Division of Social Sciences

Scholar dissects voter perceptions of transnational politics

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 14 Aug 2025 21:24:57 +0000

Scholar dissects voter perceptions of transnational politics Rachel Sauer Thu, 08/14/2025 - 15:24

Bradley Worrell

CU Boulder political scientist Jeffrey Nonnemacher asserts that Western European national political parties use their affiliations with party families to signal their own political viewpoints

In the 2013 German national elections, the upstart political party Alternative for Germany (AfD) failed to gain a single seat in parliament. Just four years later, the AfD won 97 seats and became the third-largest political party in Germany.

The AfD made its historic inroads in the 2017 German elections at the same time it transformed itself from a Euroskeptic but relatively moderate party into a political movement that became much more closely aligned with radical right parties in the rest of Western Europe, says Jeffrey Nonnemacher, an assistant teaching professor with the �� International Affairs Program, whose research focus is political parties and elections.

In particular, Nonnemacher points to a decision by AfD’s party leader, Frauke Petry, in 2017 to host radical right leaders from across Europe, including Marine Le Pen with the French National Rally, Geert Wilders of the Dutch Party for Freedom and Matteo Salvini of Italy’s Northern League. That decision effectively telegraphed to voters the party’s shift to the right and signaled its embrace of the transnational radical right party label, says Nonnemacher, who recently published a paper in the British Journal of Political Science about voter perceptions of transnational politics.

CU Boulder scholar Jeffrey Nonnemacher is an assistant teaching professor in the International Affairs Program and the Arts and Sciences Honors Program and a lecturer in the Department of Political Science.

“My goal with this paper is to tackle the question of: Do voters care if the AfD’s leadership is spending a lot of time with France’s Marine Le Pen and the National Rally? Are voters getting some sort of information from the party family label attached to a party and the party’s relationship with that label?” he explains. In his paper, Nonnemacher contends that political parties in Western Europe are responsive to politics outside their home country—and that strategic choices to embrace a larger party family label, such as radical right in the case of AfD, do influence how parties are perceived by a country’s voters.

In a recent conversation with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine, Nonnemacher emphasized that a political party that embraces the party family signifies its commitment to the larger ideological goals associated with the party family, while parties that push back and work to distance themselves from their sister parties from other countries signal that they may not be credible champions for core issues. His answers have been lightly edited for style and clarity.

Question: Can you define what constitutes a transnational party family?

Nonnemacher: In political science—especially in comparative politics—one of the goals is to think about the ways we can compare political outcomes. One of the ways we do this is by looking at these so-called party families. These are basically categorizations of parties based upon shared histories, shared ideology and common networks of activists and leaders.

There are a whole host of party families. The largest families in Europe are the Social Democrats, which is your center-left, working-class parties, and the Conservatives, which are your traditional center-right parties. You’ve also got your Green parties, which are your environmental parties, among many other families.

These party families are now much more useful than what academics created them for, which was tools for comparisons. Today, parties within similar party families tend to behave the same, learn from each other and form groups that transcend national boundaries based upon shared ideologies.

Question: What motivated you to explore the topic of transnational parties as a source of voter perceptions?

Nonnemacher: The academic answer is that I felt there was a gap there. We know a lot about how voters in Europe today are concerned about integration and thinking about politics beyond their own borders. But we had not yet, as academics, come to terms with the consequences of this, for how they view their parties and the links between what information they’re getting and their political parties. That was the academic motivation.

The more topical answer was the rise of the radical right parties in these various countries and how these parties seemed to be learning from each other, copying each other and celebrating each other’s victories in a way that we hadn’t really seen before. You have Hungary’s Victor Orbán hosting CPAC (the U.S.-based Conservative Political Action Conference), and you have Marine Le Pen in France having these big rallies with other radical right leaders.

Hungary’s Victor Orbán hosts CPAC (the U.S.-based Conservative Political Action Conference). (Photo: Elkes Andor/Wikimedia Commons)

My motivation was trying to understand the consequences of this seeminginternationalization of right party politics especially, but also party politics more generally.

Question: What are some specific reasons why parties might choose to embrace a transnational party?

Nonnemacher: The argument I make in the paper is very much an electoral argument. Parties win elections when voters know what they stand for. That’s one of the big theories that we have about party competition, is that parties need to distinguish themselves from their competitors and be able to communicate to voters what they believe.

If a voter can’t tell the difference between one party and another, they’re unlikely to support them. And if a voter doesn’t know where the party stands, then they don’t know if they’re going to get what they want out of the party. So, parties need to distinguish themselves. They need to signal to voters what their positions are.

One of the motivations here for parties is: This label tells voters where I stand. If I’m seen alongside other Social Democrats, I can kind of bolster my credentials on being a Social Democratic Party.

The other electoral motivation is parties want to win elections, and they look to who won and say, ‘We should copy that.’ In 2021, when the Social Democrats won in Germany, Social Democratic parties across Europe all immediatelylooked to Germany and said, ‘What did they do? How did they win this election? What can we do to kind of copy that?’

Question: So, it’s not just radical right parties learning from radical right parties in other countries, but also leftist and centrist parties learning from their transnational sister parties?

Nonnemacher: Yes. One of the things I wanted to do in this paper was to make the case that it’s not just the radical right that’s doing this and benefitting from it. It’s the British Labour Party taking lessons from Germany’s Social Democrats, for example.

Green parties are an especially interesting transnational group, because inherently, they see fighting for the environment as a global issue. They view international cooperation and international learning as core to solving the problems that they are running on. Notably, almost all of them have ‘green’ in their name and almost all of them have the sunflower as their logo.

Question: What makes Germany’s AfD party a particularly noteworthy example of a national party forming associations with like-minded parties in Western Europe?

Nonnemacher: There’s probably two reasons for that. One is they exploded in Germany in terms of growing support from 2013 to 2017; the other is that by 2017, the radical right in Europe had exploded. There’s just a lot more attention on the far right, and it’s Germany, so whenever the far right does anything in Germany, people notice.

The AfD is an interesting case, because in 2013 they were not the far-right party that they are today. They have had a big transformation in the last 10 to 12 years. In 2013, they were really just angry about the European Union and the Euro crisis, and with Germany having to bail out the rest of the European Union. They were a Euroskeptic party first and foremost. They were anti-immigrant, but it wasn’t their main focus.

France's Marine Le Pen of the French National Rally has helped lead a far-right shift, particularly on immigration, in Europen politics. (Photo: Jérémy-Günther-Heinz Jähnick/Wikimedia Commons)

They had a disappointing election in 2013, where they barely missed out on getting seats in the parliament.Then by 2017, they shifted dramatically to the right on immigration. They really started to copy France’s Le Pen and other prominent, far-right leaders in Europe tobe this anti-immigrant party, just like the rest of these radical right parties, and that worked out really well for them. In 2017, they became the third-largest party in parliament, so it was a quite successful strategy for them.

By the elections in 2021, they plateaued a little bit, and then in February this year they became the second largest party in the Bundestag (the German parliament), and they’ve come to be embraced by the broader far-right movement.

Question: Why might a national party choose to distance itself from a sister party?

Nonnemacher: There are two family labels where this generally applies. The first is the radical right—or at least that was the case in the past—where if you were seen as too close to the radical right you were punished, because there was a lot of stigmas around being affiliated with that ideology.

