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The Erasure of a Scholar's LegacyWhen Donald Trump returned to office in January last year, one of his first acts was to sign an executive order intended to cut federal funding for any school teaching what the administration defined as "critical race theory." A raft of other orders mandated the termination of DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) personnel, offices and training across the federal government. Federal agencies began flagging hundreds of words to avoid or eliminate, including "intersectional" and "intersectionality." All of which has amounted to 40 years of Kimberlé Crenshaw's work being literally and deliberately erased.The Architect of IntersectionalityFor decades, the 66-year-old legal scholar has been naming things that powerful people would prefer remain unnamed. In 1989, she coined the term intersectionality to describe the way race and gender overlap to shape lived experience, often in ways the law fails to recognize. Around the same time, she was one of a group of African American scholars who created the framework that came to be known as "critical race theory," which sought to examine how racism is embedded in legal systems rather than simply enacted through individual prejudice. Now, Crenshaw's ideas are being contested like never before.The Political Weaponization of Academic Concepts"Unfortunately, I did see this coming," she tells me over a video call from the California offices of the African American Policy Forum, the thinktank she co-founded. We are calling to discuss Crenshaw's new memoir, Backtalker, but the conversation soon shifts. "The fact that they are targeting this … it is because they understand the power of these ideas, the power of this history." Behind her, posters reading "History repeats when we forget" and "The freedom to learn is the freedom to live" hang alongside shelves of critical race theory texts and Black history books the likes of which have, in some states, become politically radioactive.The Cultural War Over "Woke" IdeologyWhat makes the intensity of this backlash striking is how recently Crenshaw's work entered mainstream public consciousness. Until a few years ago, ideas such as intersectionality and critical race theory remained largely within the domain of legal scholarship, academic debate and activist vernacular. It wasn't until 2020, when a loose coalition of conservative activists, media figures and politicians began elevating them as political flashpoints, that they were thrust into the centre of the culture wars. In the ensuing five years, this snowballed into all-out war against "woke," with critical race theory as its ultimate bogeyman. It became a byword for liberal overreach, a catch-all for everything that was wrong with the US in the eyes of the conservative right.The Fascist Narrative and American Democracy"Trump jumped on a bandwagon started by a few rightwing propagandists, claiming that intersectionality and critical race theory were anti-white, anti-male and anti-American," she says. "Fox News amplified this, and within weeks, these ideas were mentioned more than they had been in the previous four decades."Crenshaw, true to form, is not shy about naming what she considers to be the problem. "One of the keys of fascism is control of the nation's narrative," she says. "That, alongside creating a group of people that are legitimate targets of exclusion – an us and them – allows for the autocrat to be seen as the embodiment of the essential nation. And in the United States, we come prefabricated for that dimension of fascism to set into our politics."Why is it that so many white Americans are willing to continue to vote for a president that is demolishing democracy, so long as he's willing to affirm them effectively as true Americans?" she continues. "Because of the idea that those over there are different from us. They don't really belong. That is the way fascism works."From Childhood Inequality to Intellectual FrameworkIt is clearly in Crenshaw's DNA to confront injustice, as is evidenced in Backtalker, which chronicles her journey from witnessing inequality as a child to challenging entrenched power structures in law, academia and politics. "Being a backtalker is like being lactose intolerant," she writes. "There is BS that I cannot digest. To accept anything close to second-class status as the price of belonging sickens me."Born in Ohio in 1959, on the verge of the civil rights movement, Crenshaw grew up at a time of expanding yet restricted possibilities. She watched that tension unfolding in real time, in the speeches of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr on television, and in discussions around the kitchen table, where her parents, dedicated anti-racist activists, treated politics as a daily practice. "As a Black child, I had early inklings that differences would matter in my life, even if I couldn't name them," she says.The Making of an Intersectional ConsciousnessOne such inkling came when her family moved to the predominantly white suburb of Canton, Ohio. "When we arrived, there were children playing everywhere," she remembers. "I was excited." But almost overnight, the children vanished. Neighbours treated the new family as intruders and shouted slurs when they walked by; an estate agent knocked on their door urging a quick sale.Perhaps the most formative incident came when she was five years old, and was the only girl in her all-white class who was not given the opportunity to play the princess, Thorn Rosa, in a school performance. "Thorn Rosa marks the stirring of my nascent awareness that my colour and my girlness were linked," she writes."You push that doubt down until something happens that forces it open," she tells me. "You realize that how others see you will shape your experiences. And that realization is traumatic."The Trauma of Loss and the Birth of ActivismWhat mattered, she says, was that those moments were not dismissed. "I credit my parents for taking them seriously," she says. "They refused to minimize what I experienced, even as a young child. That affirmation was freeing, it told me my feelings were grounded in reality and gave me permission to understand them."It was tragedy that would, in many ways, become the making of the young Crenshaw. She was eight years old when Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated in 1968 – a before-and-after moment in her life. The following day, young Black activists in Canton