community

Telling the stories of loss and healing

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 13 Aug 2025 21:52:08 +0000

Telling the stories of loss and healing Rachel Sauer Wed, 08/13/2025 - 15:52

Kathryn E. Goldfarb and Lucas Rozell

Colorado’s Marshall Fire survivors find healing and meaning through oral history project

The Colorado Marshall Fire killed two people and destroyed over 1,000 structures on Dec. 30, 2021.

The news cycle has long since moved on, but people impacted by the fire are still recovering. Part of that process is through storytelling.

The Louisville Historical Museum, which is located 10 miles east of Boulder, later joined by collaborators from the �� Anthropology Department, initiated the Marshall Fire Story Project to preserve the stories of people affected.

CU Boulder researcher Kathryn Goldfarb is an associate professor of anthropology.

“This is the first time we’ve actually sat down and taken this long to talk about it,” said Lisa Clark, one contributor to the project. “’Cause we’re always like, ‘(people) have better things to do. You don’t wanna hear our pain. You don’t wanna hear our stories,’ you know. But yeah, it’s been nice to do it.”

All project contributors are quoted using their real names.

We are a cultural anthropologist and qualitative researcher who are collaborating with the Louisville Historical Museum on the Marshall Fire Story Project. Broadly, we are each involved with research that explores the importance of personal and community narratives for well-being.

However, the Marshall Fire Story Project is not a research project. We have no research questions. Contributors are simply invited to share what they would like about the fire.

While this project embraces the specificity of individual experiences, recent destructive fires in Maui, Hawaii, and Southern California show that the work we are doing is needed in many other locations.

Why oral history?

Recounting personal experiences is critical to the historical record.

Oral history has also become recognized as a powerful method for healing after trauma, both for individuals and larger community groups. Talking about traumatic events may be painful. However, narrative also facilitates meaning-making, strengthens ties within communities, and contributes to social justice efforts.

By telling their own stories in their own words, participants in the Marshall Fire Story Project shape what is remembered and how it is remembered.

Contributors to the project had diverse objectives in sharing their stories. Many welcomed the opportunity to contribute to the historical record, which Jessica Rossi-Katz described as “a record of experience.” Another contributor wanted to share their perspective as a lower-income person. Others mentioned the relevance of local stories as they apply to a global context of climate change.

As wildfires become ever more common, the themes that came up in the oral histories are increasingly relevant to community members, policymakers and scholars alike.

Stories of loss

Two people lost their lives in the fire, along with over 1,000 pets.

“I’d take losing my stuff over losing them,” said Anna Kramer, when describing the loss of her neighbor’s dogs. Kramer, an artist, did lose her stuff, including the majority of her artistic works.

Remediation workers clean the garage of Gigi Yang, a collaborator for the Marshall Fire Story Project. Due to concerns about toxins from smoke and ash residue in their homes, many residents opted for smoke remediation and deep cleaning of their homes. (Photo: Gigi Yang)

Abby McClelland’s family was away from their house when it burned.

“For a while I was really upset that we weren’t there and didn’t get a chance to take anything,” McClelland said. “And the more I think about what we would’ve taken, the more I’m like, that stuff is dumb.”

The family was able to replace their vital records and passports within weeks.

“But things like, you know, my grandmother’s rings or the Champagne cork from our wedding reception. Like things that I would’ve thought, oh, that’s so silly to evacuate that, those are the truly irreplaceable things.”

Mary Barry said the “fire was the ultimate downsizer.” She reflected on the objects she had lost – her daughter’s baby pictures, her sewing machines, a collection of books bound in blue and gold.

The fire also took Barry’s pet turtles, one of whom her husband had kept for over twenty years.

“Losing (a) house is like losing a person, where you mourn the loss of your comfort,” Barry said. This was particularly true in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, where people’s homes were their entire environment during quarantine.

Many of those whose homes did not burn suffered a different kind of ambiguous loss. Their homes were damaged by smoke, which carried with it heavy metals, hazardous chemicals and volatile organic compounds.

Shana Sutton’s family stayed in a hotel for six months while their home was being remediated. Like many others, much of the family’s belongings were deemed nonsalvageable.

“In my head,” Sutton recounted, “I was like, okay, I’m just going to pretend that they all burned.”

Concern with health impacts

As she watched the smoke from a distance, Brittany Petrelli told her brother on the phone, “I can smell how devastating this fire is.” Petrelli, a project contributor involved with the recovery effort, recounted that the fire smelled “like things that shouldn’t be burning. Rubber, plastic building materials.”

Residents with concerns about outdoor and indoor air quality as well as soil and water contamination contacted scientists at the ��, who, along with scientists at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s Chemical Sciences Laboratory, conducted air quality sampling. Ultimately, the publicized data for outdoor air quality showed little difference from other urban areas.

Residents whose homes survived but were affected by smoke continued to note symptoms such as sore throats, coughs and stinging eyes for six months and then one year after the fire.

Like others whose homes were damaged by smoke, Beth Eldridge had difficulty obtaining insurance coverage for mitigation. After she attempted to clean char and ash on her own, she experienced persistent health impacts.

After the Marshall Fire, area residents created notes of support for friends and neighbors at the Louisville Public Library; the notes were displayed in the library windows. (Photo: Louisville Historical Museum)

“Being part of an HOA (Home Owner’s Association) should give you two buckets of insurance,” Eldridge explained, “but in reality, everyone is divided and the system makes individuals fend for themselves. My insurance wouldn’t take any responsibility. The HOA insurance wouldn’t take any responsibility. … I was sick and I couldn’t get better and I needed help.”

Accounts from the project highlight uncertainty that remediated personal items were “really clean” – as Shana Sutton shared, it “makes you crazy.” Many people spoke of dissatisfaction with a lack of standards for remediation. Current standards, not specific to wildfires, do not engage the epidemiological and toxicological effects of fire byproducts, although experts in the field recognize these dangers.

Precarity and community solidarity

Being underinsured was a persistent theme in project stories, and some people recounted how negotiating with their insurance companies literally became a full-time job. After the fire, lower-income community members found themselves in an even more acute state of financial uncertainty.

A number of mutual aid groups sprung up in the aftermath of the fire, and several of those groups shared their stories with the project. Meryl Suissa started the Marshall Fire Community group on Facebook, which worked to help families replace items lost in the fire.

“I think what we’ve learned is like, yes, people are okay and they’re strong and they’re resilient and they’re gonna continue fighting,” Suissa said. “But we still have a long way to go to help them heal.”

Kate Coslett, who ran Operation Hotel Sanity, also highlighted how the community came together to contribute to organizations like hers, which delivered home-cooked meals to displaced residents.

“So many volunteers, hundreds of volunteers,” she said. “It’s September (2022), and there are still people making meals. It’s incredible … their empathy and their love, this community is just, I have goose bumps.”

Yet recovery means different things to different people. As Abby McClelland noted, there is a difference between “trauma on the individual level and trauma on the collective level.”

“I can rebuild the house,” McClelland said, “but I can’t rebuild all the houses in the neighborhood, and I can’t plant all the trees, and I can’t, you know, reopen all the businesses. I can’t reverse the trauma in the area. I can only control what’s inside my house. It’s hard to know what’s going to happen on that larger level, and how long that’s going to resonate.”

Like others who shared their accounts with the project, McClelland highlighted a necessity for policy change and governmental actions to prevent further climate-related disasters.

“Individuals can’t solve systemic problems,” she said.

Future of the project

For a community historical museum whose motto is “Be a part of the story,” first-person records constitute valuable resources for both the present and the future.

Our team is currently preparing written and oral project contributor submissions for archiving in a publicly accessible platform. In partnership with Marshall Together and the Community Foundation Boulder County, we are documenting recovery and rebuilding experiences as residents return to their homes.

The first storytellers in our project spoke of trauma and despair, but also gratitude for community. What will future stories tell us as neighbors continue to reunite and adjust to how the community has changed after the Marshall Fire?

This article was written in collaboration with Sophia Imperioli, museum associate – Public History & Oral History, and Gigi Yang, museum services supervisor of the Louisville Historical Museum.

Kathryn E. Goldfarb is an associate professor of anthropology at the ��. Lucas Rozell (MAnth'24) is a research assistant on the CU Anschutz Medical Campus.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Colorado’s Marshall Fire survivors find healing and meaning through oral history project.

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Top photo courtesy the Louisville Historical Museum

It takes a village of mothers

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 13 Aug 2025 20:56:42 +0000

It takes a village of mothers Rachel Sauer Wed, 08/13/2025 - 14:56

Sona Dimidjian and Anahi Collado

How mothers supporting mothers can help fill the health care worker shortage gap and other barriers to care

For generations, women have relied on informal networks of friends, family and neighbors to navigate the complexities of birth and motherhood. Today, research is finally catching up to what generations of women have known: Peer support can be a lifeline.

