Still Waiting on the Promise: 60 Years After the Civil Rights Act, My Quest for a Seat at the Table—Even in DEI—Was a Grueling Journey.

Why We Must Keep Fighting for Equity—and Why Learning Real Black History is the Key

How many job interviews do you think I—a Black DEI professional with over a decade of experience—went through after George Floyd’s murder before landing a job?

Go ahead—guess.5? 10? 20? 35?

Like most people, it’s probably not what you’re thinking. But hold that thought.

Every summer, America celebrates dates that claim to mark freedom:

• June 19 – Juneteenth, when the last enslaved Black people in Texas were told they were free—two years after the Emancipation Proclamation.

• July 2 – The Civil Rights Act of 1964, outlawed discrimination in hiring, housing, and public life.

• July 4 – Independence Day, celebrating liberty and justice for all.

• August 6 – The Voting Rights Act of 1965, aimed at removing barriers for Black voters.

• August 26 – Women’s Equality Day, marking the 19th Amendment, though non-white women were excluded from voting for decades.

For many of us, especially Black people, these promises still come with asterisks.

This story isn’t just about dates on a calendar. It’s about what happens when the spirit of these milestones—freedom, equality, and opportunity—still doesn’t show up in real life. It’s about how laws may change but policies remain the same and how policies may change but culture lags behind. It’s about how performative gestures (instead of transformation) can harm the very people they claim to uplift.

The Journey Begins

Before the George Floyd era, I’d spent over a decade in DEI but had grown increasingly disillusioned with its superficiality as my understanding of true equity deepened. Mainstream diversity efforts often felt like “party planning with a cultural twist,” avoiding real conversations about race, power, and systems. So, I eventually moved into consulting, taking on clients who wanted true change.

Then George Floyd was murdered, and suddenly, DEI was everywhere and race and systems were finally part of the conversation. My phone exploded with requests. Recruiters wanted me. Companies needed my expertise. I was invited to give many talks or moderate numerous panels. It felt like the tide was turning and corporate America was finally ready for serious conversations and transformative DEI work.

I thought: This is my moment. Maybe it’s time to step back into mainstream DEI.

So I started interviewing. And interviewing. And interviewing…

To my surprise, by interview #30, I had nothing to show for it. I was reaching the final rounds for most of them, but in the end, hearing “no” every time. Confused, I consulted career coaches who assured me I was highly qualified and well prepared. Yet both the interview invitations and eventual rejections kept coming. And these were big companies (including some of the biggest in the world), mid-sized companies, small companies, start-ups, non-profits—many types of organizations. Even the career coaches were baffled.

A Hard Truth I Never Saw Coming

By interview #67, I was still empty-handed. I was mentally exhausted. That’s when two Black DEI professionals separately told me something that shocked me: “You’re too authentic. Too honest. Too much of a change agent. You need to make yourself smaller.” They explained that despite what job descriptions claimed, companies didn’t truly want someone who would challenge the system—that my Blackness and authenticity were both automatically seen as threats. I needed to show I’m “safe”.

It felt like betrayal to have to hide my passion and hard-earned expertise, especially after having sacrificed my engineering career to do this work. But my mom was battling cancer, and my energy was wearing thin. In that season, I no longer had time for entrepreneurship. I needed stability. 

So I caved. I made myself very very very small.

Derek Chauvins in Suits and Heels

On interview #71, I finally got an offer – But my stomach churned—not just from how much I’d contorted myself, but also from the systemic barriers I saw in their hiring process, barriers I never imagined would push even me out before I got a chance to start.

Sure enough, the offer was rescinded. Something about not verifying a title or degree on a background check, or a gap in my resume from an omitted manufacturing role I left out to keep my resume concise. Things easily verified and clarified—if they cared to try. They didn’t. They just dubbed me a liar.

It felt like the corporate version of how harmless Black people are assumed guilty and treated as threats (e.g. Tamir Rice)—often shot before the facts are known. These are the same organizations, spurred into seeking DEI because they condemned Derek Chauvin’s actions against George Floyd, yet they mirror the same mindset every day. They may not be in uniforms; but they’re Chauvins in suits and heels.

Disillusioned, I decided to show up fully as myself again.

When I Thought I Was Going Mad

On interview #91, I finally received an offer. The parameters were far from ideal, but the organization seemed to value my authenticity and genuinely want real change—and that meant everything to me.

So I accepted and stayed open to interview requests, curious to see if things would change.

By interview #163, I stopped counting or checking to see who got the job, or asking for feedback. I was burned out.

One hundred and sixty-three interviews!

And all this while, the media claimed it was a “job seekers’ market.” For who exactly?

The most painful part was that each time I checked LinkedIn to see who got hired instead — over 90% were way less-qualified white candidates. Only three of those roles went to Black professionals.

“This can’t be.” I thought, “Isn’t DEI supposed to be a ‘Black job’?” I thought I was losing my mind—until a friend shared shocking (but not unbelievable) research showing 81.3% of DEI leadership roles go to white people, and only 3.1% to Black people.  It wasn’t just me; it was systemic. I was relieved that I wasn’t uniquely flawed but deeply saddened that so many others like me face the same inequities even in a field meant to create equity.

I can write a whole book about the specific systemic inequities I encountered just in my 163 interviews journey. And these inequities are also backed by empirical data. 

The Impossible Line - Too Much, Too Little, Never Just Enough

Some friends said, “It has nothing to do with race. Maybe you didn’t dot your i’s, or cross your t’s” and when I showed all I did to prepare, they said, “Maybe that’s the problem—you tried too hard.”