directed schoolchildren to the local church for a hastily organized memorial service. Crowded into pews, everyone was silent when the activists asked if anyone had anything to say about Dr. King. No one moved. It was Crenshaw who broke the silence, exhorting the crowd not to let his death be the end of the freedom struggle. "We pick up where he left off," she recalls saying. "We continue to walk in his footsteps. They can't kill his dream for us – not if we won't let them."Further devastation followed. A year later, her father, an apparently healthy 34-year-old, died suddenly, leaving the family reeling. Not long after, her older brother Mantel was shot and killed while at university. The circumstances were never fully explained, and justice never came. She writes of that period with unflinching candor: "Happiness was dead." These losses left an indelible mark, sharpening her awareness of the unevenness of justice in a world already structured by racial and social inequities.The Complexity of Solidarity and the Limits of "We"Crenshaw arrived at Cornell University in 1978, to a campus shaped by the afterlives of civil rights struggle and Black student organizing. It was there that she entered into a relationship with a fellow student that became physically abusive. In one incident, he beat her and tried to throw her from the window of her 10th-floor dorm room."We were eye-to-eye when he threw the first punch," she writes in Backtalker. "Pressed out of denial, I woke to the fact that he was going to beat the daylights out of me."What followed unsettled her understanding of community more profoundly than the violence itself. Rather than rallying around her, many of her peers – fellow Black students and friends – closed ranks around him. To involve authorities, they told her, would be to expose a Black man to a system already predisposed against him. The implication was that her suffering as a woman should be subordinated to a broader racial solidarity."The way that sexual violence against Black women has long been justified – framing us as unlikely ever to say no to any sexual encounter – you can know this historically, but then when you experience it interpersonally, you have to grapple with the fact that more people in your own community will come to the defense of your abuser than you," she says. "It really presses the question of 'what is solidarity supposed to look like?' she continues. "What does it mean to defend the 'we', when that 'we' often excludes me?"The Birth of Intersectionality in Legal TheoryCrenshaw returns to that question – of the instability of "we"– again and again. From arriving at Harvard Law School and being called the N-word on her first day, to being directed to enter the university's exclusive Fly Club through the back door because she was a woman – the Black male friends she was with, rather than challenge the slight, urged her not to make a scene. What she would later call "asymmetrical solidarities" revealed themselves in practice: loyalty expected but not returned. "I cannot bring myself to ride or die for a politics that won't ride or die for me," she writes of the incident.In legal terms, the problem came into focus when Crenshaw came across a 1976 case in which an African American woman was denied the ability to bring a discrimination claim against her employer on the grounds that the law could recognize race or gender, but not both at once. Her experience – specifically of being discriminated against as a Black woman – fell through the cracks and the case was thrown out of court. In 1989, Crenshaw identified this form of compound discrimination and gave it a name: intersectionality. Around the same time, she was part of a group of scholars developing what would become critical race theory, a broader attempt to understand how racism is a structural part of the legal system.The Promise and Limits of Political RepresentationIt is a lesson that would resurface, years later, in a very different arena. When Barack Obama was elected president in 2008, the language of "we" returned with renewed force – this time, as a promise. For many, Obama's election felt like a rupture with the past. But for Crenshaw, it quickly raised a familiar question."I didn't think it would happen in my lifetime," she says, of that initial hope after Obama's victory. "It felt like a miracle. My mother and I celebrated together on the phone – I was dancing on a table at Stanford and she was doing the same in her retirement facility. For her especially, it was a dream come true."But symbolism, Crenshaw suggests, has limits, particularly when it is used as a substitute for structural change. She found his reticence to address racial injustice head-on frustrating. Very quickly, the terms of Obama's political viability became clear."He had been framed as post-racial, beyond these issues," she says. "And that framing became a constraint on what he could say and how directly he could address racial injustice."Even when Obama did address racial inequality more explicitly in his second term – most notably after the killing of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin in 2012 – the focus, she felt, remained narrow, failing to address the systemic nature of the problem.The Future of Racial Justice in AmericaAs Crenshaw reflects on her life's work and the current political climate, she remains committed to the struggle for racial justice, even as her ideas face unprecedented opposition. "If speaking out means being at odds with people I love, well, so be it," she writes. "I still love them. I hope they still love me."Looking ahead, Crenshaw sees both challenges and opportunities in the fight for racial justice. The backlash against critical race theory and intersectionality, she argues, is a sign of the power these ideas hold to transform American society. "There's a long history in this country of using the threat of violence to keep people under heel," she observes. "But the resistance has always been there too, and it's getting stronger."As America continues to grapple with its racial legacy, Crenshaw's work – and the concept of intersectionality she pioneered – offers a framework for understanding the complex ways race, gender, and other identities intersect to shape experiences of discrimination and privilege. Whether this framework will survive the current political assault remains to be seen, but Crenshaw's decades of scholarship and activism have already left an indelible mark on American discourse and law.