Despite growing evidence, the unique wisdom and strength that arise when mothers help mothers has been surprisingly under‑explored in the scientific literature, but that’s beginning to change. Peer-delivered programs are beginning to bring together long-standing community traditions and structured, evidence-based approaches to support the mental health of new and expectant moms.

We are clinical psychologists at the �� Renée Crown Wellness Institute. Our work and research weaves together psychological science and the wisdom of mothers supporting mothers. Our program, Alma, supports women in restoring well-being in ways that are community-rooted, evidence-based and scalable.

Through the Alma program, researchers Sona Dimidjian (left) and Anahi Collado (right) aim to support women in restoring well-being in ways that are community-rooted, evidence-based and scalable.

Pressure on parents

Nearly 50% of parents report feeling overwhelmed by stress on most days. An even larger share, about 65%, experience feelings of loneliness, according to a 2024 report from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. These feelings hit mothers especially hard, the report says.

In 2025, mothers in the United States continue to shoulder most of the caregiving of children while also managing work, personal health and household responsibilities. The transition to motherhood is often marked by emotional and psychological strain. In fact, 10% to 20% of women experience depression during pregnancy, the postpartum period or both. Depression is one of the most common complications of childbirth. A similar number of women also face significant anxiety.

In many communities, mental health resources are scarce and stigma around mental health issues persists; therefore, many mothers are left to navigate such challenges alone and in silence. Antidepressants are widely prescribed, but research suggests that many women stop using antidepressants during pregnancy – yet they don’t start therapy or an alternative treatment instead.

Psychotherapy is the most preferred care option among new and expectant mothers, but it is often inaccessible or nonexistent. This is due in part to a workforce shortage of mental health providers.

The shortage has contributed to long wait times, geographic disparities and cultural and language barriers between providers and patients. This is especially true for underserved populations. In fact, more than 75% of depressed mothers do not receive the care they need.

Science of peer support

The science of peer support is part of a larger field exploring community health workers as one way to address the shortage of mental health providers. Peer mentors are trusted individuals from the community who share common experiences or challenges with those they serve. Through specialized training, they are equipped to deliver education, offer mental health support and connect people with needed resources.

A study that analyzed 30 randomized clinical trials involving individuals with serious mental illness found that peer support was associated with significant improvements in clinical outcomes and personal recovery. Researchers have proposed that peer support creates space for learning and healing, especially when peers share lived experience, culture and language.

In 2025, mothers in the United States continue to shoulder most of the caregiving of children while also managing work, personal health and household responsibilities. (Photo: Shutterstock)

As clinical psychologists, we heard from mothers in our work and communities that wanted to help other moms recover from depression, navigate the challenges of motherhood and avoid feeling alone. This insight led us to co-create Alma, a peer-led mental health program based on behavioral activation.

Behavioral activation is a proven method for treating depression based on decades of randomized clinical trials, including in new and expectant mothers. It helps new and expectant mothers reengage in meaningful activities to improve mood and functioning.

The Alma program

Alma is based on the principle that depression must be understood in context and that changing what you do can change how you feel. One strategy we use is to help a mother identify an activity that brings a sense of accomplishment, connection or enjoyment – and then take small steps to schedule that activity. Mothers might also be guided on ways to ask for help and strengthen their support networks. Alma is offered in English and Spanish.

Peer mentors typically meet with moms once a week for six to eight sessions. Sessions can take place in person or virtually, allowing flexibility that honors each family’s needs. Traditionally, peer mentors have been recruited through long-standing relationships with trusted community organizations and word-of-mouth referrals. This approach has helped ensure that mentors are deeply rooted in the communities they serve. Alma peer mentors are compensated for their time, which recognizes the value of their lived expertise, their training and the work involved in providing peer mentoring and support.

“This was the first time I felt like someone understood me, without me having to explain everything,” shared one mother during a post-program interview that all participants complete after finishing Alma.

To date, more than 700 mothers in Colorado have participated in Alma. In one of our studies, we focused on 126 Spanish-speaking Latina mothers who often face significant barriers to care, such as language differences, cost and stigma. For nearly 2 out of 3 mothers, symptoms of depression decreased enough to be considered a true, measurable recovery — not just a small change.

Notably, most of the depression improvement occurred within the first three Alma meetings. We also observed that peer mentors delivered the Alma program consistently and as intended. This suggests the program could be reliably expanded and replicated in other settings with similar positive outcomes.

A second study, conducted through a national survey of Spanish-speaking Latina new and expectant mothers, found that peer-led mental health support was not only perceived as effective, but also highly acceptable and deeply valued. Mothers noted that they were interested in peer-led support because it met them where they were: with language, trust and cultural understanding.

Supporting mothers works

Supporting mothers’ mental health is essential because it directly benefits both mothers and their children. Those improvements foster healthier emotional, cognitive and social development in their children. This interconnected impact highlights why investing in maternal mental health yields lasting benefits for the entire family.

It also makes strong economic sense to address mood and anxiety disorders among new and expectant mothers, which cost an estimated US$32,000 for each mother and child from conception through five years postpartum. More than half of those costs occur within the first year, driven primarily by productivity losses, preterm births and increased maternal health care needs.

Beyond the impact on individual families, the broader economic toll of untreated mood and anxiety disorders among new and expectant mothers is substantial. For example, it’s estimated that $4.7 billion a year are lost to mothers who have to miss work or reduce their job performance because of symptoms like fatigue, anxiety and depression.

Together – as individuals, families, communities and institutions – we can cultivate a world where the challenges of parenting are met with comprehensive support, allowing the joy of parenting to be fully realized. Because no one should have to do this alone.

Sona Dimidjian is director of the Renée Crown Wellness Institute and a professor of psychology and neuroscience at the ��. Anahi Collado is a CU Boulder assistant research professor of psychology.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

How mothers supporting mothers can help fill the health care worker shortage gap and other barriers to care.

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'Your love will be your legacy'

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 23 Jul 2025 13:30:00 +0000

'Your love will be your legacy' Rachel Sauer Wed, 07/23/2025 - 07:30

Sarah Kuta

Losing her father to pancreatic cancer inspired CU Boulder undergraduate Giovanna Ruffolo to raise money for cancer research and pursue a career in medicine

Giovanna Ruffolo was a senior in high school when her dad died of pancreatic cancer.

While other students were looking forward to prom and graduation, Ruffolo was navigating a web of tangled emotions—shock, disbelief, sadness, anger, uncertainty.

“Losing a parent is probably the most intense pain someone can feel in their entire life,” she says. “It’s a terrible, terrible pain.”

Giovanna Ruffolo (second from right) with her brothers Leo (left, a 2024 CU Boulder graduate) and Joey (second from left, a CU Denver student) and their mom, Rosanna. (Photo: Giovanna Ruffolo)

Mostly, though, she just felt numb. Heading off to college so soon after her father’s death was the last thing she wanted to do. But she knew education was important to her dad, so she pushed through the pain and enrolled at CU Boulder.

Now a senior studying integrative physiology and psychology, Ruffolo is preparing for a career in medicine so that, someday, she can help support families just like hers. She hopes to work in pediatric oncology, providing compassionate care to children who are fighting cancer.

As a Buff, Ruffolo is also honoring her father’s legacy by raising money and awareness for cancer prevention research, an initiative she started just after her father got his diagnosis.

“I just want people to know they have a support system and a network that hates cancer as much as they do—that they’re not alone,” she says.

Helping others

Life was rolling along for the Ruffolo family when they got the news that would change their lives forever. In 2017, their beloved patriarch, John Ruffolo, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, a disease that is often fatal.

“It hit us like a bus,” says Ruffolo.

Pancreatic cancer is the third-leading cause of cancer-related deaths in the United States, according to the National Institutes of Health. Between 2015 and 2021, the five-year survival rate was just 13.3 percent—much lower than other types of cancer. In 2025, the American Cancer Society estimates 67,440 people will be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and 51,980 people will die from the disease.

“It’s the cancer that really gives cancer its bad name,” Ruffolo says.

Prospect Ridge Academy High School Students participate in a cancer fundraiser organized by Giovanna Ruffolo in 2019. (Photo: Giovanna Ruffolo)

Ruffolo was just 14 at the time, but she felt compelled to take action. As a sophomore at Prospect Ridge Academy High School, she created TeamRuffolo, a student-led initiative to raise money and awareness for cancer research.

In November 2018, her school hosted a “Purple Out”—a one-day event in which students were encouraged to wear purple to show their support for the cancer community and donate whatever they could toward prevention research. Students, teachers and administrators raised more than $1,000 for the American Cancer Society that day, and Ruffolo went home feeling inspired and hopeful.

