A Generation of Women Held Back

Two years after the fall of Kabul ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌


The Rhymes That Changed Us

11 Women on Their Hip-Hop Click Moment 

By Rebecca Carroll

Hip-hop as a genre is complicated. But at its core, it’s about bearing witness to the world and telling a story directly from that personal vantage point. Whether they be stories of revolutionary rage, tender triumph, sheer joy, or all of the above, the hip-hop canon is undeniably rich. This year marks the 50th anniversary of hip-hop as an art form, and to celebrate, we asked our favorite creatives to share a lyric from one song that impacted them in some profound way.    


It could all be so simple
But you’d rather make it hard
Loving you is like a battle
And we both end up with scars

“Ex-Factor,” Lauryn Hill  

I write to music. I look for songs that open me up to the emotions I’m writing. These lyrics are so deep and gutturally poetic. I put this song on repeat to write the “fourth quarter” of Love and Basketball. I have literally heard it over a thousand times. And it rocks me still. —Gina Prince-Bythewood, filmmaker


And since we all came from a woman
Got our name from a woman and our game from a woman
I wonder why we take from our women
Why we rape our women, do we hate our women?

“Keep Ya Head Up,” Tupac

I spent some time with Pac before this song was written. I was in a black feminist rock group called Subject to Change. He would come to my band rehearsals, and afterwards we would share deep and heavy conversations about the depiction of Black women in Hip Hop. We also talked about the incredible women of The Black Panther Party. My heart expanded when he wrote these powerful lyrics. He was such a beautiful man inside and out. —Cree Summer, actress, singer/songwriter 


You ain’t a bitch or a hoe

“U.N.I.T.Y.,” Queen Latifah 

I've been a hip-hop fan since I was a little girl, but I've always resented how misogynistic the music can be. I didn't have the greatest understanding of why that was when I was small, but I knew that our men were using it to call us mean names and I didn't like that. When I was about nine, Queen Latifah released “U.N.I.T.Y.,” a powerful clapback towards sexism in both hip-hop music and the Black community. I was entranced. Latifah was so strong, so beautiful, and she was standing up for us. It's one of my favorite songs to this day. —Jamilah Lemieux, cultural critic


Hypocrites always wanna play innocent
Always wanna take it to the full-out extent
Always wanna make it seem like good intent
Never wanna face it when it's time for punishment
I know you don't wanna hear my opinion
There come many paths and you must choose one
And if you don't change then the rain soon come
See you might win some, but you just lost one

“Lost Ones,” Lauryn Hill

She is perfect here, and ruthless. —Danyel Smith, author 


I push my seed in her bush for life
It's gonna work because I'm pushing it right
If Mary drops my baby girl tonight
I would name her "Rock n' Roll" 

“The Seed,” The Roots ft. Cody Chestnut 

When my husband Chris (a former DJ, and a pretty serious hip-hop head) and I were first dating, he made a number of playlists for me. Often I’d listen to them on my own, at the gym or whatever, but one time he made a playlist for me that we listened to for the first time together in the car on our way out of town for a weekend getaway. When “The Seed” by The Roots with Cody Chestnut—which I’d never heard before—came on, I was immediately feeling it. But when I heard this hook, I absolutely fell in love with it (and, to be honest, with Chris). I turned to him and said, “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Reader, it is of no small significance that on our first date, before we were even brought menus, I’d told him I wanted to have a baby within the next year or two, and then said, directly, “So what are you looking for in a relationship?” He responded, unrattled, “Why don’t we have dinner first.” He planted the seed in my bush for life 10 months later. We named him Kofi. —Rebecca Carroll, writer and Meteor editor-at-large


Word up, mommy. I love you — Ghostface

I sit and think about
All the times we did without
I always said I wouldn't cry
When I saw tears in your eyes
I understand that daddy's not here now
But some way or somehow, I will always be around — Mary J. Blige

“All That I Got is You,” Ghostface Killah ft. Mary J. Blige

Ghostface is in my top 10, but this song is easily in my top five. When I hear the raw honesty, vulnerability, love, and pain in his voice, I cry thinking about my three sons. Though Pretty Toney’s circumstances and lived experiences are different from my sons’, I listen and imagine how they are processing their dad’s death, his irrevocable absence, in the quiet hours of the night when they’re in their beds.