The Human Cost of the Chinese Distant Water Fleet The recent tragedy aboard the Tai Xiang 5 serves as a stark indictment of labor practices within the global seafood industry. Abdul, a survivor of the voyage, has revealed harrowing details about a state-owned Chinese vessel where three crew members—two Filipinos and one Indonesian—died from undiagnosed illnesses. This incident, verified by the Environmental Justice Foundation (EJF), highlights a potential systemic failure in the management of the Chinese distant water fleet, raising serious questions about corporate accountability and worker safety. Systemic Neglect on the Tai Xiang 5 The conditions described by Abdul paint a picture of extreme deprivation. Crew members were subjected to 16-hour workdays with no reprieve, despite suffering from debilitating symptoms including swollen limbs, severe weakness, and shortness of breath. The diet was critically inadequate, consisting of stale "bait" fish and a lack of vegetables, while the water supply was often contaminated or too salty due to equipment failure. Medical Neglect: Sick crew members were told they were "overreacting" and denied proper medical care. Punishment for Illness: Isko, the first to die, was ostracized and forced to sleep on deck after challenging the captain's orders. Final Rites: Crew members were reportedly forced to construct a makeshift coffin and store the body in the vessel's freezer. The Economics of Survival The financial reality for these workers was equally brutal. Crew members earned only 4.6m Indonesian rupiah (approximately £198) per month. When Abdul finally disembarked in Singapore, he was too weak to walk and required a wheelchair. His recovery took two to three months, costing him an additional 6.5m rupiah in hospital fees, leaving him with a net salary of just 11.9m rupiah for eight months at sea. State-Owned Enterprise Accountability The vessel, owned by Shandong Zhonglu Oceanic Fisheries, a large state-owned enterprise, represents a significant challenge for international regulators. Steve Trent, CEO of the EJF, described the situation as an "inexcusable case of extreme neglect." This case underscores the difficulty of monitoring state-owned fleets, which often operate with less transparency than private entities, yet dominate the global tuna market. The incident suggests that the "Blue Revolution" in sustainable fishing is failing to protect the most vulnerable link in the supply chain: the migrant worker. Future Implications for Global Seafood Sourcing This tragedy is likely to trigger increased scrutiny on the sourcing of tuna and other seafood products from Chinese state-owned fleets. As consumers and retailers demand greater transparency, the Tai Xiang 5 case may serve as a catalyst for stricter international regulations regarding medical care, nutrition, and rest periods for seafarers. It also highlights the urgent need for independent auditing mechanisms that can penetrate the opaque operations of distant water fishing vessels.

