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As I boarded the plane to Spain a few months ago, I looked forward to catching some sun and scientific stimulation at a conference in the middle of the dark, wet Swedish winter. I went through my upcoming oral presentation in my head as my 4-year-old ran ahead, searching for our seats. We have traveled together as a dynamic duo ever since my baby was 3 months old, when we set off to Brazil to attend a conference and conduct fieldwork. I am a nontenured researcher looking for a permanent academic position, and travel is crucial for building my reputation and CV. But this trip would be our last for a while, because paying for my child's travel has rendered me a bankrupt botanist. ![Figure][1] ILLUSTRATION: ROBERT NEUBECKER > “Paying for my child's travel has rendered me a bankrupt botanist.” As a single parent with no family members nearby, I have no alternative but to bring my child with me when I travel for work—and to pay for it out of my own pocket. The expenses add up quickly, including airfare, child care, and increased food costs relative to what we would spend at home. For years, I decided it was worth it. I need to do fieldwork to keep my career going. By giving seminars, presenting at conferences, and participating in working groups, I raise my profile with potential employers and—I hope—improve my chance of landing a permanent position. So, when potential trips came up, I usually took them. But the costs have started to become untenable. To have enough money to pay for rent, groceries, and other necessities, I have become very particular about which opportunities I accept. I've had to decline invitations to give seminars at major institutions and keynote presentations at conferences because the trips would have been too expensive. I can only say yes when an opportunity is too good to turn down and the travel will be relatively affordable. I recently traveled to Germany to participate in a working group—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to spend 4 days with eminent people in my field discussing a new data set and novel ways to analyze it. It was a tremendous experience, and I'm glad I went. But my child and I ate simple meals for weeks afterward to offset what I spent to participate. Support for dependent travel is simply too rare. Some institutions, particularly U.S. universities, offer grants for this purpose. Last year, I was thrilled to win a €500 “attendance aid grant” offered by the European Society for Evolutionary Biology for its meetings, which covered my child's airfare and child care at the conference. But I have not been able to find any other similar grants or support that I can apply for—from funding agencies, scientific societies, or my institution. On the bright side, free or subsidized child care seems to be getting slightly more common, at least in my field. At the recent working group in Germany and the conference in Spain, free child care was available for anyone who needed it—essential support that made my participation possible. On another occasion, when I said I would have to turn down an invitation to give a lecture because the travel would be too expensive, the organizers offered free child care for the day, which made it feasible for me to attend. But child care is only one piece of the puzzle. More universities, funding agencies, scientific societies, and conference organizers should offer grants and other support mechanisms for parents and other caretakers who incur additional expenses for work-related travel. I acknowledge that resources are limited, and I fully understand the pushback these types of proposals can elicit. Why should hard-won money go to paying for my child's travel? Why should my family be treated differently than any other, in academia or in any workplace? My response is that if academics like me are not supported, we will continue to hit the “glass ceiling,” fall through the “gender sieve,” or whatever else you want to call it. Making science equitable is not about giving everyone the same opportunities; it's about supporting the needs of individual scientists so that we all can thrive. [1]: pending:yes

CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS-- A new challenge to university administrators is being mounted by respected female professors with tenure who are finding themselves frustrated by the glass ceiling that many male and female academics say still separates the sexes at universities. After nearly 2 decades of struggle, women remain a significant minority on science and engineering faculties, making up only 12.5% of senior faculty in the natural sciences and engineering at all U.S. universities and 4-year colleges, according to National Science Foundation data. Although the percentages of female junior faculty members are roughly double those of full professors, there is disturbing evidence that even the highly successful women who remain in academia and prosper may feel desperately unhappy and out of the loop with their colleagues, a situation that may be most acute at leading institutions. A close look at two of the nation9s top universities, Harvard and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, reveals trends that likely affect women elsewhere but are more acute at these elite schools.

Twenty-five years ago, William J. Wilson drew widespread attention to increases in the concentration of poverty in the United States and the diminished life chances of “the truly disadvantaged” ( 1 ). The hypothesis that growing up in a severely deprived neighborhood threatens well-being is rooted in a long scientific tradition. From Victorian London to present-day America, research has shown links between neighborhood poverty and outcomes such as crime, economic dependency, poor physical health, teenage pregnancy, and school dropout ( 2 ). But could the characteristics of individuals living in deprived neighborhoods explain these observed associations rather than the characteristics of the neighborhood itself ( 3 )? On page 1505 of this issue, Ludwig et al. ( 4 ) address this question by analyzing the results of a policy project that supported neighborhood relocation.

In his article “A glass ceiling for Asian scientists?” (News Focus, 28 Oct., p. [606][1]), J. Mervis raised the interesting question of why Asian scientists, who are abundantly present in U.S. research and industrial labs and academic institutes, do not hold positions and titles as senior

U.S. WORKFORCEAsian scientists are a major presence in U.S. biomedical research labs. So why do so few hold leadership positions?

WOMEN IN SCIENCETOKYO-- Next week some 30 national academic societies will meet here to tackle the subject of the dearth of women in the scientific and engineering work force. The meeting marks the debut of a coalition on gender issues that could be a powerful force for change, say advocates, if it's willing to address tough issues such as sexual harassment and a glass ceiling for managers.

Dudley Herschbach's donation of a portrait of Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin to the faculty room at Harvard University is long overdue recognition of a great astronomer. In the Random Samples item “Breaking the portrait glass ceiling” (15 Feb., p. 1227), the painting is compared with William Blake's

BOSTON-- The leaders of nine top U.S. research universities this week pledged to smash the glass ceiling that hinders women from advancing at their institutions. Meeting on Monday at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, the all-male group stopped short of setting a specific agenda but acknowledged that women face greater obstacles in climbing the academic ladder.

SHIRAZ-- Despite institutions such as separate reading rooms for each sex, women are a growing presence at Iran9s universities, making up nearly 60% of incoming classes, almost double their share in 1978. But as in many other countries, some female academics in Iran point to a glass ceiling that keeps their representation among university professors low.