Syria's Mothers are Fighting to Rebuild Their Homes
One year after the end of a long war, they tell journalist Tara Kangarlou what coming home has really been like
By Tara Kangarlou
“There are very few mothers here who haven’t lost a child or a spouse, and very few children who haven’t lost a mother or a wife,” says 62-year-old Khadijah as she sits on the floor of a heavily bombed building—flattened, except for the one room where she now lives with her 75-year-old husband, Khaled. Like most of her neighbors, Khadijah, her husband, and her children—previously displaced across Syria and neighboring Lebanon and Turkey—are now returning to their devastated hometown of Zabadani, wondering how to pick up fragments of a life uprooted.
The nearly 13-year-long war in Syria is known as one of the worst humanitarian crises of the 21st century. According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, the conflict displaced more than 13 million Syrians, including the six million people who fled to neighboring countries. For years, the war functionally dismantled the country’s healthcare and infrastructure and robbed an entire generation of school-aged children of their childhood and education—losses that ripple through every fabric of Syrian society today. The UN Human Rights Office has documented over 300,000 civilian deaths, with some estimates approaching half a million. Multiple mass graves have been found across the country, and Bashar al-Assad’s deployment of chemical weapons in Ghouta and Duma against his own people marked the deadliest use of such agents in decades.
This month marks a year since the fall of Bashar al-Assad, and over that time, millions of Syrians have been adjusting to their newly liberated reality. More than four million have made their way back to their villages across Syria—their homes reshaped by years of siege, bombardment, and civil war. In Zabadani, Eastern Ghouta, Madaya, Duma, and other hard-hit regions across the country, mothers—like Khadijah—are navigating these losses firsthand as they work to restore a semblance of stability for their families.
It should be a time of celebration, but for those living among the remnants of destruction, grief is pervasive. “Before the war, I would always wear white, but ever since the first death in our family, I’ve not taken off my black scarf,” Khadijah says. “I continue to be in mourning,”
Like so many others in Syria’s Zabadani region, Khadijah and her family hail from generations of experienced, hard-working farmers. But the land, once celebrated for its apple orchards, vineyards, and lush farmland that helped feed Damascus, endured one of Syria’s longest and most punishing sieges. Between 2015 and 2017, barrel bombs, airstrikes, and artillery shells rained down, destroying irrigation systems, flattening farmland, and contaminating the earth with heavy metals, TNT, and fuel residues. The blockade also choked off agricultural inputs—seeds, fertilizers, and clean water, leading to the collapse of a once-thriving rural economy.
“We’d feed an entire town with our fruits and vegetables, but now, we barely have enough to feed our own family,” says Khadijah, whose grievances are evident when you visit her farm, where the soil is depleted and infrastructure destroyed.
“The only people whose farmland was spared were the people who cooperated with the Assad regime,” Khadijah explains. “We’re grateful to be alive, and we will rebuild, even though right now, we just don’t know how.” Later, she recalls the harrowing days in 2015 when she, her two daughters, and her then two-year-old grandson, Ammar, were displaced to nearby Madaya as the Assad army besieged Zabadani. Soon, those under siege in Madaya were facing severe food shortages and starvation under a blockade imposed by Assad’s forces and his allies Russia and Iran-backed Hezbollah.
“Ammar’s father [my son-in-law] was just killed…when we were forcefully moved to Madaya,” she says. “We had so much grief. “For the nearly two years that followed, we had nothing to survive on except rationed sugar, bread, and at times animal feed and grass.”
It wasn’t until 2017, following months of siege, that Khadijah and her family were relocated to opposition-held Idlib where they continued to live in displacement with little means to support the family.
Now 22, Ammar is studying to be a medical technician in Idlib—a city that remained the only lifeline for hundreds of thousands of displaced Syrians during the war. Visiting his grandparents in Zabadani, he brings in freshly made Arabic coffee and sits next to his grandmother and 37-year-old uncle Omar, who lost an eye in the war. Both men look at Khadijah with deep respect and endearment. “Every single mother in Syria has suffered tremendously, including my own mother and my grandmother; but we are of this land, and we’re happy to be back,” said Ammar.
The Flowers Still Bloom
Across Syria, the devastating impact of warfare is as environmental as it is emotional.
Just an hour’s drive from Damascus, 35-year-old Hiba walks through her hometown of Duma in Eastern Ghouta, stopping at a perfume shop to buy rose-scented oils—a defiant joy after surviving years of siege, bombardment, and chemical attacks. “Everything above ground was destroyed,” she says, recalling giving birth during the war in a half-collapsed clinic with no medicine, water, or electricity. Today, Hiba calls her 7-year-old daughter, Sally, her best friend and the person who makes life meaningful. “She loves riding her scooter and wants to be a pharmacist,” Hiba shares.
During the war, inspired by her family’s struggles caring for her younger brother with Down syndrome, Hiba began working with children with special needs—a profession she continues to this day, despite her own personal battles.
“People were disconnected from the world,” she says, pointing to what once was her house—a collapsed building lying under the weight of repeated barrel bombs and artillery strikes. “Our country is destroyed, but we mustn’t forget what happened to us. Our children must remember everything—so it doesn’t happen again.”
Both Zabadani and the Eastern Ghouta regions stand as stark evidence of how siege warfare and chemical weapons became tools of collective punishment—obliterating not just lives, but the ecosystems and livelihoods that sustained millions of ordinary civilians, including mothers, who are now searching for hope amidst rubble.
Back in Zabadani, 35-year-old Lana—a mother of two toddler boys—walks the grounds of her grandfather’s house and what was once her safe haven as a child.. She is a psychologist who has recently returned to her flattened town after years of life as a refugee in Lebanon. Today, along with her husband, she’s back “home,” doing what she once dreamed of doing for her own people and community.
“This is my grandfather’s home. My daddy grew up here,” she says. “We used to play here as children.”
The building’s walls are pocked with shrapnel holes and its ceilings blown down into rubble, but as we climb up and walk into the remnants of the house, she suddenly turns around, tearing up. On a half-collapsed wall, a faint drawing survives—painted decades ago by Lana’s father as a child, and depicting a red house surrounded by trees and a bright blue lake—the last fragile trace of a family’s life before war.