With the AfD example, when they made the transition to embrace more radical right principals from other countries and hosted the rally with Le Pen, Wilders and Salvini to signal the AfD’s embrace of transnational radical right parties, this was incredibly controversial, both inside and outside of the party. It was a delicate balance, because there were some in the party who were very nervous that if they embraced the radical right movement they could face a backlash, because Germans are very conscious of their history. So, 10 years ago there was more hesitation about embracing their fellow party members abroad.

We see similar patterns on the left, especially when it comes to communism. Parties on the radical left are generally hesitant to embrace communists or things that look like communism because of the similar kinds of stigmas around that that exist in western and especially eastern Europe.

Question: Do you think voters are consciously recognizing these European family party associations and how their own parties are relating to sister transnational parties, or is it happening at a subconscious level?

Nonnemacher: We know from political psychology that voters rely on heuristics for a lot of things. So, just hearing the label—that a particular party is a radical right party, for instance, triggers for voters a set of assumptions about what a party stands for and what it’s leaders believe and what they are advocating for.

But I also believe that there is something much more active going on here, where voters start to make those kinds of connections between the party and the label and where voters deliberate what those labels mean in relation to their own politics.

Question: If a national party is not in alignment with its transnational party family on foundational ideological issues, does it cause voter distrust or just confusion?

Nonnemacher: I think it’s a bit of both. Definitely it causes confusion, because if you’re watching the news and you’re being told that Marine Le Pen is a radical right politician, but then let’s say you hear she is endorsing letting more immigrants into (Europe), you’re going to say, ‘Wait a minute; that doesn’t make any sense. How is she radical right, then?’

It also probably leads to distrust. If you see yourself as a Social Democratic voter and you believe in this center-left Social Democratic vision for Europe, but your Social Democratic politician is talking about de-regulating markets and shrinking the state, that’s probably going to make you say, ‘He’s not a Social Democrat. I don’t trust him to be an advocate for my goals.’

Question: Your paper focused a transnational politics in Western Europe. Do you think the paper’s findings have any relevance for the United States?

"Understanding how voters perceive their parties is a huge part of what makes democracies work. If voters don’t know what their parties are fighting for and don’t know where their parties stand, they check out."

Nonnemacher: I don’t know how well the paper’s findings travel to the United States. We have a very strong two-party system that doesn’t map as neatly to the multi-party competition in European elections. That being said, I think if we look at parties in the United States as factions of various ideological groups, we can see green factions of the Democratic Party, radical right and center-right Christian democratic factions of the Republican Party. I think for activists and people inside these parties, it matters a lot what kind of broader ideological movements that they are associated with are doing.

I’m skeptical that voters will derive the same utility, just because the labels don’t fit as neatly, and (American voters) tend to think we’re unique in our politics as voters, so we don’t tend to look abroad for political inspiration.

Question: Anything else relating to Western European voters and their perceptions of their political parties and transnational parties that you think is important to share?

Nonnemacher: I think understanding how voters perceive their parties is a huge part of what makes democracies work. If voters don’t know what their parties are fighting for and don’t know where their parties stand, they check out; they disengage, and we’ve seen that they become less satisfied with democracy.

I think anything that parties can do to really communicate their positions to voters and reaffirm for voters that they areserious about accomplishing their goals is important, because parties across Europe and the United States are having a credibility crisis right now.

What my paper does is highlight one such way that parties can go about communicating to voters what they stand for, which has a whole host of implications to address some of the big problems facing Western democracies today.

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CU Boulder political scientist Jeffrey Nonnemacher asserts that Western European national political parties use their affiliations with party families to signal their own political viewpoints.

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Moose are on the loose

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 13 Aug 2025 22:43:40 +0000

Moose are on the loose Rachel Sauer Wed, 08/13/2025 - 16:43

William Taylor , John Wendt and Joshua Miller

Moose have lived in Colorado for centuries—unpacking evidence from history, archaeology, oral traditions

Moose are on the loose in the southern Rockies.

In July 2025, a young wandering bull was captured roaming a city park in Greeley, Colorado. A spate of similar urban sightings alongside some aggressive moose encounters has elevated moose management and conservation into a matter of public debate, especially across metro Denver and the Colorado Front Range.

In Rocky Mountain National Park, a recent study found that moose and elk might be to blame for far-reaching changes to valley ecosystems, as their browsing reduces important plants like willows, depriving beavers of habitat and materials for their wetland engineering. Park wildlife are generally not managed through hunting, but the park has tried techniques like fencing moose away from wetland zones. Publicly, discussion has swirled around further mitigation measures to slow or eliminate moose populations.

CU Boulder archaeologist William Taylor is partnering with paleoecology and conservation paleobiology colleagues to study the ancient animals of the Rockies.

At the heart of this debate is a basic question – do moose belong in the southern Rockies at all?

During much of the last century, moose were apparently rare in Colorado. The animals are absent from some early 20th century official wildlife tallies. Then, in 1978, the Colorado Division of Wildlife – now Colorado Parks and Wildlife – released a group of moose into North Park in north-central Colorado. At the time, biologists understood their efforts to be a reintroduction, but in the years since, wildlife managers have shifted their thinking about the place of moose in local ecosystems.

In the decades that followed, the moose expanded their range and numbers. Today, informal estimates by Colorado Parks and Wildlife put the moose population at around 3,500 animals. Under increased moose browsing pressure and a shifting climate, some mountain wetland environments are changing.

Should these changes be thought of as human-made ecological wounds caused by releasing moose? The National Park Service seems to think so.

Statements from 2025 on the park service website, and other public messaging from wildlife officials, assert that Colorado has never supported a breeding population of moose – only the occasional transient visitor. The factual basis for this idea seems to hinge heavily on an unpublished internal report from 2015, which identified only a few archaeological or historical records of moose near the park.

We are a team of archaeologists, paleoecologists and conservation paleobiologists studying the ancient animals of the Rockies.

Understanding moose and their interactions with people centuries ago means carefully analyzing different traces that survive the passage of time. These can range from the bones of animals themselves to indirect clues preserved in everything from lake sediments to historical records.

Are moose actually native to Colorado?

As scientists studying the past, we know that reconstructing the ancient geographic ranges of animals is difficult. Archaeological sites with animal bones can be a great tool to understand the past, especially for tracing the food choices of ancient humans. But such sites can be rare, and even when they are well preserved and well studied, it can take lots of care and scientific research to identify the species of each bone.

Harder still is determining the intimate details of ancient animals’ lives, including how and where they lived, died or reproduced. Such key details can be especially opaque for moose, who are solitary and elusive. Because of this, moose may not end up in human diets, even where both species have established populations. A comprehensive review of archaeological sites from across Alaska and some areas of the Canadian Yukon, where moose are common today and have likely been present since the end of the last Ice Age, found that moose were nearly absent until the past few centuries. In fact, moose often comprised less than 0.1% of the total number of bones in very large collections, if they appeared at all. In some areas, cultural reasons like taboos against moose hunting can also prevent them from ending up in archaeological bone tallies.

In new research published as a preprint in advance of peer review, we took a closer look at the idea that moose were absent from Colorado before 1978. We combed through newspaper records, photo archives and early travel diaries and identified dozens of references to moose sightings in Colorado spanning the first records in 1860 through the decade of moose reintroduction in the 1970s.

