Gayle King Went to Space. Journalism Didn't.

In a quietly devastating move, NASA has begun erasing the visible legacy of women and people of color from its public-facing materials. References to the Artemis program’s goal of landing the first woman and first person of color on the Moon have been stripped from the website. The “First Woman” graphic novel series, meant to inspire young girls through a fictional Latina commander named Callie Rodriguez, has been deleted. And internal directives now instruct NASA staff to scrub DEIA-related language from public communications, including mentions of Indigenous land acknowledgments and environmental justice.

You know what would have been something? If, at the press conference after the women returned to Earth, all the women had demanded that NASA put back what has been removed from its website history over the past few weeks. That would have been something.

When I saw Oprah crying as Gayle King lifted into the sky on Blue Origin, I cried too. I’ve admired their friendship for decades—its strength, its visibility, its unwavering mutual support. And Oprah herself has been a compass for me more than once, guiding me toward deeper thought, spiritual clarity, and the courage to grow. In fact, I consider her to be in my inner circle, with real influence over me. That doesn’t mean we will always agree.

I started to think carefully about the trip. Why I was so disquieted. In the context of our world as it is today, this should never have happened.

Gayle wasn’t the journalist in this story. She was the story. And the story was this. Six women, only two of them even close to astronauts, had their hair and make up done, (yes, you are right; there are no false eyelashes in space, or there weren’t until now), suited up in custom-tailored jumpsuits and, why? To float in zero gravity for ten minutes, with Jeff Bezos as their host. This was marketed as progress. As historic. As the “first all-female crew in space since 1963.”

Let’s start with the language, because in today’s world if anything matters, it’s the words we use moving forward. This wasn’t a crew. These were passengers. Just like you and I are passengers on an airplane, only they didn’t pay for the ticket. Bezos did.

What we witnessed wasn’t space exploration or scientific advancement. It was a billionaire-funded spectacle, for a brand that is surrounded by darkness. Like Darth Vader darkness. The cost? Around $50 million for a ten-minute suborbital joyride.

And while the world watched women float and pose for cameras, and Katy Perry sang Wonderful World - while Oprah wept and Gayle glowed—Donald Trump was welcoming a South American dictator into the Oval Office. That dictator offered to build prisons for Americans who dissent. Oh, and if you aren’t listening, DT talked about American citizens as his next target for ‘trafficking,’ because that’s what they are doing. That happened, too. On the same day.

Is this the future? A world where empowerment of rich people’s idea of a roller coaster, is confused with access or curiosity, or exploration? Where women dressed for zero gravity become symbols of progress simply because they’re visible? Visibility isn’t the same as impact. Floating in space isn’t the same as moving us forward.

I’m still glad Oprah cried. I’m glad Gayle was brave. But I won’t pretend this is what advancement looks like. Not when science, journalism, and democracy are all under threat back on Earth.

So while a few women float in Bezos’ capsule for ten minutes, real women in space history are being quietly edited out of the record. And, they could have said something about it.

Let’s not confuse optics with progress.