I’m taking Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. to court.
I don’t want to do it. But I have to do it — not for myself, but to protect science.
I was raised in a home where fairness wasn’t just a value — it was a calling. Many of my family members were proud union nurses, fiercely committed to serving vulnerable patients. I carried those lessons into my career. After college, I served in AmeriCorps at an LGBTQ+ health center in New York City, where I provided HIV counseling, trained physicians, and supported LGBTQ+ teen mothers as a birth doula.
Today, I’m a Harvard-trained epidemiologist. Over the past decade, I’ve mentored more than 75 emerging health leaders and authored more than 100 peer-reviewed publications. I rank as the 51st most highly funded NIH investigator compared with the nearly 500 faculty across Harvard University’s 13 schools. My research projects took years to develop, underwent rigorous peer review, and received top scores for scientific merit and public health relevance.
Perhaps most importantly, my team built one of the nation’s largest federally funded LGBTQ+ health research programs, and less than a year ago, we launched the LGBTQ Health Center of Excellence — one of the few of its kind worldwide and one of my long-held career goals. It should be a lasting academic center, or should have been.
I say these things not to brag, though I am proud of what I’ve achieved. It’s to demonstrate that my work is deeply rooted in scientific principles and has the respect of peers (and experienced scientists) from a wide range of backgrounds.
That’s why what happened next is so alarming — not just for me but for every American who relies on evidence-based health care.
It had been nearly two years since Project 2025 outlined how the next administration could reshape government by attacking science — labeling fields like LGBTQ+ health, vaccine, and climate research as “junk.” Even poring over that plan, I stayed focused, believing my current NIH grants were secure. But weeks into the new administration, grant terminations began — starting with those of us leading LGBTQ+ health research. I spoke out, contacted elected officials, and shared documentation with journalists. Days later, my first grants were terminated, too. Coincidence? Maybe. But the message was clear.
By mid-March, NIH had terminated all my research grants. No allegations of misconduct. No scientific critiques. The only stated reason? My work “no longer effectuates agency priorities.” At the time, I led three grants and co-led two others. Just counting the three grants I led, approximately $16 million was destroyed. Of this, about $6 million was cut off midstream.
The consequences have been devastating. I lost my salary support, brilliant team members lost their livelihoods, and I was forced to let go of the center’s newly hired executive director. But most devastating of all, the people who mattered most — patients, families, and communities who trusted us with their stories — were abandoned.
One of the defunded studies revealed that lesbians face nearly three times the risk of stillbirth compared with straight women — a stark disparity driven by discrimination. Now, that finding may never be published. Another defunded study quantified the impact of anti-LGBTQ+ laws on depression, anxiety, and suicide among LGBTQ+ youth and their straight, cisgender peers. Both projects had the potential to save lives — and both were abruptly shut down.
All of these grant terminations were not an accident. It was a targeted attack. That’s why I have joined a lawsuit against Kennedy, HHS, and NIH.
My fellow plaintiffs include three other researchers and three organizations, including the American Public Health Association. We contend that the terminations are part of a reckless and illegal purge. As plaintiffs, we argue that these actions, beyond being procedurally improper, violate congressional mandates, the NIH’s strategic plan to advance equitable biomedical research, and the Constitution. Our case will be heard in federal district court in Massachusetts, and our preliminary injunction hearing is set for May 22.
Deciding to sue the government wasn’t easy. I’ve built my career with the help of institutions like the NIH, and I never imagined I’d end up in court fighting for the right to do my job — to serve the public through science. But after losing every one of my grants — and seeing the human cost to my team, patients, and society — I knew silence was not an option. I hope this lawsuit leads to a court order to halt grant terminations, reinstate those grants, and stop directives at odds with congressional mandates.
Others felt the same urgency. But not everyone can speak out. Some researchers fear professional retaliation or have decided the risk is too great for their families. I feel that risk, too. I’ve faced online harassment filled with hate and fear as well as disturbing threats sent to my doorstep. This has forced me to tighten security around my office and family. Still, I know that the deeper danger lies in doing nothing.
Make no mistake: This fight is not just about halting unlawful directives and restoring terminated grants. It’s about whether science can still serve the public good, or whether it will become subject to politics, fear, and erasure. It’s about whether democratic values like free inquiry and equal protection still mean anything.
The NIH has asked us to conduct an “orderly closure” of our research. It sounds clinical. It feels like betrayal. We are being told to dismantle years of work, pack away data we may never be able to collect again, and walk away from questions that won’t stop mattering.
But I can’t and won’t walk away.
I’m no longer focused solely on taking on more leadership roles within academia. I feel called to serve on a larger scale — to help institutions like NIH restore trust and protect public health. That calling led me to run for local office this month — and win — because we all must rethink how and where we lead in the face of rising authoritarianism.
At the same time, I remain deeply committed to rebuilding all that’s been lost in my research and cementing my center’s foundation at Harvard, ensuring this vital work continues. I’m proud to be a Harvard faculty member, especially now that the University has filed its own lawsuit to defend scientific freedom. This fight isn’t just Harvard’s — I call on other universities, hospitals, professional societies, and patients to speak out.
Philanthropy must step in to protect science. But in the long run, it’s not enough — we must show the American people why sustained public investment in biomedical research is vital to saving lives, fueling innovation, and ensuring the U.S. remains a global leader in health and science.
We all have a choice to make. We can stay quiet and watch science be gutted. Or we can speak up—for truth, our children’s future, and democracy.
I choose to fight. And I hope others will join me.
Brittany Charlton is an associate professor at Harvard Medical School and the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health and founding director of the LGBTQ Health Center of Excellence.