Do they cry? Are they angry? Will they heal? What will they remember? Am I enough? 

It is excruciating for me to live this life without my husband, my best friend, my greatest love. It pains me to think about my sons navigating this life without their father, the man who loves them most in this world—the person who would have laid down his life for them without thought.

But I hope every day that my sons know I’m doing my best and that I love them with every cell in my body and every beat of my heart. I hope they know I will always, always be around—in this life and the next. And that I will fight beside them to make it through.

Thank you, Ghostface and Mary J., for this prayer. —Kirsten West Savali, VP Content at iOne Digital & cultural critic


Stuntin’ on these bitches out of motherfuckin' spite
Ain't no runnin' up on me, went from nothin' to glory
I ain't tellin' y'all to do it, I'm just tellin' my story
I don't hang with these bitches 'cause these bitches be corny
And I got enough bras, y'all ain't gotta support me

The pressure on your shoulders feel like boulders
When you gotta make sure that everybody straight
Bitches stab you in your back while they smilin' in your face
Talking crazy on your name, trying not to catch a case
I waited my whole life just to shit on ***
Climbed to the top floor, so I can spit on ***

“Get Up 10,” Cardi B

My mom, who has been a preacher in The Bronx my whole life, would regularly tell kids in the congregation, “Great things have come out of The Bronx, so don’t let anyone stop you from doing what you want to do.” She gave me a similar sermon the first time I left home for college, but it was also the first time she went into detail as to all the ways I was about to discover how I was different from the students at my new predominantly white school. When I first heard this song, I felt such a swell of pride—not only because Cardi and I were from the same borough, but because it really captured how I felt about the journey to my own personal “top floor.” Plus it felt good to be honest that I also do certain things purely out of spite for people who told me I’d never get anywhere. —Shannon Melero, writer and Meteor newsletter editor 


Yo, my men and my women,
Don't forget about the dean, Sirat al-Mustaqim

Talking out your neck sayin' you're a Christian
A Muslim sleeping with the gin

“Doo Wop (That Thing),” Lauryn Hill

I remember the first time I heard this song. I was raised Muslim and there weren't any references to my religion in pop culture at the time. I felt so seen to know that an artist, especially Lauryn Hill, knew about Islam. And I was mesmerized by the way she wove it into a song about relationships and self-worth. I listened to the song over and over, and loved hearing it on the radio thinking (and hoping) how many people were noticing those same lyrics. I don't recall the exact moment or song that made me a music head, but putting these words down—this may have been the moment I realized the power of words. —Ayesha Johnson, Meteor director of operations 


Pull up in the monster, automobile gangsta
With a bad bitch that came from Sri Lanka

Nicki Minaj's riff on “Monster

This lyric always hypes me up if I'm feeling nervous about performing as a DJ or in my work as an activist/advocate. As someone who is from that particular place and does a multiplicity of things that fundamentally, to me, are about care, building power, and creating joy in a world that often doesn't care for BIPOC and queer folks, I like the power of the lyric. It feels like she wrote that specifically for me. —Thanu Yakupitiyage (DJ Ushka), DJ & activist 


I put my lifetime in between the paper’s lines

“Quiet Storm,” Mobb Deep 

Prodigy’s vivid, cinematic lyricism struck a deep chord in me as a young poet coming of age in the ‘90s and as fate would have it, I later wound up authoring his memoir My Infamous Life with him. This line from “Quiet Storm” encapsulates so much about the power of storytelling—and reminds me of how, at its best, hip-hop transcends boundaries, unites us as a culture and force to be reckoned with, and has made so many poets' dreams literally come true. —Laura Checkoway, filmmaker 


We used to fuss when the landlord dissed us
No heat, wonder why Christmas missed us
Birthdays was the worst days
Now we sip champagne when we thirsty

“Juicy,” The Notorious B.I.G.

