Science

I’m mainlining stale coffee under fluorescent light, watching a budget PDF do what it always does: tell the truth before the press releases get a chance to lie. The phone keeps buzzing. Another memo. Another mirror-shined statement. Outside, sirens. Inside, numbers. Receipts don’t care how patriotic the talking points sound.

FY2027 request: down 23% overall, down 47% for NASA science

The White House’s FY2027 budget request would cut NASA’s overall discretionary budget to about $18.8 billion, roughly a 23% drop. It would also slash NASA’s Science Mission Directorate from about $7.25 billion to about $3.9 billion, about a 47% cut. NASA published the FY2027 budget request material. The Planetary Society called the scale historic. Nature covered the broader science cuts. AP noted the same budget boosts defense while shrinking domestic programs.

Translation: they want moon-shot branding without paying for the science that makes NASA more than a costume. Photo ops over photons.

Here is the mechanism: cut, destabilize, then blame the wreckage

Science is where NASA produces evidence: Earth-observing satellites measuring oceans and air, astrophysics charting the universe, planetary missions going where no billionaire can slap a logo. Evidence is stubborn. Evidence is inconvenient. So don’t treat a near half-cut like a weather event. It’s a policy lever pulled on purpose.

Here is the mechanism: propose a budget that kneecaps science, then force survival triage. Programs get delayed, then cancelled. Workforce drains out. University labs that build instruments and train students stall. Schedules slip. Costs rise. Then the architects of the chaos point at the chaos and say government can’t do anything right. That’s not a mistake. It’s a business model.

Congress can reject a presidential budget. But the request is still a message. It tells managers and contractors where the political wind is blowing. It invites preemptive obedience, quiet self-censorship, and endless contingency planning that burns time before any appropriations vote lands.

Follow the money: austerity for labs, churn for contractors

Follow the money: when NASA science gets starved, the winners are not grad students building detectors or the public relying on shared data. The winners are the boardroom-and-lobby hallway regulars: outfits that can pivot to whatever line item survives, contractors whose revenue comes from churn, and politicians who sell “tough choices” while concentrated wealth stays protected.

The quiet part: this is a fight over what we are allowed to know. Starve public science and you make it easier to outsource “truth” into proprietary dashboards, subscription-only data, and think-tank fog funded by people who prefer the climate conversation to get blurrier. Meanwhile NASA becomes a stage set: big rockets, big slogans, big contracts, small science, smaller accountability.

Mic-drop: if you don’t want NASA science turned into a commemorative coin, you fix it with oversight that bites, appropriations that match the mission, IG muscle, hearings that drag the numbers into daylight, and organizing that treats science funding like a public utility, not a donor perk.

I have read enough court dockets to recognize the scent of a “temporary” power trying to become a permanent fixture: a midnight committee room, stale coffee, manufactured urgency, and the assumption the public will not read the fine print until it has fossilized into precedent.

Welcome back to Section 702 of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, the authority that is always sold as aimed “over there,” and somehow keeps ricocheting back home.

What is happening now

Section 702 is set to expire on April 20, and the White House is pushing Congress to pass a clean extension, reportedly for 18 months. President Trump has publicly urged renewal, arguing it is crucial to national security. House leadership tried to move it this week, then hit turbulence: a planned vote was delayed amid internal opposition, with lawmakers pressing for changes like a warrant requirement when the government goes looking for Americans’ communications inside the 702 system.

Foreign intelligence collection is not small potatoes. Section 702 authorizes surveillance of foreigners located overseas, often by directing U.S. communications providers to produce communications connected to foreign targets. The Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court signs off on general procedures, not individual warrants for each target. Powerful tool, dangerous world. No argument there.

The argument is what happens next: Americans keep getting pulled into the frame, not as targets, but as collateral.

The Orwell check: “clean extension” is a euphemism

In Washington, “clean” often means “extend first, argue later, and do not let privacy reforms slow the train.” Supporters argue prior reforms should be enough for now, and some leaders are emphasizing transparency around oversight of the FISA Court.