She organized similar fundraisers at her high school in 2019 and 2020 (though the initiative had to go virtual because of the COVID-19 pandemic).

“It was such a wonderful feeling,” she says. “A lot of these people didn’t even know my dad, but they were still so supportive. Seeing people come together not only for him, but just to say, ‘You’re not alone,’ was tremendous for all of us.”

Balancing act

Meanwhile, despite undergoing various treatments and surgeries, her father’s cancer continued to progress. Four years after his diagnosis, he succumbed to the disease in January 2021 at the University of Colorado Anschutz Medical Center.

Ruffolo was utterly devastated, but she knew she had to finish high school and get a college degree for her dad. And, wherever she ended up next, she wanted to continue her awareness-raising and fundraising events to support other cancer patients and their families.

CU Boulder participants run in the Stronger Together Annual 5K at CU in 2024, the event's most successful year. (Photo: Giovanna Ruffolo)

At CU Boulder, Ruffolo has thrown herself into her studies, with an ultimate goal of working in the medical field. From her father’s experience, Ruffolo learned first-hand that cancer affects more than just the body—it also influences a patient’s mind, spirit and emotions. With that in mind, she’s majoring in integrative physiology and psychology to create her own pre-health pathway.

“My father had trouble grasping being diagnosed with a terminal disease, as anyone rightfully would,” she says. “I want to understand people’s behaviors and thoughts better, so that when someone is going through a hardship, I can better support them.”

To further build her skill set, Ruffolo also completed CU’s emergency medical technician (EMT) program, an online, non-credit specialization that prepares students for national registry testing. She has also worked as a research assistant at CU Boulder and Children's Hospital Colorado.

In addition, Ruffolo has taken on a leadership role with the CU Boulder chapter of the American Medical Student Association, spending three years on the executive board before being elected president for the 2025-26 school year. Through the student group, Ruffolo has carried on her TeamRuffolo efforts—now called Stronger Together—by organizing 5-kilometer run/walk events to raise money for the American Cancer Society.

She is also a journey leader with New Student & Family Programs, where she helps incoming freshmen navigate the CU Boulder experience. Balancing her studies with her extracurricular activities—while also supporting her family and honoring her father’s legacy—has been challenging. But, for Ruffolo, it all comes back to staying true to herself.

“Pretty much my tippy-top value is helping others,” she says.

In class, Ruffolo has never been afraid to ask questions and speak up—even when that means talking about her father’s death in a large lecture hall full of hundreds of students. Jennifer Stratford, a CU Boulder teaching associate professor of psychology and neuroscience, says Ruffolo’s willingness to be vulnerable has opened the door for other students to share their experiences.

John Ruffolo died from pancreatic cancer in 2021. (Photo: Giovanna Ruffolo)

“She just kind of became an ambassador and a face for students who have lost parents,” says Stratford. “I’ve had a lot of feedback from students about how much they appreciated her bravery and how much they identified with some of the struggles she’d been through. It’s a once-in-a-decade or once-in-a-lifetime experience to see a single student have an impact on so many of her classmates.”

‘Your love will be your legacy’

Since high school, Ruffolo estimates she’s helped raise more than $20,000 for the American Cancer Society. And she’s not done yet. She hopes the CU Boulder AMSA chapter will continue organizing the 5K run/walk fundraisers, and that she’ll be able to host similar events during the next phase of her educational journey.

For now, Ruffolo is focused on finishing up her studies so she can graduate in the spring of 2026. From there, she hopes to continue her education in the medical field, likely as a doctor or physician assistant specializing in pediatric oncology.

“I really want to serve that specific community,” she says. “You’re treating little people who have lots of emotions and a little body. They get very scared easily. You really have to be empathetic and treat them and their families with kindness. I love the idea of sitting down with people, holding their hands, talking to them—not just giving them a death sentence, walking out the door and saying, ‘Best of luck.’”

That approach stems directly from her father’s experiences. As he neared the end of his life, Ruffolo remembers him breaking down and talking about how scared he was. She hopes to be the kind of practitioner who will help people like her dad move forward through their pain and fear, while also treating their underlying illness.

“Your love will be your legacy,” she says. “In a world where there’s no cure for cancer, investing your time in others is the only way you can live forever. And loving other people—giving them kindness and empathy—is one of the best ways to help fight any disease.”

Losing her father to pancreatic cancer inspired CU Boulder undergraduate Giovanna Ruffolo to raise money for cancer research and pursue a career in medicine.

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Top image: Giovanna Ruffolo (right) and her late father, John, representing Colorado cancer patients and survivors at Mile High Stadium at an event sponsored by the American Cancer Society in 2019. (Photo: Giovanna Ruffolo)

Baker brings delicious sustainability to the table

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 15 Jul 2025 13:30:00 +0000

Baker brings delicious sustainability to the table Rachel Sauer Tue, 07/15/2025 - 07:30

Cody DeBos

Gregor MacGregor, assistant teaching professor of environmental studies, focuses on local economies and environmental justice in his Vulcan Mine Bakery

On a quiet street in Lafayette, Colorado, the smell of rosemary and fresh bread often drifts from a solar-powered oven just before dawn. It’s where you’ll find Gregor MacGregor, a �� assistant teaching professor with the Masters of the Environment Graduate Program in the Department of Environmental Studies and the online Outdoor Recreation Economy program, conducting a carefully orchestrated dance of timers, dough balls and donut boxes.

His micro-bakery is a far cry from the courtroom or a university lecture hall, where he also spends his time. But to MacGregor, there’s a through line to it all: caring for the planet and the people in his community.

Gregor MacGregor, a CU Boulder assistant teaching professor of environmental studies and a water attorney, began baking bread with his daughters during COVID lockdowns and eventually opened Vulcan Mine Bakery. (Photo: Gregor MacGregor)

“During the COVID lockdown, I was looking for activities to do with my daughters. As my wife characterizes it, we baked a loaf of bread and a dozen donuts, then decided to open a bakery,” he says.

That spontaneous project eventually became Vulcan Mine Bakery. The name, a nod to the former coal mine near his home, reflects MacGregor’s dedication to environmental awareness.

Sustainability you can taste

MacGregor brings his experience as a water attorney and former U.S. Army officer to the bakery in many ways. Having extensively researched circular economies, he built Vulcan Mine Bakery as a truly local operation.

“My milk comes from a dairy in Longmont, I use duck eggs from a farm in Lafayette, I purchase Colorado sugar beet sugar and my grain comes from a farm in Hugo that I mill in house,” he says.

Even the energy source is intentional. Vulcan Mine’s singular oven is powered by rooftop solar panels. MacGregor sees these choices as essential not just for sustainability, but for flavor—and education.

He says, “The public imagination hasn’t quite adopted the fresh food, farm-to-table movement for baked goods yet. That changes when you let someone take in a breath of freshly milled flour.”

Operating under Colorado’s Cottage Foods Act (CFA) helps MacGregor keep his overhead low and his connections local.

“The CFA unlocks opportunities for entrepreneurs to experiment, grow their chops and see if moving on to a food truck or brick-and-mortar store makes sense for them,” he says.

MacGregor adds, “We should explore every avenue to help locals succeed so we all have options to spend and keep money in our communities, with people we care about, and with people who care where our food comes from.”

In summer 2025, Gregor MacGregor spent about two weeks in Ukraine baking bread with Kharkiv’s Hell’s Kitchen organization, supplying about 900 meals and 1200 rolls a day to hospitals, refugees and other groups. (Photo: Gregor MacGregor)

Flour and fellowship

For MacGregor, food is also a tool for justice.

“Food justice is absolutely a part of environmental justice—having the basic necessities to survive at the low end and having the opportunity to participate in the system in a culturally and economically significant way at the high end,” he says.

MacGregor embraces the opportunity to live out this philosophy through Vulcan Mine Bakery and regularly donates baked goods to those in need.

In 2021, MacGregor created a special menu of Afghan and American treats for newly arriving families of Afghan refugees.

“I got to visit some of the families with their sponsors to share food and stories. It was an incredible way to meet our new neighbors and help them feel welcome,” he says.

MacGregor’s service work also extends far beyond Colorado’s borders.

“Last summer, I spent about two weeks in Ukraine baking bread with Kharkiv’s ‘Hell’s Kitchen’ organization. We supplied about 900 meals and 1200 rolls a day to hospitals, refugees and other groups. We also drove and delivered food, medicine and clothing out into the countryside to villages in need,” he says.

As someone who has spent years working in environmental law and teaching policy, MacGregor is acutely aware of the systems that shape equity and resilience. Baking has given him a new way to get involved.

“Very few people smile when you show up as an attorney, but almost everyone smiles when you show up as a baker,” he says.

