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.