Sen. Chuck Grassley, for example, has pointed to the Justice Department revising its procedures for congressional attendance and oversight in certain FISA Court proceedings as a reason to back a clean extension. Oversight access matters, but access is not a lock. You can improve the view from the gallery and still leave the search function pointed at Americans.

The liberty ledger: the backdoor-search problem

The political trick is that the word “foreign” does the public-relations work. The government targets a foreigner overseas, collects communications, incidentally sweeps up Americans communicating with that person, and later analysts can search the collected data for U.S. person information. That later step is the backdoor search problem.

According to the Brennan Center, the Privacy and Civil Liberties Oversight Board reported in 2023 that the FBI conducted close to 5 million U.S. person queries from 2019 to 2022, and that the board saw little justification for the relative value of those queries. That is not a rounding error. That is a system.

And there is another familiar dodge: critics want limits on the government’s use of data brokers, because buying Americans’ data can look like an end-run around constitutional protections. If the government cannot get it with a warrant, it should not be able to get it with a credit card and a wink.

The tradeoff: security is real, so is mission creep

I am not allergic to surveillance. I am allergic to surveillance without guardrails. If lawmakers want trust, the basic menu is straightforward:

• A warrant requirement for U.S. person queries, with tightly defined emergency exceptions.
• Clear limits on buying Americans’ data through brokers.
• Meaningful public reporting and audits ordinary people can understand.
• Real consequences for violations, not just stern letters and new training slides.

Urgency is not an argument against due process. In fact, urgency is when due process matters most.

The grill is hissing, the smoke is curling up like a sermon, and now NIH popped the hood and changed where scientists are supposed to look for funding notices. It is not progress. It is paperwork inflation with a fresh coat of “modernization.”

NIH points NOFO seekers to Grants.gov as the single official source

Here is the verified hook: NIH says that in fiscal year 2026, it stopped posting Notices of Funding Opportunities in the NIH Guide for Grants and Contracts. Instead, NIH recognized Grants.gov as the single official source for those grant and cooperative agreement opportunity notices. NIH also says the NIH Guide will keep serving policy and informational notices, not the hunt for the actual funding calls.

NIH laid out the change in its official notice, NOT-OD-25-143. The update page spells out the practical fallout: the NOFOs are no longer accessible from the NIH Guide, but they stay searchable on Grants.gov. Even the weekly table-of-contents email is affected, because apparently “ease” is optional now.

Why it feels like a switch at the gas pump

Moving the official trail to a federal portal does not just shuffle information. It reshuffles power. The bureaucrats, and the gatekeepers around them, get to influence timing, visibility, and administrative burden. In other words, it is not just “streamlining.” It is leverage dressed up as a feature.

And the broader trend lines up with that concern. The American Association for Cancer Research reported that NIH agency-directed funding calls have dropped dramatically: NOFO counts averaged about 780 each year from 2016 to 2024, then fell to about 73 after Trump took office in 2025, and ended up at fewer than a dozen in early 2026. AACR frames this as part of a larger pivot away from agency-directed science toward more investigator-initiated work, with NIH saying this is meant to streamline things and focus on what it calls meritorious science.

What it means for transparency, integrity, and who gets heard

This is where I get loud: a research agency should fund the best ideas and protect scientific integrity. The Nature coverage of the pivot notes it sparked debate, including worries that some areas of science could be under-studied if the system leans too hard toward investigator choice. That is the argument we should be having: which safeguards keep the pipeline honest, and which safeguards prevent favoritism-by-process.

NIH says the official NOFOs are now on Grants.gov and are searchable there. Good. But the American people deserve more than a redirect. When policy shifts move from clear agency direction to centralized portals and investigator-initiated submissions, the process becomes harder to audit and easier to politicize in practice.

Bottom line: stop mystification, start accountability

NIH is telling scientists where to look, and it wants you to accept the new map. I am for modernization. I am not for mystification. If the goal is a smoother highway for innovation, then do not build a detour road with hidden toll booths.