“My daddy was an artist. I have to tell him this is still here.” She looks at the flowers growing from underneath a pile of stones and smiles: “See, even in the middle of this destruction, we still have flowers bloom. There is hope, Tara. We are here.”
Tara Kangarlou is an award-winning Iranian-American global affairs journalist who has produced, written, and reported for NBC-LA, CNN, CNN International, and Al Jazeera America. She is the author of The Heartbeat of Iran, an Adjunct Professor at Georgetown University, and founder of the NGO Art of Hope.
Three Questions About…Gun Safety
Thirteen years after the Sandy Hook tragedy, survivor Abbey Clements reflects on creating a gun safety organization “for teachers by teachers.”
By Ann Vettikkal
For more than a decade after elementary school teacher Abbey Clements survived the Sandy Hook mass shooting—during which she protected and distracted her students from the gunshots thundering through the school—she worked overtime. During the weekdays, she continued to teach second grade in Newtown, Connecticut. And in her off hours, she was a fierce advocate in the movement to end gun violence. Clements trained volunteers, planned vigils, and found creative ways to engage people on the issue. “I was waiting for an educator-focused group to emerge,” Clements said, “and it just wasn't happening.”
The last straw was November 30, 2021, when a school shooting at Oxford High School in Oxford Township, Michigan, took the lives of four students. Clements remembers expressing frustration in a group chat with Sarah Lerner, a teacher who survived the Marjory Stoneman Douglas mass shooting in Florida, and Sari Beth Rosenberg, an educator and activist in New York City. The three went on to found Teachers Unify, an organization “for teachers by teachers” that aims to involve educators in the demand for national gun safety. We talked to Clements about what she’s doing—and what needs to change.
The 13th anniversary of Sandy Hook is this weekend. How has the movement to end gun violence changed since the Sandy Hook tragedy?
What's changed the most is that many factions of our society have come together to raise their voice on this issue. You see people coming up from the medical field. You see clergy bonding together, speaking out about this. [You see] organizing by students….What hasn't changed, or what perhaps has gotten worse, is we've identified that guns are the leading cause of death for children in America. So, although we've seen lots of different factions of our society stepping up, we haven't seen [the] legislation, and culture change, that we need. Data clearly shows that states with common sense legislation have fewer gun tragedies, [but we also] know that legislation alone won’t end this public health crisis. An estimated 4.6 million children live in homes with at least one loaded, unlocked firearm, and we also know that about three-fourths of school shooters get their gun from home or from a family member or relative. A culture shift could save so many lives.
What work is Teachers Unify focusing on right now?
Teachers are among the most trusted voices, according to a 2025 Gallup poll, just under nurses. But in terms of policy and what's best for kids, our voices just haven't been included in the conversation…The second graders who endured the tragedy with me are now college students, and they're watching these shootings happen over and over again, and I refuse to give up on them. Teachers have so much to offer on this issue. We just haven't been intentionally brought into the movement until now. And so the mission of Teachers Unify is to empower educators to demand that communities are safe from gun violence, and that first step is for us to see ourselves as the experts we are.
We know what's best for kids. We were trained. [That’s why we need to get] a seat at the table for these vital conversations. That looks like presenting at conferences and panels across the country, and we just launched an unprecedented crisis intervention and support team. [This is a team of] school shooting survivors and clinicians who have lived experience responding to communities after gun violence. [They] can come into school communities, and really work with the staff to help them move forward.
What are some things people can do to support these efforts?
People can encourage their school leaders, their kids, school officials, administrators, superintendents, town officials to send secure firearm storage information home with kids from school. There are a few states doing this, but this is, unfortunately, not common practice, because this issue is seen as partisan when it is a public health crisis. So parents and allies can help start that conversation through their PTAs. The National PTA is a big supporter of secure firearms storage, and I feel like this is our biggest chance for widespread change, if we could normalize education around this and get the schools to send out periodic reminders, especially during the holidays.
This interview has been condensed and edited.
A Blue Sky in Miami
  December 11, 2025 Salutations, Meteor readers, I have chosen to join the cult of Scott Hunter. I will not be taking any questions at this time. Please tell my family I’ll miss them.  In today’s newsletter, we unpack a historic mayoral victory in Miami. Plus, a discussion on the never-ending fight to end gun violence with a teacher who survived Sandy Hook. 🏒♥️, Shannon Melero  WHAT'S GOING ONWelcome to (blue) Miami: This week, the city of Miami elected its first woman mayor, and to the shock of all the Brickell girlies—the new mayor is a Democrat. Eileen Higgins, a moderate in a recently Trump-y city, is the first blue mayor Miami has seen since the late ‘90s. Higgins was up against a Trump-backed candidate in the president’s favorite state and still secured nearly 60 percent of the vote. And, much like the election of Zohran Mamdani in New York, this mayoral victory feels like part of a bigger trend. The mayor-elect herself agrees. People are paying close attention to mayoral races because “local government is where real change happens,” Higgins writes The Meteor in an email. It’s “where leaders can cut through dysfunction and improve daily life in measurable ways.” Amanda Litman, cofounder and executive director of Run for Something, sees Higgins’ win as a direct response to federal chaos: “When national politics feels noisy or gridlocked, voters look to the leaders who can get things done, and mayors can,” she says.  YOU CAN'T MESS WITH SOMEONE WITH A BOB THIS SHARP. (VIA GETTY IMAGES) And of course, there’s the idea that these mayoral races are a sign of things to come. Higgins’ election “shows that momentum is on Democrats’ side,” explains A’shanti Gholar, president of Emerge America. “She spoke to [voters] about their basic needs, what they want for themselves and their families,” rather than focusing on the opposition. Higgins has a history of attracting a wide range of voters; she was a commissioner for Republican-leaning Miami-Dade County. “When you focus on delivering results on issues like affordability, transit, public safety, and flooding,” Higgins tells The Meteor, “voters will cross party lines.” The GOP, unsurprisingly, tried to downplay the larger significance of Higgins’ win. “It’s not a rebuke of the president or the party,” Miami-Dade County Chair Kevin Cooper told reporters. “Democratic city elects Democratic mayor.” The numbers tell a different story about that “Democratic city.” According to this year’s voter registration information, of the more than one million people registered to vote in Miami-Dade County, a combined 450,000 are registered with the Conservative Party of Florida and the Republican Party of Florida—significantly more than the 407,000 registered Democrats. But while Miami may be increasingly red (and helped elect Trump last year), it also has a large immigrant population and has been a key target of ICE. Higgins has acknowledged immigrants’ fear, and has spoken out against the administration’s policies, calling them “trickle-down hatred” and “inhumane.” Her victory shows buyer’s remorse may be finally kicking in. “The immigrant communities that voted for Trump [are feeling like] ‘This guy played us,’” Gholar says. (Twice bitten, thrice shy is the saying, right?) For Democrats and anyone interested in running for office, Litman sees a clear lesson: “Nothing in politics is predetermined. The map isn’t fixed. When Democrats invest early, recruit great candidates, and build local infrastructure, we can compete anywhere.” AND:
