An Open Letter to the Black Man Who Helped Pass Ohio’s Anti-DEI Law

Dear Mr. Josh Williams,

To be honest, I wanted to write a mean-spirited letter to you. Your fervent support for the “Anti-DEI” Senete Bill 1(SB1) felt like a betrayal to our race, and I took it as a personal affront. My initial thought was, “Wow, another flunkie willing to be the Black face on the white-suprimicist agenda.” But I wanted to learn a little bit more about you before I addressed you. After hearing you tell your story on several platforms, I have to say that I am extremely impressed by your story.

As a fellow Black man from Ohio, I recognize how rare it is to hear a story like yours—one marked by so many moments where you could’ve given up, but didn’t. Dropping out of high school, living on park benches, breaking your back, being confined to a bed, ballooning to nearly 460 pounds, then clawing your way back—through surgeries, setbacks, and bureaucracy—to eventually earn multiple degrees, become a lawyer, professor, and state legislator. That’s beyond impressive, and from Black man to Black man, I am extremely proud of you!

While we may differ in politics and ideology, I’m almost certain we have more in common than not. I also grew up in poverty. I also grew up in the Christian faith. While I never had to sleep on a park bench like you did, my family did experience housing instability, and I spent over a year couch-surfing. You didn’t finish high school, and I did—but just barely. I think my GPA was around a 1.4 when I graduated.

Like you, I had that “ah-ha” moment that pushed me to change my life. You’ve shared the powerful story of contemplating suicide, then seeing your three-year-old son and choosing to live for your family. I thank God you made that choice. My turning point came when I found out I was going to be a father. At the time, I was a knuckleheaded teenager—job-hopping, drinking, smoking, and doing reckless shit with my friends. But the moment I realized I’d be responsible for another life, I knew I had to get serious. I enrolled at Sinclair Community College and started the long road toward something better, eventually, like you, earning a law degree.

Like you, I did extremely well in undergrad, and like you, I used my own experience to inform a particular ideology. One of the first papers I wrote as a student at the University of Cincinnati was an attempt to answer what I now see was a wildly naive and loaded question: What was more responsible for the condition of Black Americans—systemic racism or our so-called lack of “personal responsibility”?

I’m almost ashamed to admit this, but I argued that personal responsibility was the bigger issue. That conclusion was wrong, to say the least—but at the time, it felt real to me. It reflected how I interpreted my own turnaround. I grew up poor, surrounded by violence, instability, and struggle. But I had just enough support and gumption to pull myself out of the mess I’d made. So, in my youthful arrogance, I assumed that if I could do it, everyone else could too—and if they weren’t, it was because they weren’t trying hard enough or making the right decisions.

That paper—and the thinking behind it—was a product of both my experience and my blind spots. I failed to fully grasp how massive and suffocating the system truly is, and how it shows up differently for different people. I see things much more clearly now, and I suspect that you probably do too—even if we express it differently.

There are some Black men and women who hold views similar to yours but don’t appear to be particularly proud of their Blackness—people like Clarence Thomas, Thomas Sowell, Candace Owens, and more recently, Kanye West. But you, sir, don’t seem to fit squarely into that camp. I don’t know you personally, but from what I’ve seen and heard, you seem proud to be Black and deeply aware of how incredible and resilient our people are.

Your experience as a criminal defense attorney gave you a front-row seat to the system that works against people who look like us. You’ve even admitted to feeling guilty at times—taking money from innocent clients just to defend them against a system that likely would have railroaded them otherwise. That tells me you understand the challenges we face. And more than that, it suggests you have a heart for justice.

You clearly understand the history of Black oppression—you mention slavery and Jim Crow. But unfortunately, you bring up that history to make the classic conservative argument that it was the Democrats who were responsible for the worst atrocities against our people. Now, this is usually where someone with my politics would jump in with a rebuttal about how the parties shifted under FDR, how the Southern Strategy changed everything, and so on. But I’m not here to defend the Democratic Party. I’ve got plenty of criticism for the Democratic establishment myself.

And honestly, your point about the racism of some white liberals—and how policies like affirmative action and DEI often seem to benefit everyone but Black people, especially Black men—is well-taken. I hear you. But sir, your fervent support for Senate Bill 1 feels like a betrayal. You’re backing legislation that, whether intended or not, will harm the very people you claim to love and advocate for.

