Dr. Katie Edwards (center front) poses with members of the Interpersonal Violence Research Laboratory and her wife at a professional meeting in New York City in March 2025. Courtesy of Katie Edwards
In a matter of weeks, the research lab that I direct at the University of Michigan has lost six National Institutes of Health-funded grants. I assume more of my federal grants will be terminated, given the work we do in my lab focuses on violence prevention and positive youth development among LGBTQ+ youth and racial and ethnic minority youth — topics labeled as “DEI” and “gender ideology” by the Trump administration.
I have spent countless hours desperately trying to learn how to start a fundraising campaign to keep our work going and my staff employed, writing appeals to the NIH, and suing the NIH and Department of Health and Human Services to get our grants back. I have also spent a lot of time thinking about how we as researchers should have done a better job at explaining the importance of public health research to the American public. If we had done that, I think there would be more of a public outcry at these actions taken by the current administration to destroy public health research in this country.
There is so much goodness, love and care that goes into our work — work that is making homes, schools and communities safer for people across the U.S., perhaps even for you and/or someone you care about — and if it is ended, the effects will be calamitous.
Public health research should benefit all Americans, and this requires that some research focus specifically on minority populations. That’s because not everyone receives the same care or attention in this country. For example, racial and ethnic minorities and LGTBQ+ youth bear a disproportionate burden of adversities and negative health outcomes. A factor that might increase risk for violence for heterosexual teens may not be the same as what might increase risk for violence for LGTBQ+ teens. Similarly, resources available to one racial/ethnic group experiencing violent victimization might be different from what resources are available to other racial/ethnic groups experiencing violence.
By focusing some research on specific groups of people, we have a better opportunity to move closer to health equality in the United States. We must recognize that a “one size fits all” approach might not be the most impactful or cost-effective approach for addressing major public health problems like violence, mental health issues and substance abuse. Making research spaces feel safe for people with different identities and experiences leads to more inclusiveness in federally funded research. Being inclusive is a good thing — it means everyone in the U.S. is regarded as important in public health research. It also makes research more trustworthy and impactful. Studies like the ones I oversee attempt to close the gap between what majority and minority populations experience with regard to their physical, mental and social health.
For example, a young adult in one of our studies (which was terminated on March 12) on sexual assault among sexual minority men said, “Thank you for making and holding the space for LGBTQIA2S+ men and being explicitly inclusive of trans men/masc-leaning folks. As a trans guy, I occasionally feel overlooked by gender-specific spaces, and hearing that I belong here feels really good and safe.” Public health research should feel safe for everyone, and it should also benefit everyone in the U.S.
LGTBQ+ youth (who make up roughly 10% of youth in this nation) and racial and ethnic minority youth (who account for about half of youth in this nation) are much more vulnerable to violence and have a harder time getting help. We desperately need programs tailored specifically to them. If this work is terminated, they will suffer. By dramatically decreasing funding for impactful prevention and intervention efforts available to these youth, I fear that violence, suicide, mental health problems and substance abuse will go up. Terminating these grants also sends a message to these youth that the current administration does not care about them, that their experiences “no longer effectuates agency priorities” and that research on them does “nothing to enhance the health of many Americans” (all of which I was told in the termination letters I received from the NIH).
Most people in this country know and care about someone who is LGBTQ+, even if you’re not aware of it. This could be a kid you teach, a kid you coach on a sports team, a kid who attends your church, a kid who lives next door that you say hi to every day or a kid who rides your bus to school. These kids and their families deserve to have access to high-quality prevention and treatment, too. In one of my NIH-funded projects evaluating the impact of an online mentoring program for trans youth (terminated on March 12), one of the teens said, “My mentor’s encouragement and support helped me feel seen, comforted, and like I’m not alone, which is something I’ve been needing for a while.”
