Why isn’t anyone Attacking the Porn Industry?
It is not a call for censorship or moral policing. It is a hypocritical argument.
By Don Allen, (Journal Of A Black Teacher) 2025
Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) programs have been in the crosshairs over the past two years, excised from corporate boardrooms, government agencies, and academia with surgical precision. What was once a drive toward greater representation and fairness in hiring has been recharacterized as an overreach, a misguided attempt at social engineering. Executives and politicians have publicly bragged that hiring must be done on the basis of "merit," as though the existence of DEI was a handout and not a response to two centuries of exclusion. These programs were too radical, too risky, and too threatening to the natural order of work. Yet in this newest crusade against equity, fairness, and human capital workgroup cultures, one industry has been conspicuously untouched: pornography.
It’s fascinating, really.
The very voices that shouted that DEI was not needed, divisive, and even racist have not focused their attention on one of the biggest, most exploitative industries in the world. DEI—an effort to make workplaces reflect the populations of this nation—was a problem, but a company that profits on racial and gender exploitation goes about its rise unchecked, unmoved, and totally insulated from the moral outrage that has seized corporate America. Though the fairness doctrine has been removed from boardrooms and recruiting, the adult industry is flourishing in a capitalistic economy centered on exploiting power disparities, financial desperation, and the commodification of human bodies. The removal of DEI initiatives wasn't merely a reversal of progressive measures but a message. The message was unmistakable: fairness is a luxury, and those who have been long denied opportunity must continue to be so.
The notion that corporate and government offices used to strive to create diverse and inclusive workforces is a joke now, a failed social experiment. Disregard that the playing field was never level to begin with. Forget that Black and Brown professionals had to battle just to have a seat at the table. When the political winds changed, DEI was a convenient target—blamed for lowered productivity, workplace "division," and any discomfort that accompanied disrupting the status quo. This is the true irony. There wasn't ever a genuine commitment to fairness; there was a conditional allowance, a provisional thumbs-up to diversity if it didn't get in the way of the power arrangement.
The longtime backers of the doctorate of fairness—those who believed that compelling people of color into greater prominence within the workforce was inevitable and necessary—could not recognize how conditional that support was. The removal of DEI was not about barring new employees based on gender or race—it was about doubling down on the fact that inclusion had been an experiment with no longer desirable outcomes. But the adult entertainment business? That's off-limits. It gets to flourish because it doesn't upset current hierarchies—it entrenches them. It exists under the radar of capitalism, unregulated, nigh unchecked, and supported by an audience that conveniently turns a blind eye to the working conditions behind the screen.
It is a business based on exploitation, where consent is often masked by financial desperation, where racial stereotypes are profitable genres, and where women—particularly women of color—are objectified for consumption. If DEI is such a pressing national emergency, where are the porn industry hearings? If corporate cultures need to have the government step in to rescue fairness, where is corporate accountability for an industry openly trafficking in unfairness? If we're so worried about institutions being corrupted by external influences, why is nobody discussing the fact that pornography has dictated whole generations' conception of intimacy, gender roles, and power dynamics? The reality is sex is always safe since it never imperils actual power structures. DEI, for all its shortcomings, at least sought to redistribute opportunity. The pornography industry does none of that. It doesn't call for equity. It doesn't call for inclusion. It doesn't fight for improved working conditions. It operates precisely as capitalism built it to—exploiting the vulnerable, rewarding the powerful, and camouflaging exploitation as amusement.
Most shocking is the selective outrage. The same legislators who are so quick to ban DEI initiatives in the name of "fair hiring" do not appear to have much problem with a multibillion-dollar industry that commodities human beings. The same business leaders who complained about DEI as meddlesome interference have no difficulty making money from content that debases and objectifies. The very same individuals who profess to uphold "traditional values" are strangely quiet about an industry that makes money from everything else.
It is not a call for censorship or moral policing. It is a hypocritical argument.
The removal of DEI programs was not centered on fairness but on control. It focused on keeping historically marginalized groups where they have continually been: on the outside looking in. At the same time, the exploitative industries are beyond reproach since they perform an economic purpose that is useful to the same individuals who purport to be struggling for "fairness." The battle against DEI was quick, conclusive, and profoundly illuminating. It revealed that America remains profoundly uncomfortable with acknowledging its own injustices. It revealed that meritocracy only matters when it shields those already in power. And it revealed that sex, in all its commodified, industrialized, capitalized glory, will always be defended—because it does not disturb, does not challenge, and does not require anything of those who profit from its presence. If DEI was the existential crisis that its critics made it out to be, then surely an industry founded upon economic coercion and racialized fetishism would be a close second. But of course, it is not because equity is radical. But exploitation? That is just business as usual.
Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) programs have been in the crosshairs over the past two years, excised from corporate boardrooms, government agencies, and academia with surgical precision. What was once a drive toward greater representation and fairness in hiring has been recharacterized as an overreach, a misguided attempt at social engineering. Executives and politicians have publicly bragged that hiring must be done on the basis of "merit," as though the existence of DEI was a handout and not a response to two centuries of exclusion. These programs were too radical, too risky, and too threatening to the natural order of work. Yet in this newest crusade against equity, fairness, and human capital workgroup cultures, one industry has been conspicuously untouched: pornography.
It’s fascinating, really.
The very voices that shouted that DEI was not needed, divisive, and even racist have not focused their attention on one of the biggest, most exploitative industries in the world. DEI—an effort to make workplaces reflect the populations of this nation—was a problem, but a company that profits on racial and gender exploitation goes about its rise unchecked, unmoved, and totally insulated from the moral outrage that has seized corporate America. Though the fairness doctrine has been removed from boardrooms and recruiting, the adult industry is flourishing in a capitalistic economy centered on exploiting power disparities, financial desperation, and the commodification of human bodies. The removal of DEI initiatives wasn't merely a reversal of progressive measures but a message. The message was unmistakable: fairness is a luxury, and those who have been long denied opportunity must continue to be so.
The notion that corporate and government offices used to strive to create diverse and inclusive workforces is a joke now, a failed social experiment. Disregard that the playing field was never level to begin with. Forget that Black and Brown professionals had to battle just to have a seat at the table. When the political winds changed, DEI was a convenient target—blamed for lowered productivity, workplace "division," and any discomfort that accompanied disrupting the status quo. This is the true irony. There wasn't ever a genuine commitment to fairness; there was a conditional allowance, a provisional thumbs-up to diversity if it didn't get in the way of the power arrangement.
The longtime backers of the doctorate of fairness—those who believed that compelling people of color into greater prominence within the workforce was inevitable and necessary—could not recognize how conditional that support was. The removal of DEI was not about barring new employees based on gender or race—it was about doubling down on the fact that inclusion had been an experiment with no longer desirable outcomes. But the adult entertainment business? That's off-limits. It gets to flourish because it doesn't upset current hierarchies—it entrenches them. It exists under the radar of capitalism, unregulated, nigh unchecked, and supported by an audience that conveniently turns a blind eye to the working conditions behind the screen.
It is a business based on exploitation, where consent is often masked by financial desperation, where racial stereotypes are profitable genres, and where women—particularly women of color—are objectified for consumption. If DEI is such a pressing national emergency, where are the porn industry hearings? If corporate cultures need to have the government step in to rescue fairness, where is corporate accountability for an industry openly trafficking in unfairness? If we're so worried about institutions being corrupted by external influences, why is nobody discussing the fact that pornography has dictated whole generations' conception of intimacy, gender roles, and power dynamics? The reality is sex is always safe since it never imperils actual power structures. DEI, for all its shortcomings, at least sought to redistribute opportunity. The pornography industry does none of that. It doesn't call for equity. It doesn't call for inclusion. It doesn't fight for improved working conditions. It operates precisely as capitalism built it to—exploiting the vulnerable, rewarding the powerful, and camouflaging exploitation as amusement.
Most shocking is the selective outrage. The same legislators who are so quick to ban DEI initiatives in the name of "fair hiring" do not appear to have much problem with a multibillion-dollar industry that commodities human beings. The same business leaders who complained about DEI as meddlesome interference have no difficulty making money from content that debases and objectifies. The very same individuals who profess to uphold "traditional values" are strangely quiet about an industry that makes money from everything else.
It is not a call for censorship or moral policing. It is a hypocritical argument.
The removal of DEI programs was not centered on fairness but on control. It focused on keeping historically marginalized groups where they have continually been: on the outside looking in. At the same time, the exploitative industries are beyond reproach since they perform an economic purpose that is useful to the same individuals who purport to be struggling for "fairness." The battle against DEI was quick, conclusive, and profoundly illuminating. It revealed that America remains profoundly uncomfortable with acknowledging its own injustices. It revealed that meritocracy only matters when it shields those already in power. And it revealed that sex, in all its commodified, industrialized, capitalized glory, will always be defended—because it does not disturb, does not challenge, and does not require anything of those who profit from its presence. If DEI was the existential crisis that its critics made it out to be, then surely an industry founded upon economic coercion and racialized fetishism would be a close second. But of course, it is not because equity is radical. But exploitation? That is just business as usual.
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