Leyla Okhai On The State Of DEI Conversations At Work

Let’s start off with what brought you into the world of diversity, equity, and inclusion, and how it’s led to what you currently do now.

My journey into diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) wasn’t something I planned. It grew out of my own experiences. Growing up, I faced racial discrimination, isolation, and marginalisation, which made this work feel like something I couldn’t ignore. 

My academic background was in Food Science, but my passion for change led me to student union work, specifically what was then called "liberation work." I was elected as a welfare officer around 2003–2004, a time when the language around DEI was still evolving. Back then, I saw it as student activism, but today, it’s framed as DEI. That’s how I found my way into this field.

That’s an intriguing point. Based on that language of liberation versus now DEI, what do you think of that shift? Do you think it’s a good thing that the language has evolved?

The shift in language from "liberation" to "DEI" reflects the different spaces where these terms are used. The term liberation" is still very much alive in activist circles, while "DEI" or inclusion and belonging has become the corporate and workplace standard.

I’d love to see workplaces embrace this as human rights and liberation work, but realistically, that’s not where we are yet. The term "DEI" has also become diluted, it’s often taken out of context or overused. Personally, I prefer activist models, and while some organisations do use liberation frameworks, most corporate spaces wouldn’t fully grasp that terminology.

Thanks for clarifying that. In terms of what the culture of liberation or DEI was like in your roles at Imperial College and the University of Oxford, how did that shape your understanding and lead into your work now with organisational change?

At Oxford, I found it challenging to make progress in my role. While the University like to pride itself and push out the positive on supporting certain academic voices, even those voices struggled to be heard. 

Imperial College, on the other hand, was a breath of fresh air. Being in London made a huge difference. For one, the pace was faster, the staff were more diverse due to the commuter pool and international environment, and the culture was far more direct. Without a humanities department, the approach was pragmatic: if you could prove something, the Engineers would tell me and I’ll do it!." The budgets were bigger, and I had an amazing team and more seniority. While Imperial still had its challenges, I had greater access to academics, strong champions, and mentors, opportunities that Oxford simply didn’t provide.

Imperial also had a genuine desire to be cutting-edge, which made the work feel more dynamic.

That said, I don’t believe DEI work belongs in HR, yet in both roles, that’s where the teams reported into.

From that experience, would you say Imperial had a culture of authenticity?

Authenticity is an interesting word. I think it was a culture of authenticity to some degree, but I think it was more a culture of innovation and wanting to push things and be different. I think it was more about being cutting edge and about innovation rather than authenticity in itself. 

There was also a sense of, well, we’re in London, so we’ve got to do things properly, and people really know their rights in London, people really know what they’re doing. I would say that for me, the big difference was the level of professionalism. There was just a much better level of professionalism.

The contrast with Oxford was stark. At the University of Oxford, you have academics who arrived at 18, lived in the same college, and stayed until they were 65+. Imperial, on the other hand, was fast-paced. People commuted from across London, interacted with a global community, and weren’t cloistered in the same way. That openness shaped how people thought and behaved, and it made a real difference.

Moving into the organisational side, what are the baseline best practices for leaders who want to take DEI seriously rather than treating it as a tick-box exercise?

That’s a really important question. There are two layers to this: the ideal and the reality.

In an ideal world, leaders would recognise the value of DEI, embrace innovation, and accept that mistakes will happen along the way. But the reality is that the current sociopolitical climate is holding us back. We’re heavily influenced by the US, social media, and the press, and we have a government that lacks vision and often leans toward the right. As a result, workplaces lack inspirational leadership. Many organisations—like the Federation of Small Businesses, local Chambers of Commerce, or the Institute of Directors—seem reluctant to take a stand. The default becomes "business as usual."

The problem is that DEI is still seen as a "nice-to-have" or an add-on. The only things that seem to motivate action are the fear of employment tribunals, negative press, or things going wrong. So, if you want organisations to move beyond tick-box exercises, you have to frame it in those terms: "Do you want a workplace plagued by legal issues and reputational damage, or do you want a cohesive, positive community?" Even then, it often takes a crisis for people to see the value. I wish I had a more positive answer, but that’s where we are right now.

