From Participation Trophies to WEI

I guess in a sense, the concept of a “trophy for everyone” isn’t entirely new. At the professional level, when a team wins a championship, everyone gets a ring. The starters, the benchwarmers, the equipment staff, even the front office. That’s about recognizing contribution to a winning system, a shared victory earned over time.

But participation trophies? That’s a different animal.

They weren’t created to celebrate achievement. They were created to shield egos. To protect feelings. They were a soft landing for kids who didn’t win but needed to feel like they did. And the phrase that made it all make sense was something like: “Your contribution is just as important as the best player.” Or my personal favorite straight from The Help: “You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”

When I grew up in Evanston, that wasn’t a thing. I played competitive sports. If you didn’t win, you didn’t get a trophy. Period. That wasn’t cruelty—that was clarity. You went home empty-handed, and maybe you worked harder the next time. It wasn’t about shame. It was about understanding that success had requirements.

Fast forward to the early 2000s. I’m watching my own kids play in youth leagues. Some of their teams only won one or two games all season—but come the end-of-year banquet, there they are: smiling, holding up shiny trophies. Celebrated like champions for little more than showing up. And I remember sitting there thinking: What message is this really sending?

They weren’t the best. Sometimes they weren’t even average. But there was still a ritual around rewarding them, not for excellence, but for existence. And that always rubbed me the wrong way.

Participation trophies didn’t just celebrate effort they blurred the line between striving and achieving. They told kids that being present was just as valuable as being exceptional. They taught fragility disguised as self-esteem. And now, that generation has grown up.

The result? A workforce (nation) full of folks with inflated confidence and limited competence. A cultural moment where mediocrity feels entitled to leadership. Where challenge is labeled as hostility, and accountability is mistaken for unfairness.

Which brings us to today.

There’s a growing attack on DEI—diversity, equity, and inclusion across corporate America, higher education, and government. The narrative being pushed? That DEI is handing out jobs and opportunities to people who “didn’t earn it.” That DEI is lowering standards. That Black folks and other historically marginalized people are only getting ahead because of quotas.

But let’s be honest: that’s projection.

That’s not about us. That’s about them.

Attorney and thought leader Lurie Daniel-Favors said it best when she introduced the term WEI: White Entitled Inept. It’s a brilliant, necessary response to the false claim that DEI stands for Didn’t Earn It. Because if we’re really talking about people being elevated without merit, we need to start talking about the generations of white men who’ve been handed roles, titles, platforms, and power—not based on talent, but on legacy. On proximity. On whiteness.

WEI isn’t just a critique, it’s a mirror. It reflects the uncomfortable truth that a lot of those screaming loudest about “fairness” are the ones most threatened by actual competition. Because deep down, they know they’ve been protected. Inflated. Rewarded like champions when they never stepped on the court.

And this is the part we need to say clearly:
DEI didn’t break meritocracy. Meritocracy was never real to begin with.

It’s been a myth upheld by those who benefited from free labor, unearned access, inherited opportunities, and the normalization of white mediocrity in positions of authority. What DEI actually does is challenge that myth. It disrupts the illusion by forcing systems to finally consider those who’ve long been excluded from the conversation—not because they lacked talent, but because the gate was never open.

DEI demands that qualifications matter. That performance matters. That leadership isn’t determined by race, legacy, or comfort—but by skill, insight, and lived experience.

So no, DEI isn’t lowering the bar—it’s finally moving it off the ground.
What’s being dismantled isn’t merit—it’s the illusion that whiteness ever equaled it.

Participation trophies were the warm-up. They trained a generation to expect recognition without results. Now, as DEI holds up a mirror to the imbalance, those same fragile egos feel exposed. Because for the first time, showing up isn’t enough.

The truth is, we’ve always had to be twice as good to get half as far. And now, even when we’re better, the system still fights to preserve whiteness over competence.

So let’s call it what it is.

DEI didn’t threaten meritocracy.
It exposed that it never really existed.

Because if merit had always been the measure, a whole lot of folks wouldn’t be in the positions they’re in right now. What DEI actually threatens is WEI—White Entitled Inept—the comfort of being chosen without proving anything, the legacy of leadership passed down like a family heirloom instead of earned through excellence.

And that’s the real fear:

That once the playing field is level, they won’t just struggle to win—they’ll realize they never had the tools/skills to compete in the first place.
Not without cheating. Not without moving the goalposts. Not without the system bending in their favor.

But here’s the kicker: if they do manage to cross the finish line—propped up by privilege, powered by nepotism, and shielded from scrutiny—they’ll rewrite the history books, too.

They’ll cast themselves as the MVP.
They’ll erase the assists, the screens, the folks who carried the weight.
When the story is told, they’ll be the reason the team won. And you will be photoshopped out of the picture.

That’s not just entitlement. That’s historical theft.
And DEI calls all of it into question.

DEI doesn’t threaten excellence.
It threatens entitlement.
It threatens erasure.
It threatens the lie.

And some folks would rather burn this MF’er to the ground  than face what that says about their résumé—and their reflection.