A taste of history

MacGregor’s loaves do more than just nourish. Thanks to his interest in holiday baking, they also spark curiosity and conversations about heritage.

Inspired by an old cookbook titled Celebration Breads, MacGregor often bakes traditional and seasonal recipes that let customers taste the intersection of history, culture and community.

“There’s a recipe for the boozy Hartford Election Cake, which I have not seen baked anywhere else, but which used to be a vital part of early-American democracy,” he explains.

“Like many of our other celebratory breads, it contains a great amount of cultural history within it that relates to the why and when of our consumption.”

Lessons from a loaf

Though Vulcan Mine Bakery is now a part of MacGregor’s daily life, it hasn’t replaced his identity as a champion of the environment. It’s only strengthened his desire to have an impact.

“I love baking because I get to work with my hands, chat with people and see how much they appreciate my bread. I think that last bit, the connection with others and serving them, is what really makes it worthwhile,” he says.

MacGregor sees his bakery as an extension of his environmental teaching, a chance to live out sustainability and connection in a tangible way. He also encourages others to look for similar opportunities in their own lives.

“If you already have a skill, you can probably put it to good use for yourself and others,” he says. “There is great need in the world, but you don’t need great means to have an impact.”

In 2021, Gregor MacGregor created a special menu of Afghan and American treats (shown here) for newly arriving families of Afghan refugees.

For Gregor MacGregor (left, making donuts with his wife, Kelly, and daughter Madeleine), baking is a family affair. He and his daughters began making bread during COVID lockdowns, which eventually led to opening Vulcan Mine Bakery.

Inspired by an old cookbook titled “Celebration Breads,” Gregor MacGregor often bakes traditional and seasonal recipes that let customers taste the intersection of history, culture and community.

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Gregor MacGregor, an assistant teaching professor of environmental studies, focuses on local economies and environmental justice in his Vulcan Mine Bakery.

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What’s at risk with public media cuts?

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 08 Jul 2025 14:23:00 +0000

What’s at risk with public media cuts? Rachel Sauer Tue, 07/08/2025 - 08:23

Jared Bahir Browsh

Through its more than 100-year history, U.S. public media has represented diverse audiences and broadcast in areas that commercial media hasn’t

On Nov. 7, 1967, President Lyndon Johnson signed the Public Broadcasting Act into law, forming the Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB) that led to the creation of the Public Broadcasting Service (PBS) in 1969 and National Public Radio (NPR) in 1970.

However, the history of U.S. public media goes back even further—more than a century—as producers and public media advocates have pushed to use the nation’s airwaves and, more recently, digital outlets to give the American public a broad range of news, cultural entertainment and educational media.

Jared Bahir Browsh is the Critical Sports Studies program director in the CU Boulder Department of Ethnic Studies.

Modern U.S. public media’s roots are in the campuses of colleges and universities. Many broadcast historians recognize KDKA in Pittsburgh, which launched on Nov. 2, 1920, as the first commercial radio station, but several experimental stations, some public, had launched in the preceding decade. Union College launched its experimental station in 1916, although it was shut down in 1917 because of the suspension of all civilian stations during World War I (civilian stations were allowed to broadcast again after the war ended). Unsurprisingly, many early radio stations launched on college campuses to both serve the community and train a generation of early broadcasters.

In 1925, at the Fourth National Radio Conference, the Association of College and University Broadcasting Stations (ACUBS) was formed across 25 universities to encourage cooperation and content sharing. This is the model that PBS and NPR adopted and represents one of the main misunderstandings about how public media functions in the United States: PBS and NPR are not a centralized cabal producing biased content for national distribution; rather, they are networks in which the majority of content is produced by local member stations and distributed by PBS and NPR.

The commercial National Broadcasting Company (NBC) and the antecedent to the Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS), the United Independent Broadcasters, were formed just before the Radio Act of 1927 was passed on Feb. 23 of that year. The Act was partly a response to the chaos caused by the lack of regulation, with stations launching on previously occupied frequencies. The Act aimed to better regulate and organize radio broadcasting under the Federal Radio Commission (FRC), and in response to the effort to base radio license distribution on the ability to serve “public interest, convenience, or necessity,” the Act ultimately prioritized commercial radio affiliates with more financial means in their license allocation, causing many smaller, non-commercial stations to either lose their licenses or lower the power of their frequencies.

In 1933, engineer Edwin Armstrong patented high-fidelity frequency modulation (FM) radio broadcasting, offering higher-quality audio broadcasting as compared to amplitude modulation (AM). Experimental FM stations launched in the late 1930s, and the FCC established commercial FM bands on Jan. 1, 1941.

The growth of FM radio, and later television, was delayed by World War II, and soon after the war ended in Europe in 1945, the FCC reassigned the FM band’s range to between 88–106 MHz—under the pressure from the Radio Corp. of America (RCA), which owned NBC at the time. This led to the end of a number of stations that operated outside of the frequencies and made nearly 400,000 receivers obsolete.

This was part of a larger legal battle between RCA and Edwin Armstrong, who owned the original FM patent. RCA claimed its FM system did not infringe on Armstrong’s patent, and the ensuing legal battle delaying the growth of FM radio. One positive outcome from the FCC’s decision is the dedication of the lowest 20 bands (88.1~91.9 MHz) to noncommercial educational stations, which is why many NPR stations broadcast from these frequencies.

The rise of television

After World War II, television expanded rapidly, but to avoid the same chaos that plagued radio before the creation of the FRC, the FCC froze license distribution in 1948, using the time to organize the broadcast television landscape. License distribution was restarted in July 1952, when the FCC's Sixth Report and Order ended the freeze; it also allocated stations for educational television.

"Soul!" debuted in 1968 as a variety show hosted by Ellis Haizlip (right, facing camera) that featured Black artists and figures considered controversial by the white establishment. (Photo: PBS)

In November 1952, the Ford Foundation’s Fund for Adult Education created the Educational Television and Radio Center, which six years later relocated to New York City and renamed as the National Educational Television and Radio Center (NETRC). The organization became National Educational Television (NET) in 1963 and produced its own programs, including “NET Journal” and “Public Broadcast Laboratory.” Both programs were accused of having a liberal bias and were ultimately not carried by a number of affiliates in conservative areas for covering issues like the Civil Rights Movement and poverty.

In 1966, the Carnegie Foundation began conducting a study on the future of educational television at the behest of President Johnson, prompted by concerns about NET’s role as both a television producer and network. The following year, Carnegie’s report recommended that educational television evolve into a more comprehensive “public television” model—inviting a larger variety of programming and transitioning from a centralized production model to one that is rooted in the distribution of programming from independent producers.

The Public Broadcasting Act formalized this plan, with nearly all the CPB’s budget coming from Congressional allocations. Only 5% of this allocation is used for administration costs; the rest is dedicated to content development, community services and other local station and system needs. The budget for CPB in fiscal year 2025 was $535 million, with 70% of that total allocated to grants for local television and radio.

The Act did not invent public media, but it helped organize it, ensuring stations have necessary funds to operate and improve the distribution of programs. During this transitional period between the establishment of the CPB and the launch of PBS in 1970, several programs debuted that would exemplify the eventual impact and reach of public television. “Washington Week” debuted on WETA in 1967, followed by “Black Journal” in 1968; the latter was one of the few public affairs programs focused on issues affecting African Americans. “Soul!” also debuted in 1968, a variety show that featured Black artists and figures considered controversial by the white establishment. This included Muhammad Ali during his exile from boxing after his draft refusal and Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan. It also featured popular musical acts like Stevie Wonder and Gladys Knight & the Pips.

A year before the official launch of PBS, the show that became most synonymous with the network debuted through NET: “Sesame Street.” After three years of research and development, Joan Ganz Cooney spearheaded the creation of the show following discussions with the Carnegie Foundation during its research into educational television.

“Sesame Street” was aimed at lower-income preschool children but ultimately became an influential program for generations of young children, mixing entertainment and education to keep them engaged. The structure also invited older children and parents to co-watch by adding cultural references and more sophisticated humor, as research showed that co-watching led to higher retention of the lessons presented through the presence of the older co-watcher. Cooney became executive director of Children's Television Workshop (now Sesame Workshop) and also helped create “The Electric Company” for elementary school students, featuring Morgan Freeman and Rita Moreno.

Diverse representation

When the children’s show “Arthur” featured a same-sex wedding in 2019, some public television stations refused to air the episode. (Photo: WGBH/PBS Kids)

“Sesame Street” and “Soul!” also represented the diversity featured on PBS as other broadcasters continued to maintain a television environment that often ignored people of color, those with different abilities, women and, later, those who belonged to the LGBTQ+ community. The mix of informational and cultural content from otherwise-marginalized groups was especially important in a pre-cable television environment dominated by NBC, ABC and CBS. This diversity is still controversial; for example, when the children’s show “Arthur” featured a same-sex wedding in 2019, some stations refused to air the episode.

