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The Legacy of Women, New york, New York, NY (2026)

09/19/2026

For more than two centuries, Native American men have served in the United States Senate.

But never a Native American woman.

In 2026, two women are on general-election ballots with the possibility of changing that history.

In Minnesota, Peggy Flanagan won the Democratic-Farmer-Labor nomination for an open U.S. Senate seat.

Flanagan, a citizen of the White Earth Nation, defeated U.S. Representative Angie Craig in the August primary. Official Minnesota results show Flanagan received 411,853 votes, or 59.01%, compared with Craig’s 39.39%.

She will face Republican nominee Michele Tafoya in November.

Thousands of miles away, another Native woman is running for the Senate.

Mary Peltola, who is Yup’ik, advanced from Alaska’s all-party primary and will appear on the November ballot in a race that includes incumbent Republican Sen. Dan Sullivan. Alaska’s official candidate list confirms both Peltola and Sullivan for the general election.

Peltola has already made history once.

In 2022, she became the first Alaska Native elected to Congress.

Now she is seeking a seat in another chamber where Native women have never served.

That is what makes these two candidacies historically significant regardless of the eventual election results.

The U.S. Senate has existed since 1789.

Across that history, Native nations have been profoundly affected by federal decisions involving treaties, land, resources and tribal sovereignty.

Yet a Native woman has never held one of its 100 seats.

In November 2026, voters in Minnesota and Alaska will decide whether that changes.

Peggy Flanagan and Mary Peltola come from different states and are running in different political environments.

But their names now share one remarkable historical possibility:

Either could become the first Native American woman ever elected to the United States Senate.

09/19/2026

F***y Blankers-Koen was 30 years old, raising two children, and being told her greatest athletic years were already behind her.

Some critics believed she shouldn't even be competing.

She was a mother now.

She was too old.

Her place, they argued, was at home with her children.

F***y went to the Olympics instead.

Her opportunity had already been delayed by history. World War II caused the cancellation of the 1940 and 1944 Olympic Games, wiping out competitions that would have taken place during what normally would have been the prime years of her athletic career.

When the Olympics finally returned in London in 1948, F***y refused to accept that her chance had disappeared with them.

She entered four events.

The 100 meters.

The 200 meters.

The 80-meter hurdles.

And the 4x100-meter relay.

She won every single one.

Four events.

Four Olympic gold medals.

In the relay, the Dutch team was behind when F***y received the baton for the anchor leg.

She chased down the runners ahead of her and crossed the finish line first.

By the end of the Games, the woman some believed should have stayed home had won more gold medals than any other athlete competing in London.

And four medals weren't necessarily the limit of her ability.

Olympic rules allowed women to enter only three individual track-and-field events, preventing F***y from competing in additional disciplines in which she was already an elite athlete.

The press famously called her “The Flying Housewife.”

The nickname reflected an era that seemed almost incapable of looking at an extraordinary female athlete without emphasizing that she was also somebody's wife and mother.

But perhaps that's exactly why her achievement became so powerful.

Motherhood hadn't erased her ambition.

Turning 30 hadn't erased her speed.

And losing two Olympic Games to war hadn't erased her opportunity to become a champion.

F***y Blankers-Koen was told her time had passed.

She responded with four gold medals.

How many women have been told they were “too old” for something when they were actually just getting started?

09/19/2026

Julie R. Hickey was only 20 years old when her service in Afghanistan ended far too soon.

She had joined the U.S. Army Reserve in June 2002 and trained as a Civil Affairs specialist, preparing for work that would place her alongside communities affected by war.

In January 2004, Hickey deployed to Afghanistan in support of Operation Enduring Freedom.

She was assigned to a Provincial Reconstruction Team in Asadabad, where Civil Affairs soldiers worked with local communities and helped coordinate assistance and basic services.

She was young, far from home, and carrying responsibilities most people her age would never experience.

Then, on June 28, 2004, Hickey lost consciousness while on duty in Asadabad.

Her condition was serious enough that she was medically evacuated from Afghanistan to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany.

She never recovered.

On July 4, 2004, Specialist Julie R. Hickey died from complications associated with what the Army described as a non-combat-related illness.

She was 20 years old.

There was no battlefield firefight behind her death.

No dramatic final charge.