A Widow's Journey Through Grief I am alive. My husband, Paul Auster, is dead. He died on 30 April 2024, at 6.58pm here in the Brooklyn house where I am now writing these words. He was diagnosed with non-small cell lung cancer in January 2023. But before that, in early November 2022, Paul had a CT scan in the emergency room at Mount Sinai West hospital. The radiologist spotted a mass in his right lung and noted it might be cancer. We all die, but only some of us know our lives could end soon. Although I had often thought about what it would mean to live without Paul, I began to imagine it more often. I imagined walking around the house alone. I imagined grieving. If your father dies, I said to our daughter, Sophie, I will lose my every day. The Final Days with Paul Auster What I didn't imagine is that after Paul's death, time would be deranged beyond recognition. I remember and then forget what day it is. I remember it's the month of May and then forget. The hours skip ahead but minutes often move slowly. I want to root my body in calendar and clock, those reliable, if ultimately fictional, markers of time, but I'm not making sense of their regular beats. I'm afraid if I don't keep checking date, day and hour, I will lose my orientation, stumble on the stairs, and fall or float away ungrounded. In the days that immediately followed Paul's small graveside funeral, on 3 May at Green-Wood Cemetery, a compulsion to sort, throw and scrub came over me. When I'm distressed or anxious, I often clean. I get my own little world into shiny order. I exercise some control by getting rid of dust and fluff and blur. I was not going to be one of those widows who leaves her husband's clothes in the closet for months or even years. A dead man doesn't need shirts, keys, shaving cream. A dead man can't be sick. He doesn't take pills. The Physical Toll of Loss I have trouble breathing. My heart beats too fast, not all the time, in bursts. I have pains between my ribs, sometimes intense. My neck and head ache. My nerves buzz and hum, and electricity shoots up and down my limbs. I sleep by pill. I pick up a paper or an object that needs attention and then see another that calls to me. I put down the first thing only to spot it hours later, an inanimate victim of the unfinished gesture. A pile of unopened condolence letters and cards lie on the red table in the dining room. I cannot bear to open them. Not today. I will wait. Tomorrow. The Empty Spaces of a Shared Life The four-storey house in Brooklyn where Paul and I lived for 30 years and where our daughter, Sophie, grew up, and where Daniel, my stepson, lived when he wasn't at his mother's, became vast overnight. The two of us occupied this space for a long time without children, and the house felt roomy but not huge. I'm amazed by the determination with which I attacked Paul's study. He spent most of his days from morning into the afternoon writing in a small room at the back of our house near the garden. My guess is that there were at least 150 pens on the surface of Paul's desk. He had a supply of typewriter ribbons for his manual Olympia to last him several additional long lifetimes. He had a number of well-used erasers and 35 Clairefontaine notebooks, the kind with graph paper inside them. Paul's courage as he looked into the abyss astounded me. The man couldn't stand up from his bed alone. Finding Meaning in the Aftermath I have been sleeping on my side of the bed. So far, I haven't found myself taking up more room than I used to. When I wake, I do not expect him to be beside me. I do not expect him to walk into the room. I know I cannot conjure him, as much as I would like to. I dreaded his imminent death for far too long. I occupy the same space in the bed where we coupled and slept, year after year. We slept together in that bed for the last time on 28 April, two nights before he died. Spencer wheeled Paul into the room and helped me lift him on to the bed. He, Sophie and Miles had come to stay with us. After I crawled in with Paul, he stroked my hand and arm for what seemed like a long time. We talked. He wanted me to live on, live long, to write more. I woke up several times that night and reached out for him to make sure he was breathing. Paul loved the library on the third floor of the house. "I want to die in the library. I imagine putting a hospital bed in here," he said to me long before the hospital bed arrived and well before we knew the cancer had returned. He knew he wanted to die in that room filled with light. Light became more and more important to him as he neared death.

The Breakthrough prize, often referred to as the 'Oscar of science', has been awarded to a team of scientists for their groundbreaking work in gene therapy. Jean Bennett, a molecular biologist, and Albert Maguire, an ophthalmologist, who met while dissecting a brain at Harvard Medical School, have been recognized for their 25-year-long project that led to the development of Luxturna, the first approved gene therapy for blindness.The therapy has transformed the lives of people born with Leber congenital amaurosis (LCA), a genetic disorder that typically causes total blindness by early adulthood. The treatment, which smuggles a working version of the gene into retinal cells, has shown profound improvements in patients, with one patient describing seeing their child's face for the first time.The $3m prize is shared with physician Katherine High, who worked with Bennett and Maguire on the project. The couple's work is a testament to their dedication and perseverance, with Bennett noting that she was 'overwhelmed' by the news and describing it as one of the most 'miraculous eureka moments' she could imagine.Bennett also expressed concerns about the US administration's attacks on science, warning that it could 'cause damage for generations to come' and lead to a brain drain that the country would struggle to recover from.The Breakthrough prizes, founded by Silicon Valley entrepreneurs, recognize outstanding achievements in life sciences, mathematics, and physics. Other prizes awarded included work on a gene therapy for sickle cell anaemia and beta thalassaemia, and the discovery of genetic drivers of frontotemporal dementia and ALS.

