The Trump administration has followed through on its promise to gut the Head Start program. Since , it has slashed 60 percent of the Office of Head Start staff, closed half of the regional offices where staff with local knowledge worked, delayed funding necessary for payroll and rent, and undermined the program’s mission through its ban on anything it views as promoting diversity, equity, inclusion, and/or accessibility, or “DEIA.”

Launched in 1965, Head Start was an outgrowth of the Civil Rights Movement and its promise of racial and economic justice, particularly for Black women and children in the United States. For 60 years, Head Start has transformed the lives of more than 40 million families by preparing children for school, supporting parents -- particularly mothers -- with access to childcare, and strengthening health, education, and economic outcomes for children under five.

The Trump administration's efforts to shutter Head Start have forcibly closed some programs temporarily and have made it virtually impossible for programs to meet the needs of the children and families that rely on them. The result is chaos, confusion, and uncertainty for working families seeking childcare. This is but one of the administration’s latest attacks on children, women, and especially Black women and other women of color. Like the attacks on other safety net programs, like food stamps and Medicaid, attacks on Head Start seek to deprive women of the means to be financially independent. Without Head Start, many women would not be able to work or go to school.

The ACLU Women’s Rights Project, the ACLU of Washington, the ACLU of Illinois, the Impact Fund, filed a lawsuit on behalf of Parent Voices Oakland and Family Forward Oregon, and the Head Start Association of Washington state, Illinois, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin. The lawsuit asks the court to order the administration to stop the gutting of Head Start and to block the enforcement of its unconstitutional ban on programs that promote diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility.

Parents on the frontlines of the fight to protect Head Start have shared how they have already been affected by office closures, staff layoffs, and other attempts to undermine Head Start programming.

Credit: Desiree Guerra

My two-year-old son is enrolled in an Early Head Start program, and my three-year-old daughter is planning to begin Head Start this September. Without Head Start, I would not be able to afford the rising cost of childcare in Oregon.

I have seen firsthand how Head Start has changed my children’s lives. Since joining Head Start, my son has improved his speech and motor skills, become more confident, and developed greater empathy for others. My daughter became more outgoing and confident through her experience with Head Start and had the opportunity to develop socially with other children her own age. Both children are proudly Black, Chilean, and white, and benefit from Head Start’s diverse environment, where they are able to learn about and are taught to celebrate their heritage and identity.

Head Start provides my son with healthy foods that he does not have access to at home due to cost. It also empowers me to be a better mother. I enrolled in Head Start’s parenting classes, which taught me to better understand the needs of my children and helped me to reparent myself. Today, because of Head Start, I can attend college as a full-time student, where I am studying social work. My ultimate goal is to obtain a master’s degree and to open a shelter for domestic violence survivors and their children. As a survivor, I want to help other families like mine and be part of the change I believe in. I can’t stay in college and achieve my dreams without the support the Head Start program provides. In fighting for Head Start, my family is not asking for handouts—we’re asking for a fair shot. It gives kids a chance to succeed and parents the support they need to keep going. These attacks on Head Start send the message that our children’s futures don’t matter, but they do. I won’t stop speaking up until they’re heard.

Credit: Osbornique Williams

The Head Start teachers have been incredibly helpful in supporting my son learn how to better communicate. They take the time to make him feel heard and understood. With three kids, our household is very busy. Head Start provides a space for my son that is just for him—a setting where he gets to learn, interact, and play with other kids his own age.

My son is Black and multi-racial. His identity is celebrated in Head Start, where the students and staff also share his diverse background. I’m very fearful of my son losing this.

Because we cannot afford to pay for pre-school, without Head Start, my three-year-old son would lose access to Education. Since he is behind his peers in speech and language, losing the support of Head Start could undo the progress he has made and set him back even more.

Access to Head Start means that I am able to go to my doctor’s appointments, go grocery shopping, prepare meals, and otherwise take care of my family. Because of Head Start, I am able to be more focused and present with my other children, including going to my eight-year-old son’s sports practices and games to support and spend time with him. It takes a village to raise children, and Head Start is a part of that village.

%3Ciframe%20class%3D%22media-youtube-player%22%20width%3D%22580%22%20height%3D%22324%22%20title%3D%22Celeb%20Dads%20Share%20Mahmoud%20Khalil%E2%80%99s%20Letter%20to%20His%20Newborn%20Son%22%20src%3D%22https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube-nocookie.com%2Fembed%2FWsRSLHgZX0o%3Fwmode%3Dopaque%26amp%3Bcontrols%3D1%26amp%3Bmodestbranding%3D1%26amp%3Brel%3D0%26amp%3Bshowinfo%3D0%26amp%3Bcolor%3Dwhite%26autoplay%3D1%26version%3D3%26playsinline%3D1%22%20name%3D%22Celeb%20Dads%20Share%20Mahmoud%20Khalil%E2%80%99s%20Letter%20to%20His%20Newborn%20Son%22%20frameborder%3D%220%22%20allowfullscreen%3D%22%22%20id%3D%22Celeb%20Dads%20Share%20Mahmoud%20Khalil%E2%80%99s%20Letter%20to%20His%20Newborn%20Son%22%20allow%3D%22autoplay%22%3EVideo%20of%20Celeb%20Dads%20Share%20Mahmoud%20Khalil%E2%80%99s%20Letter%20to%20His%20Newborn%20Son%3C%2Fiframe%3E

This embed will serve content from youtube-nocookie.com. Privacy info.