 Three Questions About...Gun SafetyThirteen years after the Sandy Hook tragedy, survivor Abbey Clements reflects on creating a gun safety organization “for teachers by teachers.”BY ANN VETTIKKAL  CLEMENTS APPEARED AT THE 2024 DNC WITH OTHER SURVIVORS OF SCHOOL SHOOTINGS. (VIA GETTY IMAGES) For more than a decade after elementary school teacher Abbey Clements survived the Sandy Hook mass shooting—during which she protected and distracted her students from the gunshots thundering through the school—she worked overtime. During the weekdays, she continued to teach second grade in Newtown, Connecticut. And in her off hours, she was a fierce advocate in the movement to end gun violence. Clements trained volunteers, planned vigils, and found creative ways to engage people on the issue. “I was waiting for an educator-focused group to emerge,” Clements said, “and it just wasn't happening.” The last straw was November 30, 2021, when a school shooting at Oxford High School in Oxford Township, Michigan, took the lives of four students. Clements remembers expressing frustration in a group chat with Sarah Lerner, a teacher who survived the Marjory Stoneman Douglas mass shooting in Florida, and Sari Beth Rosenberg, an educator and activist in New York City. The three went on to found Teachers Unify, an organization “for teachers by teachers” that aims to involve educators in the demand for national gun safety. We talked to Clements about what she’s doing—and what needs to change. The 13th anniversary of Sandy Hook is this weekend. How has the movement to end gun violence changed since the Sandy Hook tragedy? What's changed the most is that many factions of our society have come together to raise their voice on this issue. You see people coming up from the medical field. You see clergy bonding together, speaking out about this. [You see] organizing by students….What hasn't changed, or what perhaps has gotten worse, is we've identified that guns are the leading cause of death for children in America. So, although we've seen lots of different factions of our society stepping up, we haven't seen [the] legislation, and culture change, that we need. Data clearly shows that states with common sense legislation have fewer gun tragedies, [but we also] know that legislation alone won’t end this public health crisis. An estimated 4.6 million children live in homes with at least one loaded, unlocked firearm, and we also know that about three-fourths of school shooters get their gun from home or from a family member or relative. A culture shift could save so many lives. What work is Teachers Unify focusing on right now? Teachers are among the most trusted voices, according to a 2025 Gallup poll, just under nurses. But in terms of policy and what's best for kids, our voices just haven't been included in the conversation…The second graders who endured the tragedy with me are now college students, and they're watching these shootings happen over and over again, and I refuse to give up on them. Teachers have so much to offer on this issue. We just haven't been intentionally brought into the movement until now. And so the mission of Teachers Unify is to empower educators to demand that communities are safe from gun violence, and that first step is for us to see ourselves as the experts we are. We know what's best for kids. We were trained. [That’s why we need to get] a seat at the table for these vital conversations. That looks like presenting at conferences and panels across the country, and we just launched an unprecedented crisis intervention and support team. [This is a team of] school shooting survivors and clinicians who have lived experience responding to communities after gun violence. [They] can come into school communities, and really work with the staff to help them move forward. What are some things people can do to support these efforts? People can encourage their school leaders, their kids, school officials, administrators, superintendents, town officials to send secure firearm storage information home with kids from school. There are a few states doing this, but this is, unfortunately, not common practice, because this issue is seen as partisan when it is a public health crisis. So parents and allies can help start that conversation through their PTAs. The National PTA is a big supporter of secure firearms storage, and I feel like this is our biggest chance for widespread change, if we could normalize education around this and get the schools to send out periodic reminders, especially during the holidays. This interview has been condensed and edited.  WEEKEND READING 📚On gender roles: Being “manly” won’t get men what they want out of life. (Vox) On being iconic: A’ja. Wilson. (TIME) On sleigh bells: How heteros hijacked the holidays. (Dire Straights Podcast)  FOLLOW THE METEOR     Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? |
Mind the "Ambition Gap"
  December 9, 2025 Greetings, Meteor readers, Guess who’s back? In today’s newsletter, a new report on women in the workplace puts data behind the bad office vibes. Plus, the best Nativity scene of the year. Ohmahgod we’re back agaaiinnn, Nona and Shannon  WHAT'S GOING ONNew gap, who this?: A recent report conducted by McKinsey and Lean In found that this year, women in corporate America faced a number of setbacks, which, for anyone paying attention to the post-pandemic economy, isn’t all that surprising. But what is notable is what the researchers call a new “ambition gap” between men and women. According to the study, although both groups are “equally dedicated to their careers” and the vast majority of women—80 percent!—do want to advance, women are about 7 to 8 percent less likely to want a promotion at the entry, mid, and senior levels compared to men in the same positions. (Interestingly, Latinx women reported a desire to advance more than any other group of women.) This is quite a departure from just two years ago, when the same study determined that women were equally as interested in promotion as men. So what’s changed? Well, it may be more about what hasn’t changed.  While women want to perform well at work, the survey hints, they’re losing the appetite for fighting an uphill battle. The report highlights that women are being held back by a lack of support from colleagues, bosses, and mentors, all of which creates a “steeper path forward” in advancement. The study also found a familiar culprit: caregiving and other out-of-work responsibilities. Almost a quarter of women uninterested in promotion responded that “personal obligations make it hard to take on additional work.” (An increase in return-to-office requirements makes it even harder to balance home life.) The steep decline in DEI initiatives hasn’t helped matters, either; a dismaying chart in the study shows that only 54 percent of HR employees surveyed said that their companies considered women’s career advancement a priority—way, way down from 88 percent in 2017. These changes lend hard data to a recent shift in culture. As Axios points out, the rise of “tradwife” content—which idealizes the trope of straight, married women not working outside the home—as well as pundits contemplating whether women are ruining the workplace, has awoken the catnapping giant of corporate misogyny. There is also a touch of generational