Belonging by Design: Why Inclusion Needs Constraints
We like to think of inclusion as an open door—broad, welcoming, boundaryless. But as Erik Summerfield recently argued, every act of inclusion is also an act of exclusion. To draw a circle is to define its edge.
That’s not a flaw. That’s a feature of design.
Erik’s article makes a case that will feel familiar to anyone steeped in systems thinking or constraint-based design: true belonging doesn’t come from being vague or universal. It comes from shared purpose, specific values, and clearly marked norms. If you don’t define what your space is for, you’ll accidentally define it around what it’s not willing to name.
There’s a resonance here with StaySaasy’s piece on first-principles problems vs. secondhand solutions. Too many inclusion efforts treat culture-building as a prefab product—adopting the visible forms (celebrations, slogans, logos, etc.) without grappling with whether those signals arise from the deeper logic of the organization’s mission.
Inclusion without constraints becomes secondhand theater.
It performs welcome without designing for it.
Eno’s Presets and the Illusion of Infinite Welcome
Brian Eno, patron saint of generative systems, says it best in the recent documentary:
“Synthesizers were supposed to free us. A thousand presets! Infinite sounds! But they ended up making everything sound the same.”
When every choice is available, but no constraint gives shape to the sound, what you get isn’t freedom—it’s convergence. Homogeneity. A sea of shimmering pads with no story.
We see the same in inclusion strategies built on infinite accommodation but no grounding. Too many options, too few intentions.
A good preset can inspire—but it can’t substitute for voice, for context, for the grit of design. Without constraints, inclusion becomes background noise: present, but unfelt.
True inclusion starts not with asking who should we include?—but rather, what do we stand for? What are the non-negotiables of this team, community, or project? If we know what we’re protecting, we can be honest about the edges—and intentional about who feels held within them.
This is the paradox that makes real systems beautiful: constraints create freedom. Boundaries build trust. The more we define what belongs, the more space we open up for difference within the design—because the ground is solid.
At The Grey Ledger Society, we’re drawn to this kind of paradox. We believe constraints are not the opposite of care—but its precondition.
So we’ll keep drawing lines. Carefully. Boldly. With an eye toward the homes they might build.