Activist Mahmoud Khalil was illegally arrested and detained in March for being an outspoken advocate for Palestinian rights at Columbia University. He has been held at a detention facility in Louisiana thousands of miles away from his family for over three months now. While detained, his wife Dr. Noor Abdalla gave birth to the couple’s first child. Khalil was only briefly able to meet and hold his son last month.

On June 11, a judge granted Mahmoud Khalil’s request for a preliminary injunction, after concluding that he would continue to suffer irreparable harm if he remains detained.

Below, read Khalil’s letter to his son, which describes the pain and grief he has experienced being separated from his family:

Yaba Deen, it has been two weeks since you were born, and these are my first words to you.

In the early hours of 21 April, I waited on the other end of a phone as your mother labored to bring you into this world. I listened to her pained breaths and tried to speak comforting words into her ear over the crackling line. During your first moments, I buried my face in my arms and kept my voice low so that the 70 other men sleeping in this concrete room would not see my cloudy eyes or hear my voice catch. I feel suffocated by my rage and the cruelty of a system that deprived your mother and me of sharing this experience. Why do faceless politicians have the power to strip human beings of their divine moments?

Since that morning, I have come to recognize the look in the eyes of every father in this detention center. I sit here contemplating the immensity of your birth and wonder how many more firsts will be sacrificed to the whims of the US government, which denied me even the chance of furlough to attend your birth. How is it that the same politicians who preach “family values” are the ones tearing families apart?

Deen, my heart aches that I could not hold you in my arms and hear your first cry, that I could not unfurl your clenched fists or change your first diaper. I am sorry that I was not there to hold your mother’s hand or to recite the adhan, or call to prayer, in your ear. But my absence is not unique. Like other Palestinian fathers, I was separated from you by racist regimes and distant prisons. In Palestine, this pain is part of daily life. Babies are born every day without their fathers – not because their fathers chose to leave, but because they are taken by war, by bombs, by prison cells and by the cold machinery of occupation. The grief your mother and I feel is but one drop in a sea of sorrow that Palestinian families have drowned in for generations.

Deen, it was not a gap in the law that made me a political prisoner in Louisiana. It was my firm belief that our people deserve to be free, that their lives are worth more than the televised massacre we are witnessing in Gaza, and that the displacement that began in 1948 and culminated in the current genocide must finally end. This mere belief is what made the state scramble to detain me. No matter where I am when you read this – whether I’m in this country or another – I want to impress upon you one lesson:

The struggle for Palestinian liberation is not a burden; it is a duty and an honor we carry with pride. So at every turning point in my life, you will find me choosing Palestine. Palestine over ease. Palestine over comfort. Palestine over self. This struggle is sweeter than a life without dignity. The tyrants want us to submit, to obey, to be perfect victims. But we are free, and we will remain free. I hope you feel this as deeply as I do.

Deen, as a Palestinian refugee, I inherited a kind of exile that followed me to every border, every airport, every form. Borders mean something to me that they may not mean to you. Each crossing required me to prove my docility, my identity and my very right to exist. You were born an American citizen. You may never feel that weight. You may never have to translate your humanity through paperwork, countless visa applications and interview appointments. I hope you use this not to separate yourself from others, but to uplift those who live under the same circumstances that once constrained me. But I won’t pretend this citizenship protects you. Not completely. Not when you have my name. Not when those in power still see our people as threats.

One day, you might ask why people are punished for standing up for Palestine, why truth and compassion feel dangerous to power. These are hard questions, but I hope our story shows you this: the world needs more courage, not less. It needs people who choose justice over convenience.

It is nothing but the dehumanization and racist disregard for Palestinians that renders their lives forgettable and that dares describe Palestinian fathers who love their sons as “terrorists”. Perhaps that is why the world so quickly forgot the killing of four-month-old Iman Hijjo in Gaza in 2001. Why did Ahmed Abu Artema’s beloved son Abdullah die hungry for bread? Who recalls the children lost in the Flour Massacre? Where is the justice for the fathers in the West Bank who carefully dress their sons for prison? Why does liberty not visit the bodies of Palestinian children whose limbs are missing, whose ribs are exposed under thin skin and who are born lovingly only to die under an Israeli bomb?

On this first Mother’s Day for Noor, I dream of a world where all families are reunited to celebrate the incredible women in their lives. Many years ago, on one of our very first dates, I had asked your mother what she would change in the world if she could. Her simple response was: “I just want people to be nicer to each other.” Deen, you were born to a mother as gentle as she is fierce. I pray that you live in a world shaped by that kindness. I hope, with all my heart, that you will not witness the oppression that I’ve known. I hope that you never need to chant for Palestine, because it has long been free with dignity and prosperity for all. Should that day come, know that it was ushered in through the courage of those who came before you. I am certain that in this new world, you and I will visit Tiberias together, drink from the river and marvel at the sea. There, in a free and just Palestine, you will see the fruits of our struggle.

Deen, my love for you is deeper than anything I have ever known. Loving you is not separate from the struggle for liberation. It is liberation itself. I fight for you, and for every Palestinian child whose life deserves safety, tenderness and freedom. I hope one day you will stand tall knowing your father was not absent out of apathy, but out of conviction. And I will spend my life making up for the moments we lost – starting with this one, writing to you with all the love in my heart.