We like to believe that inclusion happens on its own — that, over time, things will improve for those
who’ve been kept out. As if progress is as simple as a few trending hashtags, glossy corporate rebrands,
or tearfully delivered speeches at award ceremonies. But the reality is far more complex. Inclusion
doesn’t just happen. It requires effort, and more often than not, that effort comes from someone
already seated comfortably; legs crossed, tea in hand, biscuits within reach, blissfully unaware,
unbothered by the fact that the door behind them remains tightly shut to others.
It’s inherently unfair to ask people to fight for entry into spaces that were never meant for them,
whether those spaces are workplaces, schools, or society for that matter, while those already inside sit
back, barely lifting a finger to make room. The truth is this: if you have a seat at the table, you carry the
responsibility. You hold the power, and with power comes obligation — a duty we too often sidestep
with awkward smiles and vague commitments.
Many a time, we dress inequality up in prettier clothes, call it merit, call it hustle, call it pulling yourself
up by bootstraps no one ever handed you. The myth of meritocracy is comforting because it lets us
believe the world is fair, that the spoils go to the deserving. But that’s merely a story we tell ourselves to
sleep better at night. In truth, the ladders are rarely upright. They lean toward the people who built
them. What we call “merit” is often just access, repackaged. And yet, we cling to it. Because to admit
that the game is rigged is to admit we’re not all playing the same one.
This isn’t always about malice. More often, it’s about inertia. But the moment you benefit from a
system, you inherit the responsibility for what it excludes. It’s not enough to be non-discriminatory.
Inclusion demands disruption. Besides, it’s easier to post a quote than to give up your seat. Easier to
call for change than to live it.
Critics often argue that inclusion lowers standards. As if ability alone historically opened doors.
Inclusion forces us to confront the systems that have long protected mediocrity for the few. And
tokenism? It’s what happens when representation is staged for optics, not driven by purpose.
If you have the power to open the door and choose not to, you are not neutral. You are a gatekeeper.
No diversity panel or curated apology video can fix that.
Inclusion also means knowing when to step aside. If you’ve been offered every opportunity, every seat,
every microphone, hand the next one to someone who’s still waiting.
The institutions we rely on must evolve, too. That means rewriting rules — fairer hiring, blind
applications, real investment in mentorship, and funding models that don’t reward sameness. The
burden of inclusion does not belong to the excluded. It never did. It falls on the shoulders of those
already heard, already seen, already assumed worthy.
Inclusion isn’t charity. It’s responsibility.
In the end, we are left with a choice: remain curled in the safety of our comfort zones, turning a blind
eye to the fractures around us or rise to be the ones who shatter the all-prevailing system and make
space for the unincluded.
And perhaps, one day, when voices no longer have to scream for the mere chance to be heard, we will
finally understand: the world was never meant to be divided. It was always aching to be whole.

~ sanika prabhu