Bleed For Us

Are DEI programs subsidizing victimhood?

I’ve been watching with alarm the success the right is having in discrediting and dismantling diversity, equity, and inclusion programs in colleges and businesses. Don’t get me wrong, I detest their hate-filled, white-supremacist motive. Still, I never thought about how we liberals might be complicit until now. With exquisite timing, an up-and-coming novelist has released a most compelling and instructive read. Amazon tags Victim: a Novel as “a fearless satire about a hustler from the Bronx who sees through the veneer of diversity initiatives and decides to cash in on the odd currency of identity.” It’s a debut work by Andrew Boryga and can give us (non-defensive) liberals some insight into why programs we cherish may be deserving of attack.

Believe me, this book has something to offend everyone.

The narrative transcends the tired discourse that accuses people of color of leveraging their status as victims for advancement—a trope frequently revisited on outlets like Fox News. Rather, this novel unveils a disturbing tendency among well-intentioned white liberals who control gateways to prestigious universities and coveted careers, demanding that minorities showcase their suffering to gain recognition. The implicit message is clear: "You must show us your scars from white oppression to merit our sympathy and assistance."

The story follows a young man from a Puerto Rican family who, to his mother's chagrin masters the role of the victim. He skillfully convinces a liberal college admissions board to grant him access to a prestigious institution, presenting himself as a survivor of contrived suffering. There, he exploits his fabricated tales of oppression to secure a personal column in the college newspaper, where he continues to spin narratives of victimhood—most of which he borrows from legitimate victims. His reputation on campus skyrockets; he becomes a notable figure, a protagonist in his manufactured plight.

Boryga has forced me to confront my own racial biases—the times I have needed to perceive people of color as victims before I could either excuse their actions or consider them worthy of my support. In other words, “Bleed for me.” I don’t see the whole person, only their wounds.

The book is causing quite a stir. When you criticize what is referred to as “the white liberal elite”, you are going to get a lot of pushback. I saw these dynamics repeatedly during my time as an organization consultant. When I pointed out to well-meaning liberals that this patronizing benevolence is itself a form of racism; that their hastily launched diversity initiatives were merely a kneejerk reaction to save them from charges of discrimination, the usual response was defensive indignation. It seems nearly impossible to convince those who identify as progressive that their well-intentioned actions might be racially demeaning.

A Minneapolis fundraiser I attended epitomizes this bleed-for-me attitude. The gathering was sponsored by a respected organization that supported at-risk high school students of color with tutoring, counseling, and college preparation services. Many beneficiaries have progressed to prestigious colleges nationwide. A truly worthy cause. Tonight, they were honoring one of their success stories who had gone on to be named student of the year at a notable university. The only thing we were told about her story beforehand was that she was the Black daughter of a crack addict and how the program had saved her.

The event took place at a lakeside mansion owned by a board member and attended by an exclusive crowd of affluent, liberal, white supporters of such causes. These were well-intentioned people, proud of their philanthropic efforts. As I meandered through the opulent downstairs, weaving through groups of chic, elegantly dressed women engaged in animated conversation, I felt out of place and drifted towards a quieter sitting room. It was empty except for a young woman sitting beside a patrician white lady on the settee. The atmosphere between them was strained, the remnants of a conversation hanging awkwardly in the air. The young woman, clearly the guest of honor and notably the only Black person present besides the catering staff, looked at ease, but her conversation partner was clearly uncomfortable. Obviously, their exchange of pleasantries had played out; as I entered, the woman stood, introduced me to the guest of honor, and abruptly excused herself.

White Southerners like me, because we were raised around Black people, feel like we know them. It’s not true, but it provides a feeling of false familiarity. After all, we can talk for hours just about the food without ever broaching race. As we chatted, I asked her where her people were from. Another thing about Southerners is that we can’t think straight until we know a person’s geography and familial connections. She told me her family calls Arkansas home. When I asked where she was from in Arkansas, she named the town, and I said I had never heard of it. She said it was small and was still in the family.

“In the family?” I asked. “Your family owns a town?”

“After slavery, my great-great-grandfather Mason gathered up his kin from other plantations, and they went out west, bought 300 acres of land, and set up their own community.”

I had heard about this! Groups of the formerly enslaved traveled to unpopulated areas in states like Kansas, Missouri, and Arkansas, worked and bought up land, and began exclusively African American communities. These places were often very successful, run by Black people driven by a new-found pride in freedom. They had gained building, agricultural, and household crafting skills by running farms and plantations for their enslavers. Most of all, they had a granite faith derived through reliance on each other.

Many of these settlements don’t survive today because their success threatened the neighboring white communities.

But this one still survived. Her family's narrative was filled with tales of defiance and pride, stretching back to Africa. She told me of ancestors who defied their white masters, some who bought their own freedom, some who took it by force, and some who took it by sacrificing their lives.

The pride she felt in her heritage was palpable and inspiring. Not once did the topic of her mother's addiction arise in our conversation. As she related her history, she radiated pride and strength. Truly, this young woman stood on the shoulders of giants.

When the event formally began, the chairperson introduced her, reducing her rich history to simply being "the daughter of a crack addict," underscoring a narrative of dependency on white benevolence. When it was her turn to speak, she followed the expected script, expressing gratitude towards the organization and her recovering mother. She requested generous donations to continue such aid to other needy kids, omitting her family’s legacy of strength and self-reliance. In other words, she hit all the right notes.

This scenario epitomizes a broader issue: the expectation that people of color perform their trauma so they can be saved by benevolent whites—a motif reminiscent of "To Kill a Mockingbird,” “The Help,” and countless other reassuring stories that we whites like to tell about ourselves. Clearly, this woman’s full story, one of ancestral strength and self-determination, might not have appealed to the donors as much as a tale of need and rescue.

As the evening concluded, I felt a complex mix of privilege and complicity; privileged to have heard her true story, yet complicit in a setting that preferred simplified narratives for comfort over uneasy truths.

Boryga’s novel raises critical questions: How far is one willing to go to create a narrative that resonates but distorts a person's truth, and how does this affect the person’s self-regard? How do many diversity initiatives enforce a narrative of victimhood, reducing promising individuals to the sum of the injustices they’ve incurred? What does real diversity look like?

I don’t have the answers. But I do know that with the ferocious and, so far, very effective assault on the legitimacy of diversity, equity, and inclusion programs by lawmakers, rich white guys, and rightwing action groups, we best take a second look at the easy answers we have too often settled for.