tension at play: Women under 30 at the entry level (Gen Z and the youngest millennials) are more interested in being promoted than women over 40. “The drop in ambition appears to be fueled in part by the limited career support older entry-level women receive,” the report notes. Perhaps if career support extended to relieving midlife women of their outsized domestic responsibilities (here’s an idea!), their ambitions wouldn’t be dropping through the floor. Or call us crazy, but just maybe the current corporate models that have gone largely unchanged for decades are designed to keep women (especially caregivers) out, and women are tired of playing a losing game. Who knows? (This gal.) It’s been a long, hard year for independent media. Many traditional media companies are shrinking—in courage and conviction. But at The Meteor, our team is energized to keep digging into the issues that affect your life, and bringing you the coverage and community you want. And we need your support to do it! We have three weeks left in our Winter 2025 impact campaign for The Meteor Fund, The Meteor’s non-profit initiative, which supports woman-centered storytelling and community building. If you’re inclined to give, please do! And please share with anyone you know who loves independent media. AND:
 SHE IS THE AWARD. (VIA GETTY IMAGES)
 HOW SHE'S GOING TO BE LOOKING AT JESS BERMAN ON HER WAY TO CHELSEA. (VIA GETTY)
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A Major University "Bending the Knee"
  December 4, 2025 Greetings, Meteor readers, I got called ma’am today. Someone get me the number for Anne Hathaway’s Botox guy. In today’s newsletter, the editor-in-chief of one of the two magazines shut down by the University of Alabama speaks out. Plus, somehow, 2026 already has a color of the year. It’s not great. Spotify says I'm only 27, Shannon Melero  WHAT'S GOING ONRoll(back) Tide: “We’re all really confused,” Gabrielle Gunter tells me, audibly exasperated. Gunter, a grad student at the University of Alabama, has had an unusually long week, and it’s not just because she’s preparing for finals. On Monday, Gunter and the staff members of the university’s student media department gathered and were told that two of four university-run publications would be suspended. Alice, the women’s magazine where Gunter was editor-in-chief, and Nineteen Fifty-Six, a Black culture and student life magazine, were getting the axe. The reason for the publications’ suspension? The university’s decision to comply with a July anti-DEI memo from U.S. Attorney General Pam Bondi. But to understand how a memo cost Gunter her job, you’ve got to go backwards a bit. Last summer, the state of Alabama passed SB 129, which prohibits state institutions from sponsoring DEI programs or offices. University of Alabama was obligated to follow suit and did so, removing offices of the Black Student Union and LGBTQ+ support groups. Gunter was under the impression that student publications were safe from SB 129 because of First Amendment protections. But the Bondi memo skirts around those protections by listing vague “best practices” for implementing DEI rollbacks. One of the conditions listed is “unlawful proxy discrimination,” a term used in the meeting on Monday when students were being told about their magazine suspensions. “I’m devastated but, regrettably, not surprised by the [university’s] decision to suspend Nineteen Fifty-Six,” the magazine’s editor in chief Kendal Wright, wrote in a statement. “Regardless of our suspension, there will continue to be a need…for the stories of the university’s Black community to be told.”  RECENT COVERS OF NINETEEN FIFTY-SIX. BACK ISSUES WILL STILL BE AVAILABLE AS AN ARCHIVE, THE UNIVERSITY TOLD STUDENTS. (SCREENSHOT VIA NINETEEN FIFTY-SIX) “They’re not suspending us based on content; they’re doing it based on our target audience,” Gunter explains. Like all publications (including this one!), Alice and Nineteen Fifty-Six cater to specific groups while still maintaining equal opportunity hiring practices. Anyone can read these magazines. But, under Bondi’s “unlawful proxy” guidance, the fact that they are designed to appeal to women and Black students is considered a “divisive” implementation of DEI—or at least that is how the Trump administration has chosen to define it, and what UA is adhering to in defense of its funding. (It’s worth noting here that the athletic program at Alabama alone brings in over $200 million in revenue for the school. The cost to operate Alice is somewhere in the neighborhood of $10,000.) But surely, if the university is doing all of this, there must be some external pressure from the government to comply, right? Gunter doesn’t believe this is the case. She explains that the school’s newspaper, The Crimson White, “hasn’t found anything that indicates that there was pressure from the Board of Trustees or legislators in Alabama” to eliminate the magazines. “They’re bending the knee to the government,” Gunter says. “I think the [slow rollback of diversity groups] allowed for a rise of conservatism and fascism on our campus.” Gunter adds that despite the university’s racist history, changes have been made over the years to make the campus more inclusive, such as student identity groups, the UA Safe Zone, and, of course, Nineteen Fifty-Six, which published its first issue in 2020 and was titled after the year the first Black student, Autherine Lucy Foster, was allowed to enroll at UA. Much of that progress, she believes, is now being undone.  RECENT ISSUES OF ALICE, WHICH WILL ALSO REMAIN AVAILABLE AS AN ARCHIVE. GUNTER SAYS THE UNIVERSITY HAS NOT CLARIFIED WHEN HER STAFF WILL LOSE ACCESS TO THE WEBSITE. (SCREENSHOT VIA ALICE) In May, the university’s Women and Gender Resource Center was renamed (per SB 129 rules) the “Camellia Center.” According to an accountability group formed by UA alumni and former staff, Break the Cycle Collective, the school also dissolved the Summersell Library, a collection located in Camellia, and “forbade” staff from announcing the closure to the campus community. (The Meteor reached out to the University of Alabama about this closure and did not receive a response before publication.) The center and the library both provide resources for anyone recovering from interpersonal violence and were originally founded to “promote women’s inclusion" on campus. “Even though women are the majority on campus, we’re still a marginalized group,” Gunter says. When you put all of the pieces together—the rollbacks, the closures, the timing of the magazine suspension right ahead of finals when students are busiest—you get a concerning image of a nationally renowned university trying to silence its students. Gunter says that many student journalists she knows, both on Alice and Nineteen Fifty-Six, fear retaliation for speaking to outside press, even though they have been told there won’t be any. I asked why they were concerned. “It’s the University of Alabama,” she said matter-of-factly. “We know that famous public universities like this have an image they want to spread, and when you come out and say this university shut down these two publications that highlighted marginalized voices, it looks bad for them. I have two jobs on campus…and it's very scary to think that the way I pay my bills could be taken from me.” Other student organizations have planned a demonstration on campus today (Alice and Nineteen Fifty-Six are not official organizers because of their suspended status) to demand that the university reinstate both magazines, and a petition is being presented to UA’s president, Dr. Peter J. Mohler. On Monday, staff members for the shuttered magazines were told they could start a new magazine that catered to “all student identities.” Gunter wasn’t a huge fan of the idea. “I don't like the implication that our magazines weren't for everyone.” AND:
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Who is the Diddy Doc For?
