In my childhood, the community of Mvog-Ada in Yaoundé, Cameroon, had minimal engagement with the government.

Education was available through public schools, which allowed even those from impoverished backgrounds to send their children to school. At that time, tuition was only 200 local CFA francs, making it relatively accessible despite gradual increases.

The local market was a different story. Authorities employed police to compel vendors and merchants into derelict spaces. Our market was chaotic, with makeshift stalls scattered everywhere, and waste accumulating in piles. The streets were nearly impassable due to the vendors occupying them, and while police occasionally attempted to clear paths, they were largely viewed with disdain.

ID checks were commonplace, especially when traveling from Yaoundé to nearby villages. Women, particularly those seeking food to resell at the market, faced these checks frequently. There were also sudden inspections, where police would scrutinize the identification of anyone trying to enter or exit our area. Those without IDs risked arrest, often ending up in police vehicles and taken to local stations, while children were generally exempt from such scrutiny. Adults spoke of needing to “choko” (bribe) to avoid detainment or to secure release.

Civil servants were scarce in our area. It was said that to secure a government position, one must pass a national exam, but whispers suggested that bribes or connections were vital for success. Consequently, many in my community refrained from applying, believing the government to be inherently corrupt.

There was no safety net, such as Medicare or any form of national health insurance. Each individual was left to fend for themselves, with little expectation of support from the state. The notion of government was almost non-existent, yet it was simultaneously blamed for all our troubles. The prevailing sentiment in my neighborhood regarding the government could be summed up in one word: corrupt.

This disdain for authority was widespread. From conversations with adults, it was evident that this sentiment permeated all working-class neighborhoods. Some individuals saw it as a chance for profit or to elevate their status, leading to a surge of sensationalist newspapers. These publications often made outrageous claims about government officials, accusing them of corruption without any substantiation. Any announcement from state-owned enterprises was met with skepticism. The pervasive belief was that corruption was a widely accepted fact, supported by the rumors circulating in our community.

Despite the lack of evidence, the adults of my youth accepted these accusations as truth. Phrases like “Tous pourris!” (They’re all corrupt!) became common. New government appointments were greeted with the same certainty of wrongdoing, providing a sense of comfort for us in poverty, as we could rationalize our circumstances by blaming the wealthy. We held the moral high ground, while they were seen as affluent yet unethical.

The real beneficiaries of this climate were the newspaper owners who profited from unfounded claims against the government. They thrived on the public’s frustrations, knowing that any journalist who dared to publish similar allegations would likely face legal repercussions. It’s not to say that numerous officials were not corrupt, but these papers capitalized on unverified rumors. They understood the grievances of the impoverished and provided a narrative that resonated with their struggles, regardless of its truth.

Decades later, I find myself witnessing a similar phenomenon, where the American working and middle classes have taken the place of the impoverished neighborhoods of my past. The principles of DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) or the label of Woke have replaced the former narrative of corruption. The new purveyors of “The Truth” claim to speak out against political correctness and advocate for equality, but they wield their influence primarily through social media, dictating who is deemed competent for employment based solely on race and gender.

For instance, they argue that if you are Black or Latino, your qualifications are questioned unless you are in a low-skilled position. The same applies to women in leadership roles, who are often labeled as DEI hires.

The critique of DEI has shifted from a noble intention to a derogatory term, primarily targeting minorities and women. Critics assert that DEI promotes mediocrity at the expense of merit, associating success with White males who, they claim, earn their positions through hard work, while people of color are viewed as needing assistance to succeed. The rhetoric reflects a belief that minorities lack merit, leading to expressions of frustration like “Enough! We are fed up!” This echoes sentiments shared by former President Trump regarding “Black jobs” and “Hispanic jobs.”

The argument against DEI has become a new avenue for gaining notoriety and financial success. Simply labeling individuals in authority as DEI hires can garner significant attention and support on social media. Figures like Elon Musk have publicly denounced DEI, describing it as a form of racism and illegal discrimination.

For those in marginalized communities seeking visibility in this era of the “Me/Creator Economy,” attacking DEI can propel them into the spotlight, earning them accolades from those who perceive themselves as defenders against this ideology. Their critiques suggest they’re opposed to mediocrity being celebrated, portraying themselves as free thinkers resisting the “woke mind virus.”

Examples abound, as when billionaire Bill Ackman shared video content featuring a former DEI official, enhancing his profile and notoriety. His criticism of Claudine Gay, the first Black woman president of Harvard University, further fueled his fame, as he insinuated she attained her position due to her race rather than merit.

Recently, I encountered a neighbor during a soccer game who expressed frustration with what he perceived as a “woke” media undermining political candidates like RFK Jr. When I suggested that his views might also contribute to his struggles, he quickly pivoted to criticize Kamala Harris as a DEI hire, deeming her unqualified without offering credible alternatives.

This illustrates how the DEI narrative has become a tool for modern racism, allowing individuals to express biases while avoiding accountability. In a separate conversation, a friend recounted how a discussion about affirmative action revealed how some White individuals construct narratives to absolve their perceived victimhood, blaming such policies for their own failures instead of acknowledging individual shortcomings.

Ultimately, the DEI discourse creates a facade of victimization among White individuals, enabling them to voice prejudices against minorities without facing repercussions. It’s a complex interplay of societal perceptions and biases that continues to shape conversations around race, merit, and opportunity.