Her story represents another reality of military service: danger and sacrifice are not limited to enemy fire.

Hickey had volunteered for the Army Reserve, trained for Civil Affairs work and deployed thousands of miles from home to serve in Afghanistan.

Her awards included the Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal, Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, National Defense Service Medal and Army Service Ribbon.

She had barely entered adulthood.

Yet she had already chosen a life of service, put on the uniform and deployed when her country called.

Specialist Julie R. Hickey never made it home from that deployment.

She was only 20.

Her service deserves to be remembered accurately, and her name deserves not to be forgotten.

09/19/2026

Ruth Becker had been there.

She was 12 years old when the Titanic disappeared beneath the North Atlantic in 1912. She survived the disaster and carried memories of that night for the rest of her life.

Seventy years later, one of those memories was publicly challenged.

At a Titanic Historical Society convention in 1982, Becker recalled watching the Titanic break apart as it sank.

That was significant because the widely accepted account at the time held that the ship had gone beneath the water largely intact.

Louis O. Gorman, the society's treasurer, reportedly took the microphone and challenged her recollection.

Perhaps, he suggested, she had seen one of Titanic's funnels falling and interpreted it as the ship breaking apart.

Becker had witnessed the disaster.

But decades later, her own memory of what she had seen was being questioned.

Then the ocean provided evidence.

On September 1, 1985, an expedition led by Robert Ballard and Jean-Louis Michel located the wreck of Titanic more than two miles beneath the North Atlantic.

The ship was not lying intact.

Its bow and stern were separated on the ocean floor.

The discovery supported what Becker and some other survivors had maintained for decades: Titanic had broken apart during its final moments.

There is something striking about Becker's story.

Survivor testimony can be imperfect, especially after decades. Questioning historical accounts is part of establishing what actually happened.

But in this case, the physical evidence eventually supported the detail Becker remembered.

She had watched one of history's most famous disasters unfold with her own eyes.

She told people what she remembered.

She was publicly told she was probably mistaken.

Then, three years later, Titanic itself was found on the seabed in two main sections.

Becker died in 1990 at the age of 90.

But she lived long enough to see the wreck discovered and an important part of her account vindicated.

Imagine remembering something for 70 years, being told you must have seen it wrong, and then having the evidence emerge from the bottom of the ocean.

Would you have trusted Ruth Becker's eyewitness account before the wreck was found?

09/18/2026

Georgia has drawn a firm legal line over who can compete in women’s and girls’ school sports.

Under the Riley Gaines Act, signed by Gov. Brian Kemp in April 2025, athletic teams in Georgia’s public middle schools, high schools and colleges must be designated according to s*x. Students cannot compete on a team designated for the opposite s*x. The law also establishes s*x-based rules for certain multi-occupancy restrooms, changing areas and sleeping quarters.

The legislation defines s*x using biological characteristics rather than gender identity.

Supporters frame the issue around competitive fairness, safety and preserving female athletic opportunities.

Kemp argued when signing the legislation that girls should not have to compete against biological males or share certain intimate facilities with them. The legislation itself states that its purpose includes preserving fair athletic opportunities, recognition and scholarships for female athletes.

Opponents approach the issue differently.

They argue that rules excluding transgender girls and women from female teams discriminate against transgender students and can prevent them from participating in school activities consistent with their gender identity.

That leaves two principles at the center of the debate:

How should women’s sports preserve meaningful s*x-based competition?

And how should schools treat transgender students who want to participate?

Georgia lawmakers made their legal choice clear. The Riley Gaines Act passed the Senate 34–20 and the House 100–64 before Kemp signed it.

But the broader argument over fairness, inclusion, privacy and the purpose of female athletic categories continues well beyond Georgia.

What do you think: should eligibility for women’s and girls’ sports be determined by biological s*x, or should transgender girls and women be eligible under specific participation rules?

09/18/2026

Danyell Walters stepped onto one of the most sacred posts in the United States Army with one thing on her mind:

Do the job right.

In 1997, Walters served with the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment, The Old Guard, and became the first Black woman to serve as a Tomb Guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

She was only the second woman to serve in the role.

But remarkably, Walters wasn't thinking about making history when she took her first daylight watch.

Her attention was on what Tomb Guards consider a “no-fail mission.”

Every movement mattered.

Every detail mattered.

