More Than A Magazine, A Movement
Since the Trump administration made diversity, equality and inclusion “immoral” and “illegal,” a large part of workplace discrimination in the country still remains to be experienced by women and members of racial minority groups. Now, these groups have less of a platform to make complaints about such discrimination.
Much as owing guns at home is most likely to injure or kill the people living with those guns than the supposed threats posed by home invaders, the violent discourse espoused by Charlie Kirk and many others has resulted in his murder in front of a crowd of thousands of students.
Kirk built his career on racism and misogyny, encouraging young Americans to the side of a fully radicalized and extremist Republican party that has abandoned any pretense of caring for Americans and instead has become a propaganda machine pathetically flaying to prove that they are all men.
I’m sorry for Charlie Kirk and all the other men like him that have been raised in this America and with these ideals of masculinity. I’m sorry that he decided to adopt this hateful ideology and to profit from it. And as the mother to a boy and a girl, my heart breaks for the America these children are growing up in. Here’s hoping we can save ourselves.
Academic leaders today face a defining test. As the Trump administration seeks to strip research funding, eliminate diversity and inclusion, and give political appointees sweeping control, presidents and provosts must decide what legacy they will leave. The attacks on women’s, gender and sexuality studies—as well as Africana, Indigenous, disability and other interdisciplinary programs—are part of a broader campaign to delegitimize fields that challenge systems of privilege. We are again in turbulent times, not unlike past eras when leaders had to defend the teaching of evolution, admit women and Black students, or resist political interference. The choices made now will echo for decades.
Despite claims that these programs are too small or unsustainable, the evidence tells a different story. These courses draw students across disciplines, fulfill general education requirements, and prepare graduates for a diverse global workforce. Market data show they are often cost-effective, with faculty teaching across departments and reaching wide audiences. Employers stress the importance of the very skills our graduates carry: critical thinking, collaboration and cultural humility. The question for higher education leaders is clear: Will you stand with these programs that represent the best of our democratic values—or allow them to be dismantled by political opportunism and short-sighted cuts?
Earlier this summer, I sat with Liz Stein at a kitchen table in Brooklyn. A survivor of abuse by Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell, she was exhausted, and she was angry. A storm of media coverage of the Department of Justice’s interview of Maxwell left her surrounded by photos of her abusers, who had been enabled by the system so many times. When news came that Maxwell had been transferred to a minimum-security facility, Liz hit her breaking point. Once again, survivors were being talked about—not heard.
It was around that kitchen table that an idea was born: What if we could shift the narrative? What if we could bring Liz, and numerous Epstein survivors, together to reclaim the microphone? Rather than magnifying the voice of a convicted perjurer and abuser, we could instead amplify the voices of survivors who had been silenced. Fast-forward to Sept. 3, when over 20 Epstein-Maxwell survivors descended on Washington, D.C.
As I stood there watching survivor after survivor speak out, I was struck by the surrounding community of survivors who came to D.C. to show their support. And then something amazing happened—we were approached by several women we had not met before, who disclosed that they too were Epstein survivors. They told us, “I needed to be here today. I needed to listen to my survivor sisters. This gave me strength and empowered me for the very first time.” One woman told me it was the first time she’d said out loud that Epstein had abused her. Courage is contagious.
The Departments of Homeland Security, as well as Health and Human Services, hit a new low over Labor Day weekend: Government officials ordered the deportation of over 600 Guatemalan children in the middle of the night.
Fortunately, a federal judge quickly acted to block the removals, at least for now—but the events that unfolded between Aug. 29 and Aug. 31 are a sobering indictment of all that is wrong with Trump’s campaign against immigrants. In a single night, the Trump administration may have permanently scarred children who were just beginning to feel like they had found a safe place, far away from the danger and threats they had fled.
Their terror and confusion is captured in the affidavits children and witnesses filed with the court over the next few days. One boy described how shelter staff woke him at 2 in the morning, telling him he would be leaving in a few hours; he had no time to wash his face or brush his teeth but had to gather his things and go. For a minute, he just sat there, staring into space, unable to fathom what going back to Guatemala might mean. Another child became so scared that she vomited.
Many worried whether their parents or relatives could even answer the phone at such an hour or be ready to receive them. Some asked in trembling voices, “¿Me van a mandar a otro albergue en Guatemala?” “Are they going to send me to another shelter in Guatemala?”
Margarita Avila, a Houston mother of nine, was detained by ICE after an altercation that led to no charges. Her close-knit family weigh their futures if she is deported.
Margarita requested asylum in the U.S. more than a decade ago, and her case has been pending ever since. Meanwhile, she and José have grown their family in Texas, and like many other immigrants, they have put down deep roots. They bought a house in Houston’s Independence Heights neighborhood, started a landscaping business that grew to hundreds of customers and had five U.S.-born sons who are American citizens.
Because of their various immigration statuses (some undocumented, some pending asylum, some U.S. citizens) Margarita’s deportation would make it difficult and in some cases impossible to see her close-knit family. Her husband would have to decide whether to stay in the U.S. with their two youngest children or follow his wife to Belize so they can raise the boys together in a country Isaac and Jeremiah have never known. For the oldest children born in Belize, it could mean not seeing their mother for years because they don’t have permanent legal status.
Margarita Avila, 50, is among the tens of thousands of immigrants in the U.S. targeted for deportation in President Donald Trump’s second term. Trump has said his administration is going after “the worst of the worst” in an attempt to deport 1 million immigrants annually. But six months into Trump’s second administration, at least 70 percent of the more than 56,000 immigrants detained across the country didn’t have a criminal record.
A new Century Foundation poll shows that while both men and women are struggling in Trump’s economy, women—especially young women—are bearing the brunt of rising costs, growing debt and dwindling faith in the American Dream.
As Texas escalates its war on women, survivors of Jeffrey Epstein take the fight to Congress.
There is a simple truth at the core of the current Republican agenda, and our current moment: It is unsafe to be a woman in today’s America. And that situation is by design—whether through abortion restrictions, questioning the safety of the most effective forms of contraception, or RFK Jr.’s targeting of safe and effective vaccines, and other proven public health interventions that save lives. We will all suffer the consequences—regardless of our politics.
American children die at stunning rates because of policy choices, and mostly because of policy choices made by the “pro-life” right.
The Republican Party has long claimed the mantle of defending life. The new Republican Party has promised to make America healthy again. Instead, they’re leaving kids sick and dead.
This is a war on children. It is also a war on women. The “women and children” framing can feel incredibly condescending, but the truth is that women’s and children’s lives and wellbeing are indelibly intertwined. Women make children with our bodies; if we are not well, they are not well. Women still do most of the work of raising and nurturing children; if they are not well, we are not well. This does not apply to every single woman on earth. But it applies to women as a class, and to children as a class.
A trans shooter in Minneapolis does not change the pattern: Most mass murderers are cisgender men. Change begins with acknowledging that truth. And then acting on it.
Men, let’s answer the call. Let’s urge Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz and Attorney General Keith Ellison to use their platforms to spark a movement of men to lead the way. Enough is enough. The time is now—before the guns ring out again.