In another NIH study (terminated on March 21) that was providing support to caregivers of LGBTQ+ youth, a caregiver spoke about the positive impact of the program saying, “It also did make me even more convinced that I’ll do whatever I have to do to fight to keep [my LGBTQ youth] safe, and you know, let her live her life authentically.” Having to abruptly stop these research studies is not only dangerous and hurts kids and families, but it is costly too.
The lifetime cost per victim of sexual violence is estimated to be over $122,000 per victim (including medical costs, lost work productivity, etc.). By terminating funding for sexual assault research, not only will sexual assaults likely go up, but so will costs to the American public. Communities, homes, schools, universities, places of employment and military units will also likely become less safe, and lives will be lost as sexual assault is a predictor of suicide, among many other devastating short- and long-term outcomes.
Beyond the damaging impacts on youth, families and communities, terminating federally funded research is resulting in hard-working Americans losing their jobs. I employ over 50 individuals in my Interpersonal Violence Research Laboratory at the University of Michigan, and they come from all walks of life — young people, elders, people of color, LGBTQ+ people, parents and grandparents, people from diverse religious/cultural backgrounds including Christians and veterans who fought for our country. Many of my staff do this work so that kids do not have to go through what they went through as kids.
A Native American elder who works in my lab told me, “This work is the destiny of our people” — work that is helping Native Americans heal from generations of trauma and helping keep kids safe from sexual violence. As one Native American girl who took our empowerment self-defense class said, “I learned I am worth defending.” Pending grants that would keep this work going may not be funded because it is likely to be classified as “DEI” given its focus on Native Americans.
Knowing that I will have to let most of my staff go and that our life-saving work will stop if we do not get our grants back or receive a large donation in the near future is agonizing. I have never felt a sense of powerlessness and loss quite like this.
This work has never been about grant dollars or publications for me — it’s about leaving the world a little better than I found it. Despite the devastation of the past two months, there have been a few silver linings. First, I have seen how deeply my staff love and care for me and one another, which motivates me to keep going. I have also witnessed my parents transform from Trump supporters to Americans outraged at what is happening to this country, and they’re heartbroken about what is happening to me, their firstborn child. Their transformation and the actions they are taking (e.g., helping me fundraise, calling their senators/representatives) give me hope that other people can transform, too.
The love I have for my wife has also grown stronger. She has held me during sleepless nights when all I can do is cry at such monumental losses and the fear that our same-sex marriage could be in jeopardy, too. Yet, she also reminds me that nothing will ever erase our love for one another. This gives me peace in a storm of chaotic darkness. I hope those being hurt by the erasure of public health research, including LGBTQ+ youth and youth of color, can find motivation to keep going, be hopeful and find moments of peace, too. Still, I am terrified that vulnerable lives will be lost.
Even if you do not know it, you likely have been touched in a positive way by public health research, or someone you know likely has been. If you or someone you love has received preventative care or treatment for cancer or mental health conditions, there is a good chance that it was informed directly or indirectly by NIH-funded research. These studies are now in grave danger.
I encourage each person reading this essay to visit NIH Reporter. Type in something you or a loved one has struggled with — depression, suicide, cancer, diabetes, drug abuse, alcoholism, trauma — and read about the life-saving work happening across the U.S. Unfortunately, it may have been cancelled or is at risk of being canceled under the current administration. I deeply regret not doing more as a researcher until now to share the goodness, humanity and impact of our work with the American public. I hope it’s not too late. I also hope each person reading this will do something to help get public health research back on track in this country. Everyone benefits from it — including you.
Dr. Katie Edwards is a professor of social work at the University of Michigan, where she directs the Interpersonal Violence Research Laboratory (IVRL). The IVRL, which employs over 50 staff currently at risk of losing their jobs, studies violence prevention and positive youth development among vulnerable youth, including LGBTQ+ youth and racial/ethnic minority youth. Dr. Edwards has published a number of papers, and her work has been funded by federal agencies and private foundations. Dr. Edwards grew up in Georgia, where much of her family resides today, and she currently lives in Michigan with her wife and their four cats.
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