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Pop-punk’s favorite Canadian troublemakers are at it again. Avril Lavigne and Simple Plan just dropped “Young & Dumb,” and honestly? It’s the nostalgia hit nobody knew they needed in 2025.

The track feels like stumbling across your old high school yearbook – equal parts cringe and charm, but somehow perfect. Released last Friday, it captures that magical chaos of the early 2000s when both artists were just small-town kids with oversized dreams and a few power chords in their back pockets.

“This is such a full-circle moment,” Lavigne shared recently. Well, yeah – no kidding. Back in 2002, these two acts practically owned the airwaves, though they probably never imagined they’d still be making waves two decades later.

The song itself? Pure storytelling gold. Lavigne kicks things off with a trip down memory lane: “2002 and I’m hanging on the tour bus/Leaving my hometown, Napanee.” Anyone who lived through the era can practically see the necktie-and-tank-top combo that launched a thousand Hot Topic shopping sprees (and let’s be real – some of us are probably still finding black eyeliner from that phase).

But here’s where it gets interesting. When Simple Plan’s Pierre Bouvier jumps in, the whole thing transforms into this back-and-forth between old friends who’ve somehow managed to survive the wild ride of fame together. They even throw in a cheeky nod to “I’m Just a Kid” – because why not? Twenty-plus years in the game earns you the right to reference your own hits.

The timing couldn’t be better (or maybe more calculated, but who’s counting?). With Lavigne wrapping up her Greatest Hits Tour – 19 more dates to go, but who’s keeping track? – and Simple Plan along for the ride, this collaboration feels weirdly organic. Almost like it was meant to happen all along.

Social media’s been having a field day with this one. “It’s giving 2010s pop punk princess vibes again,” declared one TikToker, while another fan hit the nail on the head: “20 years later and we’re still feeling Young & Dumb… If you grew up on ‘Complicated’ and ‘I’m Just a Kid,’ this one hits different!”

Look, in an industry where everything old becomes new again faster than you can say “reunion tour,” this collab stands out. Maybe it’s because both artists are gearing up for the resurrected Van’s Warped Tour (seriously, what year is it?), or maybe it’s just that rare instance where the stars aligned perfectly.

Simple Plan summed it up pretty well: “The lyrics speak to the special bond we’ve shared since we first toured together back in 2003. We became friends right away, and what’s amazing is how that friendship has only grown stronger over the years.”

In a music landscape where manufactured nostalgia often feels about as authentic as a three-dollar bill, “Young & Dumb” somehow manages to capture lightning in a bottle. It’s a reminder that sometimes – just sometimes – you can go home again, even if home is a sweaty mosh pit circa 2002.

And maybe that’s exactly what we need right now. A little bit of authentic nostalgia, a dash of friendship, and enough power chords to remind us why we fell in love with pop-punk in the first place.

Sometimes the most iconic moments in music history hang by the thinnest of threads. Take Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” — that infectious global phenomenon that’s practically embedded in our cultural DNA. Hard to believe that twenty years ago, this chart-topping collaboration nearly vanished into the ether of what-could-have-been.

The story behind the song’s salvation reads like something straight out of a late-night movie marathon (you know, the kind where you keep saying “just one more” until sunrise). During a recent appearance on The Tonight Show, Shakira shared the kind of coincidence that makes you wonder about fate — or whatever cosmic force orchestrates these things.

Picture this: One night, Shakira has this totally random dream about Wyclef Jean. Not that kind of dream, as she quickly clarified to Jimmy Fallon with a laugh that had the audience in stitches. The very next day — and here’s where it gets weird — her manager rings with news that Wyclef wants to collaborate. Talk about manifesting, right?

But here’s where the story takes a wild turn. With “Oral Fixation, Vol. 2” already sitting in stores (remember physical albums?), Shakira marched into Epic Records with the kind of gutsy proposition that probably gave accounting departments nationwide collective heart palpitations. She asked then-label head Donny Ienner to pull every single copy and repackage the album with “Hips Don’t Lie.”

Looking back from 2025, as we celebrate the song’s twentieth anniversary, that decision feels like a no-brainer. But imagine being in that room, watching Shakira essentially bet her career on a dream and a feeling. “You’ve got to trust me,” she told Ienner. Spoiler alert: He did, and the rest is Billboard history.

Fast forward to today, and Shakira’s still following those artistic instincts. Her Las Mujeres Ya No Lloran World Tour isn’t just breaking records — it’s rewriting them. We’re talking 145 people, 93 tons of equipment, and what she describes as her “biggest set list ever.” In an era where many artists are scaling back due to post-pandemic logistics (and those wild 2024 shipping costs), Shakira’s going all in.