  December 2, 2025 Hey there, Meteor readers, Good evening to everyone except the casting directors of Chicago, who have chosen to put Whitney Leavitt on Broadway. May the ghost of Gwen Verdon haunt you forever.  In today’s newsletter, we wonder what’s to be gained from the Netflix docu-series about the rise and fall of Sean Combs. Plus, a quick suggestion on where to send some support this Giving Tuesday. Shannon Melero  WHAT'S GOING ONThe Diddy doc: Tonight, you may be partaking in the ancient practice of scrolling through Netflix to find something to watch, and it’s more than likely that you’ll immediately be met with the cover art for a new docuseries: Sean Combs: The Reckoning, which premiered today. But what is it really hoping to achieve, and who is it actually serving? As the title suggests, the series is about Combs, who was convicted of “transportation for the purposes of prostitution” earlier this year (he was acquitted of sex trafficking and racketeering). The four episodes follow his career and track the allegations and rumors that surrounded him even as a teenager—including delving into the theory that he was involved in the death of Tupac Shakur (the doc does make clear that official charges were never brought against Combs). The major selling point of the doc is hours of exclusive videos from the days leading up to his arrest, acquired by Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson, who is an executive producer on the series. Here is where things get complicated. Jackson is a known grudge-holder who has loudly and proudly taken revenge on his perceived enemies. (He once bought 200 tickets to a Ja Rule concert so that the first four rows of the show would be completely empty.) It just so happens that Combs and Jackson have been feuding with each other since 2006, which calls into question the narrative that The Reckoning is really driving. Is this a series, in the vein of Surviving R. Kelly or On the Record, in which victims are centered and telling their stories, or is this Jackson’s final move in a long game played against Combs? Watching Jackson gleefully recount his favorite footage from the series in a recent interview with Robin Roberts leads us to believe it’s the latter. “If I didn’t say anything, you would take it as hip hop was accepting this behavior,” Jackson tells Roberts, responding to the idea that this doc is a product of his disdain for Combs. “No one would be saying anything.” No one? In truth, women in the music industry have been pointing a finger at Combs for years. Some of them, including Aubrey O'Day, appear in the doc, which is largely narrated by the men who surrounded Combs. But making note of that wouldn’t serve the hero narrative Jackson is creating for himself. He’s also claimed that the proceeds of the documentary will go to victims of sexual assault—although how exactly that will happen is unclear.  DANITY KAINE, THE GIRL GROUP FORMED BY SEAN COMBS. O'DAY (SECOND FROM RIGHT) CLAIMS IN THE DOCUMENTARY SHE WAS RELEASED FROM THE BAND FOR REFUSING TO "PARTICIPATE SEXUALLY" WITH COMBS. (VIA GETTY IMAGES) We certainly can’t tell you what to take from this series; we will all walk away with something different. Much of what I watched felt like a round-up of Combs’ enablers clearing their conscience and offering a historic deep dive into the concept of “Diddy” rather than a victim-focused project. But there are a few questions we can all consider before pressing play. Do victims stand to gain anything from it? Will it persuade fans to take Diddy’s reported crimes (and the people they harmed) more seriously? Or is it finally time to give Sean Combs the one thing that would hurt him most: a slow, painful fade to anonymity? Only time and the ratings will tell. THIS GIVING TUESDAY, WE NEED YOUR SUPPORTWe’re writing to you on #GivingTuesday, a day when we give some special love to The Meteor Fund, our affiliated nonprofit, which supports our storytelling about women’s lives, and helps us create community and conversation with all of you. We’re now at a pivotal moment. Many traditional media companies are shrinking—in courage and conviction. Even as everyday Americans are standing up for their rights and the rights of others, too many news outlets aren’t interested in keeping pace. But at The Meteor, we’re energized—and mobilized. We’re expanding our coverage, forging partnerships with other independent outlets, and taking our trademark events on the road. Will you support The Meteor Fund this year, and join us as we grow? Your tax-deductible donation (little or large!) will help The Meteor Fund expand our work in the months ahead. AND:
 WOMEN AND CHILDREN ARRIVING IN DULLES AIRPORT IN 2021 AFTER BEING EVACUATED FROM KABUL. (VIA GETTY IMAGES)
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Make America Full Again
  November 25, 2025 Greetings, Meteor readers, To me, this is the best week in America. The air is freighted with anticipation and cheer, and no one has burnt the sweet potatoes or said something offensive yet. The pie crust is in the freezer (the pie crust is in the freezer, right?). And it’s all merriment and good vibes and OOO messages from here on out.  But of course, not everyone gets to savor the start of this festive season. In today’s newsletter, we check in on SNAP—the program that’s meant to feed the nation’s hungriest and which this administration seems determined to weaken. Below that, a few courageous women to give you hope. With butter, Mattie Kahn  WHAT'S GOING ONFood for thought: As we head into a holiday so heavily focused on meals, abundance, and pictures of meals and abundance, it’s worth remembering that when this month began, millions of people were being robbed of their food benefits. For a brief moment in time, so many of us were united in our outrage over food insecurity and rushed to help. (Or at least, we rushed to search: Google Trends shows that searches for “SNAP benefits” peaked on November 1, 2025 and have since plummeted.) However, once the shutdown ended and funding resumed, that energy disappeared faster than you can say SNAP is still in danger. Why? Well, because the new Republican-crafted spending bill (the Big and Not-So-Beautiful Bill, according to us) actually restructures the SNAP program in part by adding stricter work requirements, removing federal dollars from the program, and eliminating access to it for thousands of immigrants with legal status. These changes are slated to go into effect next month, ahead of yet another holiday season. And when