The soldiers standing watch represent something much larger than themselves: America's unidentified and missing service members and the sacrifice they represent.

Only after completing that watch did someone ask Walters whether she understood the significance of what she had just done.

“That was so not my focus,” she later recalled.

That response makes her achievement even more powerful.

She wasn't standing there trying to become the first Black woman to do it.

She was standing there as a soldier determined to meet the same demanding standard expected from every Sentinel entrusted with guarding the Tomb.

At the time, Walters was among only about 400 soldiers who had earned the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier Identification Badge since the badge was established in 1958.

Years later, she understood that her service had become part of a larger change taking place within the Army.

“When it came to The Old Guard, the Army was changing when it comes to being diverse in gender, and we were a part of that change.”

In 2018, Walters was inducted into the U.S. Army Women’s Hall of Fame alongside other pioneering female Sentinels.

But perhaps her own words capture her legacy best:

“I never thought I would have a story to be told, but I’m thankful that I do … hopefully, our stories can inspire others to look past barriers and reach their full potential.”

Sometimes history is made by someone determined to break a barrier.

And sometimes it is made by a woman so focused on her duty that she doesn't realize she has broken one until the mission is complete.

09/18/2026

Nicole Carol Miller was only eight college units away from finishing at West Valley College.

She was 21, on the Dean’s List, working as a waitress, teaching fitness classes and planning to transfer to a four-year university. Her life was moving forward quickly.

Then came one thunderstorm.

Nicole had made a last-minute trip to the East Coast with a friend. She was supposed to fly home on September 10, 2001.

Bad weather forced her to reschedule.

Her new flight left the next morning.

United Airlines Flight 93.

On September 11, four commercial aircraft were hijacked by al-Qaeda terrorists. After Flight 93 was seized, passengers and crew learned through phone calls that other hijacked planes had already struck the World Trade Center and Pentagon.

They realized their aircraft was part of the attack.

And they fought back.

Flight 93 crashed near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, at 10:03 a.m. The National Park Service states that the hijackers were heading toward Washington, D.C., with the U.S. Capitol considered the most likely target. Everyone aboard was killed.

Nicole was among the 40 passengers and crew members who lost their lives.

There is something especially heartbreaking about how she came to be there.

One day earlier, she had simply been a 21-year-old college student trying to get home.

Eight units remained in her college journey.

A future remained ahead of her.

Then a thunderstorm changed her itinerary, and history placed her aboard one of the most remembered flights in American history.

Nicole never got to finish those final classes.

But her name became forever connected to the passengers and crew of Flight 93, whose resistance prevented the hijackers from reaching their intended target.

She was 21 years old.

She should have had decades ahead of her.

Instead, September 11 became her final day.

Nicole Carol Miller, March 4, 1980 – September 11, 2001.

Never forgotten.

09/18/2026

Betty Ford became First Lady unexpectedly in 1974.

Within weeks, she was fighting breast cancer.

She underwent a mastectomy at a time when many Americans still avoided openly discussing the disease.

Betty could have protected her privacy.

Instead, she spoke publicly.

She believed other women might be facing the same danger without knowing it, and that talking openly about her diagnosis could encourage them to seek examinations and treatment.

Her candor helped bring breast cancer into public conversation.

But Betty Ford refused to stay quiet about other difficult subjects too.

As First Lady, she publicly supported the Equal Rights Amendment and spoke about women's opportunities, equal pay and reproductive rights even when those positions generated criticism.

She insisted that occupying the White House did not require surrendering her own voice.

“Being ladylike does not require silence.”

Then, after leaving Washington, Betty faced another deeply personal battle.

Her family confronted her in 1978 about her dependence on alcohol and prescription medication.

Again, she could have hidden it.

Again, she chose openness.

Betty entered treatment and eventually turned her recovery into advocacy for people struggling with alcohol and drug dependence.

In 1982, she co-founded the Betty Ford Center, helping create a place where addiction could be treated as something requiring care rather than hidden behind shame.

That became the defining pattern of Betty Ford's public life.

Cancer could have silenced her.

She talked about it.

Addiction could have shamed her into hiding.

She talked about that too.

Controversy could have convinced her that a First Lady should remain quiet.

She kept speaking.

Betty Ford's courage was not pretending she never struggled.