Moose sightings appear in the very earliest written records of the area that would become Rocky Mountain National Park. In his 1863 diary, Milton Estes described happening upon a large moose alongside a band of elk while on a hunting trip.

“Since elk were common I picked out Mr. Moose for my game,” he wrote.

Milton thought he had bagged “the first and only moose that had ever been killed so far south.” He was wrong.

Our archival research turned up even earlier sightings of moose in the area, along with many more across the region in the decades that followed. Diaries, newspapers and photo records from the past two centuries show the presence of not only young bulls, which at times can range widely, but also cows and calves, a sign that local breeding was taking place in Colorado before reintroduction.

These sightings recorded in diaries and newspapers don’t have to stand on their own. Moose appear in older placenames around the state, like the area once known as Moose Park along the road from Lyons to Estes Park. Written accounts from the late 19th and early 20th centuries among Ute, Shoshone and Arapaho peoples describe moose stories, hunts and songs. And though historical records don’t go too much further back than the mid-19th century in Colorado, archaeological records do.

Our survey of Colorado sites turned up ancient moose at Jurgens, near Greeley, dated to more than 9,000 years ago, and even moose bone tools among the ruins of Mesa Verde, only a few centuries ago.

Diaries, newspapers and photo records from the past two centuries show the presence of not only young bull moose, which at times can range widely, but also cows and calves, a sign that local breeding was taking place in Colorado before reintroduction.

This question of whether moose are native to the southern Rockies is not just a philosophical one – its answer will shape management decisions by the National Park Service and others.

Official narrative minimizes moose presence

The contemporary idea of moose as non-native animals reflects a different understanding than was common only a few decades ago. In the 1940s, some biologists described moose as a native species that had been “extirpated except for stragglers.” As recently as the early 1970s, Rocky Mountain National Park officials understood their moose work as a reintroduction of “wild animals once native to the park.” Our findings suggest that the valid knowledge of earlier scientists has since faded or been replaced, repositioning moose as ecological outsiders.

As moose-human conflicts and shifting wetland ecologies prompt hard conversations over how to manage moose, a range of options have been discussed in public discourse. These include courses of action such as the reintroduction of carnivores like wolves, or targeted hunting access for tribes or the public.

If moose are ‘invasive,’ they can be removed

For federal agencies, labels like “invasive” or “non-native” carry legal connotations and can be used to enable other measures, like eradication.

In Olympic National Park, where mountain goats were deemed invasive and ecologically impactful, biologists undertook an extermination campaign that involved shooting the animals from helicopters, despite warnings from archaeologists as long ago as the late 1990s that the data behind their argument was flawed.

As the animal and plant communities of our Rockies change rapidly in a warming world, this kind of policy would not only be unsupported by scientific evidence, but also likely to impede the ability of our animal communities to survive, adapt and thrive.

The historical evidence indicates that moose are not foreign intruders. Archival, archaeological and anthropological data shows that moose have been in the southern Rockies for centuries, if not millennia. Rather than treat moose as a threat, we urge Rocky Mountain National Park and other agencies to work in partnership with tribes, paleoecologists and the public to carefully develop historically grounded management plans for this Colorado native.

William Taylor is an assistant professor of anthropology at the ��. John Wendt is a postdoctoral fellow in natural resources ecology and management at Oklahoma State University. Joshua Miller is an associate professor of geosciences and the University of Cincinnati.

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

Moose have lived in Colorado for centuries—unpacking evidence from history, archaeology, oral traditions.

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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

One-hit wondering: Who let the dogs out?

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 07 Aug 2025 23:32:39 +0000

One-hit wondering: Who let the dogs out? Rachel Sauer Thu, 08/07/2025 - 17:32

Jared Bahir Browsh

The Baha Men hit, released 25 years ago, occupies a distinctive spot in music and sports history, along with “Macarena” and other novelty earworms

A quarter century ago, the world was gripped by a deeply philosophical question: “Who let the dogs out?” Twenty-five years after the Baha Men hit became a cultural phenomenon, the history of the song reveals the evolution of a viral novelty song while reflecting a music industry at a transition point at the start of the millennium.

Listeners likely are most familiar with the Baha Men cover of the song that was released on July 26, 2000, but the song, and its famous hook, has a much longer history. Ben Sisto’s 2019 documentary “Who Let the Dogs Out,” traces the history of the hook, or chant, back to the 1980s, when high school teams like the Dowagiac Chieftains in Michigan and Austin Reagan Raiders in Texas would exclaim “Ooh” or “Who let the dogs out,” woofing along with the chant.

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

Several other songs with a similar hook were released in the 1990s, leading to years of lawsuits over the rights to the song. Lawsuits targeted Anslem Douglas, who is credited with writing the Baha Men version of the song—which is a cover of his song “Doggie,” written as a feminist response to men catcalling women. In 1999, rapper Chuck Smooth recorded a song titled “Who Let the Dogs Out?” sampling the infamous hook and later joining the lawsuit.

Before the Baha Men recorded their version, infamous producer Jonathan King, who had several hits in the United Kingdom and helped discover Genesis, recorded his own cover of “Doggie” under the name Fat Jakk and his Pack of Pets. King brought the recording to Steve Greenberg, who is credited with discovering Hanson, the Jonas Brothers, Joss Stone and AJR. Greenberg convinced the Baha Men, whom he discovered in 1991 and signed to Atlantic Records subsidiary Big Beat, to record a cover of the song. The Baha Men hesitated because the song was already popular in the Caribbean, but Greenberg convinced them, creating the label S-Curve Records to produce the album.

Even before the Baha Men version was released, teams like the Mississippi State University Bulldogs played the Chuck Smooth recording of the song beginning in the fall of 1998, and soon other teams followed. In June 2000, and as a joke, Seattle Mariners Promotions Director Gregg Greene used the Baha Men recording as a walk-up song for backup catcher Joe Oliver, several weeks before the song was released. All-Star shortstop Alex Rodriguez then requested the song; other teams adopted the song as an anthem. The New York Mets claim they used the song first, leading to both the Mariners and Mets exchanging jabs over who popularized the song as each team made runs deep into the playoffs.

As “Who Let the Dogs Out” made its rounds in stadiums and arenas in the United States, it became a global hit, reaching number one in several countries, including Australia. The song only peaked at No. 40 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in the United States, barely qualifying the song as a one-hit wonder. However, like other novelty songs—including Aqua’s “Barbie Girl”—its cultural impact goes far beyond its performance on the chart

The song got another boost when it was included on the “Rugrats in Paris—The Movie” soundtrack, which was released two weeks after the song peaked on the Billboard Chart, ensuring children would continue “woofing” along with the song well into the next year. The song’s charm did wane in 2001, especially as sports fans began to find the song more annoying than energizing. But it still represents a unique time in music and a shift in stadium music in sports.

From Napster to TikTok

The late 1990s saw huge changes in technology that caused significant disruptions in the music industry. Throughout the 20th century, music technology continually advanced, making music more portable and providing more avenues to cater musical tastes to individual listeners.

The 1950s provided a foundation for modern popular music, as young listeners became the target of music producers and disc jockeys—especially as other forms of programming, like scripted programs and variety shows, transitioned from radio to television. Radio stations focused more on broadcasting music, especially as rock ’n’ roll exploded in popularity thanks to DJs like Alan Freed, who helped popularize the term in 1951. Rock ’n’ roll’s growth was supported by improvement in audio technology like the electric guitar, condenser microphones and enhanced amplifiers.

