Daphna Shohamy , 2025-05-07 08:30:00
I recently sat with a young scientist in my office, tears in her eyes, who was asking for advice: Her grant had been canceled by the government. Years of hard work and training seemed to vanish in an instant. She was — is — an exceptional scientist, having earned one of the most prestigious early-career awards from the National Institutes of Health, an award that reflects a history of federal investment in tomorrow’s science. But with no warning, and for reasons that had nothing to do with her science, it was gone.
Yes, the funding was important for material reasons. But more than that, the funding represented trust in the next generation of scientists. She had devoted her 20s to the pursuit of knowledge, hoping to make life better for all of us. She had seen, in her own family, the devastation of diseases like Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. She believed, like many of us do, in the promise of dedication and hard work. And then, just as that promise was starting to materialize, it was taken away.
I hear these stories every day now. They are the subject of hallway conversations, lab discussions, and personal heartbreaks. This particular grant is just one of hundreds canceled at Columbia University, and thousands more across the country. At the institute I lead, almost all of the canceled grants were ones specifically awarded to support the training of young scientists. Each of these young scientists represents the future of American science: the next innovators, mentors, and developers of lifesaving treatments.
These cancellations were framed as a way to hold universities accountable, to send a message. But let’s be clear: It isn’t institutions that are being punished. It’s the researchers who are the future of science in this country — the ones who spend long hours at lab benches, running experiments, analyzing data. What logic is there in pulling the rug out from under them, especially when their work has nothing to do with the issues at hand?
As a researcher of memory, I know how formative moments like these are. This isn’t just a professional setback; it’s a moment that fundamentally alters how a young person sees the world and their place in it. Psychologists call it the “reminiscence bump” — significant events from early adulthood leave an indelible trace on memory. For young scientists, the impact of this crisis will ripple forward, not only shaping their individual paths but also disrupting the transfer of knowledge from one generation to the next. Some will leave science. Others will leave the country, searching for institutions that still believe in their future.
And this isn’t just about their future. It’s about ours. Thanks to breakthroughs driven by these scientists, Americans today live longer, healthier lives. Treatments for cancer, heart disease, diabetes, and HIV have emerged from the very kind of work these young scientists do, often funded through federal partnerships. These achievements are the difference between life and death for millions of people. And behind every one of them is a young scientist who, like the student in my office, trusted that this country believed in the value of science.
I listen to them now, and I worry for all of us. Some are pursuing scientific opportunities abroad, while others are contemplating leaving behind years of training to start entirely new careers. The young scientists I speak with never expected an easy path — science has always been demanding, even in the best of times. I advise them to keep going, to keep pushing their discoveries forward, to weather the storm. But in the current environment, I can’t blame them for questioning whether it’s hopeless. I understand why they are wondering if there is any future for them in science at all.
This is not how the American story of excellence is supposed to unfold. I know this firsthand: I moved to the United States from Israel in my 20s, drawn to the promise of unparalleled scientific opportunity. As a young scientist, I received an NIH award that gave me the boost I needed to dedicate myself to this work for decades. If I had then lost that funding, I don’t know what I would have done. But I do know that uncertainty, discouragement, and instability will cost the U.S. a generation of scientific talent. And once that momentum is lost, it’s incredibly hard to regain.
If the government’s goal is to strengthen university culture or improve public trust, this is not the way to do it. Undermining the future of American science is not a path to accountability — it’s a path to decline. We should be asking ourselves: What kind of country turns its back on its brightest minds? What happens when those minds stop seeing a future here?
If Americans want to maintain our leadership in science and innovation, we need to restore the pact that has always sustained it: that when students devote their lives to discovery that serves all of us, we will stand by them. Anything less is a betrayal — not only of them, but of the future they are trying to build for all of us.
Daphna Shohamy, Ph.D. is a neuroscientist who studies memory and decision-making. She is director of the Zuckerman Mind Brain Behavior Institute at Columbia University and co-director of Columbia’s Kavli Institute for Brain Science.
