The Role of NIH Grants in Advancing Scientific Equity

Growing up in a small, rural town in the Appalachian Mountains, Mr. Dillard was raised by a single mother. With few resources and limited opportunities, he was preparing to join the Navy after high school. But then came a life-changing moment: he received a Pell Grant, which opened the door for him to attend North Carolina State University.

As part of his financial aid package, he had to complete a work-study job. This requirement turned out to be a stroke of luck—he was placed in a lab run by a structural biologist who gave him the rare opportunity to conduct his own experiments. The experience sparked his interest in research and helped him secure a spot in a post-baccalaureate program at the National Institutes of Health (NIH). There, he published several academic papers, achievements that later paved the way for his acceptance into a Ph.D. program in molecular biophysics at Johns Hopkins University.

His work at Johns Hopkins was recently recognized with a prestigious NIH fellowship designed to support promising doctoral students in scientific research. But that recognition was short-lived. Mr. Dillard’s fellowship was one of thousands abruptly canceled as the NIH scrambled to comply with an executive order from then-President Trump. The order banned all federally funded programs related to diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI), accusing them of relying on race- and sex-based preferences. The administration claimed such initiatives were divisive and contrary to American values like individual achievement and meritocracy.

However, critics argue that the administration’s approach was overly simplistic and destructive. By indiscriminately cutting DEI programs, the government not only eliminated support for Black and Latino scientists but also withdrew resources from individuals like Mr. Dillard—white, from a rural background, and far from what most people would consider “elite.” Ironically, many of the affected scientists came from regions that politically align with Trump, including rural areas that often struggle with access to quality education and resources.

“They don’t realize that they’re hurting their own communities,” Mr. Dillard said. “People on the political right often misunderstand who benefits from DEI programs. They’re actually restricting opportunities for their own children.”

The Growing Divide in Science

These sweeping cancellations could have long-term consequences for America’s scientific future. The cuts come at a time when federal investment in science is already on the decline. The U.S. has also tightened its restrictions on international students—a group that has historically played a vital role in the country’s scientific and academic innovation. Meanwhile, other countries such as China and those in Europe are ramping up investments in research, hoping to attract top talent—including American scientists who have lost their grants or can no longer secure visas.

University research labs are often led by professors who come from relatively privileged backgrounds. These scientists are more likely to have had access to high-quality education, personal mentorship, and family connections in academia. A recent study revealed that individuals in these roles are 25 times more likely to have a parent with a Ph.D. Recognizing this imbalance, the NIH had established diversity grants to bring in underrepresented groups—those whose life paths had been filled with challenges and detours, rather than advantages.

The grant Mr. Dillard received was typical in its inclusivity. It was open to students from a range of disadvantaged backgrounds: those whose parents hadn’t graduated from college, individuals who had been in foster care or experienced homelessness, recipients of federal assistance like Pell Grants or food stamps, people with disabilities, and students from rural communities.

“At Hopkins, I’ve never met anyone who looks or talks like me,” Mr. Dillard said, emphasizing how rare his background is in such academic circles.

Many of these grant recipients hail from communities where scientific research is viewed with suspicion or even hostility. For example, in Mr. Dillard’s hometown of Canton, North Carolina, a local feed store sold out of ivermectin during the COVID-19 pandemic, despite public health warnings that the drug was neither safe nor effective against the virus.

“If we remove these diversity programs,” said Billie Reneker, a developmental biology doctoral student at Princeton, “we’ll end up with a scientific community made up entirely of people from privileged backgrounds—people whose parents were university professors or scientists themselves.”

Reneker, who also lost the same NIH grant as Mr. Dillard, grew up in a small Georgia town. Her father is a construction worker, her mother a school bus driver. She completed her undergraduate studies at Georgia College and State University and worked as a lab technician before starting her Ph.D. After having a child, an unusual event among her peers, she had hoped to continue in academia. But with the grant’s cancellation, she’s now rethinking those plans.

In a recent legal development, a federal judge in Massachusetts ordered the NIH to reinstate about 900 of the terminated grants. However, the ruling focused mainly on projects studying diverse populations—such as HIV prevention among transgender women of color—and did not address grants awarded to scientists like Mr. Dillard, whose research is unrelated to identity politics. He studies cellular “tight junctions,” a fundamental biological mechanism essential for maintaining tissue integrity.

A Setback to Scientific Advancement

The NIH has issued around 1,000 diversity grants annually since the early 1990s. These grants are fiercely competitive, with only the top 20% of applicants receiving them. They’ve supported students at all levels—undergraduates working in labs, doctoral candidates earning modest stipends, and even early-career researchers transitioning into faculty roles.

Gabrielle Merchant, a researcher at Boys Town National Hospital in Omaha, received one such grant—$3.5 million over five years—to study ear infections that lead to hearing loss. Although she initially hesitated to apply through the diversity program, fearing judgment, her mentors encouraged her to do so. She had spent most of her childhood in foster care in Massachusetts. Her mother battled addiction, and her father was absent.

Just a year into her grant, Merchant received a curt email from the NIH stating that the rest of her funding would be cut. The email cited vague objections about “artificial and nonscientific categories” that supposedly hinder scientific progress. “It was a slap in the face,” she said. “I went to Harvard. I worked my whole life to be taken seriously, and just when I thought I had a place in science, it was taken from me.”

The impact of these cuts is broad. At Creighton University, where Merchant also teaches, three lab leaders lost their diversity grants—two of them were deaf or hard of hearing, disqualifying $7 million in total funding. One of them, Dr. Kelsey Anbuhl, was involved in the lawsuit against the NIH and has since had her grant reinstated. But the program that funded it has been discontinued, leaving its long-term future in doubt.

Nicole Gross, another researcher affected by the cuts, had been studying metastatic pancreatic cancer at Johns Hopkins. Raised on a dairy farm in Michigan, she came from a background with limited financial means. A valedictorian in both high school and college, she joined a lab at Hopkins as a technician and eventually earned a spot in the Ph.D. program. Her predoctoral grant was awarded for an innovative experiment involving delicate mouse surgeries. The project was canceled.

Dr. Won Jin Ho, who heads the lab, called Gross a “superstar” and lamented the cancellation as “a huge missed opportunity” for cancer research. Early NIH grants, he noted, often serve as predictors of long-term success, helping young scientists gain the momentum they need to secure future funding.

Ashley Albright, a postdoctoral researcher at UC San Francisco, faced a similar uphill journey. Growing up in a trailer in rural North Carolina, she worked at Outback Steakhouse and had to travel to another school just to take AP Biology. At her first science fair, she presented her project on detergent’s effect on algae blooms using a homemade poster board. “Everyone else had professional posters and university lab experience,” she recalled. “I felt like I didn’t belong.”

She eventually earned a $1 million grant—but lost most of it due to the cuts.

Disillusionment and Determination

For many of these young researchers, the experience has been disheartening. Billie Reneker, still at Princeton, said she’s met with indifference and even scorn when she talks about losing her grant. Some back home say, “There’s always collateral damage,” or suggest she misunderstood the situation.

But Mr. Dillard remains determined. Despite the setbacks, he continues to collect old lab equipment and donates it to his former high school in North Carolina. His goal is to inspire the next generation of scientists from communities like his.

“These are the kids we should be lifting up,” said Greg Tucker, his former teacher. “People talk about making America great again. How do we do that? Through science.”, said. “It comes back to the whole Make America Great thing again. How did we make America great? It was through science.”