When Corporate Values Become Marketing
The 100-Point Paradox
March 2024. The email arrived with the kind of subject line that suggests opportunity: "Speaker Invitation: Mental Health & Employee Support Series." PPG's employee resource network was organizing a panel discussion, and they wanted me to share my experience using the company's Employee Assistance Program. The message emphasized authenticity, vulnerability, the importance of normalizing conversations about mental health in the workplace.
I had disclosed that I had disability six weeks earlier, in February, as part of an internal job application. It felt like progress—like the company's stated values around neurodiversity and accommodation were real enough to build on.
By April 30, I was terminated. Same year. Same disability. Same company that had just scored a perfect 100 out of 100 on the Disability Equality Index.
The irony isn't lost on me. Neither is the larger pattern it represents.
What the Score Measures (And What It Doesn't)
The Disability Equality Index, administered by the American Association of People with Disabilities, evaluates companies across six dimensions: culture and leadership, enterprise-wide access, employment practices, community engagement, supplier diversity, and responsible procurement. It's comprehensive. It's rigorous. Companies like PPG and Giant Eagle—both Pittsburgh-area employers—submit extensive documentation, undergo external review, and receive public recognition for their commitments.
PPG's 100-point score reflected genuine infrastructure. The policy manual was exemplary. The organizational chart showed dedicated personnel. The training modules existed in the learning management system. Facilities were ADA-compliant. Technology was accessible. Employee resource groups met regularly.
None of this was fabricated. The score didn't lie.
But here's what the score doesn't measure: whether employees feel safe disclosing disabilities. Whether managers recognize accommodation requests that don't arrive with legal labels attached. Whether cost-cutting pressures override stated commitments when budgets tighten. Whether HR's "interactive process" actually protects the employee—or primarily the company's legal exposure.
When I requested clarity on flexible work arrangements—a necessary accommodation for managing my condition—the question went unanswered. When my manager canceled our one-on-ones so frequently that we met roughly once per month, there was no mechanism to flag this as a barrier to performance feedback. When I was criticized publicly in stand-up meetings rather than privately, it didn't register as a pattern because the behavior wasn't documented as disability-related.
These weren't policy violations. They were cultural erosions—subtle, deniable, individually defensible. Taken together, they created an environment where disclosure felt like risk rather than relief.
Infrastructure is not culture. A ramp is not the same as a welcome. A policy document is not the same as a practice.
The Budget Trap: When Values Meet Finance
Here's where the paradox sharpens. PPG's cost-cutting initiative—the one that eliminated my position and dozens of others—ran concurrent with its highest-ever disability inclusion score. The two events were managed by entirely separate parts of the organization, operating on different timelines, reporting to different executives.
The diversity and inclusion team compiled data for external auditors. They celebrated PPG's inclusive culture in glossy reports and press releases.
Meanwhile, IT leadership received a directive from corporate finance: reduce operational costs to meet next year's budget. They reviewed headcounts, identified positions whose duties could be absorbed elsewhere, and made elimination decisions based on efficiency metrics.
My manager, who decided to eliminate my role, was not made aware of my disability. This is technically accurate—his HR partner confirmed it in writing. The disclosure I made during my internal job application was routed to EEO tracking systems for statistical purposes, not hiring managers or direct supervisors. It existed in the database. It didn't exist in the conversation.
This separation is by design. It protects companies from liability. If decision-makers don't know about a disability, they can't be accused of discriminating based on it. The logic is legally sound.
But it also ensures that the "interactive process" promised in disability accommodation policies never occurs. There's no accommodation discussion if no one knows accommodation is needed. There's no reasonable adjustment if structural barriers prevent the employee from safely initiating the conversation. There's no consideration of disability-related factors in elimination decisions if those factors are siloed in a separate system that doesn't interface with operational leadership.