“It’s a party, but people really, really connect with this music,” she shared with Fallon. There’s something beautifully authentic about how her eyes light up when she talks about her fans — about how these songs have become “the soundtrack of their lives.”

As she gears up for the North American leg of her tour at Charlotte’s Bank of America Stadium, it’s worth noting how rare this kind of staying power is in the music industry. Two decades after that fateful dream, Shakira’s still packing stadiums, still taking creative risks, still making those hips tell nothing but the truth.

Perhaps the real lesson here isn’t just about trusting your gut or following your dreams (though, hey, it worked out pretty well in this case). Maybe it’s about recognizing that sometimes the biggest moments in our lives — and in pop culture — come from those inexplicable hunches that defy logic and spreadsheets.

And as we watch Shakira command stages across North America this spring, breaking attendance records and probably a few hearts along the way, it’s hard not to wonder: What other musical masterpieces might be lurking in someone’s dreams tonight?

Darlings, the streaming wars just got deliciously messy. Peacock — clearly tired of playing second fiddle in the digital entertainment orchestra — is orchestrating a bold takeover that’s got Hollywood’s chattering class reaching for their martinis.

The streaming service dropped a programming bomb that would make Netflix executives spill their oat milk lattes. Leading the charge? The absolutely genius poaching of “House of Villains” from E! — a move that’s about as subtle as a Kardashian wedding, but twice as strategic.

Joel McHale’s delightfully sardonic hosting of reality TV’s most infamous troublemakers will find a new home on Peacock come early 2026. (Let’s be real — in the streaming world, that’s practically tomorrow.) This power play screams Comcast’s determination to gather its scattered entertainment children under one roof, and honey, it’s not just spring cleaning — it’s a full-blown estate sale.

But wait, there’s more. Much more.

The crown jewel in this programming tiara has to be “Nelly & Ashanti: We Belong Together.” Just when you thought Y2K nostalgia couldn’t get any sweeter, these two prove that sometimes the second time around hits different. It’s giving early-aughts romance with a 2025 glow-up, and viewers are absolutely here for it.

Speaking of journeys worth watching, comedy powerhouse Tiffany Haddish is taking her squad on a four-week African adventure that promises more emotional depth than your therapist’s waiting room. “Tiffany Haddish Goes Off” sounds like what would happen if “Eat, Pray, Love” got invited to the coolest girls’ trip ever — and actually showed up.

True crime addicts (no judgment, we’re all a little obsessed) haven’t been forgotten. The platform’s serving up both “Gilgo Beach Killer: The House of Secrets” and “The Idaho Student Murders.” With Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson executive producing the Gilgo Beach series, expect production values higher than cryptocurrency in 2021.

Theme park enthusiasts — brace yourselves. “Epic Ride: The Story of Universal Theme Parks” is about to spill more tea than a broken Mad Hatter’s teacup. This three-part series offers unprecedented access to Universal’s empire, including sneak peeks at Universal Epic Universe that’ll have Disney’s Imagineers taking notes.

The real question hanging over Hollywood Boulevard like morning smog: Will this ambitious strategy pay off? In an era where attention spans are shorter than Pete Davidson’s engagement history, Peacock’s betting big on star power and proven formats.

With parent company Comcast reshuffling its deck chairs — spinning off cable networks into Versant — these moves feel less like desperate channel surfing and more like calculated chess moves in the streaming endgame. Perhaps this peacock isn’t just spreading its feathers; it’s learning to soar.

Hollywood’s commitment to the silver screen just got a fresh vote of confidence. Sony Pictures has extended Tom Rothman’s position as Chairman and CEO of the Motion Picture Group — a move that speaks volumes in an era where streaming platforms seem to dominate every industry conversation.

The decision carries particular weight as we enter 2025, a year already marked by seismic shifts in entertainment consumption. Rothman, who’s held the reins since 2015, stands as something of an anomaly in modern Hollywood — a studio head who actually believes in, well, studios.

Let’s be real for a moment. While other entertainment giants scramble to pump content into their streaming pipelines, Sony has maintained an almost stubborn dedication to theatrical releases. It’s refreshing, really. Almost old-school glamorous, if you will.

Quentin Tarantino — never one to hold back his opinions — put it rather perfectly when he declared Sony “the last game in town that is just absolutely, utterly, committed to the theatrical experience.” He even went so far as to say he wouldn’t work with any other studio. Coming from cinema’s favorite enfant terrible, that’s quite the endorsement.

