How Trump's Cuts Hurt Us All

And why his plans are doomed to fail almost as much as his presidency

Jul 12, 2025

As I wrangle with frustrating limitations that crop up with a broken finger, I am reminded of a concept that I learned as a park planner: our state of aptitude is always in flux. While yesterday I didn’t think about the distance from my car to a destination as a limitation; today, pain in my hand as I carry my toddler forces the consideration. Before I could lift him up to a playground swing, but now I might need something like a rocking park bench that we can easily and safely sit on together.

Years ago, as I spoke with stakeholders and researched accessible playgrounds, I found that this idea of changing individual needs is at the forefront of universally designed projects. Some in the disability community described people without a disability as temporarily able-bodied, or TAB for short. Though the term is now seen as flawed and a bit controversial, the broad meaning is that we may not always experience the world with the same body and mind at every point in our lives. In planning for people with disabilities, we are making the world better for ourselves too.

In city planning, creating universally accessible playgrounds and parks can be a huge challenge because the cost is well above that of the status quo. Leaders are tempted to pay for just enough to meet accessibility requirements, or to cut and paste aspects of accessibility infrastructure into a haphazard design that make it seem inclusive. In my mind, it’s just a way for them to keep up appearances of being decent, without the actual care and investment required to earn the descriptor.

For a long time, federal and state governments have pushed to elevate those lackluster standards. They incentivize universal design with thoughtful grant requirements, safety handbooks, and laws that demand inclusive design. They support nonprofits that promote new models of park design and bring universal design to more public spaces. Perhaps most importantly, they help to establish norms that move inclusive planning into the mainstream.

Now, with a blanket rollback of anything and everything DEI, the needle is again moving on what kind of community building is expected and acceptable. We are retrograding from design processes that meaningfully involve residents and focus on livability, to those that operate with limited information and prioritize bottom lines. We are cataclysmically reversing to live in a time when single-perspective planning reigns free, and every person is left to fend for themselves.

In this new political terrain, I imagine going for interviews, having conversations with city leaders, and trying to build relationships with community members. Years ago, I proudly talked about how my park planning processes aligned with DEI values, and I knew I was marketable because of it. People wanted to learn more about what social justice looked like in parks and how sustainable planning could be achieved.

I knew I was effective at my job, partly because of those foundational principles of my work. I also knew that I could gain support and funding with the knowledge of how to put them into practice. This is a big reason I got my doctorate in the community leadership and education field: I wanted to be able to do things well, to responsibly practice, and to make the world better.

Up until this year, no matter how corrupt or racist a leader might be, they knew they had to pay attention to social justice and equity in planning. They knew the appearance was important and the practice was desirable. Likewise, residents knew they had at least that powerful idea on their side. When they brought up issues related to access, historical harm or negligence, and discrimination, they had a valid argument.

Now, I doubt this is still the case. Now, cuts to federal funding might be used as an excuse to abandon or not listen to a wide array of individual and community needs.

Just this week, US Department of Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy issued a statement announcing a nullification of requirements and funding agreements from the Biden Era that mention DEI. This means an end to vital DOT funds that have long been available for greenway plans and other projects improving recreational accessibility.

As another gut punch, Duffy is also excluding bicycle transportation projects from funding, cutting out funds for all active transportation projects that could improve accessibility for walkers, bikers, and rollers alike.

Cuts like this are cropping up in all the funding places that I knew to be the most significant and reliable for improving the accessibility of parks. In the past, the Department of Forestry has promoted projects that increase accessibility to waterways and natural lands with ramps, parking, and trail surfaces. They ran a huge campaign to plant trees to reduce heat island effects and make whole cities more livable. Those are all gone now, because they include DEI language in their objectives.

For those in positions of leadership, the oppressively looming example is that of denying one’s own weaknesses at the cost of happiness and connection to others. This administration implies that accommodating a perspective or experience different from your own, means that yours is somehow wrong. That making someone else’s world bigger, makes yours smaller.

Self-centered leaders like this give anyone and everyone else permission and incentive to build a world that reflects those values. And it makes for shoddy craftsmanship.

They cut corners on clever, flexible design and build a world where we all struggle at least a little more because of it. They advocate for places that only really work for people when they are perfectly healthy. They’re essentially building monkey bars too high to reach and taking away merry-go-rounds because someone else might want a ride.

In this atmosphere, we all miss out on the unique, personal connections that make places magical and joyous, and settle for bland, cookie-cutter structures that limit authentic play and excitement.

It was already a huge undertaking to implement inclusive public spaces, but now, senseless political red lines against diversity are making it infinitely harder. I was sickened to see a headline talking about universal design going against the wishes of the federal government. Hearing park advocates dismay about the growing struggle to keep funding for innovative, culturally responsive design amidst senseless anti-DEI cuts is heartbreaking. I know that generations of people are going to miss out on truly life-changing public spaces because of it.

As we continue to fight for our democracy and the values that uphold it, I encourage everyone to keep up the pressure to increase accessibility of our public spaces and institutions. It is so worth it.

I urge those in positions of influence to remember the way of the world that universal planning embraces: our lives are unpredictable, always changing, and in need of care. Our power is always fluctuating. For that matter, so is Trump’s. Someday, I think soon, his cruelty will catch up with him, and his outdated ideology will slip away as everyone else looks to rebuild with the long-held knowledge and understanding he couldn’t order them to forget.

When we rally to keep building better, to design for people with different abilities and needs, we are looking out for ourselves. We know our future is uncertain. We know we will always need places to escape, to lift ourselves up, to connect with community, and to heal. And we know that if we stay the course, despite political pressure to do otherwise, we will find those places when we need them most.

It’s on us to keep showing up—to town halls, community gatherings, the ballot boxes—to make sure we get rid of this era of cruel exclusion. And turn it into a resurgence where empathy reigns supreme. Where love and compassion rule, instead of extreme hatred and short-sighted bigotry. A world where I can lift my son up, play by his side, and know that no matter what he needs in life, he has a place where he belongs.

With love and hope for the future,

Stephanie

In what ways do you see Trump’s cuts hurting your community?

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