There have been many forceful contributions recently to the discussion of academic philosophy's 'white man problem' (see in particular here). I have been trying in my own way to contribute to these discussions, but what I am able to contribute is limited by the fact that in my social identity I am pegged as a cis straight white man (though in truth, I feel like protesting, it is far more complicated than this; and isn't it always!), and also by the fact that I disagree with my political allies in the effort to make academic philosophy more inclusive on some fundamental philosophical points as to what this inclusiveness must involve. Allow me to elaborate briefly on this latter limitation.
Jonardon Ganeri, following Homi Bhabha, articulates a distinction between two sorts of intercultural communication: cosmopolitanism and pluralism. Cosmopolitanism tends to interpret different viewpoints as "co-inhabitants in a single matrix, and to that extent [as] susceptible to syncretism," while the cardinal tenet of pluralism "is that the irreconcilable absence of consensus is itself something of political, social, or philosophical value" (31). It has come to seem to me that most proposed solutions to the 'white man problem' in philosophy are based on a philosophical commitment to pluralism, in the sense defined, whereas I believe that cosmopolitanism is far more appropriate to the subject under investigation: expressions of philosophical ideas about, say, mind-body dualism, or the relationship between utterances and the things the utterances are about, really do exist in a universal matrix, bounded by the evolutionary history of the human species, whether they occur in Europe, India, or Amazonia. To study any of these ideas as if they were the particular property of any constituency in virtue of affiliation or ancestry is simply bad scholarship.
In this respect I find myself working more in the spirit of Dara Shikoh, the 17th-century Persian philosopher at Delhi who facilitated dialogues between himself, the materialist French philosopher François Bernier, the Sanskrit paṇḍit Kavindracarya Sarasvati, and an unnamed Jain, on the presumption that each was articulating his own version of the truth in his own idiom, and that the highest purpose of philosophy is to converge on this truth by the hard work of translation (not just of the linguistic sort, but that too), than in the spirit of the currently fashionable standpoint epistemology and intersectionality, which would have us each think of ourselves as little closed-off worlds, as mondes à part or as monads, only without any recourse to preestablished harmony.
One way of describing the sort of change I would like to see come about in philosophy is by comparison to the split that occurred in the 20th century between theology and comparative religion. Traditionally, the academic discipline of theology presupposes loyalty to a single religious sect (e.g., many German universities still have an institutional split between the Protestant and Catholic theology faculties, both ultimately supported by the state), while the idea of comparative religion is that it is for everyone who has an interest in religion in general, even or perhaps especially for non-believers. Philosophy remains more akin to theology, in that everyone must belong to one and the same sect, which is to say the retrojected tradition that extends from the agora at Athens to the wealthy, philosopher-making institutions of the contemporary Anglo-American world. I would like for it to be more like comparative religion than like theology, and to attract more non-sectarians who are interested in comparison as an end in itself.
Anyhow, I find myself in a difficult position when I'm asked to join my allies and insist, along with them, that every constituency needs a philosophy that speaks directly to it. In fact, I strongly believe that it is central to a thorough education in the human sciences that we be compelled to learn in detail about traditions that precisely and obstinately do not speak to us. For example right now I am studying the Olonkho, the oral epic of the Yakut people of northern Siberia. I don't see much in it that was specifically conceived in order to address the sort of concerns people have in the world I come from. To invoke Heidegger, which I almost never do, I am studying it not insofar as I am 'thrown', but insofar as I am a 'project': I want to move myself somewhere other than where I started out. I agree that it is most urgent for the 'white men' who dominate philosophy to take up this challenge and to belatedly acquire a proper humanistic education, but the cosmopolitanism to which I've already committed myself prohibits me from maintaining this expectation only vis-à-vis other 'white men'.
The problem we are zeroing in on here, some readers might have already detected, is whether becoming a philosopher has anything at all to do with the sort of education in the human sciences I have been recommending. Fine, most philosophers will say, you're reading the Olonkho, but that's extracurricular, that's on your own time. Is it? The poem contains significant observations about the differences and similiarities between humans and animals, the nature of what the Greeks would call phronesis, the question of the immortality of the soul. It is at least as philosophical as the works of Homer, which in turn are as a matter of fact taken seriously as intellectual sources for Plato and Aristotle. The reason it tends to be excluded is simply this: it is a collection of versified stories that nomadic reindeer herders tell.
Even my allies who are pushing for greater demographic inclusiveness in academic philosophy frequently express condescension toward the variety of scholarship that takes an interest in low-status expressions of culture such as the oral traditions of nomads. (To cite another example, the gurukul system had a similarly low-status from the point of view of British college administrators in 19th-century colonial India, even if now we are slowly acknowledging the depth and richness of even the high-modern Sanskrit tradition). This is because they continue to share in the prejudicial view that philosophy concerns itself exclusively with high-status, rarefied expressions of human culture, so rarefied in fact that they are not really part of human culture at all, but rather exist on a trans-historical, immaterial plane of ideas. It is nothing more than the history and economics of institutions that gives certain expressions of ideas this rarefied appearance, and, I maintain, it is precisely the prejudicial attachment to these expressions that is the cause of philosophy's current exclusive character.
If it sounds extreme for me to invoke Siberian oral epic poetry as an example of the sort of broader appreciation for culture that philosophy urgently needs, it is important to note that this is no different, really, than what the majority of intellectuals working outside of the context of European, Indian, or East Asian textual traditions have deemed necessary for the adequate recognition of their own cultures as philosophical cultures. An important expression of this view was formulated by the Commission on Philosophy at the Second Congress of Negro Writers and Artists, which took place in Rome in 1959. The Commission passed an important resolution concerning what it took to be the distinctive features of African philosophy:
Considering the dominant part played by philosophic reflection in the elaboration of culture, considering that until now the West has claimed a monopoly of philosophic reflection, so that philosophic enterprise no longer seems conceivable outside the framework of the categories forged by the West, considering that the philosophic effort of traditional Africa has always been reflected in vital attitudes and has never had purely conceptual aims, the Commission declares:
(1) that for the African philosopher, philosophy can never consist of reducing the African reality to Western systems;
(2) that the African philosopher must base his inquiries upon the fundamental certainty that the Western philosophic approach is not the only possible one; and therefore
(a) urges that the African philosopher should learn from the traditions, tales, myths and proverbs of his people, so as to draw from them the laws of a true African wisdom complementary to the other forms of human wisdom to bring out the specific categories of African thought.
(b) Calls upon the African philosopher, faced by the totalitarian or egocentric philosophers of the West, to divest himself of a possible inferiority complex, which might prevent him from starting from his African being to judge the foreign contribution.
 Cited in Kwame Gyekye, An Essay on African Philosophical Thought: The Akan Conceptual Scheme, Cambridge University Press, 1995 , 33.