The specifics of Rothman’s contract extension remain as closely guarded as next year’s Oscar envelope, but the implications are crystal clear. Sony’s doubling down on its belief that there’s something irreplaceable about the theatrical experience — something a living room TV just can’t match, no matter how many inches wide the screen might be.

What’s particularly fascinating about Rothman’s approach is its blend of commercial savvy and artistic ambition. Sure, the studio’s churned out crowd-pleasers like “Venom” and “Spider-Verse” (because those bills won’t pay themselves). But it’s also backed filmmaker-driven projects that might’ve made other studios nervous. Think Greta Gerwig’s “Little Women” or Tarantino’s “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” — proof that box office success and artistic integrity aren’t mutually exclusive.

The timing feels particularly poignant. As the industry continues to wobble through post-pandemic recovery and streaming services wage their endless content wars, Rothman’s steady hand offers something rather remarkable: consistency. Under his continued leadership, Sony’s various labels — Columbia Pictures, TriStar Pictures, Sony Pictures Animation — seem positioned for an intriguing future.

Looking ahead to the summer slate, there’s genuine buzz building around projects like “Karate Kid: Legends” and Danny Boyle’s long-awaited “28 Years Later.” These aren’t just titles on a release calendar; they’re statements of intent.

Perhaps what’s most striking about this whole situation is how it challenges the prevailing wisdom about entertainment’s future. While some industry players seem convinced that streaming is the only path forward, Sony’s stance suggests something more nuanced — that perhaps the future of film isn’t about choosing between theatrical and streaming, but about knowing when each format serves the story best.

In an industry that often feels like it’s chasing its own tail, there’s something rather magnificent about this commitment to cinema’s traditional powers. It’s a reminder that some experiences simply can’t be replicated on a phone screen, no matter how good the resolution gets.

Now that’s the kind of plot twist Hollywood could use more of.

The Mets turned Citi Field into their personal launching pad last night — and man, what a show it was. In what felt more like a home run derby than your typical mid-May ballgame, they hammered the Cubs 7-2 in a display that had the crowd wondering if someone had secretly juiced the balls.

Look, baseball’s a funny game. Sometimes the stats tell you one thing, and then the baseball gods just laugh. Take Jameson Taillon — hadn’t given up a single homer to a lefty all season. Well, that streak lasted about as long as a snow cone in August.

Francisco Lindor kicked off the fireworks show, and from there? Pure chaos. The good kind, if you’re wearing blue and orange. Juan Soto’s 434-foot moonshot to right-center wasn’t just a homer — it was the kind of blast that makes you wonder if the ball’s gonna land somewhere in Manhattan. His eighth of the season, fifth in eight days. Not bad for a guy who’s still getting his mail forwarded to his new address.

Carlos Mendoza’s looking like a genius right now. Stacking lefties against Taillon raised some eyebrows in the press box — specially with the Cubs rolling in with the NL’s third-best record. But sometimes baseball’s chess match comes down to knowing your opponent, and Mendoza’s time with Taillon during their Yankees days clearly paid off.

Jeff McNeil made his skipper look particularly smart. The hit machine did what he does best, adding his own souvenir to the right field seats. Between that and Clay Holmes dealing absolute filth on the mound (six innings, three hits, one run), the Mets’ new-look roster is starting to gel in ways that even the most optimistic fans couldn’t have predicted back in March.

Sure, there were hiccups. Dansby Swanson’s throw in the third looked more Little League than Gold Glove, opening the door for some extra Mets runs. But that’s baseball in 2025 — sometimes the routine plays bite you harder than the spectacular ones.

At 25-14, the Mets are making Citi Field feel like a fortress again. The crowd’s energy? Electric. The kind that makes you remember why we all fell in love with this crazy game in the first place. And while nobody’s printing playoff tickets in May, there’s something different about this squad. Something that feels… sustainable.

For the Cubs? Chalk it up to one of those nights where everything that could go wrong, did. Baseball’s got a way of humbling even the hottest teams. Just ask anyone who’s been around the game long enough — sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug.

When the University of Kentucky pulled the plug on identity-based graduation ceremonies early this year, they probably expected the usual grumbling and eventual acceptance. What they got instead was a masterclass in student determination that would make any civil rights activist proud.

The story begins, as many modern tales of institutional backpedaling do, with a carefully worded administrative statement about “federal and state policy changes.” Pretty standard stuff in 2025’s increasingly tense culture war landscape. But what happened next was anything but standard.