In 1996, I went to college a beleaguered student who had gotten into college by the skin of my teeth. I wasn’t a great student, but I had also felt deeply misunderstood and overlooked in my predominantly white suburban school. My life and Biggie’s life were not the same, at all. But his rags-to-riches anthem spoke to me at 18, a young woman of color with a chip on my shoulder and something to prove. His music had such an impact on me that I wrote my senior thesis on how to be a feminist and rap music fan. (tl;dr: my findings were inconclusive) A problematic fave, no doubt, but his music resonates with me to this day. —Samhita Mukhopadhyay, writer and Meteor editorial director 


Serving Looks While Serving the Lord

Meet Flamy Grant, the drag queen with a chart-topping Christian music album.

BY BAILEY WAYNE HUNDL

Flamy Grant is a “shame-slaying, hip-swaying, singing-songwriting” drag queen from western North Carolina. Her name is a reference to 90s Christian pop star Amy Grant, and her album Bible Belt Baby centers on her journey as a queer person of faith—which, apparently, some people aren’t too happy about.

On July 26, infamous MAGA pastor Sean Feucht angrily tweeted about Grant, lamenting that “these are truly the last days,” and that Christian music from a drag queen was the “end goal” of the progressive Christian movement.

“End goal?” Grant tweeted back. “Baby, we’re just getting started. 😘”

And she meant what she said. Feucht told Grant that “hardly anyone listens or cares what you do,” so she rallied her fans on social media to get her songs on the Christian music charts. And by the next morning, her album had reached No. 1 on iTunes.

As a drag queen/queer Christian myself, I had to sit down with this diva and get into it all: the drama, the trauma, and what she hopes to give any Christian—both queer and the other kind.

God's gorgeous creation. (Photo by Haley Hill)

Bailey Wayne Hundl: Over the last ten days, you have been in People, Rolling Stone, Billboard—when you put out your album, did you ever envision something like this happening?

Flamy Grant: Not to this degree. You know, I saw what happened with Semler, a good friend of mine, and they're the first out queer artist to hit number one on the [Christian] iTunes charts. So I knew that it would be a big deal if a drag queen got on the iTunes charts. But I just thought it would be a cool moment of representation. I would've been happy with that, but like, my gosh, to have a Rolling Stone article that I can now point to… It's crazy. It's massive. 

When you started doing drag and mixing that with Christian music, was that your intention—to get as many eyes on it as possible? 

My intention has been to have a career, so whatever it takes to pay my bills. That's been my intention. 

And that's just the first rule of drag. Get your bag.

(laughs) Exactly. Yes. My second purpose and intention is to— I always tell people that I write for queer folks, specifically queer folks who grew up in evangelicalism or other high-demand religions who will resonate to that story of having to unburden yourself of a whole heap of oppression that was dropped on you. And then finding freedom, finding liberation, finding your sparkle.

You’ve been a worship leader in church since high school. What led you to add drag to that?

Well, the pandemic, honestly. I got super into drag in my mid-thirties. I've always been a late bloomer at everything because, you know, religious trauma. I mean, I didn't even come out fully until I was 28. So it took a few more years to really become ingrained in queer culture. So once I fell in love with drag, I was just all about it.

And the pandemic gave me the time. I live [in] this house with some housemates who are also musicians. So we started a livestream, like many artists did during the pandemic, where we would just sing cover songs every Thursday night to, like, 30 people on Facebook. I started showing up to those in drag and really that's where Flamy developed her chops, if you will.

[One day] my pastor asked me to give the sermon in drag…so I made a TikTok video to practice and gave a little [uplifting message] in 60 seconds while I was painting my face. And I woke up the next morning and it had completely blown up and gone viral. And I was floored at the responses: “This makes me feel so seen.” “It makes me feel so safe.”

