When Inclusion Gets Quieter

A reflection on the silence, the shift, and what comes next

By Roxanne Steel

The inclusion space feels like it is getting quieter.

Teams are being restructured. 

Budgets are under review. 

Words like “equity” and “justice” are being replaced with “culture” and “belonging.” 

For many working in diversity and inclusion, there’s a growing pressure to reframe the message. To soften it. To make it easier to hear.

At the same time, those of us with lived experience, people who have long carried the work personally and professionally, are being asked or signalled to say more with less.

To keep the energy up. To hold the emotional labour. To stay hopeful, strategic, and unshakably positive, even when the systems around us begin to pull away.

I’m not here to criticise. I understand why some people are stepping back, or questioning the language, or just feeling unsure.

Inclusion is hard. It asks a lot of us, especially when the spotlight fades and the support structures start to wobble.

But I also know this: inclusion was never a trend. It isn’t something we opt in and out of depending on the mood of the sector. For many of us, it’s not theoretical. It’s reality. It’s practical. It’s necessary.

Inclusion is making sure someone doesn’t have to ask three times for what they need.

It’s knowing your access requirements won’t be treated as a burden.

It’s building spaces where contribution is expected, not exceptional.

When the conversation gets quieter, that’s often when we need it most.

If the work is shifting, what are we really holding on to?

I think about that a lot. Not in a dramatic way, but with care and honesty.

And I’ve asked myself, do I have the right to reflect on all of this? I’m not Kimberlé Crenshaw. I don’t have decades behind me. I’m in my mid-30s, depending on who you ask, that’s either deeply experienced or still getting started.

I’ve lived this so I do have decades. I’ve worked in spaces where I wasn’t expected to succeed. I’ve advised leaders, shaped strategy, and supported real change. That has to count for something.

I used to think you needed a certain title or number of years behind you to speak with confidence. However perspective doesn’t only come from age. It comes from proximity. From being in the work and in the room. From lived experience and professional insight, held together.

To anyone younger, or earlier in your journey, who’s wondering whether this space is still for you or whether there will be a space for you in the future know this -

I wish I’d started sooner. I wish someone had told me you don’t need permission to care deeply and progress. That you don’t have to wait to be invited. That you can still speak, even when the tone around you is uncertain, It is not if I should, It is how I should.

We need reference points. We need different ways in. We need echoes, not just origin stories. That’s how this work continues. By hearing each other. By making space to reflect.

And by staying in the work, even when the volume drops.

So what now?

Instead of debating whether DEI is still relevant, maybe we ask different questions.

What does meaningful inclusion feel like ,not just for those leading it, but for those it’s meant to reach?

If we stopped calling communities “hard to reach,” what would make them feel genuinely connected with?

What would it look like if access, equity and safety were built in not requested, chased, or treated as optional?

These aren’t rhetorical questions.

They’re the ones I carry into every room and every conversation. I don’t have all the answers, but I know the work doesn’t stop just because the narrative gets quieter.

For those still doing the work

If you’re tired, I see you.

If you’re still here, I see you too.

This work is tiring. It asks a lot. Remember, when it’s done well, it changes things. It creates space. It builds trust. It reminds people they matter.

Inclusion doesn’t need defending.

It needs direction.

It needs continuity.

It needs authenticity and genuine care.

We don’t have to say everything louder.

We just have to keep saying what matters.

So keep asking the questions.

Keep noticing where the gaps are.

Keep making space where you can and if you feel safe to, even if it feels like no one’s watching.

When the silence stretches out, when it starts to feel like the support is thin or the language shifts 

Don’t forget, you’re not the only one still holding the line. If you do need to take a moment that’s okay

Inclusion doesn’t disappear when the volume drops.

It just becomes a choice, one we have to keep making.

If you’re still making it, thank you.

Let’s keep going, not louder, but clearer.

Together.

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