What Fairness Really Looks Like

Ever been told a word you used was 'problematic'? I have. And it made me wonder: when did fairness get so complicated?

If you are anything like me, the phrase DEI — diversity, equity, inclusion, is probably enough to make your eyes glaze over.

For a long time, mine did too.

It sounded like jargon. Like a bureaucratic project cooked up in HR departments or university faculties. Full of acronyms. Checklists. Rules about what words you are allowed to use. It felt disconnected from real life. From common sense. From the work of actually building something together.

And in a lot of places, that is exactly what it became.

Instead of focusing on what people contribute, there has been an obsession with the tone of someone's skin. We are asked to sort ourselves into alien categories, like "BAME", which I am apparently meant to identify as. No thank you. I am a father, a member of my local community, a Spurs fan... a hundred things that can better define me before my ancestry. Is it all necessary?

We are told to tiptoe around each other instead of speak honestly. Disagreement gets mistaken for harm. Everyday language is policed. We are expected to refer to individuals as if they are plural. We are told that words matter more than character or contribution. It feels like a quiet erosion of common sense.

In the United States, the backlash is intensifying. States are banning DEI programs. Corporate America is in retreat. Tech giants like Amazon, Google and Meta are scaling back internal diversity teams, and mentions of DEI in annual reports and public filings have fallen by over 70 percent this year. People are fed up with being shamed for how they speak while the real issues go untouched. We have reached the point where job applications require diversity statements even for roles that have nothing to do with people or policy. In Universities, faculty applicants must pledge to "deconstruct white supremacy" in fields like physics. One university even included fatphobia as a form of structural oppression when reviewing campus policies.

It is easy to see why people are switching off.

There is something about how identity politics has been pushed that feels performative and hollow. Where disagreement becomes violence. Where intention no longer matters. Where institutions reward the appearance of virtue but rarely ask what is being built or who it serves.

I understand the instinct to walk away from all of it.

But here is what I have come to understand. If we walk away entirely, we risk losing something we cannot afford to ignore.

It is a deeply conservative idea. That everyone should have a fair shot. That hard work should count. That rules should apply equally. That no one should be punished for who they are, nor given special status at the expense of others. Real fairness means designing systems that reward contribution, not just compliance.

And that kind of fairness cannot be measured in quotas or slogans. It lives in the details of how systems are built. Who they make space for. Who they quietly shut out before the starting line.

I have been lucky. I have benefited from systems that have evolved with people like me in mind. And that makes it even more important to ask who gets left out and why.

Because the truth is, everyone experiences the world differently. Some people have to plan every journey in advance, hoping that the planned person will be there with a ramp when they arrive at their destination. Others have arrived at hotels late at night only to be told they cannot go to their room without filling out extra forms because of a support need or access requirement. I have never had to be conscious of these things. That is what it means when a system quietly works for you without you realising it. And that is exactly why we have to pay attention to who it does not work for.

Fairness means recognising that and removing the barriers that should never have been there. It means creating environments where people can contribute at their best, with dignity and agency. That is not ideology. That is good design.

And here is the thing. When we design for those who have been overlooked, we often fix what was broken for everyone. Take dropped kerbs. They were introduced to give wheelchair users safe passage. Today, they quietly serve mothers with prams, travellers with suitcases, delivery drivers. A design for the margins that became universally essential. When we design for the periphery, we strengthen the core. We improve the system as a whole.

So yes. Let us be honest about where DEI has gone wrong. Let us call out the jargon. The overreach. The theatre. Let us protect free speech and restore common sense.

But let us not lose the principle at the heart of it all.

Because the people who have been on the sharp end of unfair systems do not care what we call it. They care whether the doors open. Whether they are seen. Whether they can participate fully and contribute on equal footing.

That is not politics. That is principle.

And it is worth getting right.