Learning, Teaching and Leadership

Although my role at the University of Calgary’s Office of Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion (OEDI) wrapped up some months ago, there’s an experience that I have been reflecting on that I wanted to share.

While I was working at the OEDI I ran into a colleague at an event. I’d known this person for many years and as we were chatting, they asked, “How does it feel to be a white woman working in an office of equity, diversity, and inclusion? I mean, don’t you feel like you’re taking up space for someone who is more deserving?”

The question was asked with genuine curiosity, and without any judgement or blame that I could ascertain. This person had been engaged in equity work themselves and was genuinely puzzled and curious about why I had taken up a director role in the office.

The question has lingered in my mind and heart for a long time and quite frankly, it’s taken me ages to process, which is why I am just getting around to writing about it now.  It is a complex and values-laded question that I have grappled with for what seems like an eon. Although I understand the sentiment behind it, the question itself it oversimplifies the nature of equity, diversity, inclusion, and accessibility (EDIA) work and makes some problematic assumptions.

First, it’s important to recognize that equity work isn’t solely the responsibility of people from marginalized groups. Creating truly inclusive environments requires engagement and effort from people of all backgrounds. I bring my own lived experiences that include both discrimination and privilege. As a woman, I have lived experience of gender-based discrimination. As a white person, I recognize my racial privilege. Being human means that we are infinitely complex and reducing a person down to either a victim of discrimination or a purveyor of privilege is not only reductionist, it can be harmful. In my case, I engage in ongoing reflection that allows me to relate to some challenges faced by marginalized groups, while maintaining awareness of my own privilege.

I am acutely aware of the immense privilege I hold. I continually educate myself, amplify diverse voices, and strive to use my privilege to advocate for systemic changes. I see my role not as speaking for underrepresented groups, but as working to dismantle oppressive structures that perpetuate harm. This includes challenging others to examine their biases and pushing for institutional reforms, and doing so in a way that does not antagonize them, which is quite an art.

The notion that I might be ‘taking up space’ assumes there’s a fixed number of EDIA positions that should be reserved for people of colour. Representation absolutely matters, and EDI work requires a variety of skills, experiences, and perspectives. What matters most, in my humble opinion (and sure to be challenged by some who reads this post, I’m sure…) is a deep commitment to justice, a willingness to continually learn and grow, and the ability to effect change within organizations. These qualities aren’t exclusive to any one demographic.

Moreover, the idea that someone else might be inherently ‘more deserving’ based solely on their identity is problematic. It reduces people to singular aspects of their identity and ignores the complexity of lived experiences. I am about to make another contentious claim here, but here goes… A person of colour is not automatically an expert in all facets of EDIA work simply by virtue of their race, just as being white doesn’t preclude someone from developing expertise in this field.

It is critical — essential —  to remember that many forms of marginalization are invisible. Disabilities, neurodivergence, chronic illnesses, socioeconomic background, and LGBTQ2S+* identities are just a few examples of characteristics that may not be immediately apparent. This underscores the importance of resisting the temptation to judge someone’s qualifications or experiences based solely on what we can see or what we think we know about them.

By making assumptions about who ‘deserves’ to be in EDI spaces based on visible characteristics, we risk excluding valuable perspectives, lived experience, and qualifications, while simultaneously reinforcing harmful stereotypes.

A key component of my EDI work is the practice of ‘radical acceptance’. This concept goes beyond mere tolerance or surface-level inclusion. Radical acceptance means embracing the full humanity of every individual, including all their complexities, contradictions, and lived experiences. It requires us to set aside our preconceptions and biases, and to approach each person with genuine openness and empathy. In the context of EDIA work, radical acceptance means creating spaces where people feel truly seen, heard, and valued for who they are, not just for how they fit into predefined categories or expectations. Being angry is easy; practising radical acceptance is exhausting, but ultimately more useful than anger.

Even though I am no longer serving in a formal role related to EDI, I continue to focus on equity, diversity, inclusion, accessibility, and social justice in my work. This includes focusing on dignity, acceptance, and belonging. I strive to approach every interaction with openness and humility, recognizing that each person I encounter may have experiences and insights that I can learn from, regardless of their outward appearance. It also means making a conscious effort to resist the temptation that I might think that I know everything about a person.

There is wisdom to the old adage that “there is more to a person than meets the eye.” What I can say is that every human being is worthy of dignity. This mindset is crucial for creating genuinely inclusive spaces and avoiding the pitfalls of tokenism or superficial diversity.

People whose advocacy focuses on EDIA roles have a special responsibility to practice rigorous self-reflection, actively seek out diverse perspectives, and ensure we keep our privilege and biases in check. We must be humble enough to know when to step back and elevate other voices. I have watched people who believe their position is superior or their experience is more valid  lash out at others who are just as deserving of understanding, kindness, and respect. This kind of lateral violence is both jarring and heartbreaking to watch… and even worse when a person has been “cancelled” by a group of loud, virtue-signalling individuals. In some cases, the accusers  fail to recognize that in their efforts to be activists and uphold what they believe to be right and true, they may have forgotten that a foundation of equity work is human dignity for all, not just for some.

Practicing radical acceptance has profound implications for how we approach diversity and inclusion. Instead of focusing solely on visible markers of diversity or trying to fill quotas, we work to create environments where every individual feels empowered to bring their whole self to the table. This includes embracing diverse thought processes, communication styles, and ways of problem-solving that might challenge our own assumptions about what ‘professional’ or ‘effective’ looks like. 

I work hard to embody this principle of radical acceptance in my interactions. But this is not a linear practice or something that one learns and then does correctly every day. Some days I screw up. Practicing radical acceptance is a constant process of self-reflection, learning, and growth. It means being willing to have my own assumptions challenged and to continually expand my understanding of what diversity and inclusion truly mean. It also means extending grace and forgiveness in moments of conflict with others whose views and lived experiences may lead them to say things or act in ways that I do not understand. What I know for sure is that I will never know the entirety of another person… and they will never know my entirety.

Equity work — as well as integrity work — isn’t about virtue signaling or moral grandstanding. It’s about dismantling oppressive systems and creating genuine, lasting change. That requires participation and commitment from people of all backgrounds, working in solidarity toward a more just and equitable world. I’m driven by a genuine passion for creating more equitable and inclusive environments. I often say that the word ‘integrity’ comes from a Latin word meaning ‘to make whole’. I have said it before and I will say it again (and again… and again…): There can be no integrity without equity.

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Sarah Elaine Eaton, PhD, is a Professor and Research Chair in the Werklund School of Education at the University of Calgary, Canada. Opinions are my own and do not represent those of my employer.