Advertising Age published yet another DEIBA+ LGBTQ+
perspective—that’s two in one week (or one Pride Month)—emphasizing the
imperative for inclusion. It’s virtually a carbon copy of the other one—albeit taking an experiential
angle—churning out the same suggestions to create authenticity.
At this
point, it would probably be easy to devise an algorithm so these Op-Eds could
be generated via AI.
5 ways to
build inclusive communities that actually work
By Rudy Blanco
Marginalized
communities have been pushing back against corporate activism for years, and I
can understand why. I’m a gay Dominican from the Bronx, but that’s not the only
part of me that needs recognition.
So, when
companies hit me up in June like I’m a seasonal subscription, it’s hard not to
feel like a diversity Groupon. And audiences of these pony shows can see the
inauthenticity.
As someone who
plans community events for private agencies, nonprofits and gaming, I know that
no one gets “credit” for attending. So, if it doesn’t land, they just close the
tab. After three years of testing ways to honor culture, heritage and identity in
ways that feel real, here are five ways to build truly inclusive communities:
Stop
scheduling people’s identities
Pride in June.
Black History in February. Women’s History in March. Asian American, Pacific
Islander, Native Hawaiian Heritage Month in April—you’ve seen the calendar.
In my many
roles, these cultural or identity events were a core part of my work. For
years, I followed the traditional calendar structure. It made planning easy,
but the engagement was surface-level at best.
However, most
of those events don’t encourage engagement, so we started celebrating
identities outside their assigned months. A women’s entrepreneurship event in
April. A Black art showcase during Pride. If the only time someone’s story is
told is when the calendar says so, that’s not inclusion—it’s programming.
This doesn’t
mean we should stop celebrating heritage months. But we must celebrate with
more care and intention than simply following a schedule. That’s when people
will feel the difference.
Design with,
not for
In the past, I
designed every event on my own, especially in spaces that were predominantly
white, wealthy or outside of the identities being celebrated. The work of my
one-man shop came from a good place, but when you’re not part of the identity
being celebrated, even your best ideas can miss the landing.
So, I started
co-creating. I asked for feedback from peers and friends I trusted within the
circles being celebrated, while being careful not to tokenize. Whenever we plan
something around a specific culture or identity, I invite two people to help
shape it: one from inside the community, when possible, and one from outside
it.
The goal isn’t
just representation, but a collaboration. It’s real-time, mutual learning,
where people with different lived experiences build something together, so the
result feels layered, intentional and real. And remember to reward them. Pay
them, shout them out, give them something meaningful. As a former teacher, I’ll
tell you: Intrinsic motivation matters, but appreciation matters more.
Move from
panels to practice
I’ve planned
the panels, sat through the town halls and booked the “DEI speaker.” I’ve been
the DEI speaker. Sometimes panels work—but more often, they land like a
corporate memo with better lighting. People don’t change from watching. They
change from doing.
Instead, try
everything but a traditional panel. Try an “un-panel.” Rotate speakers
between small groups. Have them play a game—anything that makes the audience
part of the moment, not just witnesses to it.
I create spaces
for participation instead of consumption. One month, we set up a “smell table”
tied to cultural food traditions. Another time, we offered teas from different
countries, each with a short story or history attached.
The more people
get to create—even in low-stakes ways—the more they feel like they belong. When
you swap panels for practices, you stop performing culture and start
experiencing it. That’s when it becomes real.
Let people
do their own work
When I had just
come out to myself and the world, I loved being the explainer. I was the
helpful token gay kid—the one who answered every question, no matter how wild.
I regularly fielded questions like “What’s it like being gay?” “Is saying
‘no homo’ offensive?” “Can I wear a rainbow flag if I’m straight?” Or my
personal favorite: “Which one of you is the man in the relationship?” ...
Cringe.
At the time, I
believed answering those questions was activism. And for where I was in
my journey, it was. But eventually, I got tired of being the spokesperson. I
realized that constantly educating others about my identity and others’ wasn’t
sustainable, and it definitely wasn’t fair. Especially in professional spaces,
where the people doing the “learning” often had more pay, more power and more
protection than those doing the explaining.
These days,
I’ve set a boundary: Do your own work. People are more capable than we give
them credit for. They’ll watch the doc, read the book and follow the creators.
What they need isn’t handholding—it’s accountability.
If you want
your workplace culture to grow, stop asking marginalized folks to carry the
emotional weight of your curiosity. Build systems where the responsibility to
learn falls on the asker—not the one being asked. Because culture doesn’t
deepen when people ask better questions. It deepens when they stop expecting
someone else to answer them.
Track the
right data
We don’t always
say it out loud, but whoever’s funding your culture work is expecting ROI.
Usually, that means engagement numbers compared to dollars spent. But the way
we define impact needs to shift. If your only success metric is how many people
showed up, you’re measuring the wrong thing.
Don’t define
what success looks like for a group you’re not part of. Define that with
them. Let them tell you what matters. And then, as the culture builder, work
within those parameters.
In spaces where
no one’s required to attend, engagement looks different. I track who lingers,
who volunteers, who says, “I didn’t know that,” or who makes new connections
outside their usual circle. I’ve run events with barely any attendance, then
watched the follow-up Slack thread blow up with the deepest conversations we’d
had all quarter. Or seen a self-identity art-making session spark a new
cross-team workshop two weeks later. Those are receipts.
Track the
aftershocks, not just the RSVPs. That’s how you know the culture is real.
