Hidden in plain sight

The last article I wrote in these pages was when Padma Shri awardee Mata Manjamma Jogathi was denied a visa to the UAE because her passport listed her gender as “X”. 

Despite being invited to celebrate Kannada Rajyotsava on the theme of “Motherhood” and despite being honoured for her maternal role within the transgender and Jogathi communities, Manjamma was stopped by a system that failed to see beyond binary definitions. That incident revealed the fragile borders around identity—and who gets to belong.

Now, as we mark another Pride Month, I find myself reflecting not just on Manjamma’s exclusion but on a troubling global pattern. The language of inclusion may be louder in June, but the actions behind it are fading—slowly, quietly, and systemically.

As part of the management team of a multinational corporation, I see the power of DEI—Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion—play out every day. When employees are valued for who they are, when identity is not seen as a liability but as a strength, businesses flourish. We don’t grow in spite of our differences—we grow because of them. DEI is not just a feel-good principle. It’s a people-first strategy that brings long-term success.

As a corporate leader, I no longer see DEI as just a function of HR. It is moral leadership.

And yet, the global landscape today tells a different story. The growing influence of leaders like Donald Trump and the ideological wave they bring has begun to reshape not just politics, but the policies and priorities of corporations and civil society around the world. From the rollback of protections for LGBTQ+ individuals in the United States to deep cuts in foreign aid, especially toward gender justice and minority-focused programmes, the impacts are tangible.

Many organisations that once received international support to work on inclusion in India are now struggling. Projects are being put on hold, funding is vanishing, and the quiet retreat from diversity is becoming dangerously normalised.

More worrying is the silence on digital platforms. These platforms—many of them global MNCs themselves—are subtly but significantly muting content that deals with queer and trans identities. DEI-related posts don’t get the visibility they once did. Key hashtags are suppressed. Friends working in advocacy now whisper what they used to post proudly.

And the result? A new kind of censorship—one that doesn’t ban you but simply hides you. The irony becomes even sharper when we turn to the global stage. From Washington, we often hear strong voices about the need to “save” women in places like Iran, to protect human rights from authoritarian regimes. But when the same voices cut support for LGBTQ+ rights at home, what exactly are they saving us from?

A regime denies a woman the right to speak; a democracy denies her the platform. One uses force; the other uses fear and bureaucracy, both rendering her voiceless.

Manjamma, again, stands at the centre of this conversation—not because she seeks attention, but because she represents resilience. During Pride Month, many companies still invite her to speak. She comes not as a guest performer, but as a teacher—a maternal figure whose strength lies not just in her story, but in her ability to change hearts. For her, these engagements are not symbolic; they are essential. They bring financial dignity and a chance to sustain her life and legacy.

But even these opportunities are shrinking. When corporations, especially MNCs influenced by conservative policy shifts abroad, start pulling back from DEI efforts, people like Manjamma are the first to feel the consequences. When identity becomes “sensitive”, when celebration becomes “risky”, it is not the powerful who suffer—it is the marginalised. Today, we see many successful personalities across fields like technology, science, business, medicine, and the arts who come from sexually marginalised communities. By derailing Pride and devaluing inclusive culture, are we not limiting advancement in those very fields? Exclusion does not just erase stories—it stifles possibility.

Pride was never about colourful logos or sponsored events. It was born from protest, from visibility claimed when it wasn’t granted. Today, that visibility is being taken away not with loud refusals but with quiet indifference. Inclusion cannot be a seasonal gesture. It must be a daily commitment. It must survive Trump. It must survive digital suppression. It must survive selective solidarity.

Because when someone like Manjamma is pushed aside—whether by a visa office or a boardroom decision—we all lose something. Not just a voice. Not just a story. But a reminder of the kind of world we say we want and the kind we’re actually building.

Pride is not about tolerance. It is about truth. And the truth is, inclusion must be protected—especially when it becomes inconvenient.

(The writer is a Bengaluru- based corporate leader, poet and publisher)