The room buzzed with quiet energy. Students, joined by proud parents at the Yale School of Medicine’s closing symposium, sat together as a diverse cohort. As the symposium began, images of prominent biomedical researchers flashed across the screen.
“What do all these people have in common?” Dr. De La Cruz, head of Branford College at Yale University, asked.
“They are leaders in science,” a few voices murmured.
“Yes, but what else?” he insisted. “Just say it, it’s not an insult.”
The silence continued until someone said, “White dudes!”
Not a single woman, not a single person of color, no minorities—all of the leaders were white men. But in front of the screen, we were the most diverse cohort I had ever seen. We were underrepresented minorities with different races, national origins, orientations and religions. Within our group, no one was a minority. Each difference added a unique piece to the puzzle.
This research opportunity existed because of the university’s commitment to diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) through programs such as the BioMed Amgen Scholars Program which recruit underrepresented minority students and provide them with the opportunity to demonstrate their talent. In such a program, we didn’t just discover a shared love for science—we found ourselves and realized that our differences were strengths, not weaknesses. This was real progress. Diversity in science drives innovation, strengthens problem-solving and enriches research teams by bringing a wide range of perspectives, experiences and ideas to the table.
This environment affirmed that we could belong in science, learn, grow and lead. Discrimination and exclusion once told us minorities didn’t belong. Science today shows us we are essential. When people from all backgrounds are included, the questions change, and so do the answers. Innovation happens when every perspective has a seat at the table. As Dr. Eric Winer, Alfred Gilman professor of Medicine and Pharmacology, once told me, “We just can’t afford to miss out on that talent.”
For many of us, the mission wasn’t only to make biomedical discoveries, it was also to create a social impact—to show what’s possible when historically excluded students are given a real chance. This mission is still being challenged today. Recent federal directives have placed severe restrictions on DEI efforts across higher education. Institutions nationwide are reviewing and altering DEI programs, with some universities even changing department names to avoid severe government consequences. Harvard University has already begun paying “the price of bravery,” facing billions of frozen dollars for standing with values that protect students like me. The result of these reactions and governmental consequences is a wave of uncertainty, driven by fear.
As a first-generation Moroccan American, I returned to the U.S. with a deep passion for science and research but faced challenges navigating a system unfamiliar to students like me. DEI programs gave me the opportunity to grow, contribute and find my place in science—an opportunity I know many other young undergraduate students still need today. But talent isn’t the problem—opportunity is. Many students may have the same goals, but we don’t all start from the same place. We don’t all face the same barriers. That’s why equity matters—and why programs that measure the “distance traveled” are not only fair, but necessary. Without these programs, my academic and research experience would not have been possible. And now, countless students stand where I once stood: full of potential, waiting for just one chance to prove it.
The strength of the American higher education system lies in its holistic investment in students—from admission evaluations to academic support, research opportunities and a clear commitment to diversity, equity and inclusion. Unlike systems abroad that rely solely on final scores, U.S. universities assess students by evaluating letters from mentors, student leadership experiences, student identity— and most importantly—the distance traveled, which is a measure of resilience and potential. This approach reflects true meritocracy by offering all students, especially those historically excluded, a fair opportunity to contribute to science. Investing in diversity isn’t just about equality or equity, it is about creating opportunities for every motivated student to contribute to and shape the future of science.
Having studied at several foreign institutions, I’ve observed that private American universities tend to thrive in comparison because they can uphold these values without being constrained by rigid, state-imposed guidelines. That freedom is what has enabled students from diverse backgrounds to access opportunity and benefit scientific research. Until now, this model allowed America to lead in academic excellence in higher education. But recent federal actions threaten to restrict this freedom, risking the quality of evaluation and the inclusive environment that gave so many, including myself, the chance to belong, contribute and lead in science.
Recent federal restrictions threaten to reverse the progress made in science that gave underrepresented minority students the chance to belong, contribute and lead. We will return to a dark past and to the same silence that echoed when Dr. De La Cruz asked his question. In the libraries of tomorrow, we will once again display elegant portraits of science leaders—and once again, they will all only be “white dudes!”