the changes roll out, it will be women and children who are most affected. Non-elderly women make up more than half of all SNAP recipients, and there are roughly 12 million children receiving SNAP. It is shameful that in one of the wealthiest countries in the world, anyone should go hungry. But people in the U.S. aren’t hungry by accident; they are hungry by design. When it comes to women in particular, food access is a multi-pronged issue. Women go hungrier because, historically, they’ve made less money and been saddled with more unpaid care labor, reducing the number of working hours available to them. Throw that together with the changes in reproductive care, gender-based violence, and racial discrimination against women of color that hinder women’s earning potential, and you have yourself a fool-proof recipe for food insecurity. None of this is to say that men are immune from hunger. They do, however, experience it at a lesser rate than women. And as we’ve previously written, food insecurity isn’t something we can volunteer our way out of. The millions of people who have or are about to lose their food benefits aren’t just hungry on holidays or a few times a year. It is an everyday experience—which means the communal effort to change that fact must happen every day as well. What better week to start? — Shannon Melero AND:
 VIOLA FORD FLETCHER, AGE 108, ATTENDS A CELEBRATION FOR THE OLDEST LIVING TULSA OKLAHOMA MASSACRE SURVIVORS IN WASHINGTON, D.C., IN 2023. (GETTY IMAGES)
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This Week in Birthing Stories
  November 20, 2025 Greetings, Meteor readers, Why are there so many Christmas decorations up already? Can November live!? In today’s newsletter, we look at three stories of what it’s like to seek care in America. Plus, some weekend plans. Slow it down, Shannon Melero  WHAT'S GOING ONA recurring pattern: This week, you may have seen a viral video of Kiara Manuel, a woman in active labor at Dallas Regional Medical Center, having to answer intake questions while screaming in pain. Her mother, who recorded the ordeal, told local news outlets that staff at the hospital had left Manuel without care for over half an hour, choosing “paperwork over life.” This week, you may have seen another viral video of Mercedes Wells, a woman who was told by a hospital in Indiana that she wasn’t really in active labor and was sent away. Eight minutes into her drive home, she gave birth on the side of the road. Wells’ sister-in-law told ABC 7 Chicago, “Mercedes begged her,” referring to a nurse. “She really begged her, she said I can feel it, I’m in active labor. She just ignored her.” This week, you may have read the story of Tierra Walker, a mother in Texas who asked for an abortion after her pregnancy had left her “wracked by unexplained seizures” and at high risk for preeclampsia. Doctors at Methodist Hospital Northeast near San Antonio told Walker that under the state’s ban, they could not abort because there was no emergency—her pregnancy was fine, it was only her health in trouble, according to ProPublica, which broke the story. Walker’s son found her dead a month later, killed by preeclampsia. All three of these women have one thing in common: they were Black women seeking reproductive care in America. It is a well-known statistic that maternal mortality rates among Black women are more than double that of any other racial group in the United States. Even outside of giving birth, Black women seeking care for any health issues face an onslaught of discrimination and neglect, rooted in centuries of racism. One would assume that, given the staggering statistics, more would have been done to address the issue. But the stories of Kiara, Mercedes, and Tiara show us that it remains persistent, entrenched, and lethal—even though we know much of what it would take to improve Black maternal health. In the last two years, legislators have introduced the Black Maternal Health Momnibus Package and the “MOMMIES” Act. The Momnibus has seen some success in inspiring similar state laws, like this one in Michigan that recognizes and makes illegal “obstetric racism” and “obstetric violence.” But neither Momnibus nor the MOMMIES Act (which focuses on expanding Medicaid coverage for those who give birth) has received enough support from Congress to be passed. So why aren’t we all doing more? Well, that is the incredible hold that systemic racism has on every aspect of this country. Despite the valiant attempts of some advocates in Congress, most members have not prioritized the issue. And even if they did, the issue requires holistic, aggressive approaches to even slightly move the needle in the right direction: racial bias training, new pathways to increase the number of Black OB-GYNs, accessible midwifery care, updated postpartum care and leave policies, and research funding to understand these disparities and the health conditions (like preeclampsia) that are more prevalent among Black women—and that’s just the beginning. But it’s worth tackling. The business of birthing intersects with nearly every facet of life, from education to economics to infrastructure, and until it is treated as such, we will continue living in a world of too many viral videos, and too little action. AND:
  “The Most Important Event Nobody Knows About”
It happened 48 years ago this week, in HoustonBY EMILY KOH  CORETTA SCOTT KING AND FELLOW DELEGATES AT THE 1977 NATIONAL WOMEN'S CONFERENCE. (VIA GETTY IMAGES) Forty-eight years ago this week, my grandmother, Dr. Hesung Chun Koh, joined thousands of women from around the world in Houston, Texas to make history. They came to the first—and only—National Women’s Conference to adopt a National Plan of Action to improve the status of women in America. The plan delegates ultimately adopted at the conference included recommendations on a range of issues—including child care, education, health, and reproductive freedom—that still impact the lives of women today. The conference brought together women from all walks of life, from leading figures including Coretta Scott King, Maya Angelou, and First Ladies Rosalynn Carter, Betty Ford, and Lady Bird Johnson to working women, “homemakers,” and students. It was a historic milestone in the women’s movement and American history, yet its impact is overlooked. Reflecting on the conference, Gloria Steinem declared it “a constitutional convention for the female half of the country.” And she noted: “It may take the prize as the most important event nobody knows