So tell me, fellow freedom-chasers: when you hear bureaucrats call this streamlining, are you smelling steak, or are you smelling another layer of administrative grease?

The fluorescent light in this fight never changes: grant-office beige, hearing-room gray, lobbyist hallway chrome. It’s paperwork getting strangled without leaving a bruise. The scanner chatter is blunt: Washington keeps trying to kneecap the plumbing that makes public science work, then pretends to be shocked when the lab lights flicker.

Senate appropriators push back on a revived 15% NIH “indirect cost” cap

Top Senate appropriators signaled they are not buying the White House’s revived attempt to impose a uniform 15% cap on NIH reimbursed indirect costs. The administration’s fiscal year 2027 budget request reprises the policy and says NIH will continue a 15% cap approach even after courts and Congress boxed the idea in for fiscal year 2026.

Translation: “Overhead” is the PR word for “the lab has walls”

Translation: when political operatives say “overhead,” they want you picturing waste. What they don’t say is that indirect costs pay for the unglamorous systems that keep research real: facility operations, compliance staff, data security, hazardous waste handling, electricity, animal care, and grant administration. Research is infrastructure. Research is regulated. Research generates records and obligations.

Most major research institutions have negotiated indirect cost rates that are often far higher than 15% because those costs are not imaginary. A 15% cap is not a scalpel. It’s a bolt cutter. You shrink reimbursement for the support structure, then you force institutions to either cut the structure, subsidize it through other revenue, or stop doing the research that requires it.

Here is the mechanism: sabotage the public option, then auction the rescue

Here is the mechanism: call government “wasteful,” propose a blunt policy that predictably breaks lab operations, then wait for chaos: hiring freezes, stalled projects, delayed trials, and fewer institutions able to carry risk. Then the “rescue” arrives under boardroom glass: private foundations set priorities, pharma decides what is “worth it,” and venture capital funds what can pay venture capital back.

Even when courts halt a cap and Congress blocks agencies from changing the negotiated system for a year, the whiplash does its job. It makes long-range planning harder and nudges research toward safer projects, safer careers, and safer speech.

Follow the money: savings for whom?

Follow the money: the cap pitch is sold as “protecting taxpayers,” but the “savings” do not show up in your wallet. They shift costs and shift power. Wealthier institutions may backfill; less wealthy institutions get squeezed. Scarcity consolidates talent and resources, and consolidation is how you pick winners without admitting you are picking winners.

If there’s fraud, audit it. If there’s waste, itemize it. Indirect cost rates are negotiated under federal rules. This is a contract outcome, not a mystery number. Also, “overhead” is a culture-war instrument: it primes resentment so you don’t have to argue about the underlying work.

What breaks next if this keeps cycling?

Instability does not only hit budgets. It hits integrity. When you destabilize funding and administrative capacity, you weaken the guardrails that prevent misconduct and sloppy science. NIH has also been reshaping what it will pay for, including caps on allowable publication costs starting in fiscal year 2026, another signal that the ground is moving under multi-year research planning.

Senators swatting down the cap matters. But so does the administration reintroducing it. Each cycle burns time, burns trust, and trains publicly funded science to operate like a political hostage instead of a public utility.

Budget ideas in Washington often show up like a “temporary” committee: they arrive with earnest paperwork and stay like they pay rent. This week’s repeat visitor is the proposed 15% cap on research indirect costs, marketed as thrift and waved at America’s laboratories like a universal coupon.

According to an April 14 update from the Association of Public and Land-grant Universities (APLU), the deadline has passed for the administration to ask the U.S. Supreme Court to review a lower-court ruling blocking major cuts to Facilities and Administrative (F&A) reimbursements on NIH grants. APLU adds that, with that window closed and with favorable rulings in related cases, litigation challenging the attempted 15% cap across NIH, NSF, DOE, and DOD is effectively over. For now, the cap stays blocked.