PBS also imported shows from around the world, a strategy originally utilized by NET to offer a greater variety of programming to member stations while exposing the audience to global television. “Masterpiece Theater,” which debuted in 1971, broadcasts performances, films and series mostly from the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC). In 1974, Dallas PBS station KERA began airing episodes of “Monty Python’s Flying Circus,” leading many other stations to pick up the irreverent and influential British sketch comedy show. More recently, “Downton Abbey” aired in the United States as a part of Masterpiece, continuing PBS’s commitment to groundbreaking television programming.

NPR launched in April 1971 with coverage of Senate hearings on the Vietnam War. Covering Congressional hearings and debates became a hallmark of NPR, including when it became the first radio network to broadcast from the Senate floor in 1978. Unlike PBS, NPR does have a centralized news division and launched its first national program, “All Things Considered,” in May 1971; “Morning Edition” debuted in 1979. Both rank among the most popular news radio programs. NPR also distributed popular programs produced by member stations like “Car Talk,” which debuted in 1977.

Public media also has been at the forefront of programming that is now commonplace in the United States. PBS aired several European Soccer shows in the 1970s and 1980s, and documentaries, which have seen a dramatic increase in popularity in recent years, have been a staple of PBS programming since NET was launched.

Local community and nonprofit stations joined as members, incorporating local news and programming with the national content distributed by NPR. In 1980, NPR was the first to launch a national satellite system to distribute content. In an agreement with CPB, NPR began broadcasting non-NPR programming in 1983, addressing a budget deficit resulting from rapid expansion and funding cuts. CPB agreed to lend NPR money if it would transition its satellite service into a collaborative effort, the Public Radio Satellite System, giving access to other public radio distributors. This also shifted the distribution structure for NPR, with money from CPB going to local radio stations that pay subscriber fees to NPR to air its programming.

"It is important to note that only 15% of PBS's funding and 1% of NPR's funding comes directly from the federal government, with NPR stations receiving on average about 10% of the operational budget from the CPB," says CU Boulder scholar Jared Bahir Browsh. (Photo: Ted Eytan/Wikimedia Commons)

The 1983 crisis also led to a national fundraising campaign, “Drive to Survive,” to help ease the financial crisis that almost caused NPR’s demise. Pledge drives are typically run by the local affiliates, but on occasion NPR has run national drives to address funding cuts and other crises. PBS also has mounted coordinated national pledge drives; the first, “Festival 75,” was a reaction to federal funding cuts.

Benefits outweigh the costs

As the current administration’s calls to cut public media funding get louder, it is important to note that only 15% of PBS’s funding and 1% of NPR’s funding comes directly from the federal government, with NPR stations receiving on average about 10% of the operational budget from the CPB. Many PBS and NPR shows are partially funded by grants from the CPB and support from organizations like the Ford Foundation, so cuts may not end national PBS or NPR, but are more likely to lead to some programs and stations ceasing operations, since it is the individual stations that more heavily rely on grants from CPB.

Affiliates in major cities are better positioned to absorb the cuts due to a larger donor base and existing in states that provide more funding—though these stations, too, will still have to make up the loss of federal revenue, most likely through cuts to personnel and ancillary content like educational programs. The most significant cost would be to stations in rural areas and in states that provide little to no funding to public media. These stations provide important information in locations that are otherwise deserts for local news and culture.

Even in our expansive digital media landscape, with so many options available through streaming, PBS and NPR have been at the forefront of leveraging the digital environment to make content available to the public, particularly educational and informational content. NPR was one of the first large organizations to embrace podcasting, and PBS continues to develop and distribute content through its Digital Studios and LearningMedia for both educators and the general public. Also, as the radio and audio industry further consolidates under the domination of corporations like iHeartRadio and Audacy, many public radio stations have taken on the role of providing listeners with diverse and independent music.

The defunding of CPB would lead to a dramatic shift in the media landscape of the United States. PBS and NPR would survive, but their ability to provide diverse content and serve American media consumers would be severely curtailed. The return on the federal investment in the CPB proves it is not a burden but a boon.

Jared Bahir Browsh is an assistant teaching professor of critical sports studies in the CU Boulder Department of Ethnic Studies.

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Through its more than 100-year history, U.S. public media has represented diverse audiences and broadcast in areas that commercial media hasn’t.

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Top image: Sesame Workshop

Supporting survivors of sexual assault through community

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 03 Jul 2025 00:31:29 +0000

Supporting survivors of sexual assault through community Rachel Sauer Wed, 07/02/2025 - 18:31

Cody DeBos

CU PhD graduate Tara Streng-Schroeter's research offers a new way to support survivors of sexual violence

The first time Tara Kay Streng-Schroeter stepped into a sorority house to deliver her sexual assault support training, she hoped it would help students feel more prepared to support one another.

She didn’t anticipate the crowd of women lining up afterward to ask questions and offer thanks.

“At one chapter, many women came up to me and thanked me for being there, told me how important they think this training is,” she recalls. “Some said it was better than any training they’ve received from school or as an RA (resident advisor).”

CU Boulder scholar Tara Streng-Schroeter, who earned a PhD in sociology in May, designed a peer-based intervention program designed to help students respond supportively when someone they care about discloses they have experienced sexual violence.

That moment reaffirmed Streng-Schroeter’s belief in what she’d spent years building: a peer-based intervention program designed to help students respond supportively when someone they care about discloses they have experienced sexual violence.

Her program, called Building Support for Survivors (BSS), offers a promising new approach to how college campuses can support students who experience sexual violence.

“We know the majority of survivors never seek support from the police or formal support from a non-profit or university resources. They instead disclose to a close connection,” Streng-Schroeter says.

Yet most students haven’t been trained to handle such a sensitive moment. Even well-intentioned responses can backfire, leading to shame, self-blame or isolation for survivors.

That’s the gap Streng-Schroeter, who in May earned her PhD in sociology from the ��, hopes to close.

Taking innovative research to the front lines

Streng-Schroeter has spent more than a decade working both professionally and academically in the field of sexual-violence response. She has coordinated sexual-assault response teams, trained volunteer victim advocates and witnessed firsthand the long-term effects of both harm and healing.

After talking with hundreds of survivors, she was acutely aware of the opportunity that existed to help college students support their peers who have experienced sexual violence.

Building Support for Survivors, a 90-minute training intervention that she designed to be implemented with peer groups of college students and has piloted with sorority chapters, combines education about the prevalence of sexual violence with hands-on learning around how to listen, what to say and what not to say.

As part of Building Support for Survivors, Streng-Schroeter also provides customized flyers listing local confidential and non-confidential support options.

“Even though there are so many victims within campus communities, students don’t necessarily know the right thing to say to someone who’s experienced this kind of violence unless they have received training,” she says. “And it’s those individuals that don’t have the training but need it that we’re trying to help.”

Over the course of her study, Streng-Schroeter partnered with sorority chapters at nine universities across the country, delivering her training in person at four of them.

A wake-up call

“We know the majority of survivors never seek support from the police or formal support from a non-profit or university resources. They instead disclose to a close connection,” says CU Boulder researcher Tara Streng-Schroeter.

One of the most striking findings of Streng-Schroeter’s research was just how many students have been affected by sexual violence. More than half of the sorority women who completed her surveys reported experiencing sexual violence in their lives.

That number is significantly higher than national averages had previously suggested.

“It could have happened in the week or the month or the semester leading up to when they took a survey,” Streng-Schroeter says, “but it also could have happened when they were a child, or when they were in high school.”

She notes that sorority members, as well as queer students, are disproportionately affected by sexual violence on college campuses. However, many studies only ask about incidents within a narrow time frame, obscuring the full picture.

“Knowing more about what the actual affected population looks like was very important to me,” Streng-Schroeter says.

The data from her study underscores the urgency of making peer support more effective. Fortunately, there are many promising signs that her intervention works.

Rethinking support for survivors

After completing Streng-Schroeter’s BSS training, students showed meaningfully improved responses in how they thought about and responded to sexual-assault disclosures.

Participants who received the training reported lower levels of rape-myth acceptance—the false or harmful beliefs about what “counts” as sexual violence or who is to blame.

“The program also increased how often participants in chapters that received the training actually provided positive responses to their friends’ disclosure of sexual victimization,” Streng-Schroeter says. “And the data also appears to show that the training reduced negative responses and reduced how often participants anticipate that they will use negative responses when faced with a disclosure of sexual violence in the future.”

Streng-Schroeter believes that her community-first training model is an essential part of why it’s so effective.