How can anyone be “overprepared”? That’s the elusive tightrope many Black professionals are often forced to walk—always either not enough or too much. We're supposed to be brilliant but not show it; outperform, but then it’s considered threatening; “polished,” but not too much. We’re told to shine—but not too brightly. To lead—but not too boldly. We’re never “just right. It’s a tightrope with no safe landing.

You might say, “But white people go through this too.” Sure—but that’s like comparing someone experiencing a cold to someone experiencing pneumonia. They share the same symptoms but to different degrees. Both ailments make you cough, but one can kill you. White people may face these challenges too, but Black people experience them more severely, pervasively, and relentlessly.

Was America’s Racial Reckoning a Mirage? – The George Floyd Reaction Syndrome

The post-George Floyd era promised transformation but delivered mostly tokenism—and then severe backlash for the mere tokenism.

The George Floyd Reaction Syndrome is what I call this wave of performative allyship. Everyone wanted to “do something.” So they called us in for panels, interviews, talks, and discovery consultations. But many never planned to hire or empower us, or even do the things we recommended. Many people stopped learning about anti-racism, not even months after marching in the streets. It was visibility without substance. Extraction without investment. Our traumas became PR.

In the name of interviews, I was put through unpaid projects, training demos, reviewing 60-page strategic plans, multi-day marathons, and more. One organization interviewed me for two full days straight (not including the first and second round panel interviews I had previously done) before saying I was their top candidate but they are “unsure of their direction.” Just like that. Who has two full work days to sacrifice unpaid?

Another had me interview with 27 people (everyone and their mama and their cat), only to select a less-qualified internal candidate who was probably pre-determined all along. Some ghosted me after putting me through three to four rounds of interviews and reference statements.

Imagine all the time, energy and money I lost by participating in these interviews. It was exhausting—and most times, I got no feedback despite asking. When I did, it was often something vague like, “You were amazing; we just had to play eenie-meenie-miney-mo with our top two candidates.” or “You smiled during an anti-racism training demo.” You see, we can’t smile, but we also can’t be angry. Although, many times it also felt like I was expected to be either the Happy Negro or the Angry Black Woman.

The Illusion of Hope: How Every ‘Almost There’ Left Me Drained.

At the end of the day, did this so-called “racial reckoning” truly benefit Black people?

Each interview dangled the illusion of hope—only to remind me that the system wasn’t built for me to win. I poured an exorbitant amount of time into job pursuits instead of growing my consulting work or other critical pursuits. It always felt like I was almost there—just one more push, just one more round.

But what I felt wasn’t progress—it was a mirage of hope, a relentless cycle of false promises and near-misses.

There is no point in creating shallow policies like “We must interview at least X Black candidates for each job!” if organizations aren’t also examining biased job descriptions, flawed recruiting & hiring practices, and entrenched prejudices. Otherwise, it’s not equity—it’s just burdening Black professionals with unpaid emotional labor. For me, it was traumatizing. 

Good intentions are not equity.

Healing Through History

It wasn’t until I stopped seeking validation from a system not set up for me that I began to heal and redirect my energy and focus. And that healing came, oddly enough, not from policy—but from memory. From Black history, heritage, and culture.

Learning about my grandfather’s resilience and the brilliance of my ancestors—engineers, doctors, philosophers, architects and pyramid builders—reminded me who I am.

Black history isn’t a footnote; it’s fuel. Fuel to build our own tables instead of asking for a seat. Fuel to make lemonade with lemons! Fuel to keep striving for equity in the systems we have to operate within! Black History is a key source of our self-worth when systems try to strip us of it.

A Law Is Not a Culture Shift - Engineering Culture

When the Civil Rights Act was signed on July 2, 1964, it outlawed discrimination on the basis of race, color, religion, sex, or national origin. But a law can’t heal what a culture refuses to confront, neither can shallow organizational policies fix prejudices and biased systems. Today, 60 years later, the stats show how far we still have to go.

Right now, as laws and policies are rapidly changing for the worse, internal organizational cultures would have to be the safeguard. We need to engineer a culture of inclusion and equity not just as a moral imperative, but to drive top performance and innovation.

Food for Thought

We like to think systemic racism is about people hating other people. But often, it’s about systems working exactly as designed—regardless of who is operating them.

No one had to coordinate these rejections. The system was already calibrated to reward whiteness—even in DEI spaces.

If the DEI field itself isn’t equitable, what hope is there for other industries?

Empirical data shows that the biggest beneficiaries of DEI are white women, followed by white men, with Black people being at the bottom.

Call to Action 

• To HR professionals and hiring managers: Audit your processes. Who gets second chances? Who gets overlooked? Who do you assume is lying and for whom do you care to inquire further if there appears to be discrepancies. What do your background checks really check for and why?

• To DEI professionals: Don’t settle for window dressing. Push for real change and equity. Many are counting on you.

• To aspiring allies: Listen without minimizing. Remember—cold and pneumonia may share symptoms, but one is far more deadly.

• To qualified job seekers: Your worth isn’t defined by this broken system. Don’t let it gaslight you. You are valuable. You belong.

Let’s stop making marginalized people prove their humanity. Let’s engineer systems and cultures that recognize it by default. We are not the problem. We are the solution.

Black people may be the face of DEI, but hold only 3.1% of the DEI leadership roles. If that doesn’t prove why authentic transformational DEI is needed, what will? And if you still can’t see it, ask yourself why.

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Setche Kwamu-Nana is a Culture Strategist, DEI & Learning & Development Consultant, keynote speaker, and engineer-turned-equity-evangelist based in San Diego, CA. She helps organizations reduce turnover and drive innovation by unlocking the power of their workforce’s cultural diversity and deepening employee engagement. More at  www.Setche.com/biography