Arsenal manager Mikel Arteta expressed his pride in his team's performance after they reached the Champions League semi-finals for the first time in their history. The Gunners secured a spot in the last four with a gritty draw against Sporting, despite being without their injured captain Martin Ødegaard and Bukayo Saka.Declan Rice, who was captain in Ødegaard's absence, revealed that he had come off his sickbed to play a crucial role in the match. 'He was shattered,' Arteta said of Rice. 'He had no chance to play today, he wasn’t feeling good at all today, he played 94 minutes at the level that he’s done.'The match was a closely contested affair, with both teams creating chances. Leandro Trossard headed against a post from a Max Dowman corner late on, while Sporting's João Simões fired into the side netting with virtually the last kick of the match.Arteta attributed his team's success to their durability, saying, 'That is the reason why we are the only English team in the competition, because this league and this schedule takes the hell out of you, and it’s very difficult to do what we’ve done.'Rice also addressed criticism of the team's recent performances, saying, 'If you don’t play well, if you don’t play good, take it with a pinch of salt and keep moving.'Arsenal will now face Atlético Madrid in the semi-finals, having maintained their record as the only unbeaten team left in this year’s competition. They will also look to bounce back from their recent Premier League defeat to Bournemouth when they face Manchester City on Sunday.

A 10-metre long humpback whale that became stranded on a sandbar in the Baltic Sea last month has left experts and the German public in a state of distress. The male whale, which has repeatedly stranded and freed itself, is now stranded once more and in the throes of death.The drama has captivated the country, drawing politicians, shamans, and animal rights activists to the scene. Experts have faced death threats and accusations of worsening the whale's plight, with some calling for the far right to take power.The local mayor has admitted: 'We have all been totally out of our depth.' A leading humpback whale expert has even stopped allowing her name to be quoted in the media, citing the danger of talking about humpback whales in Germany.The whale's condition has rapidly declined due to a fishing net caught in its jaw, weakening it and leading to a loss of direction. The Baltic Sea's low salt levels and shallow waters are not suitable for the whale's survival. Wounds and infections have been detected on its body, with experts describing it as 'very sick.'Despite the emotional public outcry and various rescue suggestions, including using cranes, planes, and inflatable pontoons, authorities have declared the whale beyond saving. The environment minister of Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Till Backhaus, has pleaded with the public to leave the animal in peace to die, saying it has been one of the most demanding operations of his 27 years in office.

Reports of sexual assault allegations against U.S. Representative Eric Swalwell have sent shockwaves through the California gubernatorial race, where recent polls showed him leading a crowded Democratic field seeking to succeed Governor Gavin Newsom.During televised interviews on Sunday, several high‑profile Democratic lawmakers urged Swalwell to drop out of the race and resign from Congress after CNN and the San Francisco Chronicle published accounts from a former staffer and other women alleging misconduct.“What he did is sick and disgusting,” Congressman Ro Khanna told Fox News Sunday, calling for investigations by law‑enforcement and the U.S. House of Representatives.Swalwell has categorically denied the claims as “absolutely false” and indicated no intention to leave the gubernatorial contest. A March poll conducted by Emerson College had him ahead of both Democratic and Republican challengers by several points, underscoring the political stakes.In the wake of the allegations, powerful figures and organizations have begun revoking endorsements, and the Manhattan District Attorney’s office confirmed an active investigation on Saturday.Republican Representative Anna Paulina Luna announced she will file a motion to initiate expulsion proceedings against Swalwell, a step some Democrats say they could support.“This is not a partisan issue,” Representative Pramila Jayapal remarked, emphasizing that the matter “cuts across party lines” and reflects broader concerns about the treatment of women.Democrats have also called for the expulsion of Republican Representative Tony Gonzales of Texas, who faces separate sexual‑misconduct allegations. Both Ro Khanna and Republican Representative Byron Donalds indicated they could back a bid to eject Gonzales and Swalwell from Congress, with Donalds stating, “As far as I’m concerned, both gentlemen need to go home.”California gubernatorial candidate, US Representative Eric Swalwell, appears at a town hall meeting in Sacramento, California, on Tuesday, April 7, 2026 (Rich Pedroncelli/AP Photo)