Unlike large, anonymous lectures, her program is delivered in already-formed social networks. She theorizes that within peer groups where trust already exists and that experience disproportionately high levels of sexual violence, individuals may be more likely to disclose being the victim of sexual violence to one another.

"Even though there are so many victims within campus communities, students don’t necessarily know the right thing to say to someone who’s experienced this kind of violence unless they have received training."

“The social community aspect is a really important aspect of why we saw promising results with this,” Streng-Schroeter says. “Deploying the exact same training in an orientation for new students … it wouldn’t have the same effect because those friendship networks aren’t there yet.”

In other words, the best way to support survivors may be to start with the people they already lean on by giving them the tools to respond appropriately.

Healing together

With her dissertation completed and defended, Streng-Schroeter now hopes to expand the BSS program. She believes the model could scale to more chapters—and other student communities where close peer-bonds exist—with more funding.

She says, “One goal is to secure funding so I can provide this training across a whole network of a sorority, every chapter. That could impact thousands of people’s lives.”

She’s also eager to adapt the training for queer student organizations, college athletic teams and other student clubs.

Streng-Schroeter knows institutional and cultural reform takes time. But helping students become better friends, listeners and supporters can happen right now.

“People just voluntarily sharing that they felt this training was impactful really meant a lot. It made me think, ‘Okay, something good is happening here,’” Streng-Schroeter says.

As her training and research show, the most important support doesn’t always come from an office or through official channels. Often, healing begins when one person is ready to talk and another is prepared to hear them.

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CU PhD graduate Tara Streng-Schroeter's research offers a new way to support survivors of sexual violence.

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Protesters taking freedom of assembly to the streets

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 12 Jun 2025 22:15:23 +0000

Protesters taking freedom of assembly to the streets Rachel Sauer Thu, 06/12/2025 - 16:15

Rachel Sauer

CU Boulder conflict scholar Michael English explains why public protests matter and what they can mean in the current political and social moment

One of the most storied protests in U.S. history happened Dec. 16, 1773, when a group of Massachusetts colonists, angry with British tax policy, dressed in Indigenous garb, boarded British East India Company ships anchored in Boston Harbor and dumped 342 chests of tea into the water—the infamous Boston Tea Party.

In response, however, British authorities did not amend tax policies but instead closed the harbor.

“If you look at the way we talk about the Boston Tea Party, here’s this event that we don’t generally describe as starting a revolution from violence,” says Michael English, director of the �� Peace, Conflict and Security Program. “We start with people dressing up and doing this mass protest where they destroy some business owner’s property, which is something we’ve historically tended not to support.

CU Boulder scholar Michael English, director of the Peace, Conflict and Security Program, is a specialist in conflict analysis and resolution.

“Then, in the 1780s, we get Shay’s Rebellion, where poor debtor farmers come into Boston to try to preserve what’s left of their farms, and the state raises a militia to put down this protest. Throughout our history, things bubble up and then there’s this backlash. It’s just an interesting quirk of this country that we embrace protest and hate protest.”

That central tension of public protest has been above the fold this week as federal troops have been called in to respond to Los Angeles protests over ICE raids and as No Kings protests are planned in cities across the country Saturday.

What does it mean when people gather to protest—a right enshrined in the First Amendment? English recently considered this and other questions in a conversation with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine.

Question: Do public protests matter or make a difference?

English: A protest is something that, at least from a scholarly perspective, is there to send a message to people in power. As someone sympathetic to protest as a great American tradition, I have to say yes, protest matters. What does it do? That’s a more open question. In some sense, it can start us thinking about whether protest itself is the goal, or whether we want it to lead to something more.

Take the No Kings protests—is the goal to get President Trump to change a specific policy? It doesn’t appear to be so, and that’s not how protest organizers are framing it. Instead, it seems to be, ‘We want to bring a whole lot of people out to express that we are very unhappy about the direction of our country and what appears, to people sympathetic to the protests, as this power consolidation within the executive (branch).’ If millions and millions participate Saturday and we have protests on the scale of Black Lives Matter or Occupy Wall Street or protests against the war in Iraq—if they are able to bring those people out—did this protest do what it set out to do?

If that happens, I think we could answer yes. If they bring a lot of people out and the protests stay nonviolent and not a whole lot of negative things are associated with them, then we can begin to explore whether this is part of something larger, or whether it is this just a one-off thing that sent a message?

Question: Has what’s happening in Los Angeles, with federal troops called in to respond to public protest over ICE raids, brought a new layer to current protest?

English: These are new times, yes, but in some ways, there are parallels in the past. The National Guard has been called out at different points—in fact, Gavin Newsom did invoke the National Guard during Black Lives Matter protests, which is not even that far in the past. What’s happening now in Los Angeles does raise really interesting questions. When you look at movements in the past and look at the military being deployed, it’s usually been in service of the movement—school desegregation or Johnson enforcing the Voting Rights Act. These were actions in favor of the movement. Then there’s everything after, which has been the National Guard being sent out to quell unrest.

California National Guard members and protesters in Los Angeles in June 2025. (Photo: U.S. Northern Command)

In Los Angeles, there wasn’t actually a lot of unrest until you started bringing more and more force in, whether that’s more police, then the National Guard, then threat of the Marines. That’s a real thing we should worry about, because it does create a mirroring tension where people may escalate because they feel that those on the other side of them are prepared for confrontation.

Question: Is nonviolence still central to public protest in the United States?

English: I would say yes, there still seems to be a fairly significant commitment to nonviolence. But the further we get away from the civil rights framing of nonviolent protest, the harder it is for people to understand what that means and what goes into it. We’ve seen that the discipline between people participating in these events now seems to break down a little quicker, and there isn’t the same build-up over time of participants receiving training to participate (in nonviolent protest). There are some really interesting videos of James Lawson getting civil rights protestors ready for the freedom rides, and the training was they basically beat you up to make sure you wouldn’t respond. If you couldn’t do that, you weren’t going to get sent into that situation.

I think for the most part people are still committed to nonviolence as a strategy to bring social change, but in the same breath I can say that there’s always been a kind of violent contingent associated with protests in the past.

It’s easy to assume, when we look backwards, that we can tell a rosy story of civil rights movement, but we would be missing episodes that weren’t so friendly. If you look at Black Lives Matter protests, 95% of those protests were nonviolent, but the ones that get our attention are always the ones where violence occurs, and that’s just how movements work. Organizers of movements can certainly intervene, and you see that in the No Kings messaging, this attempt to say, ‘We need to police this; these are strategies for helping people who seem disruptive or are not at the same level of discipline.’ It gets back to the question of whether everyone who’s participating in a protest is on the same page and, if not, is public protest the best strategic choice for the movement?

Question: How have social media affected or changed how public protest happens?

English: It’s a real mixed bag at the moment. On the one hand, I watched the Arab Spring protests on my computer at work—I watched the protests in Tahrir Square and watched these folks engage across Facebook at the time—and that was super powerful, I’ll never forget that. And social media played an important role in the movement because young people knew how to use it and it gave them an advantage against regimes that, at the time, did not understand and just wanted to dismiss it outright. I would say the same thing about Occupy Wall Street and the first generation of Black Lives Matter when we were protesting the deaths of Trayvon Martin and Mike Brown. Social media was really powerful there.

"A protest is something that, at least from a scholarly perspective, is there to send a message to people in power," says CU Boulder conflict researcher Michael English. (Photo: Pexels)

But then we see this shift past 2016, where social media starts to feel super performative to people. I have students tell me that in one sense it’s great because they learn about things they didn’t know were going on, but on the other hand, yeah, you could post a picture or a video but didn’t really have to do anything about it. So that’s one critique, that it makes movements seem performative and like something people are just doing for an afternoon for social clout.

Now that we know so much of social media is being scraped by authorities to identify who people are and all of this kind of network tracing, it puts people who participate in movements in real danger if they’re careless with their social media. You’re making a record of something that who knows how it’s going to be used in future. It's certainly going to change how movements go forward, so it’s good that we’re having these conversations now when there’s real concern among people over whether they can participate—whether they feel they can participate—knowing somebody could scan your movements and identify you as having been there.

Question: How do you respond to the argument that protest doesn’t accomplish anything and change only happens by running for public office and creating policy?

English: I would say it depends on what the point of the movement is. With some movements or protests, depending on how the message is being put out there, the end goal may be that we’re showing our discontent now, with the idea that we’re going to support certain people running for political office or pressure legislators on a particular policy. But this can get complicated when the routine methods of forcing political change don’t seem like they’re working or seem really far off. I mean, the mid-terms are more than a year and a half away; how much impact does protest this weekend have for political office in a year and a half?