A careful reading of SB 1 reveals that the authors intend to uphold and promote a singular, dominant cultural narrative—what many would recognize as a white, Eurocentric way of being. While the bill purports to ensure that instruction is “factual and objective,” its language and restrictions work to exclude and diminish the experiences, histories, and ways of knowing of communities of color.

The bill repeatedly emphasizes the importance of avoiding instruction that “promotes division between, or resentment of, any group of persons based on race or ethnicity.” On its surface, this may sound like a commitment to unity—but in practice, it suppresses the full teaching of systemic racism and inequity. For example, the bill prohibits any curriculum that includes “divisive concepts,” such as the idea that “the United States is fundamentally or irredeemably racist or sexist.” This essentially erases centuries of lived history and undermines the work of scholars who have documented systemic oppression. As the text states:

“No instruction shall include divisive concepts including, but not limited to, the idea that the United States is fundamentally or irredeemably racist or sexist…” (Section 1, pg. 2)

The law claims to promote “freedom of expression,” but only if that expression doesn’t challenge existing power structures. It sets up a paradox: students are encouraged to ask questions, yet educators are barred from engaging in truthful and critical discussions about race and systemic inequality. This is not educational freedom—it’s state-sanctioned assimilation. It compels schools to reframe or avoid entirely any content that presents America’s history through the lens of marginalized communities.

By centering “Western tradition,” the bill elevates one worldview as superior. The bill requires that social studies include:

“Instruction in United States history that… emphasize[s] the principles of the Declaration of Independence, the United States Constitution, and the structure and responsibilities of the federal, state, and local governments.” (Section 1, pg. 6)

There is no corresponding requirement to include Indigenous governance systems, African American freedom struggles, Latinx activism, or Asian American contributions—all of which are fundamental to the American story. Instead, students are taught that American identity begins and ends with a white, settler-colonial framework.

Ultimately, this bill isn’t about neutral education—it’s about narrative control. It doesn’t just suggest a particular lens; it legislates it. It seeks to legally enshrine a white-centric worldview as the default, erasing others in the process. The message is clear: assimilate or be silent.

As a Black man who grew up in the Christian faith, I can understand why you hold on to many values that are labeled “conservative.” A lot of Black people have held what could be considered conservative values for generations. Anyone who’s spent time in a Black church knows that personal responsibility, faith, discipline, and a strong moral compass have always been part of our cultural and spiritual DNA. Within our communities, there’s long been a reverence for tradition, an emphasis on family, and a deep drive toward financial stability and independence.

But it’s crucial to recognize that these values, while sometimes overlapping with what’s called “white conservatism,” are not the same. White American conservatism has long been entangled with white supremacy. It is often less about values and more about preserving a particular racial and social order—one that has historically excluded us. And so while many of us may hold “conservative” principles, that doesn’t mean we’re aligned with the conservative political project that has worked—again and again—to undermine our freedom, our safety, and our dignity.

On the flip side, many of us on the left cling to the dream of a society built on equity, inclusion, and compassion. We want laws and institutions that reflect love for our neighbors and protection for the most vulnerable. But we must also be real: that is not the world we live in. And we do ourselves a disservice if we don’t confront the gap between our ideals and our reality.

The language of “liberal” and “conservative” is starting to feel inadequate. It flattens complex histories and hides the contradictions we all carry. We need new terms. A new framework. One that allows us to embrace the values that have sustained us—faith, family, discipline, resistance, and radical love—without being forced to choose between flawed ideologies that were never built with us in mind.

In the next four years and beyond, Black folks will have to fight harder than ever for the world we want. And yes, we’ll need to draw on some of the same principles that have always kept us afloat—frugality, caution, collective care, and a fierce protection of our own. But we can’t afford to mistake our values for alignment with white conservatism. That would be a grave error. For our own survival and liberation, we have to know the difference. Sir, as A MAN IN POWER, YOU HAVE TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.

In anycase I did not write to lecture you, I am in no position to do such a thing. Nevertheless, although the governor has already signed SB1 into law, I hope you reconsider your support for it. I hope you lead a movement to repeal it. Most of all, you have an incredible voice and story, and I hope you use it to fight as hard as you can on our behalf.

Respectfully, humbly, and sincerely,

Jared Grandy