Rather than accept defeat, dozens of graduates took matters into their own hands. The historic Lyric Theatre in Lexington—a building that’s seen its fair share of cultural resistance—became their stage. And what a stage it turned out to be.

“If you want something to happen, then you can just go make it happen yourself,” said Kristopher Washington, delivering what might be the most succinct graduation speech of the decade. No flowery rhetoric, no administrative doublespeak—just pure, unvarnished truth.

The whole situation drips with irony. While universities across America perform increasingly elaborate compliance dances—billions in frozen DEI grants here, dismantled diversity programs there—these students simply… celebrated. No permission needed, thank you very much.

University President Eli Capilouto offered up what could charitably be called administrative poetry: “We have made tough decisions… that cause concern and in some cases, hurt.” Meanwhile, Brandy Robinson, watching her nephew graduate, cut through the bureaucratic fog with refreshing clarity, calling it “a coward move.” (Sometimes the simplest descriptions are the most accurate.)

The broader context reads like something from a particularly heavy-handed political satire. Republican-controlled state legislatures wielding their power like a sledgehammer, federal departments extending their reach, and universities ducking for cover faster than a freshman dodging responsibility. Yet graduating senior Marshae Dorsey nailed it: “something like this is so harmless.” Quite.

Not every institution has followed UK’s lead, mind you. Fort Gregg-Adams keeps their 18-year tradition alive through digital tributes. Northeastern University spreads celebrations across multiple campuses. Turns out there’s more than one way to honor achievement—who knew?

Perhaps the most powerful moment came from Christian Adair, the Lyric Theatre’s executive director. “You are charged with standing on our shoulders and doing bigger and better things,” he told the graduates. Funny thing is, they already were—showing that real celebration doesn’t need an official stamp of approval.

Alpha Phi Alpha’s president Pierre PetitFrere reminded everyone what matters: these graduates’ hard work deserves recognition, regardless of the world’s current political temperature. And isn’t that what graduation ceremonies should be about? (Spoiler alert: yes, yes it is.)

Look, this isn’t just about one cancelled ceremony or one community’s response. It’s about what happens when institutional caution collides with human determination. Sometimes the most powerful statement isn’t a statement at all—it’s just carrying on, business as usual, while the powers that be tie themselves in knots.

In the end, these graduates didn’t just earn their degrees—they taught a lesson in resilience that no university course could cover. Not bad for a day’s work.

Horror fans, brace yourselves — Christophe Gans is making his way back to those eerily familiar fog-shrouded streets of Silent Hill. And this time around, he’s not just dipping his toes in the murky waters; he’s diving headfirst into adapting the franchise’s crown jewel.

The buzz around Hollywood lately has been deafening. Cineverse (remember when they were just the new kids on the block?) has nabbed the U.S. rights to “Return to Silent Hill,” promising what they’re calling a faithful adaptation of Silent Hill 2. Now, we’ve all heard that one before, haven’t we?

But wait — there might actually be something different here.

Gans, who gave us that deliciously atmospheric 2006 Silent Hill film, seems dead set on breaking the video game adaptation curse that’s plagued Hollywood since… well, forever. And as we head into 2025’s surprisingly packed horror lineup, this particular project stands out like a rusty knife in the fog.

The story follows James (played by Jeremy Irvine, who’s been absolutely everywhere since that Netflix anthology series last fall) receiving a letter from his supposedly dead wife, Mary (Hannah Emily Anderson). Classic psychological horror setup? Sure. But it’s the execution that has industry insiders whispering in dimly lit studio corridors.

“I am delighted to partner with Cineverse,” Gans declared at last month’s horror convention — though honestly, what else was he going to say? But there’s something about the way he discusses the source material that feels genuine. Almost obsessive, really. The man practically glows when talking about Silent Hill 2’s legacy.

The timing’s interesting, isn’t it? With the gaming industry’s market cap hitting unprecedented heights in early 2025 and the success of last year’s unexpected hits in the adaptation space, “Return to Silent Hill” seems perfectly positioned. Perhaps too perfectly? Cineverse isn’t exactly being subtle about their expectations, what with Chief Content Officer Yolanda Macias dropping that “$156 million global box office” figure at every opportunity.

Here’s the real kicker, though — translating psychological horror from an interactive medium to film. Silent Hill 2 wasn’t just about monsters jumping out of the darkness (looking at you, every other horror film of 2024). It was about the slow burn, the creeping dread, the way it got under your skin and stayed there.