Radio put a greater focus on individual hit songs or singles, separating popular songs from a larger album. Album sales in all formats remained popular through the 1990s, but the greater focus on hits shifted the audience’s listening habits, especially as DJs curated shows of hit songs from a variety of artists. The introduction of the 7-inch 45 rpm record in 1949, which ran for between 5 to 6 minutes, also promoted single sales and became standard in jukeboxes.

The popularity of rock ’n’ roll among young listeners raised criticism from parents and politicians over concerns of sexualization and the influence of Black artists promoting integration. However, by the mid-1950s, teenagers found more freedom as the transistor radio came to market in 1954, allowing radios to travel outside of the home and car. FM radio, with its higher-quality sound, also slowly spread as the FCC implemented a rule in 1964 forcing FM stations in cities to create original programming rather than simply simulcast from AM; many FM stations chose music formats.

Music continued to become more portable and individualized as magnetic tape formats, including the 8-track and then the compact cassette, offered the option to listen to singles and albums on the move. They also allowed listeners to curate their own music. Through the 1970s, 8-tracks dominated the music market, peaking in 1978 as the preferred tape format for cars and homes. In 1979, Sony introduced the Walkman, which worked with compact cassettes that were not only more portable but also allowed listeners to fast forward and rewind to listen—and relisten—to their favorite songs anywhere.

Following decades of work by scientists to develop digital audio, the compact disc introduced the format to the public in 1982, allowing for greater portability, track selection and higher-quality sound. It later allowed users to upload or “rip” music to computers, helping to expand music sharing through peer-to-peer (P2P) networks. Although P2P promoted the sharing of all types of files, Napster’s launch in 1999 and LimeWire’s in 2000 popularized the practice of downloading compressed music files as MP3s.

In spite of lawsuits brought by artists like Metallica and Dr. Dre over copyright concerns and the music industry becoming anxious over how MP3s would impact sales and revenues, Apple introduced the iPod in October 2001. It was not the first portable digital music player, but it drastically improved data capacity, battery life, functionality, the file transfer process and portability.

In 1979, Sony introduced the Walkman, which worked with compact cassettes that were not only more portable but also allowed listeners to fast forward and rewind to listen—and relisten—to their favorite songs anywhere.

Users continued to download music through file-sharing sites even as Napster fought lawsuits before shutting down in July 2001. iTunes launched eight months before the iPod debuted, allowing for computer music management, including the ability to more easily rip CDs and build both mix CDs and playlists for the iPod when it launched. The iTunes store launched in 2003, allowing for seamless purchase of songs and albums, which could be transferred easily to the iPod. However, music sharing remained popular.

The digital era increased the focus on singles over albums, as consumers have increased options to curate their playlists by selecting individual songs rather than full albums through subscription-based streaming services like Spotify and YouTube Music. A few top artists like Taylor Swift and Beyoncé have strong fanbases that may buy full albums, but their albums sales still pale in comparison to artists of the 20th century.

One-hit wonders, novelty songs and ear worms

There is no official definition of a one-hit wonder, but in his book One-Hit Wonders, music journalist Wayne Jancik defined it as "an act that has won a position on Billboard's national, pop, Top 40 just once.” The Baha Men barely meet these requirements in the United States, and because of its rise as a stadium anthem and its gimmicky hook, some see “Who Let the Dogs Out” as a novelty song. A song is considered a novelty if there is some foundation of humor or unusual hook or sounds within the song.

Throughout modern music history, there have been countless songs that can be considered novelty—with artists like The Coasters (“Yakety Yak”) and “Weird Al” Yankovic enjoying successful careers from their novelty and parody songs. Cartoon bands like Alvin and the Chipmunks, created by Ross Bagdasarian (stage name David Seville) and The Archies (“Sugar, Sugar”) are considered novelty acts despite their music hitting No. 1 on the Billboard charts. Many kids’ (or children’s) songs are considered novelty songs when they chart, including “The Ballad of Davy Crockett” from the Disneyland miniseries in 1954 and, more recently, “Baby Shark.”

Like “Who Let the Dogs Out,” another novelty song, “Macarena,” was a minor hit for other artists before catching on when it was re-recorded and reintroduced to the U.S. market in the summer of 1995. Considering listeners rarely know the lyrics of these songs beyond the catchy hook, the much-repeated eponymous lyrics could also be considered an earworm.

An earworm is a memorable piece of music that occupies someone’s mind well after the song stops playing. Earworms are often associated with advertising jingles like McDonald's "I'm Lovin' It" or Oscar Mayer's "Oscar Mayer Weiner Song," but music listeners can also develop ear worms from catchy songs—especially if the hooks are replayed and the tune is associated with particular memories like sporting events. Another example of this is Steam’s “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye.”

Social media has placed an increased emphasis on hooks, creating ear worms that can promote a song to hit status or revitalize a song's popularity. A recent example of both of these phenomena is Doechii’s “Anxiety,” which she originally recorded in 2019. After the hook went viral on TikTok, she recorded the song again in 2025, leading to its becoming a top-ten single.

“Who Let the Dogs Out” and “Macarena” unknowingly represent a shift in the music industry at the turn of the 20th century. These pre-social media viral songs, popularized by a novel hook and gaining popularity off-radio, can be considered ahead of their time—with the “Macarena” even fostering a viral dance. Although playing these songs may result in more eye-rolls than cheers, their path to success cannot be overlooked in this modern digital music era.

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

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The Baha Men hit, released 25 years ago, occupies a distinctive spot in music and sports history, along with “Macarena” and other novelty earworms.

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Competitive electricity markets help clean up the U.S. energy sector

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 28 Jul 2025 13:30:00 +0000

Competitive electricity markets help clean up the U.S. energy sector Rachel Sauer Mon, 07/28/2025 - 07:30

Sarah Kuta

CU Boulder economics researcher Daniel Kaffine finds that whole electricity markets might help reduce carbon emissions

Even though we use it every day, most of us don’t give much thought to the electricity powering our homes, schools and offices. As long as the lights come on when we flip the switch, we don’t stop to consider where our power comes from, who produces it and how.

Yet, in recent decades, electricity markets—the way power gets bought and sold—have changed dramatically in many parts of the United States. These shifts have largely been good for consumers, promoting competition that often leads to lower electricity bills. But Daniel Kaffine, a �� economics professor, wanted to investigate another, less-obvious ripple effect: How are these shifts affecting the environment?

It’s a commonly held belief that competitive markets tend to be bad for the environment. But Kaffine finds the opposite to be true. His latest research, published in The Energy Journal, suggests that competitive whole electricity markets might help clean up the U.S. energy sector by reducing carbon emissions.

Daniel Kaffine, a CU Boulder professor of economics, finds in recently published research that competitive whole electricity markets might help clean up the U.S. energy sector by reducing carbon emissions.

“The conventional wisdom on a lot of these topics is not always correct, and environmental economics is a very useful structure and framework for developing more nuanced thinking about the relationship between the economy and the environment,” he says.

Understanding U.S. electricity markets

Before the 1990s, electricity in the United States primarily came from vertically integrated utilities—that is, one company that owned and operated the entire electricity supply chain. These one-stop-shop firms handled every phase of the process, from generating electricity at power plants to transmitting it to substations to distributing it to customers. Overseen by public utility commissions, these companies usually had the exclusive rights to serve a particular region.