about.” It’s time to change that. The conference was an inflection point: a pinnacle achievement for the women’s movement. It also spurred backlash: Opponents who protested it pushed back on the idea that women deserve a full and equal role in public life. Now, that backlash remains as fierce as ever before, and our movement is at another inflection point. We are rapidly losing decades of progress; America is devolving into a nation where women are second-class citizens, transgender and nonbinary individuals cannot live openly and safely, and men suffer from rigid expectations of masculinity. In two years, the fiftieth anniversary of the 1977 National Women’s Conference will be here—and a chance to revisit the National Plan of Action and co-create a new vision with women from all walks of life, men, and the LGBTQ+ community. My grandmother immigrated to America from Seoul, South Korea, for college, and became one of the first Korean women to earn a doctorate in the United States. Her focus on the future made my life possible and created opportunities for the next generation. The vision she and her fellow delegates set forth in Houston can inform and inspire our work today. The question before us now is the same one they faced then: Will gender equity and equality advance or fall backwards in our lifetime? History calls on us to move forward. Emily Koh served on the White House Gender Policy Council in the Biden-Harris Administration. She is currently working on an initiative to advance gender equity and equality in the U.S. that centers on the 50th anniversary of the 1977 National Women’s Conference.  WEEKEND READING 📚On screen: Parents, it might be time to free yourself from YouTube Kids. (The Verge) On a special kind of wellness: Orgasm. Cult. (TCF Emails) On the state of men: Apparently, some men are searching for the tough love they desire in…the Orthodox church? (Yes, of course “traditional values” are part of the pitch.) (The New York Times)  FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? |
Survivors Rush the NFL
  November 18, 2025 Greetings, Meteor readers, For the first time ever, I am making a pie from scratch for Thanksgiving (#humblebrag), and when I tell you it’s the most important thing in my life right now, I’m not exaggerating. If you’d like to see the end product and watch an hour-by-hour live cam of me breaking down over dough lamination, subscribe to my Pietreon.  In today’s newsletter, we’re looking at something bigger than any Super Bowl commercial you’ve ever seen. Plus, please stop lying to Michelle Obama. Slicing butter, Shannon Melero  WHAT'S GOING ONImpossible to miss: Yesterday, during Monday Night Football—a broadcast that averages 15 million views per game—a video aired as part of a commercial break in the fourth quarter of the Cowboys-Raiders game. It featured several survivors who were abused by Jeffrey Epstein, speaking straight to camera. In the one-minute video, a group of eight women hold up photos of themselves as teenagers and repeat a chilling sentence: “This is me when I met Jeffrey Epstein.” The video was part of a campaign created by World Without Exploitation, an anti-trafficking group that is pleading with Congress to release all of the Epstein files and bring survivors one step closer to some semblance of justice. Today, they were heard: The House voted almost unanimously in favor of passing the Epstein Files Transparency Act, which would compel the Justice Department to make public all files relating to the Epstein investigation. Only one Republican, Rep. Clay Higgins (LA) voted against.  SOME OF THE WOMEN FEATURED IN MONDAY NIGHT'S PSA (SCREENSHOT VIA WORLD WITHOUT EXPLOITATION) “There was so much emotion and excitement, but we all also recognize that this is the beginning of another fight…as this heads to the Senate,” Rachel Foster, World Without Exploitation co-founder and board chair, tells The Meteor. “The survivors have gotten their hopes up many times only to see inaction, and they hope that this time there will be some accountability at the end of a long road.” At press time, senators have not yet committed to even bringing the bill to the floor, although this could change. Much of the debate and chatter over the files has been centered on the high-profile men who could potentially be named as complicit in Epstein’s crimes, and who popped up in the emails released last week (for an exhaustive look at everything and everyone there, don’t miss Sami Sage’s extremely deep dive). But seeing the faces of survivors so visibly has shifted the conversation. Football fans know that the nickname of the Dallas Cowboys is “America’s Team,” and it doesn’t escape notice that it was this game in particular that carried the PSA. The Cowboys organization as a whole is built on a certain interpretation of Americana culture—from its Texan cowboy iconography to its perfect cheerleaders and, of course, to its racist oil baron owner, Jerry Jones. Everything about “America’s Team” is designed to sell an American image that doesn’t exist. What does exist is a country that has turned such a determinedly blind eye to sex crimes against children that there needs to be a years-long national debate over whether it's more important to protect the people who knew about it than it is to stand up for those who were harmed. But Monday night’s PSA and this afternoon’s vote made it abundantly clear: the truth will find us, wherever we are. AND:
 SOME OF THE INDIGENOUS CLIMATE ACTIVISTS WHO GATHERED IN BELEM OVER THE WEEKEND TO PROTEST "FALSE SOLUTIONS" AT COP30 (VIA GETTY IMAGES)
 THE GLOW OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN UNBURDENED BY LIVING IN THE WHITE HOUSE. (VIA GETTY IMAGES)
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"We're Being Robbed of Time"
Two women share what it was like to lose their husbands to "self-deportation."
By Anna Lekas Miller
Ordinarily, Julie is a night owl. She is used to staying up late while her husband, Neftali, whom she affectionately calls “Nef,” goes to bed early to wake up for his construction jobs.
Even these days, “I find myself tiptoeing around at night, trying to be quiet,” she says. “Then I realize he isn’t there.”
Neftali didn’t pass away—in October, he made the difficult decision to “self-deport” to Mexico, leaving Julie, a U.S. citizen and business owner, behind in Newark, New Jersey. And like a growing number of families in Trump’s America, they are now living separated by a border, wondering what they have to do to find their way back to each other.