I appreciate you being honest with your assessment of that. We can’t sugarcoat these kinds of subjects when it comes to pushing for genuine change.

It reminds me of the interview I did with race equity trainer Bianca Jones. She spoke a lot about organisational allyship. What are your thoughts on organisational allyship and creating psychological safety around these conversations?

Organisational allyship is a fantastic concept in theory, but the reality is far more complicated. Unless someone is already accustomed to discomfort, whether that’s because of their sexual orientation, marginalisation, neurodivergence, or disability, they’ll often resist these conversations. People don’t want to feel guilty, angry, or burdened. They just want to get on with their lives, even though systemic barriers prevent so many others from doing the same. In that sense, I sometimes feel allyship is too soft a term.

There’s growing discussion about shifting from allyship to coalition, as Dr. Muna Abdi advocates moving toward a deeper understanding of others’ struggles. But people are overwhelmed. They’re bombarded with information, juggling personal challenges, and often think, "I’m already dealing with my own issues; I can’t take on someone else’s."

For me, it comes back to community. How do we build workplaces where people don’t have to be best friends but can still recognise shared experiences? From there, how do organisations create policies that truly reflect that understanding? Right now, policies exist, but they’re often written and enforced in ways that perpetuate the very inequities they’re meant to address.

Those are some great points. You’ve done TEDx talk about these issues. How did that come about and what was the preparation like? 

The TEDx talk actually came about in a rather spontaneous way. I was at a lunch with a relative that is very challenging and self-centred. So, to escape the frustration I started browsing TEDx opportunities on my phone. I saw a few upcoming events, Wolverhampton, Bradford, Manchester and decided to apply. Wolverhampton was the first one I applied to, and I got in.

From there, I worked with a coach to shape my talk. I wanted to share my personal experiences, but I had to be careful about mentioning certain things directly due to libel concerns. I was determined to speak publicly about these issues, even if I couldn’t name everything outright.

The preparation was intense. I always tell people: if you want to do a TEDx talk, clear your schedule for three to six months because that’s how long it takes. I had done drama growing up but had completely forgotten how to memorise lines. I recorded my talk and would go on walks, listening to it repeatedly, trying to internalise every word. That process alone was a real challenge.

Another hurdle was managing my emotions. I can speak to rooms full of people about models, theories, diversity, mental health, and wellbeing without any issue, but talking about my own experiences was much harder. From a personal development perspective, that was a significant challenge.

The other speakers were incredible, and the sense of camaraderie and connection among us was fantastic. The key takeaways? It’s a marathon, not a sprint. It takes much longer than you expect, and it brings up emotions and challenges you don’t anticipate.

Moving towards the act of learning itself, why do you think learning doesn’t translate into behaviour change?

Learning doesn’t always translate into behaviour change because change itself is inherently uncomfortable. Think about it: if someone replaced all the equipment in my kitchen with better ones, I’d still be frustrated. It’s not about the quality, it’s about the disruption, especially for me as a keen home cook! The same applies to behaviour change. There’s always that awkward adjustment period where new ways of doing things feel clunky and unfamiliar.

Then there’s the reality of how people engage with learning today. Attendees bring a lot of distractions into training sessions. I now have to ask people to close their laptops something I never had to do five or six years ago. Everyone’s juggling competing priorities, and once the training ends, they return to their roles. Without built-in follow-up like peer learning, buddy systems, or ongoing conversations it’s easy to revert to old habits because those are the ones that get the job done.

This hyper-digital age adds another layer. People rarely have the time to process, reflect, or practise new behaviours. Without that space and support, change doesn’t stick. But when you can see progression, practise, and receive feedback, change becomes tangible and achievable.

I think some of this may have to do with learning fatigue because people have so many different options with e-learning courses, certifications and so on. How do you people can become more aware of learning fatigue and move from learning to action? 