However, in 1996, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission issued two orders that transformed the nation’s electricity utility industry. The commission sought to break up public utilities and get more players into the mix, in hopes of lowering prices for consumers.

As a result, many states began moving away from the traditional utility model and toward competitive wholesale electricity markets. In regions that have made this shift, there are multiple sellers (companies that produce power) and multiple buyers (local utilities that provide electricity to customers).

For the new paper, Kaffine and co-author Doyoung Park, a former CU Boulder graduate student who is now an assistant professor of agricultural economics at Texas A&M University, turned their attention to one such market.

They looked at the Southwest Power Pool, an independent system operator and regional transmission organization that manages the grid for some or all parts of 14 states. These are Arkansas, Iowa, Kansas, Louisiana, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, New Mexico, North Dakota, Oklahoma, South Dakota, Texas and Wyoming.

The Southwest Power Pool is a bit like an air traffic controller. It doesn’t own any of the region’s electricity infrastructure—things like power lines and poles—but it does operate them. It coordinates the flow of electricity, monitors congestion and prevents outages and emergencies.

Another big role the Southwest Power Pool plays is that of auctioneer, Kaffine says. Each day, it is in charge of sourcing enough power to meet the region’s anticipated demand for the following day. This is what’s known as the “day-ahead energy market,” and it functions like an auction.

“You have buyers and sellers of power,” Kaffine says. “The people who sell power offer up a certain amount of electricity at a certain price. And, basically, the cheapest bids win. Those are the power plants that end up producing power the next day.”

CU Boulder researcher Daniel Kaffine and colleague Doyoung Park studied carbon emissions from power plants within the Southwest Power Pool before and after the introduction of day-ahead markets. They compared the emissions intensity, or the amount of carbon dioxide emitted per unit of power generated.

(The Southwest Power Pool also runs real-time markets every five minutes. But, for their study, Kaffine and Park focused only on the day-ahead markets, which were created in 2014.)

Consumers are not involved in this process, which runs seamlessly in the background to produce a continuous stream of on-demand electricity. But, because of the competition between sellers, they do end up paying lower electricity bills every month. And, according to Kaffine’s research, society as a whole gets the benefit of reduced carbon emissions.

Carbon emissions decline in free markets

For the study, Kaffine and Park looked at carbon emissions from power plants within the Southwest Power Pool before and after the introduction of day-ahead markets. They compared the emissions intensity, or the amount of carbon dioxide emitted per unit of power generated.

To isolate the effects of the day-ahead markets and rule out other variables, they also compared the data to a similar power pool in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Maryland, called PJM Interconnection.

When they crunched the numbers, the researchers found that the day-ahead markets caused a 4 percent drop in average carbon emissions intensity in the Southwest Power Pool. That equates to a reduction of roughly 7.66 million tons of carbon dioxide emissions and about $383.4 million in avoided damages per year.

“Shaving off 4 percent from every unit of power that gets generated really adds up,” Kaffine says.

When they drilled down into the data, Kaffine and Park were able to uncover the mechanisms responsible for the decrease in carbon emissions. Some individual power plants got slightly cleaner after the day-ahead markets were introduced. But the primary factor was the retirement of older, dirtier, costlier power plants in the region.

These plants simply couldn’t compete in the new environment, says Kaffine. When they shut down, what remained was a fleet of newer, cleaner and cheaper-to-run facilities—and that resulted in lower carbon emissions overall.

“It’s just like if you have an old air conditioner—it takes more power to run the thing, and that’s expensive,” he says. “In a power plant, if you have an old boiler, it takes more fuel input to produce power and that’s more expensive and dirtier.”

Looking ahead

“You have buyers and sellers of power. The people who sell power offer up a certain amount of electricity at a certain price. And, basically, the cheapest bids win. Those are the power plants that end up producing power the next day.”

Zooming out, the results challenge the long-held assumption that competitive markets are always detrimental to the environment. The findings might be different in other regions but, at least in the case of the Southwest Power Pool, the “market incentives lined up nicely with the environmental incentives,” Kaffine says.

In addition, the findings suggest that other states may want to consider creating or joining competitive electricity markets—for the economic advantages, but also for the potential environmental benefits. Many states in the Southeast and the West (with the exception of California) do not have competitive electricity markets.

Colorado, for example, still operates under the traditional, vertically integrated utility model. But a 2021 state law requires all non-municipal electric utilities that own transmission lines to join a wholesale electric market by 2030.

A study conducted by the Colorado Public Utilities Commission estimates this change could result in savings of up to $230 million each year. And Kaffine’s research suggests it may also lead to a reduction in carbon emissions, too.

“Rather than running an old, dirty plant here in Colorado, having a wholesale market might mean buying cheap wind [power] or cheap natural gas [power] from New Mexico,” says Kaffine. “They do some of that trading already, but having a market in place to facilitate that trade makes it easier to find lower-cost producers. And if the lower-cost producers happen to be cleaner, that’s a win for the environment as well as consumers.”

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CU Boulder economics researcher Daniel Kaffine finds that whole electricity markets might help reduce carbon emissions.

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Life is what's a-changin’

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 16 Jul 2025 13:31:00 +0000

Life is what's a-changin’ Rachel Sauer Wed, 07/16/2025 - 07:31

Monica LaBonte, a CU Boulder alumnus and prominent Colorado musician, visits The Ampersand to discuss ski bumming, teaching, gigging to sometimes-small audiences and always finding joy in the music

Listen to The Ampersand

There are certain people who pick up a guitar or sit at a piano or stand at a microphone and you think, “Yes. That’s right. That’s where they belong.”

That’s Monica LaBonte. Her path has been winding, but the road has always been music—writing it, performing it, hearing it in the rhythms of words and speech and the cadences of life. She is at home behind a microphone in a way that lets you know she doesn't just love to sing, isn't just good at it, but was born to breathe deep and bring audiences to tears.

A 2011 �� graduate in speech, language and hearing sciences and a well-known Colorado musician and performer, LaBonte recently joined host Erika Randall, CU Boulder interim dean of undergraduate education and professor of dance, on "The Ampersand,” the College of Arts and Sciences podcast. Randall and guests explore stories about “ANDing” as a “full sensory verb” that describes experience and possibility.

Monica LaBonte, a 2011 CU Boulder graduate in speech, language and hearing sciences, is a well-known Colorado musician and performer.

For the record, no banjo-playing children were harmed during this conversation.

MONICA LABONTE: Before my son was born, I was a full-time working musician. I was still playing five gigs a week, and I think by the time my son came, I was ready for a break. Then the pandemic just changed the industry so much, so I think there was this natural pause in music for me at that time anyway.

It was kind of already happening, or it was about to happen. And then motherhood is just—I mean, it really turns your world upside down. So, I was ready to put my focus and energy into my son, because I discovered quickly that it was just too hard to put all the love and the time and the energy into both. I couldn't do both for some time.

ERIKA RANDALL: What did your schedule look like as a professional musician? What was touring like? What was the gigging like? What was the writing and recording like?

LABONTE: It was just all over the place. I was just a yes person for 10, 15 years, just saying yes to every gig, to every recording. I didn't do a whole lot of touring but I was part of a band for 10 years, and we did multiple recordings, and we played festivals all over the state. We did just a little bit of touring up to Oregon. We went to Wyoming one time.