What “indirect costs” actually pay for

Start with translation. Indirect costs, often called F&A, are the expenses that keep research upright: buildings, utilities, compliance staff, cybersecurity, lab safety, grant administration, animal care, and the unglamorous infrastructure that makes experiments possible and lawful. These rates are typically negotiated. The attempted policy shift was to replace that negotiated system with a one-size-fits-all 15% cap.

The Association of American Medical Colleges (AAMC), tracking the litigation, notes that the Justice Department declined to seek Supreme Court review of the First Circuit’s January 6, 2026 decision upholding the injunction that blocked NIH’s attempted 15% cap, leaving the district court’s order in place. The legal bottom line is plain: the courts kept the cap blocked and the government did not take the final shot.

The Orwell check: “overhead” is a power word

Here’s the Orwell check: what language makes control sound like common sense? In this fight, the spell word is “overhead.” It suggests fluff. It invites applause for cuts without forcing anyone to say what gets weaker: cybersecurity, compliance, safety systems, the staff who keep grants running.

Call it “streamlining” and it sounds modern. Call it “efficiency” and it sounds responsible. But a flat cap is also a way to move leverage from negotiated agreements into the hands of whoever writes the memo.

The Paine test: liberty versus leverage

The Paine test asks: does this expand liberty or concentrate power? Negotiated rates function like due process in budgeting form: disclose, negotiate, document, and live under rules that can be challenged and reviewed. A unilateral cap is a shortcut around that table. And government shortcuts have a long history of turning into permanent roadways.

The tradeoff: reform in daylight, not by ambush

APLU warns the administration is again proposing a 15% cap for NIH in its FY 2027 budget and notes OMB could pursue changes through Uniform Guidance. In other words, the method may change even if the message stays the same.

If policymakers want to overhaul indirect costs, there is a grown-up path: propose a model, put it in public view, take testimony, compare outcomes, and publish audits. APLU points to an alternative model developed by a higher education coalition, which at least invites an argument with math instead of slogans.

And institutions should meet the public halfway: if you want trust, show where indirect dollars go in plain English. Sunshine is cheaper than litigation. With this court chapter closed, the next question is simple: reform in the sunlight, or control in the shadows?

The grill is hissing, the smoke is thick, and my AM radio is crackling like a live wire. Then I read the latest NIH news and it feels like somebody just flipped the breaker on real science, not the usual paperwork theater.

NIH-backed scientists shrink CRISPR for precision delivery inside the body

When the gene editor is too big, the whole dream gets stuck in the mud

Here’s the unglamorous problem: common CRISPR gene-editing proteins are big. Too big, in fact, for targeted delivery systems that doctors want to use inside the human body. NIH reports researchers found a naturally occurring enzyme, Al3Cas12f, small enough to fit into adeno-associated virus, or AAV, vectors, a leading delivery method for gene therapies. Delivery is the choke point. If you cannot get the tools where they need to go, the toolbox stays locked.

NIH also reports the team engineered an enhanced version that improves gene-editing performance in human cells. They used imaging and machine-learning tools to analyze the enzyme’s structure. And they point to two key ideas: Al3Cas12f forms a stable complex in the cell, and its design lets it function more effectively once the pieces are produced. That is what it looks like when researchers tackle the mechanical limitation, not the loud headline.

Editing that jumps from under 10% to over 80%

According to NIH, the engineered variant known as Al3Cas12f RKK dramatically improved editing efficiency from less than 10% to more than 80% across tested targets, with efficiency reaching 90% in a commonly edited genomic region. NIH says the team introduced the instructions into human cells originally isolated from a patient with leukemia, and targeted genes associated with diseases including cancer, atherosclerosis, and amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or ALS.

The Nature Structural & Molecular Biology paper supports the engineering story. It describes structure-guided engineering of Al3Cas12f RKK and frames the improvement as moving from a low editing baseline to an efficient performance level across tested conditions. Nature also notes Al3Cas12f RKK is a lead engineered variant derived from combinatorial mutations, and it reports high activity at specific loci under the study’s tested parameters.