Julie, now 47, and Neftali, 45, first met through friends in 2008 and started dating in 2011. Back then, she didn’t think it was a big deal that he didn’t have papers. But when Trump first came to office in January 2017, they started getting nervous. The two went to City Hall to tie the knot, just to be safe. “We didn’t want to take any chances,” she says.
But when they went to adjust Neftali’s status, they were slapped with a rude awakening. Even as a U.S. citizen, Julie couldn’t sponsor Neftali—long before they met, he had crossed the border twice, and because of a piece of Clinton-era legislation, this meant that he was ineligible for a green card. At the time, they decided to do what they always do—look over their shoulder and stay away from police. But as Trump’s second crackdown on undocumented immigrants began, and they started to hear more stories of people being detained and even disappearing, Julie and Neftali began to reconsider their lives in the United States.
When the couple finally decided it was time for Neftali to leave the U.S. last month, Julie traveled with him. “I spent five days with him in Mexico, and it was one of the most painful, but exhilarating experiences.” Julie says. The moment there was no longer a threat of Neftali being arrested, she adds, both of them felt immense relief.
It is difficult to know precisely how many people have self-deported from the United States. The Department of Homeland Security claims that 1.6 million individuals have done so using the CBP Home app, but this number has been disputed.
Julie and Neftali represent one of 4.5 million “mixed-status” households across the country. Some of these households include a U.S. citizen married to someone without papers; others include children born in the United States to undocumented parents. All undocumented individuals are vulnerable now, but statistically, it is men who are more frequently targeted during ICE raids; when they are forcibly removed from their families, be it through arrest or self-deportation, their spouses and children are left behind to navigate a cruel system.
“We’re being robbed of time together,” Julie tells me. “When I’m having a bad day or a bad moment, I can’t feel him close like I do when he’s here.”
“We weren’t really living.”
Several states over, in North Carolina, Jenni Rivera, 54, and her husband, Fidel, 48, share a similar story. Jenni is a high school math teacher; Fidel, an electrician. They have two children together and met salsa dancing almost twenty years ago. “It was like the beginning of any relationship—we just couldn’t get enough of each other,” Jenni recalls.
Even though Fidel had been living in the U.S. without papers when they met, Jenni assumed that she could fix it through marriage. But when they went to an attorney, they learned that he would likely be barred from re-entering the country for 10 years if he tried to adjust his status. “At the time, we had an infant,” she tells me. “There was no way that I was going to separate my spouse from his daughter for 10 years.” So Jenni and Fidel accepted that they would continue to live in the shadows.
“We didn’t go anywhere [that] we couldn’t drive [to],” she remembers—boarding a plane and having IDs scrutinized by TSA agents felt too risky. That meant no more trips to Florida to see her family, and no vacations that weren’t within a short drive of their home in North Carolina. In the summer of 2024, Jenni took their daughters—both U.S. citizens by birth—on a road trip across the country, but without Fidel, it felt empty. “I knew he would love the prairie dogs,” she laughs, recalling a stop in South Dakota. “He would be making up stories about them, having ridiculous conversations with them, telling the girls stories from when he used to be a rancher.”
Over the years, it felt like the box they lived in was getting smaller and smaller. Even though they had all of the hallmarks of a good life—stable jobs, a nice house, two wonderful children—the constant threat of deportation made her painfully aware of the fact that she could someday be on her own.
“I could feel the walls closing in on us,” she describes. “We were living, but we weren’t really living.” Still, a lawyer had told Jenni that if Fidel ever got arrested, she could bail him out, and they would eventually have their day in court, where an “extreme hardship” provision in immigration policy might allow Fidel to stay in the United States. That gave her hope, but then, in September of this year, the Board of Immigration Appeals took this option away. “They blocked the one chance I had to fix anything.”
As time wore on, too, things got scarier. Detention centers, like Alligator Alcatraz, started popping up, and Jenni realized that Fidel might not just get deported—he could be detained for months, or disappear entirely. “My husband is such a good human. I did not want him to be in any of these places that we were hearing about,” she says. “I couldn’t live with myself. I wouldn’t be able to face my kids again.”
So, on October 10th, they celebrated their 17th wedding anniversary. They carved pumpkins and ordered pizza with their girls. Then Jenni helped Fidel pack for his flight to Mexico.
“It was really sad at the airport,” she tells me. “But I’ve been staying busy. I think it’s really going to hit in the quiet moments.”
"Our plans look a little different..."
One of many frustrations that Jenni and Julie share is the amount of apathy towards immigrants that they witness among other Americans. “It isn’t just about deportation anymore,” Julie says. “It’s about detention and people disappearing and making money on detained bodies. I’m disappointed more people aren’t outraged.”
“They are destroying families,” Jenni adds. “I can’t understand what these people did that was so bad that you would want to rip the foundation of their life apart.”
Since Fidel left for Mexico, Jenni has been focusing on helping her oldest daughter with college applications. “I know if they want to come to me, they’ll come to me,” she tells me when I ask how they’re doing. “I don’t want to burden them.”
Meanwhile, Julie is continuing to support other mixed-status families through American Families United, an organization that advocates for legislation like the Dignity Act, which would allow undocumented immigrants to regularize their status provided they pass a criminal background check and pay any taxes that they owe. She’s also looking forward to the next time that she can visit Neftali in Mexico—and hopes to eventually move there.
“We talk every night,” she says. Sometimes, they reminisce about the past; mostly, they look forward to the future. While they once thought this would be in the United States, now they know that this will be in Mexico.
“Our plans look a little bit different than how we thought they would look,” Julie says. There are logistical issues. Neftali had been paying for his niece’s education, which is going to be more difficult when he’s earning in pesos instead of dollars. Julie is working on finding a way to pivot her business to something that she can do from Mexico.
“I don’t want any more time to be stolen from us,” she adds. “We’re going to work as hard as we can, so we can have a beautiful future like we always planned.”
“I feel a sense of freedom,” she says. “It’s just not in the United States.”
Anna Lekas Miller is a writer and journalist who covers stories of the ways that conflict and migration shape the lives of people around the world. She is the author of the book Love Across Borders and runs a newsletter by the same name. Follow her on Instagram: @annalekasmiller.