When budgets and values conflict, the budget wins—not because leaders are cruel or dishonest, but because financial performance is measured quarterly and reported to shareholders. Cultural erosion happens slowly, in ways that don't show up on dashboards or earnings calls. The cost of maintaining stated values becomes invisible until someone asks whether the company would sacrifice financial efficiency to honor them.
The answer, in this case, was no. Not explicitly. Not announced. But revealed through action.
Symbolic Commitments vs. Substantive Accountability
The Stanford Social Innovation Review distinguishes between symbolic and substantive commitments in corporate social responsibility. Symbolic commitments signal values: public statements, diversity officers, awards, policy documents. They reassure stakeholders. They satisfy auditors. They look good in annual reports.
Substantive commitments cost something. They involve budget allocations that survive financial pressure. They grant decision-making authority to people tasked with upholding values. They create accountability mechanisms when stated principles are violated.
PPG's disability inclusion infrastructure was overwhelmingly symbolic. It signaled commitment. It demonstrated intent. But when budget pressures arrived, the substantive question became: What are we willing to sacrifice to honor this commitment?
The answer was nothing. Positions were eliminated based on cost efficiency. Accommodations were not factored into retention decisions because disclosure pathways were designed to protect the company, not the employee. The diversity team's metrics didn't interface with the finance team's targets. The values existed in one department. The budget was controlled by another. When they conflicted, the budget prevailed without visible tension because the two systems never actually touched.
This isn't unique to PPG. It's a structural feature of how large organizations manage competing priorities. Research from the Journal of Business Ethics shows that companies with high CSR scores often face the same number—or more—discrimination complaints as their lower-scoring peers. The infrastructure signals commitment. The culture remains unchanged.
Giant Eagle, which also earned a perfect DEI score in 2024, faced similar dynamics. Workers in their stores reported understaffing, increased productivity demands, and communication breakdowns with management. None of this contradicted the company's public disability commitments. But it created environments where accommodation felt like an imposition rather than a right, where asking for help meant falling behind, where the gap between policy and practice became a daily calculation.
According to a 2023 study by the Center for Talent Innovation, only 39% of employees with disabilities feel comfortable disclosing at work, even at companies with robust accommodation policies. The infrastructure exists. The fear persists. The score doesn't capture the gap.
What Authentic Accountability Would Look Like
If corporate values are to be more than marketing, they need to cost something. Not performatively—not in the sense of self-flagellation or virtue displays—but materially, structurally. Here's what that might mean:
1. Integration, Not Isolation
Disability inclusion data should sit on the same dashboard as financial performance. If a cost-cutting initiative disproportionately affects employees who have disclosed disabilities—or if it eliminates roles that were structured to accommodate specific needs—that should trigger a review, not a press release.
Imagine an integrated dashboard where HR could see: "This quarter's workforce reduction impacted 12% of employees overall but 23% of employees with documented accommodations." That's not a metric that protects the company. It's a metric that forces a conversation about whether stated values are surviving structural pressure.
2. Manager Training That Goes Beyond Compliance
Policies are necessary. But managers also need to recognize accommodation requests that don't arrive labeled as such. When an employee asks repeated questions about remote work policies, or expresses concern about meeting frequency, or struggles with communication in group settings, those are signals.
Training should help managers identify patterns, not just documented disclosures. It should include case studies on subtle accommodation requests, role-playing exercises for initiating sensitive conversations, and assessment tools that measure managers' ability to recognize early warning signs of cultural barriers. Compliance training checks a box. Cultural competency training changes behavior.
3. Accountability That Goes Both Ways
When companies submit to external audits like the Disability Equality Index, the results should be shared internally—not just celebrated, but interrogated. Employees should be able to say, "We scored 100, but here's what I experienced." And that feedback should influence the next year's submission, with transparent reporting on gaps between infrastructure and lived experience.
4. Cultural Metrics, Not Just Policy Metrics
The Index measures accessibility infrastructure. It doesn't measure whether employees feel safe using it. These are different questions, and they're both measurable.