RANDALL: But there was enough of a scene here in Colorado.

LABONTE: Oh, for sure. And then I've been teaching music along the way, so that's kind of—

RANDALL: Painful.

LABONTE: Kept me afloat.

RANDALL: Is it torture to teach little people how to play the banjo? I mean, that sounds like the worst job ever.

LABONTE: Well, I will say this: I really appreciate people who can teach children and do it for their whole lives. I discovered over many years of different kinds of teaching—and teaching mostly kids, I've worked with kids in lots of different ways—but I've really come to realize that I love teaching adults. And I do not teach banjo.

RANDALL: OK. Because that just isn't going to go well.

LABONTE: Yeah, I do not teach banjo. I mostly teach voice.

RANDALL: And do you ever audition them and then say no? Like if I auditioned, you wouldn't—

LABONTE: No.

RANDALL: But there's no guarantee, right? You wouldn't be like, ‘Yes, Randall, I got you. You're going to come out of here doing all the musical theater or all the gentle, angry folk that you want.’

LABONTE: I really just meet people where they are, and I don't make any promises, because it's not my work, it's their work. So, I can show them the tools, but I can't promise that anything is going to happen.

RANDALL: And we all have the tools in our bodies to do this?

Monica LaBonte (right) performs with former bandmate Bill Huston at a Mixtape event. (Photo: Monica LaBonte)

LABONTE: For sure, yeah. It's just like Ratatouille:. Anyone can cook. Anyone can sing, but it's hard work. And singing is so intertwined with the heart and the soul and past experiences. This choir teacher told me, ‘Everyone got into the choir except for me, always.’ Or, ‘My mother told me I couldn't sing.’ A lot of people have these stories. So, it's interesting because I almost have to feel—I almost have to hold a space of a caretaker or—

RANDALL: Therapist.

LABONTE: A bit of a therapist.

RANDALL: I would cry in a lesson with you.

LABONTE: I've cried so many times. It's very vulnerable. So, I will say, I have, over the years of teaching, the people who come and are willing to at least let go a little bit of their story or those walls—have their walls come down—and let go of excuses and are just willing to try, those are the most successful people.

LABONTE: Yeah. It's cool. It's such fun work. And then I have a background in speech therapy, so I have this knowledge of the actual system.

RANDALL: Is that how your degree from CU serves you, do you think?

LABONTE: Oh, yeah.

RANDALL: The systems learning, the anatomical, the somatic. Tell me about that, because that's something that's so interesting to me. And also because I wrote about a character who was a folk singer who then becomes a speech therapist, so the character of my novel is the opposite of you.

LABONTE: Interesting

RANDALL: And the book is called Music for Leaving, and I was like, ‘Oh my gosh. I cannot wait to give it to Monica.’

LABONTE: Cool.

RANDALL: Because it's like you, but Benjamin Buttoned. And so often when we get a major, we don't know where it's going to land us. For you, did you think that these worlds were connected, that you always wanted to be a singer and a singer-songwriter, and you were studying this in college? Or how did that work for you? Tell me about that path.

LABONTE: The path was just so messy. I took seven years to graduate college with my bachelor's because I couldn't land on one thing. And I did some world traveling in there, and I was a ski bum one winter up in Beaver Creek, and I met one of my dear friends, her name is Abby.

She brought me to a camp called Camp ASCCA in Alabama, and I became the music and arts and crafts director for this camp. It's for children and adults with disabilities, and from that job I just really fostered a love of taking care of people and being in a therapeutic role.

So, from there—and I had never had an opportunity to work with people with disabilities, so that was my first—that experience just changed my course.

RANDALL: And there were generations at this camp, they were all ages.

LABONTE: Yeah, all ages. I think it's 6 to, I don't know, 70-something. And every week is like a different age group and a different—

RANDALL: That's huge to just walk into—

LABONTE: It was wild.

RANDALL: —without prep.

LABONTE: Yeah. Oh, it was wild. And going from a ski bum to—

RANDALL: Hyper able community to a different community that has different requirements. What was the biggest thing that that job, that position, asked of you that you had to find or tap into that you didn't maybe necessarily resource yourself with before?

LABONTE: I would say it was the first time that I couldn't be selfish. And I was young.

RANDALL: Which is the perfect time to be selfish.

LABONTE: Exactly. So, I had to learn to not be selfish, and it required me to be very humble and just be so present because this population is so vulnerable, but they're so loving and so kind, and so there's a lot of magic. And it really, truly changed the course of my life.

RANDALL: So, from there you went back to school with a new focus?

LABONTE: Yeah. I declared music therapy, actually. I went to CSU, which is where I reconnected with my husband, and music therapy just didn't feel—I was like, I don't know if I want to marry these two worlds in such a direct way.

RANDALL: It's really specific.

LABONTE: It just felt too direct. I love music so much, and I loved working with people with disabilities, but I didn't want to marry the two. It didn't feel like the right fit. So, then I found the speech therapy program at CU.

RANDALL: I love that you had to go further outside. It was too close here when they were nesting organically. You're like, ‘No, no, no. I got to mix it up with my own and put a little tension between the two.’

LABONTE: Yes, add some space. A lot of people ask me, not knowing my past, ‘Why don't you do music therapy? It just seems like the obvious choice.’

RANDALL: You're like, I don't want to do the obvious choice.

LABONTE: Yeah, totally. So, I went to CU for speech therapy, and I loved studying all the things speech. But at the same time, I was also cutting my teeth as a songwriter in Boulder. All that to say, I wasn't maybe the best student, because my passions were so divided at that point. And I was having so much fun playing music.

Click the button below to hear the rest of the conversation.

Listen to The Ampersand

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Monica LaBonte, a CU Boulder alumnus and prominent Colorado musician, visits The Ampersand to discuss ski bumming, teaching, gigging to sometimes-small audiences and always finding joy in the music.

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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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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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Healing Indigenous communities from the ground up

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 23 Jun 2025 23:46:02 +0000

Healing Indigenous communities from the ground up Rachel Sauer Mon, 06/23/2025 - 17:46

Sarah Kuta

Mushroom mycelium can clean up the soil. Can it also help Indigenous people reconnect to the land? CU Boulder researcher Natalie Avalos aims to find out

Fungi are powerful and versatile organisms. They’re being used in a variety of beneficial ways, from degrading hard-to-recycle plastics and purifying contaminated water to developing new medicines and restoring forests after wildfires.

Now an innovative project from the �� will explore fungi’s ability to remediate urban soil and, in the process, reconnect Indigenous families to the land.

The project is being led by Natalie Avalos, a CU Boulder assistant professor of ethnic studies and core faculty member of the Center for Native American and Indigenous Studies (CNAIS). She’s working in partnership with Carissa Garcia, a Denver-based writer, educator and combat veteran with Picuris Pueblo heritage.

CU Boulder researcher Natalie Avalos, an assistant professor of ethnic studies, is leading a project to explore fungi’s ability to remediate urban soil and, in the process, reconnect Indigenous families to the land.

With grant funding from CNAIS, the duo plans to use mushroom mycelium to clean up the soil at various locations in Denver and Commerce City. They hope to inoculate small farm plots and garden beds on properties that are owned or rented by Indigenous people.