Rehab did not happen to Lena Dunham; she walked into it. The writer describes the moment she entered a stone‑manor facility in the Berkshires, Massachusetts, and was immediately asked to remove her designer shoes and answer mundane questions about her diet, a surreal welcome that felt like a college orientation—except many of the fellow residents struggled with IV heroin. She notes the unsettling blend of patients and staff, all dressed in ordinary clothes, making it impossible to tell who was who. A tattooed man in a Harley‑Davidson shirt turned out to be a sober companion, while a grandmother knitting in slippers battled a severe Benadryl addiction that had once ruined her daughter’s wedding. “Never judge a drug addict by their Patagonia half‑zip fleece,” she writes. Using the pseudonym “Rose O’Neill” – after the pioneering cartoonist – Dunham reflects on feeling trapped in a cycle reminiscent of the late‑career decline of the early 20th‑century artist. It was only after she allowed staff to use her real name that she began to reclaim her identity. Her therapist, Dr. Mark, a kindly man in khakis, asked her to articulate the root causes of her admission. Dunham linked her descent to chronic physical illness, relentless stress from supporting multiple families, hormonal turmoil after a hysterectomy, and a fraught romantic relationship. She also disclosed past sexual trauma, describing the rehab experience as “a fever dream” that echoed those memories. Medication played a paradoxical role. While Klonopin eased anxiety and Percocet dulled pain, the initial IV dose produced a euphoric “shiver through the whole body, better than any orgasm.” She acknowledges the temporary relief as a “pause button” that allowed her racing thoughts to quiet, yet also recognized the danger of dependence. Group sessions revealed complex dynamics. A fellow patient, Walter, breached confidentiality, prompting staff to enforce policy and send him home. The ensuing discussion divided the group, with some defending Walter’s lapse and others demanding accountability. Dunham’s own voice was subdued, emphasizing the tension between personal safety and collective responsibility. In a values‑mapping exercise, Dunham listed ART, FAMILY, MAKING PEOPLE FEEL SEEN as her core priorities, contrasting them with the values of the people she had surrounded herself with during active addiction. This exercise highlighted the stark misalignment between her aspirations and the environment she had inhabited. Despite the strict regimen, Dunham was granted a brief leave to attend the 2018 Met Gala. The decision sparked intense debate among staff about safety, yet she ultimately walked the red carpet, feeling “wan and haunted” amid flashing cameras and champagne she could not enjoy. The experience underscored the surreal juxtaposition of celebrity life and rehab recovery. During the final week, she formally identified as an addict and faced the pivotal question from Dr. Mark: “Do you want to be sober?” The answer marked a turning point, culminating in a moment of pure joy as she ran outdoors, feeling her legs move of their own accord. She closes with a vivid scene of spotting a robin’s egg on the grass, a simple yet profound reminder of life’s unexpected beauty. The memoir Famesick, published by Fourth Estate on 14 April, expands on these revelations and invites readers into the often‑hidden world of addiction behind the celebrity façade.

The UK government announced legislation that will protect disabled claimants from an automatic reassessment of benefits when they begin paid employment or volunteering. The measure, dubbed the “right to try”, is slated to take effect at the end of April and aims to remove the fear of losing financial support that many say discourages job‑seeking. Minister for Social Security and Disability Sir Stephen Timms framed the policy as a reassurance for people “stranded in the benefits system”. He emphasized that the change also extends to volunteering, which he described as a vital stepping‑stone toward sustainable employment. The new rules will apply to recipients of Employment and Support Allowance (ESA), Personal Independence Payment (PIP) and the health element of Universal Credit. Under the current system, taking up work can trigger a reassessment that often leads to reduced or withdrawn support, a risk that has deterred many disabled individuals from seeking employment. Disability advocates welcomed the development but cautioned that it does not tackle the deeper obstacles faced by disabled job‑seekers. James Taylor, a director at the charity Scope, called the policy “a step in the right direction” but warned that “the odds are stacked against disabled people when it comes to finding suitable work”. He urged the government to fund personalised employment support and to halt further benefit cuts. Research from the flexible‑working nonprofit Timewise underscores the challenge: only 2.5% of long‑term sick or disabled individuals who are economically inactive manage to return to work each year, and more than half of those jobs last fewer than four months. Mikey Erhardt of Disability Rights UK highlighted that a secure “right to try” is essential to ensure that anyone who tries work can retain the same level of support if the venture fails. Critics also noted that the announcement coincides with a controversial reduction to the health element of Universal Credit, which will be halved for new claimants and frozen unless stricter eligibility criteria are met. Timms acknowledged the pressure this creates, saying the previous system forced people to prove they were “too unwell to work”. Campaigners fear the simultaneous cuts will exacerbate financial strain for disabled claimants already navigating an uncertain labour market. Erhardt warned that “hundreds of thousands of disabled people will experience yet another cut in living standards”, arguing that successive governments have treated social security more as a coercive tool than a safety net.