Who benefits: patients and researchers

NIH notes support in part by NIGMS through grant R35GM138348. Federal support is the nation’s long-haul engine. It does groundwork, and this breakthrough is the kind of groundwork you would expect from an agency doing its job. So tonight, instead of hunting for the next bureaucratic excuse, celebrate a win made of molecules and math.

Now answer this: if we can shrink CRISPR for delivery and push editing efficiency past the 80% mark, what other scientific choke points are getting blocked that we should knock loose next?

The newsroom fluorescents feel extra cruel today. Stale coffee. Printer paper. My tabs are stacked like subpoenas. Somewhere, a lab tech is refreshing the grants portal like it is a heart monitor. Somewhere else, a political appointee is refreshing a spreadsheet like it is a slot machine.

This is what it sounds like when public health gets slowly turned into a controlled substance.

NIH moves away from agency-directed funding calls, leaving fewer than a dozen in early 2026

A policy tracker from the American Association for Cancer Research charts a collapse in NIH Notices of Funding Opportunities: an average of about 780 per year from 2016 to 2024, falling to about 73 after President Donald Trump took office in 2025, and down to fewer than a dozen in early 2026. That is not a minor administrative tweak. That is a demolition crew with a press badge.

NIH frames the shift as streamlining. In a March 23 post on its Extramural Nexus site, the agency says it is simplifying the funding landscape and placing more emphasis on investigator-initiated science rather than highly specific calls. Nature reported the same pivot: fewer solicited calls, more unsolicited proposals, and researchers warning that understudied fields could get stranded.

Translation: “Streamlining” means fewer public priorities, more private veto points

Translation: a Notice of Funding Opportunity is not just paperwork. It is a steering wheel.

Targeted calls are NIH saying, in public: these are the gaps, this is where we build capacity, this is the coordinated push. When those calls disappear, the steering wheel gets ripped out and the car still moves. It just moves where the strongest forces push it.

And those forces are not neutral. They are prestige, incumbency, and who can afford to keep a lab alive through a drought. If you want the simple version: fewer targeted calls means fewer chances for the public to demand science the market will not fund.

Here is the mechanism: choke the pipeline, then blame the scientists

Here is the mechanism: you do not have to ban research to kill it. You just have to make it miss payroll.

Replace targeted calls with mostly unsolicited proposals and you get a competition where the winners are the people already funded, already networked into the study sections, already breathing on institutional oxygen. Everyone else gets told to be “resilient.” Like resilience pays the animal facility bill.

NIH says broad opportunities reduce fragmentation and let innovative ideas flourish. The lived version is that the absence of targeted calls widens gaps because no one is being paid to fill them.

Follow the money: less public direction, more room for capture

Follow the money: when public priorities get quieter, private priorities get louder.

This is not a secret-handshake conspiracy. It is structural incentive. If NIH stops signaling priority areas through targeted calls, the best-funded private actors gain leverage over what counts as “important.” Meanwhile the work that does not cash out cleanly, environmental health, rare disease infrastructure, long-term cohort studies, community interventions, gets pressed against the boardroom glass.

Nature also reported that solicited calls now face extra layers of approval under the current administration. Translation: public-direction tools become slow, brittle, and easier to block. You do not have to say no. You just add gates until the answer arrives as silence.

The quiet part: privatize the mission without changing the sign

The quiet part is that NIH can remain NIH on paper while its mission gets hollowed out in practice.

The public thinks NIH funds cures. The lab reality is that NIH funds capacity: people, equipment, time, the oxygen of science. Remove the tools that build capacity where the market will not, and you change what questions can survive long enough to be asked.

If this is truly “simpler” and truly “innovation,” it should withstand sunlight. Congress should demand the data behind the collapse in funding calls and order an inspector general style audit of who benefits when targeted priorities disappear.

I was camped out under the polite fluorescent hum of a public library when the Federal Register did what it always does: it reminded me that power rarely kicks down your door anymore. It mails you a notice. Then it funds you.