Soil remediation will allow Indigenous families to grow their own foods and medicines and may even lead to the revitalization of ancient crops. But, beyond that, Avalos and Garcia hope their land-based healing project will help Indigenous people restore and strengthen their sacred relationship with the land.

“We talk about decolonization as land repatriation, or the return of Indigenous lands to Indigenous people,” says Avalos. “But this is a form of rematriation, thinking about land as mother and returning to this relationship where you are tending to the health and well-being of the mother so that she can better attend to your health and well-being in return. Restoring that symbiotic relationship is profoundly impactful for families.”

The power of fungi

Mycelium is the name for the network of dense, fibrous, root-like threads that make up the body of a fungus. It’s typically hidden underground, often out of sight and out of mind until it produces mushrooms, which grow above the soil and help fungi reproduce.

In the wilderness, mycelium acts as nature’s clean-up crew. It plays a vital role in decomposition, breaking down dead plants and returning essential nutrients to the soil.

But researchers have also come to realize that mycelium can be a powerful ally for combating pollution. The process, known as “mycoremediation,” harnesses fungi’s natural abilities to remove or break down harmful contaminants in the soil. Scientists are using fungi to clean up everything from heavy metals and pesticides to petrochemicals and other hazardous substances.

Avalos and Garcia want to use mycelium to create healthy and resilient soil for Indigenous families, including some that live in heavily polluted areas on Colorado’s Front Range. They plan to take detailed measurements before, during and after inoculation, to see how the mycelium affects the soil, as well as the plants that will eventually grow in it. Based on these initial results, they hope to expand their mycoremediation work to other Indigenous farms and gardens—and, possibly, even to tribal lands.

They also want to use the soil remediation project to create hands-on educational opportunities for Indigenous communities, particularly Indigenous youth.

Garcia will spearhead the soil remediation work, which is slated to begin later this year. Then, after the mycelium works its magic, Avalos will investigate how the project is affecting Indigenous people.

“I’ll start collecting some oral histories, some ethnographic testaments about what this means to them,” says Avalos. “How is this confirming their relationship to land? How is it speaking to or shaping their religious life, their sense of identity, their Indigeneity? How is it that having restored soil is supporting their health and wellness and contributing to human flourishing?”

“We talk about decolonization as land repatriation, or the return of Indigenous lands to Indigenous people. But this is a form of rematriation, thinking about land as mother and returning to this relationship where you are tending to the health and well-being of the mother so that she can better attend to your health and well-being in return. Restoring that symbiotic relationship is profoundly impactful for families.”

Sovereignty and self-determination

Avalos is also curious to learn how soil remediation might contribute to sovereignty and self-determination for Indigenous people, especially those living in cities. Today, roughly 70% of American Indians and Alaska Natives live in urban areas—but this population is often overlooked.

“How is it that Native people can act as stewards of land, even though they often have less control over that land?” Avalos says. “They may be renters, they may be living in very polluted areas. But just to have that little bit of agency.”

Denver sits on the ancestral homelands of the Arapaho, the Cheyenne, the Ute and other tribes. But, today, the city is home to Indigenous people with a wide array of tribal backgrounds. This diversity largely stems from a federal program that pushed Native Americans away from reservations and into urban areas in the 1950s and ‘60s, as part of the government’s broader attempts to force Indigenous people to assimilate. Denver was one of nine relocation sites located across the country.

“For folks living in cities that have been impacted by displacement and disconnection, I want to document, how are they reconnecting? How are they re-Indigenizing?” Avalos says.

As the world grapples with pressing environmental issues, many Indigenous people are now looking to their sacred ways of life for answers. Long displaced from their lands and separated from their traditional cultural practices, they’re returning to ancestral medicines, deepening their relationships with all living creatures and opening themselves up to the knowledge that’s embedded in the land.

Avalos and Garcia hope their soil remediation project might play a small role in that broader work.

“We can’t count on the treaties, we can’t count on our federal leadership or even our state leadership to really protect us and protect land,” says Garcia. “My generation is looking at a grim future. We’re at a place where many of us are asking, how do we embody the Indigeneity and our sacred ways of knowing and being, and mesh that with an Indigenous futurism that will heal the planet and our people?”

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Mushroom mycelium can clean up the soil. Can it also help Indigenous people reconnect to the land? CU Boulder researcher Natalie Avalos aims to find out.

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Top image: mycelium growing on a log (Photo: iStock)

Soccer joins the club

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 23 Jun 2025 20:31:24 +0000

Soccer joins the club Rachel Sauer Mon, 06/23/2025 - 14:31

Jared Bahir Browsh

The FIFA Club World Cup, being held through July at venues across the United States, highlights international collaboration and concerns that soccer schedules are too packed

On June 14, the Fédération Internationale de Football Association (FIFA) Club World Cup kicked off with Inter Miami CF taking on Al Ahly in Miami, Florida. Although the Club World Cup was established in 2000, interruptions and changes in format led FIFA to completely reimagine the tournament as a format that mimics FIFA’s premier tournament, the World Cup.

The Club World Cup serves as an appetizer for next year’s World Cup, being held in North America, which pits national soccer federations in the largest single sport event in the world.

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

There have been a number of club tournaments run by FIFA and continental and inter-continental confederations, several of which were established in the 1960s, including the FIFA Intercontinental Cup and the Champions Cup overseen by the Confederation of North, Central America and Caribbean Association Football (CONCACAF). Unlike the World Cup or other tournaments between international federations, these tournaments offer professional clubs from leagues around the world the opportunity to compete against each other.

In 1958, Brazilian Sport Confederation head João Havelange, who later went on to be the longest-tenured president of FIFA (1974-1998), suggested organizing a regular intercontinental cup between top European and South American clubs. There had been a few other attempts to establish international club cups, one of the earliest being Copa Aldao, a tournament between Argentine and Uruguayan clubs that started in 1913.

Copa Aldao was abolished in 1955 after competing national team and club schedules made it difficult to schedule the tournament, an issue that continues to affect national, continental and international club and federation tournaments today. These conflicts have included efforts by the South American Football Confederation (CONMEBOL) to establish a continental club tournament, which resulted in the South American Championship of Champions in 1948 and Copa de Campeones de América, now known as CONMEBOL Copa Libertadores, in 1960.

Five years earlier, in 1955, the Union of European Football Associations (UEFA) began the European Champion Clubs' Cup (now the Champions League) a year after UEFA was established. The Tournoi de Paris, first hosted by the club Racing Paris in 1957, featured clubs from UEFA and CONMEBOL in a friendly tournament and prompted the creation of the FIFA Intercontinental Cup in 1960 between the champions of CONMEBOL Libertadores and the UEFA Champions League.

These tournaments were part of a larger effort to organize and expand international soccer in the 1950s and 1960s. Before this effort, the only international soccer confederation in existence was CONMEBOL, organized in 1913, with the North American Football Confederation (NAFC) and Confederación Centroamericana y del Caribe de Fútbol (CCCF) in Central America coming only after the first World Cup, in 1930.

Growing confederation

FIFA spent most of the first half of the 20th century trying to organize international soccer. The nations of the British associations boycotted World Cup play as FIFA included the Central Powers as they reorganized in 1919 after World War I. The British associations rejoined the next decade, but left again in 1928 over disputes related to payments to players and the maintenance of traditional ideas of amateurism. The 1942 and 1946 editions of the World Cup were cancelled due to World War II, but as the premier international soccer tournament grew, so did the need to further organize international soccer. They came to an agreement in 1950, helping the World Cup to grow and emerge from the shadow of the Olympic soccer tournament.

