On February 24, I received an email from someone in Rockefeller’s Human Resources (HR) department requesting that I remove an article from our website archives. The article in question, published in February 2007, was titled “The Minority Report” and catalogued contemporary trends in the participation of underrepresented groups in science, as well as some of Rockefeller’s efforts to recruit more diverse PhD cohorts. No explanation was provided for the removal request, but I assumed it was part of the university’s effort to scrub DEI-related content from its websites in anticipation of punitive action by the Trump administration. Rockefeller’s main DEI page has changed substantially in the past few months—for example, all mentions of race, gender, and sexual orientation have been deleted. (The student guide, reassuringly, still lists “race, … gender, gender identity, gender expression, … [and] sexual orientation” as protected characteristics.)

I was disappointed, if not particularly surprised, that Rockefeller seemed so willing to capitulate to Trump’s executive orders—after all, universities across the country are doing the same thing—but the targeting of an article from nearly two decades ago in a student-run newsletter that explicitly does not represent the university’s official views or policies disturbed me. If this was within the scope of Rockefeller’s DEI crackdown, what else might be? Would student groups like the Rockefeller Inclusive Science Initiative or programs funded by DEI microgrants be targeted next?

I wrote back to ask for more information—namely, why the article needed to be removed—and to point out the disclaimer that appears at the end of every Natural Selections issue (“Natural Selections is not an official publication of The Rockefeller University…”). This was enough to mollify HR, if only temporarily: I was informed that the article could remain up “until we receive further guidance.”

What this episode highlighted for me is that what we write carries real weight, even in a small, informal publication. Student journalism has always been important, but it’s especially vital in a moment when universities are rewriting their values and norms to conform to an authoritarian vision of higher education. Natural Selections exists not just as a creative outlet for the Tri-I, but as a venue to speak candidly about what’s happening on our campuses and, in doing so, to challenge our institutions and their official narratives. As scientists take to the streets to protest the Trump administration’s attacks on research funding and free speech, we should also use the platforms available to us internally to hold our university administrations accountable for their inaction.

Inaction seems to form the basis of Rockefeller’s official narrative. At a student reception last month, President Lifton told us that “the only way they win is if we get distracted and lose focus on our science.” I’m no university president, but it seems to me like “they” win if our institutions surrender to Trump’s demands, or cap graduate admissions (as Rockefeller and many others have done), or cite federal funding cuts as an excuse to walk back union contract provisions (as Weill Cornell is doing). They win when active grants are terminated and researchers lose their jobs. They win when ICE abducts students off the street in broad daylight for expressing political opinions. Our choosing not to “get distracted” only allows them to win more decisively. When the stakes are this high, inaction bleeds into complicity.

I understand that universities see silence as a means of self-preservation. When I asked Dean Stearns why Rockefeller’s response to the dismantling of academic science has been so muted, he suggested that speaking out carries “the very real risk of causing the university to become the target of punitive action by the [Trump] administration.” Maybe university leaders believe that making minor, mostly symbolic concessions now—changing the DEI web page, renaming “Diversity Week” to “Celebrating Belonging”—will protect them from being asked to make materially harmful concessions later. It’s not clear, however, that acquiescing will win favor with an administration that’s openly hostile toward both science and higher education. It’s also not clear that resisting will invite federal targeting, especially of a small, graduate-only institution with little name recognition outside of the biomedical sciences. But even if our administration is right that compliance is the only way to retain federal support, is holding onto these funds really worth sacrificing academic freedom, an inclusive campus, or international workers’ safety?

We all came here to do science. One of the things Rockefeller promises its students is the luxury of single-minded focus on our research, thanks to flexible coursework, minimal administrative clutter, and generous compensation. But neither the university’s gates nor its ban on political events can keep the outside world from encroaching on what happens inside our labs. Many of us are doing what we can: attending and organizing protests, lobbying our elected representatives to support public research funding and oppose human rights abuses, fighting to win strong protections for academic workers in union contracts. Many others, however, feel unable to speak up for fear of expulsion, arrest, or deportation.

If Rockefeller wants us not to “lose focus on our science,” it has a responsibility to address these fears by doing more to support its researchers. Fight anti-science policies in the courts, as Cornell and others are doing. Commit to regular, transparent communication; hold town halls with open Q&A. Offer legal support to the many international students, postdocs, and staff already grappling with uncertainty about their visa status and ability to travel. Allow political expression on campus (rather than, for example, blocking students’ emails about an upcoming rally in support of federal research funding). Follow the example set by the Rutgers University Senate and pledge to share legal and financial resources with peer institutions facing political attacks. Establish a system for providing bridge funding to anyone at risk of losing their job due to grant terminations. (To preempt the administration’s objections: all but two of these actions could, in principle, be implemented completely internally and would thus involve very little political risk for the university.)

Though Rockefeller would prefer that we keep our heads down and our research untainted by political concerns, our contributors argue in the following pages that science is both shaped by politics and inherently political. The pieces in this issue assert that we are here not just as researchers, but as people who interact with each other, with art, with nature—and, yes, with political forces. University leaders’ willingness to let the Trump administration ghostwrite their narratives about this moment makes it especially critical that we create an honest record of what it’s like to be on the ground as students, postdocs, and staff. This publication comprises part of that record; I hope our institutions have the moral fortitude not to erase it.