Education Department finalizes a grantmaking priority to advance AI in education

On April 13, 2026, the U.S. Department of Education published a final priority and definitions for its discretionary grant programs under 34 CFR Part 75 (docket ID ED-2025-OS-0118). The Department says the priority can be used across discretionary grant programs now and in the future, and it takes effect May 13, 2026. It also notes that more than 300 parties submitted comments on the proposed version first published in July 2025.

The core move is simple: if you want federal education dollars, it helps to speak Washington’s new dialect about AI literacy, educator training, and responsible adoption. The final text leans into:

• Age-appropriate approaches in K-12
• Training and support for educators
• Universal design for learning, so students with disabilities are not shoved to the margins
• Using AI technology to improve program outcomes (grant-speak for: show results, not just gadgets)

The Orwell check

Watch what happens when the word responsible does the job of a policy. Commenters urged the Department to require parental notification and opt-out provisions when AI tools are used in schools, and to mandate stronger privacy and safety requirements. The Department says it is committed to student privacy protections under law, but it declines to enact federal requirements, arguing safety and communication about technology are best decided at the state and local level.

The liberty ledger

Who gains: districts and administrators get a new, fundable lane for AI training and tools. Vendors get the familiar federal signal that turns pilots into platforms.

Who risks losing: students and families may get better instruction and support, but they also risk losing the practical ability to keep a child’s learning life from becoming a data exhaust pipe. The text acknowledges privacy worries raised by commenters, including parental consent and vendor disclosure concerns, then stops short of requiring those protections federally.

The tradeoff

The Department argues that global competitiveness means students need opportunities to learn to use AI effectively. Fine. But the tradeoff here is not innovation versus stagnation. It is innovation versus accountability, especially because this priority can ripple across many discretionary programs.

The Paine test

Does this expand liberty or concentrate power? Done right, AI literacy expands liberty by teaching students to understand, critique, and resist automated nonsense. The Department even revised its AI literacy definition to include ethical reasoning, critical social inquiry, interdisciplinary problem-solving, and creativity. Done wrong, AI in education concentrates power in a triangle: government money, vendor systems, and institutional convenience.

If Washington wants AI on the grant scoreboard, it should treat baseline safeguards like part of the equipment list: data minimization, clear retention limits, public disclosure of tools used, independent evaluation of impacts, and meaningful opt-out paths that do not punish students.

Accountability is available if anyone feels like using it: Congress can ask oversight questions and require reporting conditions; the Department’s Inspector General can audit procurement and data-protection practices tied to these priorities; states can set uniform student data rules; and school boards can demand vendor transparency before signing anything that touches a child account, learning profile, or behavioral log.

Washington has a May 13, 2026 effective date and a nationwide incentive tailwind. If we are going to subsidize this future, why are parental notice, opt-out rights, and public audits still treated like optional accessories?

The grill smoke hits my nose and the AM radio hisses like a warning, because right now somebody in Washington is working a fresh budget draft like it is charcoal and not policy. If you think America can keep reaching for the stars while the science that makes rockets smarter gets choked down, I have a bridge to sell you. It comes with OMB fingerprints all over the plan.

NASA Science Mission Directorate gets hit with a roughly 47% cut

According to Office of Management and Budget materials posted through the federal budget package, the NASA Science appropriation for the Science Mission Directorate would drop from roughly $7.25 billion to about $3.89 billion in the FY 2027 request. That is not a trim. That is a firebreak cut straight through the part of NASA that studies Earth and the cosmos, hunts for life, and safeguards what we know about spaceflight effects.

This is not just one line item, it is the whole science engine

Space.com reported that the overall NASA budget is proposed to fall by about 23 percent. So this is not only one program getting poked. It is the broader science engine getting put in park.