So, I come back to the idea of protest as building that collective solidarity, letting people know there are others who are upset and there is strength in numbers. Then I wonder what happens when we do find that redline issue that really upsets people. I think right now we’re still waiting for a redline issue—the thing this or any president wants to do that a majority of American people don’t support and don’t want.

The amazing thing about studying social movements is the speed at which they can escalate is really unpredictable and can be really intense. If you look at Black Lives Matter, for instance, that pushed a ton of young people to become interested and run for office. So, it could be the case that people leave this protest (Saturday) and they’re like, ‘I really want to make a difference and really want to ensure there’s a different kind of political majority in office come the next election cycle.’

Where it gets tricky is if nobody is pushing that message, or if the message is that there’s no way change can happen through the existing political system, then people might dig into cynicism and say it all just needs to collapse. We do need that central conflict because conflict is good, conflict is normal; we just don’t want the violence. Violence is where we have something that’s clearly gone wrong. But people coming out and expressing that they’re angry and upset? That’s what we want in a democratic society.

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CU Boulder conflict scholar Michael English explains why public protests matter and what they can mean in the current political and social moment.

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An apple a day? It’s the Boulder way

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 08 May 2025 17:18:27 +0000

An apple a day? It’s the Boulder way Rachel Sauer Thu, 05/08/2025 - 11:18

Rachel Sauer

Newly planted apple orchard on CU Boulder campus is a nexus of university and community partnerships and will be a living classroom for students and educators

For now, they are twiggy little things, all spindly adolescent limbs that nevertheless hint at future harvests. Saturday morning, one even wore a scattering of creamy white blossoms—flowers that, in years to come, once roots have gained hold and branches have stretched up and out, will grow into apples.

Is there anything more hopeful than planting a tree? Yes, planting a whole orchard of them.

On Saturday, years of planning, research and partnership-building bore fruit on an L-shaped plot in front of the �� 30th Street greenhouse, where more than two-dozen volunteers planted 30 apple trees in what had previously been a scrubby patch of turf.

Funded by a $90,000 Sustainable CU grant, the apple orchard will not only be a classroom and a living lab, but a nexus for community, a carbon sink and a vibrant example that sustainability can be delicious.

“It’s so exciting to see this happening,” says Amy Dunbar-Wallis, who this semester completed her PhD in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology and collaborated with CU Boulder faculty and students and community partners to bring the idea of the first orchard on CU Boulder campus to fruition.

“It represents how so many people on campus, so many people in the community, have come together to plant this orchard that will be a place to learn and a place to preserve a really neat part of Boulder’s history.”

In search of old apple trees

The new apple orchard grew from the Boulder Apple Tree Project, an initiative that began almost 15 years ago with a simple observation: There seemed to be a lot of old apple trees in Boulder.

Katharine Suding, a professor of distinction in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, had recently moved to the area, “and I was really surprised to see so many old apple trees everywhere,” she recalled during the 2022 Apple Symposium. “I realized I had no idea about the histories and particularly the history of apples, so looking into it a little more, it was clear there are trees here that are remnants of past histories starting in the turn of (20th) century.

Amy Dunbar-Wallis (left) and Tiffany Willis (right, EBio'22) consult a chart designating where each tree would be planted in the new apple orchard in front of the 30th Street greenhouse Saturday morning. Willis, who lives in Boulder, took EBIO 1250 online during Covid lockdowns and was a lab assistant for the class in 2021.

“There are apple trees in Colorado and in Boulder that are remnants from old orchards that still exist. There are also remnants of trees that were planted when people came and built ranches or had farms here, and often they were bringing along apple trees from where they came from, whether it was Germany, whether it was the Midwest, whether it was Scandinavia.”

In fall 2017, the Boulder Apple Tree Project (BATP) sprouted, combining historical sleuthing with cutting-edge genetic testing and grafting to not only locate and catalog Boulder’s historic apple trees, but also to revive its legacy of apple growing. In the ongoing project, researchers gather data on the age and health of the trees, as well as the type and flavor of the apples, and the genetic diversity that the trees offer to future populations.

Suding and BATP co-principal investigator Lisa Corwin, an associate professor of ecology and evolutionary biology, have worked with undergraduate and graduate students not only to gather data, but also to develop the EBIO 1250 course, during which students conduct research on Boulder’s apple trees; curricula and materials in partnership with the CU Museum of Natural History; a database and app in collaboration with computer science students; an interactive map of apple trees that have been tagged and studied; and the A Power of Place Learning Experience and Research Network (APPLE R Net), a multi-institution research network directed by Corwin that introduces students to field research by involving them in a project examining apple trees across the Rocky Mountain region.

BATP also is part of the Historic Fruit Tree Working Group, which connects Colorado researchers with other apple-exploring groups and researchers across North America.

Mia Williams (left) waters a newly planted apple tree Saturday morning. Williams, who will graduate this summer, is double majoring in ecology and evolutionary biology and environmental studies.

“This project has grown so much since our initial community engaged Apple Blitz in 2018,” says Dunbar-Wallis. “We've tagged over 1,000 trees and created a database, taught multiple course-based undergraduate research experiences at CU and at colleges across Colorado and northern New Mexico, started a data-collection app and interactive map in collaboration with CU computer science capstone students and installed a demonstration orchard in collaboration with Boulder Open Space and Mountain Parks.”

The demonstration orchard, planted two years ago, functions as a teaching and research laboratory to explore how biodiversity affects the functioning of apple orchards and their services to human well-being, including efficient water use, pollinator habitat and structural complexity supporting natural pest control.

A part of the narrative

The idea for the 30th Street orchard was revived by a group of six undergraduate and two graduate students almost two years ago, who proposed resubmitting a grant application that hadn’t been accepted in 2019.

“We’re a group who really love what we do and love apple trees and working with the soil,” says Katie Mikell, an ecology and evolutionary biology student who is graduating today and who was a member of the team that crafted and submitted the grant proposal.

“Before, (the orchard plot) was a lawn full of monoculture turf grass, so part of our argument was that if we put in an apple orchard, it would create a carbon sink (a system that absorbs more carbon than it releases), it would save the school money and anyone walking by could pick an apple. Plus, once the trees are producing, we can donate apples to the food pantry. Everyone can benefit from an apple orchard.”

Deidre Jaeger (right, PhDEBio'22) and her sons Sage, 4 (left), and Cedar, 1 (center), plant apple trees at the 30th Street orchard Saturday morning. Jaeger was a postdoctoral researcher in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology and an advisor for the Center for Sustainable Landscapes and Communities and is a researcher with the Boulder Apple Tree Project.

Students prepared the 30th Street site during fall semester, working with departments and organizations across the university, as well as many community partners. The trees planted Saturday are about three years old and were obtained from Widespread Malus and Benevolence Orchard in Boulder.

“Our students are at the core of the university, and their passion and ingenuity are critical to our values around infusing sustainability throughout CU Boulder. This orchard exemplifies that pursuit in so many ways,” says Vice Chancellor for Sustainability Andrew Mayock.

“It is not only helping to protect biodiversity in our community. It will help feed those in need on our campus and create a living-learning laboratory space where sustainability leaders of the future will learn and develop strategies for urban agriculture planning.”

Fifteen varieties of apples are represented in the orchard, including locally grown historic cultivars like Wolf River and Colorado Orange. A beloved apple tree on the Bobolink Trail is even represented in a newly planted graft.

“There’s so much learning that can happen in an orchard,” says Manuela Mejia, an ecology and evolutionary biology PhD student who will conduct her doctoral research, which will include studying insect diversity, at the orchard. “So many facets of science are represented here.”

In addition to trees, the orchard will include an understory of native, drought-tolerant grasses and pollinator-friendly wildflowers, notes Mia Williams, who is majoring in environmental studies and ecology and evolutionary biology and will graduate this summer.

“It’s really exciting that this orchard will become a part of the story of agriculture in this area,” Dunbar-Wallis says. “We’ve tagged more than 1,000 trees (through BATP) and some of them are a hundred years old, so you think about everything they’ve seen and been through, the history that they hold, their stories, and now these trees—which are little now and probably won’t produce fruit for two or three years—are part of that narrative.”

Sophie Small (left) and Amy Dunbar-Wallis (right) fill a wheelbarrow with compost Saturday morning to prepare for planting an apple orchard in front of the 30th Street greenhouse. Small, a freshman who is studying biomedical engineering, learned about the project through the CU Farm and Garden Club.

Sophie Small (left), Isaac Kou (center) and Kyrie MacArthur dig a hole Saturday morning before planting an apple tree in it. Small is studying biomedical engineering, Kou just graduated with a major in computer science and a minor in ecology and evolutionary biology and MacArthur is studying history and education.

Amy Dunbar-Wallis (PhDEBio'25) digs a hole for a young apple tree Saturday morning.

