​The Price of Silence: A Call to OSU’s Former Black Male Athletes

Ohio State University’s recent decision to close its Office of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) is not just an administrative shift—it is a statement. As an Ohio native and a former DEI professional at OSU, I feel the weight of this decision acutely. It reflects a broader pattern in higher education: prioritizing politics and financial considerations over the well-being of marginalized students and faculty.

At the same time that OSU revels in its latest national football championship—earned mainly through the efforts of Black athletes—it is stripping away the infrastructure meant to ensure long-term success and equity for those same individuals. This contradiction is glaring. Institutions like OSU thrive on the talent of Black athletes, using their names, images, and achievements to drive billions in revenue, yet turn their backs on maintaining support systems that foster inclusion and belonging.
The university justifies the closure of its DEI office with budget constraints and compliance with state policies. However, this reasoning falls flat when considering OSU’s immense financial resources. If the issue were purely economic, why not cut areas that do not directly impact the retention and success of underrepresented students? Diversity work is often treated as an expendable luxury rather than a fundamental part of the institution’s mission.

This decision sets a dangerous precedent. It signals to universities nationwide that diversity commitments can be discarded under the correct political and financial pressures. More concerning, it sends a message to students of color and other marginalized communities that their voices and experiences are not a priority. The impact of this move will be felt far beyond OSU’s campus, reinforcing barriers to access, representation, and equity in higher education.

For decades, DEI offices have provided a crucial support system for students navigating the systemic challenges of higher education. These offices offer mentorship, advocacy, and programs that help students succeed academically and ensure institutions remain accountable to the communities they serve. Dismantling these structures leaves students vulnerable to the forces that DEI initiatives were designed to counter—discrimination, exclusion, and inequity.

For student-athletes, particularly those in football and basketball, the power of choice has never been greater. Now, in the era of Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL), you have a new level of influence in determining where to take your talents. However, NIL money should not be the only consideration. Universities that genuinely value their athletes invest in them beyond their playing years. A university willing to sever ties with DEI while parading its athletes for financial gain is not making a long-term investment in their well-being—it is extracting from them for short-term profit.

You can choose where you commit your time, talent, and future. However, I do not ask you to lead this fight today. You are needed for the long-term battles that will surely come. You should recognize the historical moments unfolding before you—learning from them, preparing for them, and remembering that history will judge the choices made in such times. The institutions you align yourselves with should reflect your values, not just offer financial incentives that ultimately do not secure your future beyond athletics.

This is not just about prospective recruits but also about the athletes who have already worn the scarlet and gray. OSU frequently highlights its legendary players, featuring them in commercials, halftime shows, and promotional campaigns. But where are these players now? Will they speak up? If OSU is so proud of its legacies, those athletes should feel compelled to hold their alma mater accountable.

A trophy or championship ring should not be able to buy silence. The university banks on its former athletes remaining grateful, staying quiet, and allowing themselves to be used as branding tools. However, authentic leadership means recognizing when gratitude must give way to accountability. If OSU is willing to celebrate an athlete’s accomplishments, it should also be willing to listen to their concerns about equity and fairness.

To the Black male athletes who have carried OSU’s athletic success on their backs—this is your moment to take a stand. We know who you are; we have chanted your names in Ohio Stadium, St. John Arena, and the Schottenstein Center. You have already proven your strength and resilience on the field and court, but true greatness extends beyond sports. Your voices can influence real change, and your platform is powerful enough to demand answers from an institution that has benefited from your success.

I want to be clear that I am not dismissing the voices of women athletes in this call to action. The Ohio State University has a rich history of women athletes who have donned the scarlet and gray and competed at the highest levels. Their contributions, achievements, and leadership have played an integral role in shaping OSU’s athletic legacy. However, historically, the celebration and promotion of male athletes—particularly in football and basketball—have disproportionately fattened the pockets of both the university and the male athletes themselves. To whom much is given, much will be required. Male athletes, especially those in revenue-driving sports, have been given more visibility, financial opportunities, and influence. It is now time to use that influence for something greater than personal gain.

At the same time, I want to make it abundantly clear that I am not placing the responsibility of this DEI change on the shoulders of Black male athletes. I expect the university did not consult with many of you before making this decision. Despite breaking records, elevating OSU’s profile, and bringing in millions, the same record tune of exclusion from decision-making still plays on repeat—at this university, within this state, and across this nation. Still, with your platform and influence, you bear a responsibility to speak up and say something.

The cost of silence is high. The stakes extend beyond personal legacy for OSU’s football and basketball alums. Staying quiet allows the university to continue marketing its image, selling its success story, and using its past contributions to promote a future that is not inclusive. When institutions see no resistance, they continue down the path of erasure and exclusion. OSU is making decisions that impact real lives, and it is time for those who built the program’s reputation to demand that the university align its actions with its rhetoric.

Some may wonder if speaking out makes a difference. It does. In athletics, every point counts, and every play matters. The same applies here. Your words, stance, and decision to step forward can shift the trajectory of this conversation. You are too great to sit on the sidelines while your community faces systemic exclusion. This is your fight. This is your time. This is overtime; while we may be down, we are not out.

OSU’s decision to dismantle its DEI office is more than a policy shift—it is an abandonment of core values that define a truly remarkable institution. While the university continues to enjoy athletic success, it simultaneously erodes the principles of diversity and inclusion that should guide its future.
Former athletes, your voices are needed now. You have built the stadiums, filled the seats, and elevated OSU’s brand to national prominence. Now, use that same power to call for justice. If your university could benefit from your athletic greatness, it should also respect your right to demand fairness and accountability.

Higher education is at a crossroads. The choices made now will define the future of DEI in universities nationwide. Will institutions like OSU uphold their commitments to equity, or will they allow political pressures to dismantle decades of progress? The answer to that question is not just in the hands of university administrators—it is in the hands of those who refuse to let their voices be silenced.
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The fight for equity is not over. It never has been. And as long as there are voices willing to stand up, it never will be.