Blog 14/ When the Language No Longer Fits: Why I Had to Create Something New
The Post-DEI Hollowing Phenomenon™ — naming what’s been quietly unraveling.
Before a theory is born, a truth is felt.
Over the past year, I have sat across from students whose stories were too quiet for headlines but too loud for my spirit to ignore.
They talked about walking onto campuses that once felt full of promise, only to now feel the shift in the air. They described DEI offices that had grown smaller… Conversations that had grown quieter… And a sense of belonging that had grown harder to hold onto.
And as they shared these truths — not with anger, but with exhaustion — something in me refused to turn away. I knew these stories weren’t isolated. They weren’t random. They weren’t imagined. They were part of a pattern.
A change.
A turning.
A deep, beneath-the-surface movement reshaping what it means to be a Black student navigating predominantly white institutions in this new era of higher education.
What I witnessed was not a lapse in commitment — it was a hollowing out.
As I listened, transcribed interviews, prayed, reflected, and read through hours of data, one realization hit me with more force than I expected:
We no longer have the language to describe what is happening.
Not the old DEI language. Not the pre-2020 frameworks. Not the surface-level policy statements institutions continue to recycle.
Nothing captured the emotional terrain these students were navigating. Nothing named the psychological fog they were trying to push through. Nothing articulated the hollowed-out feeling that so many of them described — the feeling of being present on a campus, but no longer held by it.
And as a qualitative researcher, I’ve learned that language is not just descriptive — it is diagnostic. When students lack the words to explain what they’re living through, the institution loses the tools to repair it. Naming the phenomenon became not just an academic pursuit, but a moral one.
So, I did what scholars, storytellers, and truth-seekers have always done when the world shifts beneath our feet.
I built a new vocabulary for a moment that demanded more than silence.
A new construct.
A new lens.
A new way to explain the quiet harm and subtle unraveling shaping student experiences right now.
I’m not revealing the full framework yet — that debut is coming in 2026 when I step onto national stages with AAC&U and NADOHE to share the depth of this work. But today, I wanted to honor the moment before the moment. To share the heartbeat behind the theory.
The need. The ache. The stories. The prayers.
The late nights and early mornings asking God what I was witnessing.
Like Samuel, I kept hearing, “Speak, for your servant is listening,” and I knew I was being entrusted with language for such a time as this.
This construct was not created in isolation. It was born out of real voices, real experiences, and real harm that has gone unnamed for too long.
And it was born out of hope too — the kind that refuses to let silence have the last word.
What I can say now is this:
Something is happening in higher education.
Something subtle but seismic.
Something that deserves clear language, honest conversation, and courageous leadership.
And in the months ahead, I’m going to share more — not the entire theory, but the stories, insights, and truths that led me to create it.
Because once you name a thing, you can begin to change it.
And that’s where the healing begins.
This is only the beginning — and the work ahead is sacred.
Stay tuned. There’s more brewing.
With a grateful heart,
Dr. Courtney Nicole Johnson
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Dr. Courtney Nicole Johnson
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