You’re absolutely right, learning fatigue is real! Especially with the overwhelming number of e-learning courses and certifications available. For many, especially earlier in their careers, there’s a pressure to accumulate qualifications, as if more is always better. I’ve been there myself. But the key is to be more strategic: What will actually add value to your goals? What’s worth your time and energy?

There’s also the balance between e-learning and face-to-face learning to consider. Preferences vary based on individual differences, generational habits, and experiences like COVID-19. People engage with learning in different ways now.

One simple but effective strategy is to use an action pledge. Write down what you’ve learned, how you’ll apply it, and how it will benefit your work or career. The act of writing or making it tangible in some way helps solidify the learning, because when everything is digital, we lose that physical connection and memory. For some, it might not be writing but something else, like a visual reminder or an object that represents progress. The goal is to move from abstract, two-dimensional learning to something tangible and lived.

Finally, there’s a broader cultural issue: we’re often focused on doing more, faster, and more efficiently, rather than doing things better and with higher quality. Shifting that mindset is crucial.

Like every other industry, AI is shaping the future of learning and development. What do you think of it? 

I’ve avoided AI, to be honest. I’m probably a bit of a laggard. Part of it is that when I have used it, though I avoid certain tools for ethical reasons, the results often feel generic. There’s so much noise, and you need a solid foundation of knowledge to sift through what’s useful and what isn’t.

AI can generate answers on almost anything. If I wanted to write about Henry VIII, I could get pages of content in seconds. But that doesn’t mean the output is valuable or accurate. You still need the expertise to discern what’s worth keeping.

That said, AI does have its uses. It can be great for summarising data, like turning evaluation results into a report, or for functional, systems-based learning like teaching someone how to create a pivot table or navigate a new platform. It’s a useful tool for those kinds of tasks.

But it can’t replace human knowledge. There’s a critical difference between accessing information and understanding it. We live in an age where information is abundant, but that doesn’t mean people truly know it. Real learning is about moving from information to something you can apply and embody. AI can support that process, but it can’t replicate the depth of human understanding.

On that note, how can L&D teams prove ROI using data and stories they have gathered in a human-centric way? 

One of the biggest hurdles is that many organisations lack baseline data. They don’t track bullying, harassment, engagement, or even demographics. So the first step is simply understanding where you stand.

From there, you can examine metrics like employment tribunals, grievances, sickness absence, presenteeism, and poor performance. All of which have tangible costs that often persist year after year. There’s also existing research to leverage, such as studies showing that every pound invested in mental health initiatives yields a multi-pound return. That data is already out there and can be a powerful tool.

Framing the conversation is key. Ask: What’s the benefit of making changes versus not making them? What are the disadvantages of each? This kind of model can help leaders see the bigger picture.

It’s also important to recognise that when you introduce initiatives like bullying and harassment training, reporting may initially rise. That doesn’t mean things are getting worse, it often means people feel safer speaking up. That’s a critical distinction to make.

Ultimately, though, organisations often only act when they hit a crisis point. It’s frustrating and demoralising, but it’s the reality we often face.

With the kind of work you do, I imagine it can be taxing on your own mental health when you’re doing wellbeing and race equity training that constantly deals with sensitive subjects. 

How do you protect your own mental health in these situations and keep evolving as a trainer? 

Thank you for asking me that question. The mental health work I do in organisations is actually quite boundaried because I’m not a clinician. It’s focussed on facilitating conversations and signposting support rather than providing therapy. The race equity work, however, can be emotionally challenging. Hearing people’s stories, especially when I can relate to them, often results in a visceral reaction that I have to manage. Outside of work, I also have caring responsibilities, so I have to intentionally build in rest and recovery.

To keep evolving as a trainer, I rely on conversations with others. I have a small team of associates from diverse backgrounds, and we’re constantly learning from each other. That exchange of ideas is invaluable.

I also stay connected through professional networks, attend webinars, engage with others’ insights, and continue my own training. For example, I recently completed training in work needs assessments for neurodivergent employees, which has been a meaningful area of growth.

It’s also about staying aware of political and organisational shifts and learning from different perspectives. So, it’s a combination of ongoing development, collaboration, and being mindful of my own limits and energy.