Why Representation Matters: Reflections on Leadership, Family, and Progress

It’s hard not to feel a mix of concern and disappointment after this year’s election results, especially when reflecting on what they might mean for the progress of people of color in leadership. For someone like me—a dad of mixed-race kids, a family man, and someone raising a disabled daughter—the political choices and their implications hit close to home. Watching as cabinet positions are announced and seeing not a single person of color chosen makes it impossible not to wonder: where do we stand now?

It’s not just about the lack of representation. It’s about what that absence says about the priorities of those in power. Representation isn’t just a box to tick—it’s about lived experiences being brought to the table where decisions are made. It’s about leaders who understand, firsthand, what it means to navigate the world while carrying the weight of systemic inequalities. And when those perspectives are absent, the message it sends is loud and clear: you are not seen.

What’s more troubling is that this isn’t about whether one aligns with a political party or ideology. I’m not talking about the handful of Black Republicans who have made headlines. I’m talking about the broader spectrum of diversity—about people who carry with them the histories, struggles, and triumphs of communities that have long been overlooked or sidelined. People whose leadership could bring much-needed depth to policymaking. Their absence isn’t just symbolic; it’s practical. It’s about the policies that won’t be informed by the lived realities of the people who need them the most.

As a father, I think about what this means for my children, for their sense of belonging in a world that is still hesitant to fully embrace them. I think about the hurdles my disabled daughter might face, not just because of her disability but because of a system that fails to recognize how intersecting identities—race, gender, ability—shape our lives. When the people in power don’t reflect that diversity, it’s hard to see how those systems will ever change.

I know some people won’t like this post or support what I’m saying, and that’s fine. You don’t know what you don’t know, and I get that. But seriously, it matters. Representation matters. Progress matters. The experiences of marginalized communities matter. Ignoring them might be convenient for some, but for those of us living these realities or raising kids who will have to navigate them, it’s not an option.

I’m so grateful to my parents for helping me see this. They’ve always supported this side of me and stood firm—not just in their personal lives but in their spiritual lives too. They’ve chosen to confront these issues and see them for what they are, not for how it’s easier to frame them. That foundation of support gives me hope, even when I’m angry or disheartened.

This isn’t just frustration; it’s fear. Fear that progress, however incremental, might stall or even backslide. Fear that the stories of my kids, and kids like them, might continue to be footnotes in conversations rather than focal points. Fear that the work of so many who fought for equity will be undone, not overtly, but through a quiet neglect that allows inequity to persist.

But beyond the fear, there’s also resolve. As parents, as members of diverse communities, as people who care, we have to demand better. We have to push for a world where leadership reflects the full spectrum of humanity—not just for the sake of appearances but because it makes for better governance, better decisions, better futures.

We’re at a moment where it feels like the stakes couldn’t be higher. And for those of us raising the next generation, those stakes are deeply personal. Let’s not look away. Let’s keep pushing. Because it matters. It always has.