The project’s got some serious muscle behind it. Victor Hadida, Molly Hassell, and David Wulf are producing — and say what you will about their recent missteps with that cyberpunk adaptation, but these folks know how to get things done.

For those who somehow missed the cultural phenomenon (seriously, where’ve you been hiding?), Silent Hill 2 represents something special in gaming history. It proved that video games could tell sophisticated, mature stories that didn’t need explosions or boss battles every five minutes to keep audiences engaged.

Will it work? Who knows. But in an industry that’s becoming increasingly risk-averse — especially after last summer’s string of AI-generated flops — at least someone’s trying something interesting. And maybe, just maybe, that’s worth celebrating.

Or at least worth being terrified about.

Hollywood lost one of its most versatile visionaries this week. James Foley, the director who danced between gritty indie films and glossy blockbusters with remarkable grace, passed away at 71 after battling brain cancer.

The Brooklyn native’s passing feels particularly poignant as the industry grapples with an evolving landscape. In an era where streaming platforms dominate and AI-generated content sparks heated debate, Foley’s old-school mastery of both artistic and commercial filmmaking seems almost mythical.

His journey through Hollywood reads like a fever dream of creative evolution. Starting with “Reckless” — that haunting 1984 debut starring Daryl Hannah — Foley quickly established himself as someone who couldn’t be boxed in. But it was “At Close Range” that truly showcased his raw talent. The film, featuring a young Sean Penn opposite Christopher Walken, competed at Berlin and left audiences breathless with its unflinching portrayal of family betrayal.

Then came the Madonna years. God, those music videos. “Papa Don’t Preach” and “True Blue” didn’t just capture the zeitgeist — they shaped it. The visual vocabulary Foley developed during this period still echoes through today’s music videos, though few modern directors manage to achieve that perfect balance of narrative and spectacle.

“Glengarry Glen Ross” (1992) stands as perhaps his crowning achievement. The film adaptation of David Mamet’s play could have been a disaster in less capable hands. Instead? Pure lightning in a bottle. That legendary “Always Be Closing” scene — not even in the original play — has become so deeply embedded in popular culture that half the people quoting it probably don’t know where it came from.

What makes Foley’s career trajectory so fascinating was his absolute refusal to be pigeonholed. Who else would pivot from directing “Glengarry Glen Ross” to taking on the “Fifty Shades” sequels? Those films might not have won any Oscars, but they proved Foley could turn even the most controversial source material into commercial gold, raking in over $700 million worldwide.

“I’ve had a very fluid career of ups and downs and lefts and rights,” he once mused to The Hollywood Reporter. That might be the understatement of the decade. Between prestige television gigs on “House of Cards” and “Billions,” Foley demonstrated an almost supernatural ability to adapt to changing industry demands while maintaining his distinctive visual style.

He leaves behind siblings Kevin, Eileen, and Jo Ann Foley, along with nephew Quinn Foley and their spouses — but his real legacy lives in the countless filmmakers who learned from his example that genre is just a suggestion, not a prison.

In today’s hyper-specialized entertainment landscape, we might never see another director quite like James Foley. And maybe that’s what makes his loss feel so significant right now.

Nashville’s getting a whole new kind of spotlight, and this time it’s not just about the music. The 9-1-1 franchise is setting up shop in Music City, bringing with it a star-studded cast that reads like a who’s who of Nashville royalty. LeAnn Rimes and Kimberly Williams-Paisley are jumping aboard this emergency response drama — and honestly, could there be a more perfect match for a show that’s aiming to capture the heart and soul of Tennessee’s capital?

The series has already locked down some serious television firepower. Chris O’Donnell (fresh off his NCIS: Los Angeles run) is stepping into the boots of Captain Don Sharpe — picture a rugged fire captain who splits his time between running Nashville’s busiest firehouse and hitting the rodeo circuit with his son. It’s the kind of character that practically begs for a Keith Urban soundtrack.

Speaking of music — whoever had the bright idea to bring LeAnn Rimes into the mix deserves a raise. The Grammy winner brings more than just acting chops to the table; she’s got Nashville street cred in spades. With 48 million records sold worldwide and those unforgettable hits like “How Do I Live” still getting airplay, Rimes represents exactly the kind of crossover appeal this show needs to stand out from the usual procedural crowd.