Amy Dunbar Wallis (left, black vest) educates student and community volunteers Saturday morning before they plant 30 apple trees in front of the 30th Street greenhouse.

The apple trees planted in the 30th Street orchard Saturday morning, one of which even bloomed, are three years old and should begin producing fruit in two or three years.

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Newly planted apple orchard on CU Boulder campus is a nexus of university and community partnerships and will be a living classroom for students and educators.

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Scholars aim to build community for women in quantum

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 25 Apr 2025 19:46:50 +0000

Scholars aim to build community for women in quantum Rachel Sauer Fri, 04/25/2025 - 13:46

Rachel Sauer

Quantum Scholars Emily Jerris and Annalise Cabra started CU Women of Quantum to help women interested in careers in quantum to network and share experiences

First, the good news: Between 1970 and 2022, the percentage of U.S. women workers in STEM jobs grew from 7% to 26%.

The obvious and not-so-good news is that while women represent almost half the U.S. workforce, they hold only a quarter of STEM jobs. And the numbers get even more stark in quantum fields. A 2022 report from the London School of Economics and Political Science found that fewer than 2% of applicants for jobs in quantum fields are female.

Quantum Scholars Annalise Cabra (left) and Emily Jerris (right) gave a presentation about CU Women of Quantum at the December Quantum Scholars meeting attended by CU President Todd Saliman. (Photo: Casey Cass/CU Boulder)

However, in the 100 years since German physicist Werner Heisenberg submitted his paper “On quantum-theoretical reinterpretation of kinematic and mechanical relationships” to the journal Zeitschrift für Physik, a July 1925 event that is broadly credited with kick-starting the quantum revolution, the possibilities and potential of quantum science and engineering have grown enormously.

Recognizing that potential, a group of �� scholars wants to help ensure that women participate equally and fully in quantum science and engineering.

CU Women of Quantum, founded last semester by Quantum Scholars Emily Jerris and Annalise Cabra, aims to be a community of support, connection, mentorship and networking for women interested in pursuing careers or research in quantum fields.

“Our primary focus,” Cabra explains, “is just to create a space where we can come together, share our experiences and create relationships that are lasting.”

100 years of quantum

Both Jerris and Cabra say that this is an exciting time to be in quantum science and engineering. Not only did the United Nations declare 2025 as the International Year of Quantum Science and Technology, and not only did Colorado Gov. Jared Polis last week announce the Blueprint for Advancing K–12 Quantum Information Technology, but research happening on the CU Boulder campus and in Colorado is swiftly expanding the boundaries of quantum technology.

However, they also add that as exciting as this time is, women in quantum fields still face some of the same roadblocks that women in STEM always have.

“I think if you asked most of the women in the club or just in a STEM major if they’ve had a moment where a peer or coworker has talked down to them or they felt not necessarily fully included in a project because they were the only woman in the group, I think most probably have,” Jerris says. “So, it’s nice to have a space to talk about that—how to navigate situations like that. A lot of us do research, too, and those types of situations are also really prevalent in the research space.”

Jerris and Cabra worked with Michael Ritzwoller, a physics professor of distinction and Quantum Scholars co-founder, and physics Professor Noah Finkelstein to create CU Women of Quantum, which is open to all students, as a place for not only female Quantum Scholars, but for women across campus who are interested in pursuing careers in quantum science, technology or engineering.

Annalise Cabra (left) works with Brooke Nelson (right), a career advisor for the College of Engineering and Applied Sciences, on her resume during a recent CU Women of Quantum meeting.

Supporting women in quantum

One of the group’s aims is creating networking and mentorship opportunities for members by asking professors and women working in quantum fields to speak at group meetings. This has included Alex Tingle, a CU Boulder physics alumna and senior technical project engineer at Quantinuum, who was named one of the Wonder Women of the Quantum Industry by the Quantum Daily.

CU Women of Quantum gatherings also focus on skill-building, including a recent meeting at which Brooke Nelson, a career advisor for the College of Engineering and Applied Sciences, gave a presentation on creating and honing a resume.

“One of our goals is to help (CU Women of Quantum members) narrow in on their interests and build connections,” Cabra says. “And then also having opportunities to see how women in their shoes were able to navigate and build careers in quantum. I think it’s important for a lot of women in the field, too, to go back and encourage other women who are just starting out or just getting interested in quantum.”

The members of CU Women of Quantum also get together for study sessions, “because even if we’re not taking the same classes, with other women you can feel more open and not like you’re the outlier in the group.”

Both Cabra, who is graduating next month, and Jerris, who is completing her third year, are interested in pursuing careers in a quantum field, bolstered by the support they’ve found in CU Women of Quantum.

“It’s so fascinating because it’s just so unintuitive,” Cabra says. “It makes your brain think in such crazy ways, from the ways particles behave to the ways stars don’t collapse or do collapse, to parallel universes, and it all goes back to quantum. I think it’s just so exciting to study.”

Jerris adds that often the common perception of quantum science and technology is that “it’s kind of magic or something we don’t totally understand, but we actually do have a pretty good understanding of quantum. We know what’s going on and can model it, and we’re maybe just one step behind with how we can actually manipulate things. So, it’s not magic; it’s something we do know a lot about and we’re learning more every day.”

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Quantum Scholars Emily Jerris and Annalise Cabra started CU Women of Quantum to help women interested in careers in quantum to network and share experiences.

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Top image: Casey Cass/CU Boulder

Holocaust victims to be memorialized on campus

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 16 Apr 2025 17:23:18 +0000

Holocaust victims to be memorialized on campus Rachel Sauer Wed, 04/16/2025 - 11:23

Holocaust Remembrance Day, or Yom HaShoah, to be observed by a public reading of the names of Jews killed in the Holocaust

Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, will be observed on campus again this year with a public reading of the names of European Jews murdered by the Germans and their allies during the Holocaust.

Weather permitting, the reading will take place on Thursday, April 24, from 10 a.m. until 5 p.m. at the Dalton Trumbo Fountain Court in front of the University Memorial Center.

The event’s organizers encourage the campus and broader communities to participate in the readings. Prospective participants may sign up here.

The U.S. Congress established the Days of Remembrance in 1980 as the nation’s annual commemoration of the Holocaust. The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C., which opened in 1993, leads the nation in observing Days of Remembrance and encourages observances throughout the United States.

Holocaust Remembrance Day

What: Public readings on Yom HaShoah

When: Thursday, April 24, from 10 a.m. until 5 p.m.

Where: Dalton Trumbo Fountain Court in front of the University Memorial Center.

The main event takes place at the U.S. Capitol, often attended by the U.S. President. In Israel, the Holocaust Martyrs’ and Heroes’ Remembrance Day (Yom HaShoah in Hebrew) is a national day of commemoration on which the 6 million Jews murdered in the Holocaust are memorialized.

It begins at sunset on the 27th of the month of Nisan, the first month of the Jewish calendar, and ends the following evening, according to the traditional Jewish custom of marking a day. Established in 1953 by a law from the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, it falls close the anniversary of the 1943 Warsaw Ghetto Uprising.

The central ceremonies, in the evening and the following morning, are held at Yad Vashem, Israel’s official memorial to victims of the Holocaust.

During Yom HaShoah ceremonies in the United States, Israel and elsewhere, people read the names of Jews murdered by the Germans and their allies during the Shoah.

“The events of the Holocaust are given meaning only by remembering the individuals who died during that time,” Rabbi Sharon Sobel writes. “We gather as a community, we remember the names of those who died, and we affirm their lives by how we choose to lead our lives. So, names, indeed, are very powerful. ... we honor those who came before us and those who perished during the Holocaust by giving our names—and their names meaning through our actions and aspirations and the way we fulfill them.”

The CU Boulder event is presented by the Program in Jewish Studies. It is co-sponsored by the CU Boulder Department of History, Department of Women and Gender Studies and Center for Humanities and the Arts.

For more information on the Days of Remembrance and Yom HaShoah commemoration, please contact Professor Thomas Pegelow Kaplan, the Singer Endowed Chair in Jewish History, at thomas.pegelow-kaplan@colorado.edu.

“In our rapidly changing domestic and global political situation and the various devastating ongoing wars, especially in Israel and Gaza, these commemorations have again taken on yet a different meaning,” Pegelow Kaplan said.

“This event will also once more amount to a small contribution towards addressing charges of antisemitism (‘structural’ or not) that are still leveled against CU not only by right-wing non-Jewish and Jewish groups, but even by officials in or close to the federal government.”

Pegelow Kaplan noted that April 24 is also the anniversary of the start of the Armenian genocide, “and we will most certainly mention it and other mass crimes and mass death, especially in Gaza/Israel.”

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Holocaust Remembrance Day, or Yom HaShoah, to be observed by a public reading of the names of Jews killed in the Holocaust.

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