And that inspired you to release a Christian album.

First of all, my record feels like a spiritual record, and I come from the evangelical world, so why not call it a Christian record? It's telling a spiritual journey. It's speaking to people who are still in the church. It's speaking to people who have oppressed queer people in the church. That's the audience that it's for, really. So it just made sense to put it in the Christian category.

I struggled with that a lot because the word “Christian” is so loaded in America—because it's been co-opted by evangelicals. I always like to make this point: Evangelicalism is a sect of Christianity. It is not representative of the entire faith. What we understand to be mainstream Christianity in America is not actually, like, historically Christian.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feSr8mlljzU

One thing that queer people of faith get asked a lot is, “How do you reconcile these two disparate worlds?” But I'm curious: Why do you continue to reconcile the two worlds?

Well, I mean, first and foremost, I think the main reason is simple: It's representation. I don't see anybody else who's intentionally trying to be a Christian in the [contemporary Christian music] genre, trying to do that as a drag queen in particular.

And then, because I grew up the way I did, I know what it's like to be a kid who has just nothing to look at that looks or feels like me—to feel like you are such an anomaly and to feel like you are such a broken thing.

So knowing that I can be there, present, especially in such a visible way—because that's the thing about drag: It's a very visibly queer art form. You know, we can see a picture of a drag queen, but then if you get to spend 45 minutes with her, listening to her heart…to hear a full record where I'm talking about this stuff…that's gonna make [an impact].

And a good record, too, if you don't mind me saying.

Thank you! I don't mind you saying it at all. You can say it many times. I'm very proud of it.

Shining brighter than the burning bush. (Photo courtesy of Flamy Grant)

Last question: If you could get just one thing across to the church, what would that be?

My answer might be a little skewed right now, because the past two weeks I've just been inundated and saturated with comments from Christians on the internet who make wild assumptions.

But my encouragement to Christians would be to just listen a little bit. Go listen to three of the songs on my record. And if you don't wanna engage with me, at least take that posture to queer people in your life. And if you don't know any queer people in your life: Yes, you do. You just don't know that they're queer yet.

Just push pause for just a little bit. I know you feel righteously compelled to speak. You feel educated about it because you've read six Bible verses. But there's a whole life story in each of us that I promise if you really hear—it's gonna have an impact on you. And it may not change your mind about homosexuality, but it may give you a window into a life that you would otherwise roll your eyes at or type a vomit emoji at.

Just listen as hard as you can for as long as you can. And see what happens.


The one thing Barbie never was

Plus: A historic Texas abortion suit ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌


Barbie, Child-Free Icon

There's only one thing this doll hasn't done. Why, exactly?

By Scarlett Harris

The opening scene of Barbie, the much-anticipated movie event hitting cinemas tomorrow directed by Greta Gerwig and starring Margot Robbie, is a parody of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. In it, young girls smash their baby dolls in favor of Robbie’s Barbie. Outfitted in the fashion doll’s original get-up of a black-and-white-striped bathing suit, cat-eye sunglasses, and permed bangs, Robbie stands in the center, a glamazon, signaling the dawn of a new woman.

Barbie, the doll, was conceived by Ruth Handler, an executive at Mattel, in the 1950s. After observing her daughter, Barbara, for whom Barbie is named, assigning adult roles to her paper dolls, she came up with the idea—and modeled her creation after a doll based on a German comic strip chronicling the life of a sex worker, Bild Lilli.

Before Barbie hit the market in 1959, dolls for girls were primarily babies meant to teach their owners the caregiving skills they would inevitably need for lives of housewifery and childrearing. But Barbie brought something new: She represented a wide range of fulfilling lifestyles outside of traditional feminine responsibilities. Barbie could be anything she wanted: an astronaut, an artist, even the President. But, in all these years, she’s never wanted to be a mother.

