitly protected under the Fair Housing Act. If I am subjected to higher rates or have an apartment application rejected because I am gay in Texas, the Trump administration has prevented me from seeking legal help. Texas law does not protect me, and the Trump administration has stripped away the protections I once had under the Fair Housing Act.

It makes me want to cry. Sometimes I do. And then I get back to work.

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Midway into my graduate studies, around the time I was rejected for that internship at the UN, I found out about another internship opportunity. A major corporation in Minneapolis had opened applications for a "diversity in law externship." Selected candidates would spend a semester working in their law department. Candidates could come from any background, but they needed to demonstrate a commitment to promoting diversity and inclusion.

In my application, I stressed my work trying to cultivate more helpful and inclusive spaces in Christian communities. I had an excellent GPA and was a demonstrated hard worker. In all honesty, I applied partly because I was trying to figure out what I wanted in my uncertain future, and I wanted to confirm that corporate law was not something I would enjoy.

I was accepted for the diversity externship, and I found out that I loved the work. I was good at it. I committed to outworking others who had been selected for the externship. (This was a common commitment--at a later internship in the U.S. Attorney's Office, I took on more projects than four of the other interns combined.) After proving myself, I convinced the law department to let me stay on for an unprecedented second semester. I worked very hard to make connections, to learn everything that I could.

That year in the diversity program helped me establish new dreams for myself. Without my realizing it, the program was helping to remedy the crushing discrimination I had faced in the previous months. Whereas I could have been left with what my Catholic Studies department had unintentionally communicated to me (that I was "not enough" because I was gay, that I should aim lower with my dreams), the diversity externship helped me prove to myself that I am enough, that I am excellent in the work that I do, and that I deserve these opportunities. That program set me on the pathway to remake my dreams and to build the career that I now have and love.

Reflecting on so much of the rhetoric around "DEI hires," I think it's now important to acknowledge that I am a "DEI hire." When people talk about "DEI hires," they're talking about me. People like President Trump are right that I didn't get what I deserve, but they're wrong about what. I had something taken from me, because people said there was something wrong with parts of myself that I couldn't change. I deserved that internship opportunity at the UN. What the corporate diversity externship gave me was a societal corrective to the way I was wronged. I wish I had equal opportunity, but I didn't. So many don't. It wasn’t even a full corrective, because I still deserved that other internship and all those dreams I once had. I will never get justice there. But I can still embrace and love the life I have built in spite of all this.

This is why I'm not apologetic about being a "DEI hire." I'm proud of it. I deserved it, and I work to pay this forward every day.

None of this is meant to invalidate the fears and insecurities that many straight white people experience today. One friend I trust has shared with me an experience at work where a young professional was piped through a diversity program where they were not prepared to succeed, and where my friend felt overlooked for opportunities because of the organization's desire to lift up historically marginalized communities. I know people who feel that DEI rhetoric at times encourages them to feel undue guilt and shame for being white or straight or male.

I don't want to discount these feelings or experiences. I do think they are real for some people, even if none of my friends are able to point to such blatant and devastating discrimination as I’ve personally experienced. I do see rhetoric at times shifting from lifting up historically marginalized groups to berating straight white men for being straight white men. (This is one of my concerns with the book White Fragility.) I want to acknowledge that, while also saying that this rhetoric is not the entirety of the push to promote diversity, equity, and inclusion. I also want to say that this rhetoric can often pale in comparison to what I have personally experienced, such as being told multiple times on a dating app “whites only,” and also being told by someone on a dating app shortly after the most recent election, “I hope you die of AIDS and get hit by a car.” (I’ll write more on some of these experiences and their relation to Vice President JD Vance’s rhetoric later.)

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A post shared by @cdamianwrites

Regardless, for those wanting to better understand race and racism and how to compassionately engage these issues, I often encourage people to read Beverly Daniel Tatum's book, Why are all the black kids sitting together in the cafeteria? Tatum compassionately navigates the feelings of guilt that white people often experience as they examine the role that racism has played in our society. For Tatum, one goal is for White people to find ways to recognize the realities of racism while not getting stuck in shame, and to come to a "more positive self-definition" for White racial identity.

For Tatum (and for me), straight white men can recognize that people like me face unique challenges in the world, see ways in which they may have overlooked or inadvertently contributed to those challenges, and also come to a more empowered relationship to their straight white male-ness. If you are a straight white male, my goal is not to shame you. My goal is to open myself up to you, in the hopes that you can better understand, love, and support people like me. I will continue to work to better understand, love, and support people like you as well. I really believe that by lifting up one group of people, we lift up all people.

So I'll end by talking about another group that's being targeted, one to which I have a personal connection. As many of you know, the Trump administration has decided to cut all fundings to what it deems as "DEI" initiatives. This has included scholarships for students in the special education program at the University of St. Thomas, where I went to graduate school. A classmate from law school is currently enrolled in the program, after having decided to make a career change and focus on helping others through education. He was among the 185 students who lost their scholarships.

University of St. Thomas President Rob Vischer stated he "believes the grant could be altered to meet the Trump administration's requirements because diversity was not the main goal of this program." But Vischer is not entirely correct. President Trump is against "diversity, equity, and inclusion," and the primary aim of special education programs is equity. These programs are centered around identifying disadvantages that some face, and developing programs that help lift up those disadvantaged people. Special education is about rejecting the notion of just treating everyone the same. It rejects focusing solely on blind “merit” and instead focuses on the systems that make the concept of “merit” lack substance. President Trump is cutting support for special education, because special education is all about equity.

It grieves me to see the ways in which disadvantaged students, and the educators who want to support them, are among those being targeted. But this is the agenda.

This is not the pathway to greatness. I feel so sorry for my law school classmate and his peers and the future they are stepping into. And I will not be silent in the face of it. At the very least, I can support them by highlighting what they are experiencing. I hope you will do this too.

I think I'll leave it there for today. I hope this has been helpful in some way. I'm struggling in this time. But I will do my best. And that's all I ask of you as well.

Chris Damian writes

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