Through the 1950s and 1960s, the Asian Football Confederation (AFC), Confederation of African Football (CAF), CONCACAF (a merging of NAFC and CCCF) and Oceania Football Confederation (OFC) joined UEFA and CONMEBOL to establish the current continental confederations. CAF, AFC and CONCACAF all founded their own Champions Leagues in the 1950s and 1960s, which were contested between top professional clubs in each confederation.

Urawa Red Diamonds fans cheer during a June 17, 2025, group stage match at the 2025 FIFA Club World Cup against Club Atletico River Plate at Lumen Field in Seattle, Washington. (Photo: SounderBruce/Wikimedia Commons)

Half of the teams in the Club World Cup qualified automatically through the confederation’s club Champions Leagues or the Copa Libertadores. In the case of Inter Miami, which is the host, the team qualified by winning the Supporters’ Shield, or the MLS regular-season championship, in 2024. This decision was controversial given that the L.A. Galaxy won the MLS Cup in 2024; FIFA President Gianni Infantino admitted that Miami’s soccer culture and the presence of Lionel Messi partially motivated Inter Miami’s inclusion.

The other half of the qualifying teams were selected based on their rankings in their respective confederations. LAFC won a play-in game against Club América after Club León was disqualified due to shared ownership with fellow Liga MX team Pachuca. Out of the 32 teams in the Club World Cup, 20 are from either UEFA or CONMEBOL, with Europeans teams guaranteed 14 spots in the tournament.

Infantino knew that for this tournament to be successful and grow in popularity, he needed to financially incentivize the top teams in the top confederations to play in the Club World Cup. There is a staggered prize money framework for qualification, with top European teams such as Manchester City earning more than $38 million USD for making the tournament based on sporting and commercial criteria, whereas qualifying OFC teams were awarded $3.58 million.

Busy schedules

The confederations oversee both intra-nation club tournaments and contests between national teams within the confederation. However, despite general oversight by FIFA, there are still conflicting schedules and growing complaints about the increasing number of soccer competitions and the struggle to balance club schedules with national team obligations.

The FIFA Club World Cup exemplifies one of the issues with the ever-expanding soccer schedule: direct conflict between club and inter-nation tournaments. The United States is hosting the FIFA Club World Cup and the CONCACAF Gold Cup at the same time. Most of the matches for the Club World Cup will be held east of the Mississippi, and the Gold Cup matches are being played in the Midwest and West Coast, with no shared venues and the Los Angeles area the only location to host matches for both events.

Several teams had to choose between the two competitions, and with the U.S. Men’s National Team automatically qualified for the 2026 World Cup as one of the hosts, and the larger payout of the FIFA Club World Cup, players like Timothy Weah, Weston McKinnie and Giovanni Reyna have decided to compete on behalf of their professional clubs rather than their national team.

The Club World Cup also comes on the heels of the UEFA Nations League Finals June 8. Players like Nuno Mendes, who helped lead Portugal to the Nations League championship, will have to quickly pivot to play with Paris Saint-Germain a week later for the Club World Cup. The international club soccer schedule runs from late summer through early spring, meaning players like Mendes are forced to play multiple tournaments during what is supposed to be their offseason.

Egyptian soccer star Taher Mohamed plays for Al Ahly SC in the 2021 FIFA Club World Cup. (Photo: Fars Media Corporation/Wikimedia Commons)

A number of players have expressed concern over being overworked, with some even calling for a strike for FIFA and for club leagues to reduce the schedule; some players are being pushed to participate in more than a match a week on average.

Several players and managers have said they see the Club World Cup as a money grab by FIFA, expanding the competition schedule to encroach upon the club offseason. The MLS plays a spring-to-fall schedule, so the North American league will be forced to suspend play during the Club World Cup. But the three MLS teams—the Seattle Sounders FC, Inter Miami and LAFC—do see it as a way to compete with top professional clubs and may adjust their schedules before the next Club World Cup to fall in line with the rest of the world.

FIFA scandals

FIFA has long faced a number of scandals and bribery charges, including with partner International Sport and Leisure, which handled marketing and media rights for the soccer organization but folded in 2001 with debts of more than $200 million. This led to the cancellation of the Club World Cup that year. The organization was subsequently investigated by authorities in Switzerland and charged with fraud. Later, as a part of the 2015 FIFA corruption scandal investigation, several sports marketing executives and officials with continental football bodies were found to have bribed FIFA officials including Havelange.

The 2015 scandal was also centered on bribery and collusion related to sports marketing and media rights; the FBI and IRS uncovered impropriety among executives of CONMEBOL and CONCACAF, several marketing firms and even Nike, which was found to have spent $40 million on bribes to become the exclusive apparel company for the Brazil national team. In spite of CONCACAF’s involvement, and a year delay in the bid process due to the scandal, the combined North America bid still won the 2026 World Cup.

Although no impropriety has been alleged around the 2025 Club World Cup, FIFA is still accused of participating in a money grab, with greed overshadowing team concerns and player health. The pace of top-level soccer also has increased over the last quarter century, with more running and pressing being partially blamed for more injuries along with the ever-growing schedule. Sponsors also have been hesitant to become involved over questions related to viewership, attendance and return on investment for the revamped tournament.

To combat concerns and attract top clubs and players, FIFA has offered a $1 billion prize pool, with top-qualifying teams like Manchester City able to earn up to $125 million if they win the tournament. The amount a team like Real Madrid could earn would be on par with the prize money for making the UEFA Champions League quarterfinals, but some of that money is offset by costs including early signings or transfers to boost talent before the tournament.

Each win and draw from the group stage through the final will earn teams money, but there are also questions of where that money will go. Many players in the MLS clubs are currently petitioning the league, which owns all the clubs, for a prize-money share. The Club World Cup is not specifically mentioned in the collective bargaining agreement with the MLS Players Association, and caps on tournament compensation shares could lead to a disproportionate windfall for the league—with players getting what they see as a share below international standards if any of the league’s teams make a run. Seattle Sounders players wore T-shirts with the message “Club World Cup Ca$h Grab” before their June 1 match, and several players have posted criticisms campaigning with the #FairShareNow hashtag.

Another shadow over the Club World Cup is international and domestic tensions related to the Trump administration. Travel bans have created concern among players, while social media posts by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), which were later deleted, hinted at the agency showing up at the first match in Miami and possibly using the soccer tournament to target undocumented immigrants. Some have blamed potential ICE presence at games for lower than expected attendance at early matches.

These concerns will fade if the tournament ends up being a success, and some of that will depend on the competition itself, which organizers hope will increase fan interest. Ultimately, seeing this many top clubs will be a fan draw, but the question is whether casual fans will be interested in the tournament in the same way as next year’s World Cup—ideally snowballing toward the 2029 edition and forcing sponsors, and possibly players, to warm up to yet another major tournament in an already crowded soccer schedule.

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

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The FIFA Club World Cup, being held through July at venues across the United States, highlights international collaboration and concerns that soccer schedules are too packed.

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Top image: English soccer club Chelsea celebrate after winning the 2021 FIFA Club World Cup. (Photo: Fars Media Corporation/Wikimedia Commons)

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