More Than A Magazine, A Movement
Diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) is a conceptual framework held by many organizations. It promotes the fair treatment and full participation of all individuals. DEI is increasingly under attack.
There’s a palpable buzz in the air when you walk into a gender and women’s studies conference: a mixture of excitement, apprehension, and the relief of finally feeling able to breathe again after trying to exist in a world that seems insistent on suffocating the voices of women everywhere.
When my daughter was 2 weeks old, she stopped eating. She would go nearly 24 hours without food, crying constantly and losing weight while seeming to be in excruciating pain. Over five months, I took her to more than 50 doctors appointments searching for answers, only to be dismissed as hysterical, hormonal or “over-medicalizing” my baby.
By the time doctors finally recognized that she was suffering from a milk allergy and reflux, the prolonged pain had caused bottle aversion—a life-threatening condition in which babies become too traumatized to eat. She was later diagnosed with ARFID, a trauma-based eating disorder that still affects her today.
What happened to my daughter forced me to confront a devastating question: Would we have been treated differently if I weren’t a woman of color? Research has repeatedly shown that Black women and children are less likely to have their pain taken seriously by medical providers, and over the last decade, federal programs aimed at identifying and addressing those disparities began making meaningful progress. But under the Trump administration, many of those initiatives are being dismantled in the name of fighting “DEI,” with funding slashed, bias training suspended and research into racial disparities frozen or erased altogether.
My daughter is now in preschool—playing, laughing and growing—but she still struggles to eat enough to meet her nutritional needs.
Our story is not an isolated tragedy; it is a warning about what happens when healthcare systems stop listening to mothers and when political attacks on equity research blind medicine to its own biases. If we truly value mothers and children, we cannot treat efforts to understand racial disparities in healthcare as expendable.
Since 1987, the United States has celebrated Women’s History Month every March.
We have used this month to correct the record. To make sure that the women who built this nation—who are often systematically written out of history books and erased from the stories we tell ourselves about who we are—are named out loud and recognized. It is a national reminder that women are not a footnote to the American project. We are central to it.
But today, just shy of its 40th anniversary, Women’s History Month celebrations are quietly disappearing. Not because communities stopped caring—but because an administration decided that honoring women is a threat.
Harriet Tubman did not free herself and stop. Fannie Lou Hamer did not survive a Mississippi jail cell to just go home. Shirley Chisholm did not run for president, unbought and unbossed, so that we could sit down now.
It’s up to us now to saddle up and make sure that future generations of women and girls can not only know about the incredible shared history of the bad ass women that helped shape the world, but can feel the full freedom of it—which means we now have work to do.
We ride at dawn.
The United States set a new precedent at the United Nations annual women’s rights meeting by requesting a recorded vote on the draft conclusions. The U.S. action culminated after weekslong negotiations on this year’s theme, “Ensuring and Strengthening Access to Justice for All Women and Girls.”
The move—which failed drastically—reflects the continuing assault of the Trump administration on gender equality worldwide, yet resistance from across the world couldn’t be more profound.
In honor of the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the right-wing Heritage Foundation—developers of Project 2025, the policy guidebook written to influence the Trump administration’s legislative priorities—has issued a 168-page position paper, “Saving America by Saving the Family: A Foundation for the Next 250 Years.”
The document is intended to “restore the family,” by elevating a male-led, heterosexual model of social relations.
The report is both absurd and terrifying—which is why the National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) is sounding an alarm about it. Emily Martin, the NWLC’s chief program officer and Amy Matsui, its vice president of childcare and income security, spoke to Ms. reporter Eleanor J. Bader about “Saving America by Saving the Family” in late February.
“People can take anything from you, but they can never take away your education.” My roots are in Guyana, a Caribbean nation, and this mantra of resilience echoed through generations and followed me from Guyana to Queens, N.Y.
But when President Trump recently bragged he “ended DEI in America,” he was openly celebrating the very shift I’ve already felt in my own education.
When I entered college in Fairfield, Conn., I carried more than my own ambition. I carried the unrealized dreams of my grandmother and the women in our village who were told their place was in the home, not a lecture hall. My education isn’t just for me—it’s for my family, my community and every girl back in our motherland who never got the chance and never will.
But higher education in the United States has increasingly transformed from a public good into a private marketplace. The very pathways that made my presence in these institutions possible are now being publicly dismantled through legislation and policy.
Immigrant and first-generation students do not weaken universities. We strengthen them. If we believe education cannot be taken from us, then we must be willing to fight for the conditions that make it accessible in the first place. In a political moment where leaders celebrate the end of DEI as progress, defending its need has never felt more urgent.
Texas A&M University’s decision to eliminate its women’s and gender studies program is not happening in a vacuum. For years, the university has steadily rolled back programs, courses and resources tied to gender and LGBTQ+ studies, leaving students and faculty with fewer spaces to learn, teach and engage with these subjects.
Now, with the program gone and new classroom restrictions in place, the impact is being felt directly by the people who rely on these courses to study, teach and understand the world around them.
For many students and educators, this moment feels like part of a much larger shift unfolding across the country. As universities scale back programs and limit discussions around race, gender and sexuality, what can be taught—and who feels supported in the classroom—is rapidly changing. The closure at Texas A&M reflects a growing national pattern: one that raises urgent questions about the future of academic freedom in public higher education.
Thirteen minutes is how long it lasted, and global superstar Bad Bunny—full name Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio—more than delivered. Set against pulsating Afro-Latin rhythms and brimming with the energetic dancing bodies of Black, Brown and other multicolored peoples, the 2026 Super Bowl halftime show transformed this historic moment of the first all-Spanish musical spectacle into a cultural reset. Now counted among the most watched halftime performances—with close to 130 million views—the Super Bowl was rightfully renamed the “Benito Bowl.”
Bad Bunny’s performance came just one week after he made history as the first artist recording exclusively in Spanish to win the Grammy’s top honor for Album of the Year. It arrived, too, amid escalating violence tied to ICE enforcement and the policing and deportation of Brown and Black communities. At a moment when the U.S. president is railing against diversity, equity and inclusion—and circulating virulently racist content targeting his predecessor and the nation’s first Black president and first lady during Black History Month—the cultural resonance of this halftime show feels all the more potent.
Bad Bunny’s dynamic performance is an affirmation of the same communities currently terrorized by state-sanctioned violence. At rallies and marches, people play Bad Bunny. In moments of grief and passion, people play Bad Bunny. His refusal to be silenced, to be forgotten, is an inspiration of hope and resilience for social movements. His music is music of the revolution, which was spectacularly televised in the middle of a widely watched football game.
A sweeping, year-one rundown of how Trump’s second-term power grabs and policy rollbacks are eroding women’s rights, healthcare and economic security, including—from dismantling the Women’s Bureau at the Department of Labor and shuttering reproductive health clinics, to passing historic cuts to the Medicaid program and sowing mistrust in abortion pill safety.
Vice President JD Vance gave the closing keynote speech at Turning Point USA’s AmericaFest 2025 conference in Phoenix on Dec. 21. It was the first TP gathering since the right-wing organization’s co-founder, Charlie Kirk, was killed in September, and thus bound to attract an extraordinary amount of media coverage and commentary.
His speech cycled through a laundry list of right-wing Christian nationalist gripes about Democrats and the “left.” It’s certainly his right, and prerogative, to share his views. But it’s up to us—his audience—either to accept or push back on those takes.
That’s what I’m doing here.