It was taking the battles that frightened, hurt and exposed her, bringing them into the light, and using her voice so other women would feel less alone.

09/18/2026

May-Britt Moser grew up on a small sheep farm on a remote island off Norway's west coast.

Her parents had little opportunity for higher education.

Her mother had once dreamed of entering medicine herself and encouraged her daughter to study rather than accept that domestic life was the only path available to her.

Moser became obsessed with a question that sounded almost impossibly large:

How does the brain create behavior?

She studied psychology at the University of Oslo, where she met Edvard Moser.

Together, they moved toward neuroscience.

They earned doctorates in neurophysiology, trained in Edinburgh and worked with neuroscientist John O'Keefe in London before establishing their research careers at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology.

Then they began chasing one of neuroscience's deepest mysteries.

How does your brain know where you are?

Scientists already knew from O'Keefe's earlier work that “place cells” in the hippocampus become active at particular locations.

But another question remained.

Where did the brain's spatial coordinate system come from?

May-Britt and Edvard Moser started recording neurons in the entorhinal cortex, a region connected to the hippocampus.

Then they saw something extraordinary.

Certain neurons fired as rats moved through specific locations.

But those locations weren't random.

Plot them across the environment and they formed an astonishing repeating hexagonal pattern, almost like an invisible honeycomb laid across space.

They had discovered “grid cells.”

The pattern existed inside the brain itself.

Together, these cells help create an internal coordinate system that allows animals to understand position, measure movement and navigate through their surroundings.

The discovery fundamentally changed scientists' understanding of how complex cognitive functions can emerge from networks of individual neurons.

In 2014, May-Britt Moser and Edvard Moser shared half of the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine, while John O'Keefe received the other half, for discoveries revealing the brain's positioning system.

Moser had traveled an extraordinary distance.

From a sheep farm on a remote Norwegian island to neuroscience's highest honor.

But the most remarkable journey she helped explain was happening inside everyone all along.

How the human brain knows:

Where am I?

Where have I been?

And how do I find my way forward?

09/18/2026

Emmanuelle Charpentier wasn't trying to become one of the scientists responsible for rewriting the code of life.

She was studying bacteria.

For years, the French microbiologist built her career across laboratories in France, the United States, Austria, Sweden and Germany.

Her obsession was fundamental science: understanding how disease-causing bacteria survive, regulate themselves and defend against threats.

Then one tiny molecule changed everything.

While studying Streptococcus pyogenes, Charpentier's laboratory discovered the crucial role of a previously unknown RNA molecule called tracrRNA.

It was part of CRISPR-Cas9, an ancient bacterial defense mechanism.

Bacteria essentially possessed molecular machinery capable of recognizing invading viral DNA and cutting it apart.

Charpentier realized that machinery could have implications far beyond bacteria.

She published the tracrRNA discovery in 2011.

That same year, she approached American biochemist Jennifer Doudna about collaborating.

Together, their teams worked out how CRISPR-Cas9 could be simplified and programmed.

Then came the breakthrough.

In 2012, they demonstrated that scientists could direct Cas9 to cut DNA at a predetermined location.

Suddenly, scientists had extraordinarily powerful genetic scissors.

Instead of older gene-editing techniques that could be difficult and time-consuming, researchers could program CRISPR-Cas9 to target specific DNA sequences with remarkable precision.

The consequences exploded across biology.

Scientists adopted CRISPR to investigate genes, engineer plants and develop potential treatments for cancer and inherited diseases. The technology became one of the defining breakthroughs of modern molecular biology.

And Charpentier didn't merely publish the discovery.

She helped carry it toward biotechnology, co-founding CRISPR Therapeutics and ERS Genomics.

Then came October 2020.

Emmanuelle Charpentier and Jennifer Doudna received the Nobel Prize in Chemistry “for the development of a method for genome editing.”

It was historic: they became the first two women to share a science Nobel without a male collaborator.

Two women.

One discovery.

And a technology powerful enough to let humanity alter the instructions written inside living cells.

Charpentier's story is also a reminder of something easily forgotten when breakthroughs become famous.

CRISPR didn't begin as a billion-dollar biotechnology revolution.

It began with a scientist asking what an obscure molecule inside a bacterium actually did.

She followed the question far enough to help change biology forever.

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