Then there’s Williams-Paisley, who’s practically Nashville television royalty at this point. After her stint on ABC’s “Nashville” (different show, same zip code), she knows a thing or two about bringing Music City drama to life. Her extensive TV background — everything from “According to Jim” to those comfort-food Hallmark features — suggests she’ll be the steady hand this new series needs.

The timing’s interesting, isn’t it? As “9-1-1: Lone Star” rides off into the Texas sunset (blame those pesky “financials,” as Murphy put it), this Nashville spinoff feels like more than just a replacement — it’s an evolution. The original “9-1-1” series just made the jump to ABC and apparently became Thursday night’s heavyweight champion, so expectations are running high for this Music City incarnation.

What’s got everyone buzzing is how they’ll weave Nashville’s musical DNA into the high-stakes world of first responders. With Rimes and Williams-Paisley on board (though their roles are still under wraps — clever marketing, folks), there’s potential for something genuinely unique. Picture emergency calls interrupted by impromptu performances at the Bluebird Café, or rescue scenes backdropped by the neon glow of Lower Broadway.

Production kicks off this summer, eyeing a Fall 2025 premiere on ABC. While showrunner Minear’s playing coy about potential “Lone Star” crossovers with that classic “not impossible!” tease, the focus seems firmly on establishing Nashville’s own identity in the 9-1-1 universe.

The real question is whether this blend of country music culture and emergency response drama can strike the right chord with viewers. But with this cast, the iconic backdrop of Music City, and the proven 9-1-1 formula getting a country twist — well, it’s starting to look like ABC might have themselves a genuine hit in the making. Y’all better mark your calendars for this one.

When the University of Kentucky pulled the plug on identity-based graduation ceremonies this spring, nobody expected what happened next. In a twist that speaks volumes about community resilience, Black graduates didn’t just accept the decision — they created something entirely their own.

The story begins with a bureaucratic announcement. Citing vague “federal and state policy changes,” UK administrators canceled several graduation celebrations, including those honoring minority students. Their timing couldn’t have been worse.

But here’s where it gets interesting.

Rather than accept defeat, dozens of graduates — still wearing their hard-earned caps and gowns — gathered at Lexington’s historic Lyric Theatre. The venue choice wasn’t random; it’s been a cornerstone of local Black culture for generations. And on that Wednesday evening, it became something more: a symbol of defiance wrapped in celebration.

“If you want something to happen, then you can just go make it happen yourself,” said Kristopher Washington, whose words cut straight through the administrative double-speak. Washington, working with Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity, helped transform what could’ve been a moment of defeat into something remarkable.

The whole thing feels like a metaphor for our times, doesn’t it? While politicians and pundits debate DEI initiatives (and Trump’s administration freezes billions in grants to places like Harvard), real people are getting on with the business of living — and celebrating.

The scene at the Lyric was electric. Specialty stoles and cords found their way to proud graduates. Families cheered. Friends hugged. Even Rabbi David Wirtschafter showed up to usher, proving that solidarity crosses all boundaries.

Meanwhile, back on campus…

University President Eli Capilouto released one of those carefully worded video statements administrators seem to specialize in these days. “We have made tough decisions,” he said, acknowledging that some choices “cause concern and in some cases, hurt.” Talk about an understatement.

“To take those moments away from them out of fear, it’s just really disappointing,” observed Brandy Robinson, watching her nephew Keiron Perez graduate. She called it a “coward move” — and honestly, who can blame her?

The political backdrop to all this reads like a greatest hits of conservative talking points. Kentucky’s Republican-controlled Legislature has been busy dismantling diversity programs at public universities. The federal Education Department’s been making noise about extending last year’s Supreme Court ruling against racial preferences into every corner of campus life.

But sometimes the best response to a setback is simply to prove it wrong.

Pierre PetitFrere, Alpha Phi Alpha’s president, put it perfectly: these graduates needed to “remember and know that, even given the circumstances of what’s going on around the world, they are still being recognized for their hard work.”

Perhaps the sharpest observation came from graduating senior Marshae Dorsey, who called the university’s retreat “kind of like a slap in the face because something like this is so harmless.” There’s something deeply ironic about institutions hurting the very communities they once swore to support — all in the name of compliance.

As the evening wound down, Christian Adair, executive director of the Lyric Theatre, left the graduates with a challenge that felt both timeless and timely: “You are charged with standing on our shoulders and doing bigger and better things.”

Looking ahead to 2025, with political battles over DEI likely to intensify, that charge feels more relevant than ever. Because while policies may shift with political winds, communities will always find ways to celebrate their achievements — and their identity. Sometimes, they just have to do it themselves.