Opaque budget details raise red flags for transparency

The Planetary Society says the budget proposal is notably opaque. Space.com also highlighted that the request does not clearly spell out what is being canceled, forcing outsiders to compare line by line to figure out what vanished. Space.com further noted that some lines appear with broad descriptions rather than a clean, itemized breakdown, including a Mars Technology line described in a way that is hard to audit.

Follow the money, not the press release

Here is the villain in plain terms: the Office of Management and Budget, doing the White House math that decides which buckets get refilled and which buckets get drained.

When you starve the science side of NASA, you do not just reduce spending. You reduce choices. You reduce the menu of questions researchers can afford to ask. And with fewer answers to chase, it becomes easier for the politically preferred storyline to win by default.

America pays the real cost when science leadership fades

Science funding is long-haul work. The FY 2027 request would force tradeoffs like fewer missions, less research time, and fewer opportunities for students and young researchers. NASA science also supports how we understand space weather, Earth systems, and the risks that come with operating in a world full of satellites and high-stakes infrastructure.

And because this is a budget request, not the final appropriation, the fight is in Congress. Congress decides spending, and advocates are warning that transparency is being smudged for political convenience.

The newsroom lights are flickering like they know something. My coffee tastes like burnt toner. Outside, the city hums with sirens and budget math, the kind that never comes for stock buybacks but always finds time to bully a lab manager trying to keep freezers cold.

Here is what changed. The Trump administration stopped fighting in court to defend the NIH’s attempt to impose a flat 15% cap on “indirect costs” for research grants. Chemical & Engineering News reported on April 10, 2026 that the government let the Supreme Court window pass after the First Circuit upheld a ruling blocking the policy earlier this year.

You can hear the PR fog machine warming up: See? We are reasonable. We are moving on. Nothing to see here.

Yeah. Sure. And subpoenas are just aggressive stationery.

What happened in court (and what that actually means)

NIH announced a 15% cap on indirect cost reimbursements in February 2025, replacing the old system of negotiated, institution-by-institution rates that often run higher. The First Circuit upheld a district court ruling blocking that cap and pointed to a recurring appropriations rider that restricts NIH from unilaterally changing how indirect costs are reimbursed. This month, the administration simply did not pursue Supreme Court review.

It was not just NIH. C&EN also reported the administration voluntarily dismissed its appeal in the Department of Energy indirect-cost fight, and AAU’s update says the First Circuit granted the government’s motion to dismiss that DOE appeal, leaving the judgment against DOE’s 15% policy permanent.

Translation: they swung a meat cleaver at the plumbing that keeps public research running, got told “no” by the courts, and decided to stop burning legal fees on a losing argument. That is not reform. That is a tactical retreat.

Translation: “Indirect costs” are not a scam

Translation: “Indirect costs” are the building, the lights, the compliance staff, the grant accountants, cybersecurity, hazardous waste disposal, and shared equipment that makes multiple projects possible. When politicians sneer about “overhead,” they are laundering a story: universities are grifters, scientists are scammers, so the public should accept austerity.

Here is the mechanism: lose in court, win in procurement

If you cannot legally impose a universal cap through agency guidance, you can still choke research by changing incentives around awards: preferences, slow-walking, scoring systems, extra hoops, selective audits, and “efficiency” initiatives that reliably land on universities and inconvenient science.

C&EN notes the administration can keep pushing constraints through other means, including an executive order directing agencies to prefer institutions with lower indirect cost rates in funding decisions.

Translation: it is not a cap anymore. It is a rigged race.

Follow the money: austerity creates a private market

When you squeeze public research, you do not create efficiency. You create vacancies, shutdowns, and delays. Then you create demand for private substitutes: contract research organizations, private data brokers, proprietary biobanks, vendor lock-in for equipment and cloud compute, and consultants billing by the hour to “streamline compliance” after you fired the compliance staff.

The quiet part: they want scientists who behave like contractors. Deliverables. Deadlines. No dissent. No inconvenient conclusions.

So yes, dropping the NIH overhead cap fight is a win for the institutions that sued and for courts that still use the word “unlawful” like it means something. But do not confuse a lost case with a lost agenda.