Background, Introduction, and Purpose
A Personal Perspective on Identity, History, and the Pendulum Swing of Fairness
I was raised in a predominantly white neighborhood, attending private Catholic schools through 12th grade, in a household built on hard work and traditional values. My family—descendants of Polish, Irish, and German immigrants—has always believed in the power of hard work and sacrifice. My father, who never received a college degree, climbed his way up at United Airlines from mechanic to executive. My mother, a pharmacist, put her career on hold to raise me and my siblings. They both came from modest backgrounds, working hard for everything they have. Growing up, I was taught that with hard work, I could live the American Dream. I was given a strong work ethic, but I wasn’t given everything I wanted. We sacrificed as a family, which is something I only came to fully appreciate later.
From a young age, I embraced hard work. I was that neighborhood kid who would dig a 10-foot hole for $10—$10 was a lot to a 14-year-old who had to earn everything. Whether it was a lemonade stand, mowing lawns, or babysitting, I was always finding ways to work and earn. This entrepreneurial drive became a core part of who I am, shaping my approach to life and my career.
But my life wasn’t only about work; growing up, I was navigating a world of changing perspectives on race and identity. Every year in school, we studied Black history—not as “Black History,” but as part of our shared American history. The focus on race, I believe, was well-intentioned, an attempt to address slavery’s horrors and systemic injustice in America. But even in those lessons, race felt complex. I remember thinking how odd it was that we were encouraged to talk about “Black Pride” but would be criticized if we talked about “White Pride.” It was confusing, especially since my family didn’t own slaves, and I didn’t feel guilty for being white. I didn’t choose my skin color any more than anyone else, and I won’t apologize for it.
In high school, I attended Archmere Academy, an elite school in Delaware known for its prestigious alumni, including Joe Biden. In the early 1990s, Archmere started bringing in underprivileged students from underserved areas as a nod to diversity, one per class. The students and I welcomed these “token” individuals, as we saw it, into our classes. They received the same education we did, which was absolutely their right. It didn’t seem to me that the color of their skin had kept them out before—it was more likely their financial circumstances. This move was probably more about easing the school’s sense of guilt and “doing the right thing” than it was about truly seeking diversity. It was another step in this complex dance around race, fairness, and what it means to be inclusive.
Throughout my life, race has been a confusing topic. We were taught that America is a “Melting Pot,” a utopian vision of harmony. But in reality, most people feel divided—whether because of the news, politics, or social pressures. Slavery is undeniably one of the darkest chapters in American history, but if we’re to talk about wrongs, we also need to consider the atrocities committed against Native Americans. The smallpox blankets, forced removals, massacres—are these less significant simply because they happened in a different time? It’s a sobering reminder that suffering and injustice touch many corners of history.
Today, we see efforts to erase or revise history to avoid offending anyone—tearing down statues, changing team names, and reimagining historical narratives. These actions are well-meaning but, in my opinion, often misguided. In Germany, they teach their students all about the horrors of the Holocaust. They don’t joke about it or minimize it; they face it head-on as a reminder of what should never be repeated. Meanwhile, the U.S. seems more focused on rewriting or righting wrongs in symbolic ways rather than confronting the lessons of our history honestly. Is tearing down a statue really the best way to address a complex legacy? I’m not convinced it is.
Reparations for slavery is another hotly debated topic. While many believe in the concept of making amends, I question if money or land can truly make up for the horrors of the past. If giving financial reparations helps some find peace, then perhaps it’s worth exploring. But I suspect that even a generous check or piece of land will feel like a hollow gesture to many. We’re already a nation in significant debt, and sinking the country further for a symbolic fix seems shortsighted. No amount of money will ever make slavery okay, and I doubt those who receive reparations will suddenly feel that everything is resolved. True reconciliation requires more than a transaction; it requires an honest acknowledgment of history and a commitment to change.
The majority of Americans believe in restitution for wrongs committed. Programs like Affirmative Action, DEI, the United Negro College Fund, and the NAACP were created to help marginalized communities access the same opportunities others enjoy. But when these initiatives disadvantage others—white males, for instance—that’s when we should all take a step back. I’ve experienced this firsthand. Throughout my life, from school into my career, the message was clear: “Just ignore them—they’re an Affirmative Action hire.” Bringing up concerns was taboo, even if I felt the system wasn’t being applied fairly. Everyone understood why these programs existed, but in my experience, they were often poorly implemented.
Had these policies not affected my life and career, I would have continued to stay silent. But when the pendulum swung too far, when an underqualified Black woman was hired over better-qualified candidates, including white males, it stopped my career in its tracks. It wasn’t just me who noticed—people talked about it behind the scenes. As a white male, I had always been conditioned to accept this reality without question. But when it reached a point where it had a profound impact on my life, I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
I’m speaking up now, not out of resentment, but to share my story. The rumors and stories circulating about me are completely untrue and, in some cases, illegal. When the company allowed this to happen, then doubled down on silencing me instead of addressing the issue, it ignited something in me. My story isn’t about grinding an axe—it’s about presenting the facts and showing how my life was derailed. I believe the truth needs to be told, especially when a well-meaning policy becomes a tool for discrimination.
This isn’t about erasing the purpose of these programs or diminishing anyone’s suffering. It’s about finding balance. I don’t believe that bankrupting the nation with reparations, rewriting history, or indiscriminately applying DEI policies will fix what’s broken. What will help is learning from the past, acknowledging all parts of our history, and building a future where everyone has a fair chance. My story is just one piece of a much larger conversation—one that I hope leads to a place where fairness and justice truly go both ways.
I’m not expecting everyone to come around and say, “Jason’s right,” or even engage in this conversation. And let’s be honest, this topic shouldn’t be dangerous—but it is. I know it’ll stir up discussion around dinner tables because millions of people—white men, white women, and others, including minorities—have strong, often conflicted, feelings about it. This is a subject that’s affecting people, and yet it remains something we’re not supposed to discuss openly. That’s part of the problem.
I also understand why so many of my friends and business colleagues, those who used to pick up the phone immediately or call me back without delay, have suddenly gone silent. It’s hard to ignore the impact of the negative narrative that’s been carefully crafted and spread by Invited and its agents. The falsehoods, the coordinated effort to turn me into a pariah, to keep a boot on my throat—that’s the reality I’ve been living in, and it ends now.
That’s why I’m creating the “Proof” section of my website. One person, me, lost everything, and nobody trusts me anymore. But through this, they’ll see the truth. Some people may be hurt by what’s uncovered, and I regret that, but the extent of this wrongdoing and the total derailment of my future, all at the hands of a company I once trusted, is too great to ignore. I didn’t ask for this fight, but I’m not backing down from it either.