Do employees with disabilities believe accommodations will be granted without career penalty? Do they see people like them in leadership roles? Do they trust that disclosure won't mark them for elimination during the next budget cycle? These questions require confidential surveys, focus groups with disabled employees, and longitudinal tracking of accommodation request outcomes. They're harder to quantify than "number of accessible parking spaces," but they're far more predictive of whether the culture actually works.
A sample survey might ask: "If you required a workplace accommodation tomorrow, how confident are you that your request would be granted without negative consequences?" Tracking that confidence score over time—and correlating it with actual accommodation outcomes—would tell a different story than the policy manual.
5. Budget Protections for Stated Priorities
If a company claims disability inclusion is a core value, then accommodation costs should be protected line items, not discretionary spending that disappears when margins tighten. Remote work infrastructure, flexible scheduling systems, assistive technology, additional support during transitions—these should be funded at levels that survive budget cuts, with explicit acknowledgment that cost efficiency sometimes conflicts with stated values, and in those moments, the value must win.
The Human Cost of the Gap
When the severance agreement arrived, I was four hours into unemployment, still processing the fact that I'd been terminated that morning with no advance notice. I was managing a recently diagnosed condition. The company knew I was dealing with medical challenges—I'd disclosed them in writing during the application process weeks earlier, and I'd been selected to speak publicly about my mental health journey at a company-sponsored event.
The agreement came with a seven-day signing window. When I asked for more time and the opportunity to negotiate terms—citing the stress of my condition and the complexity of the decision—I was granted an extension to the end of May but told the terms were non-negotiable.
This is standard practice. It's legal. It's efficient. It protects the company from prolonged liability exposure.
It also means that the gap between PPG's public values and my lived experience will never show up in their DEI score. The metrics will remain perfect. The policies will remain unchanged. The infrastructure will continue to satisfy external auditors.
The next employee who considers disclosing a disability will face the same structural calculation I did: the policy promises support, but the culture whispers caution. The handbook says one thing. The hallway conversation says another. The score is 100. The safety is uncertain.
And so they'll make the same choice many disabled employees make: silence. Not because they don't trust the policy's language, but because they don't trust the gap between the language and what happens when budgets tighten, when performance pressures mount, when the company needs to make difficult decisions and stated values compete with quarterly targets.
Research from the Job Accommodation Network shows that 59% of workplace accommodations cost nothing to implement. Another 37% cost less than $500. The financial barrier is minimal. The cultural barrier is enormous. And it's the cultural barrier that doesn't show up in the Disability Equality Index.
The Real Question
Corporate values aren't inherently dishonest. Most companies mean what they say when they commit to inclusion. The people who write the policies genuinely want to create supportive environments. The executives who sign off on DEI initiatives believe in the mission. The perfect scores reflect real infrastructure.
But infrastructure without cultural safety is a ramp that leads to a locked door. Policies without accountability are promises without enforcement. Metrics that measure inputs—policies, programs, personnel—without measuring outcomes—safety, trust, retention—are fundamentally incomplete.
What matters is what happens when values meet budgets. When disclosure meets performance reviews. When a policy promises an "interactive process" but the structure of the organization ensures that process never begins because the information is siloed, the employee is afraid, and the manager is focused on cost efficiency rather than accommodation.
PPG scored perfectly on disability inclusion the same year they eliminated my position. Both things are true. The score reflected real infrastructure. My experience reflected the limits of that infrastructure when it encountered structural pressure.
The question isn't whether companies are sincere. It's whether sincerity can survive the systems we've built to manage it—systems that separate values from budgets, policies from practices, symbolic commitments from substantive costs.
For now, the gap remains. And for disabled employees calculating whether to disclose, whether to request accommodation, whether to trust that the perfect score means they'll be protected when the budget cuts come—the gap is wider than the glossy reports suggest.
Next in the series: Essay 3 - The Illusion of Efficiency: When Cost-Cutting Costs More