Barbie’s impact has been widely debated, and Barbie leans into this. Is she a feminist icon or nightmare? But one thing cannot be denied: Since her inception, Barbie has been the main character of her own story. She was made to be someone rather than someone’s someone. And in keeping with Barbie tradition, the film’s fantastical Barbieland does away with traditional gender roles. Ken (launched as a boyfriend doll in 1961) lives in service of Barbie, even going so far as to be referenced as “and Ken” in his mugshot—a pure appendage, even if Ken doesn’t have one himself. In a reversal of the biblical creation myth, Ken is spawned from Barbie. “I only exist in the warmth of your gaze,” he says. And, unlike Barbie, he has no occupation—his job is literally described as “beach” in the film.

The message was radical for its time: When the doll debuted, there were few images of female breadwinners. Women couldn’t even get a credit card in their own name without permission from a father or husband until 1974, almost twenty years after Barbie had enjoyed financial independence and career achievement in fields such as modeling (her first occupation), nursing (1961), space and aeronautics (1965 and 1966, respectively), surgery (1973) and Olympic gymnastics (1974).

All those jobs become even more impressive when you consider that, canonically, Barbie is 19 years old. Maria Teresa Hart, the author of the book Doll, points out that her age at the time of her introduction would have put her on the precipice of two possible paths: marriage and babies or continuing her current lifestyle as a Career Girl with a bevy of friends. “That ambiguity is part of the attraction: she’s at this tipping point where she could make a variety of choices,” says Hart. “Every avenue is open to her.”

GETTY IMAGES
MARGOT ROBBIE AT A PRESS JUNKET FOR THE BARBIE MOVIE (PHOTO BY RODIN ECKENROTH/FILMMAGIC)

And yet Barbie never travels down the avenue of parenthood, unless you count the amount of time she spent caring for her sisters, Stacey and Chelsea. (If, during your childhood, Barbie’s youngest sister was named Kelly: congratulations, you’re officially old and missed Kelly’s rebrand as Chelsea in 2011.) Barbie’s childlessness was intentional: Handler wanted to show her daughter that fulfillment can exist outside of the home. In the film, her open-plan, multi-story dream house is a dwelling for one—no child safety, no doors. “It’s very definitely a house for a single woman,” production designer Sarah Greenwood told Architectural Digest.

Barbie’s other accessories weren’t made with would-be kids in mind, either—the Barbie Porsche convertible I had as a child definitely didn’t have a car seat, and the only baby in sight belonged to the much-maligned Midge, a visibly pregnant doll who was discontinued as Barbie’s bestie in 1967, only to reappear later as Barbie’s married mother friend sans baby bump (though she still angered conservative parents who thought she wasn’t coded strongly enough as a married woman). Documentary filmmaker Therese Schechter, who most recently directed the child-free doco My So-Called Selfish Life, expresses incredulity about Midge’s predicament. “No one has children in that world; why is Midge going to have a baby?”

For some, Barbie might still just be a silly doll with an eternally perky and unattainable body. But, as Willa Paskin wrote, Barbie being child-free “remains one of the most radical things about her.” And in a country hell-bent on forcing more and more people to give birth, her childlessness takes on a new and refreshing meaning. As Robbie noted in Vogue, Barbie doesn’t have reproductive organs—which is probably why the elected representatives of Barbieland haven’t tried to police what she does in the Dreamhouse bedroom.

Scarlett Harris is a culture critic and author of the book A Diva Was a Female Version of a Wrestler: An Abbreviated Herstory of World Wrestling Entertainment. You can follow her on Twitter @ScarlettEHarris and read her previously published work at her website, The Scarlett Woman.


What the Hollywood strike means for labor

Plus: a devastating report from UN Women ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌


A historic day for the pill

"It's like Christmas!" ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌


The cops are sliding into your DMs

This Nebraska abortion case is a warning ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌


Are legacy admissions inherently racist?

Plus: the deadliest year for Palestinians yet ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌


SCOTUS v. Affirmative Action