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The weather’s hot, the books are cool

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 03 Aug 2026 21:31:07 +0000

The weather’s hot, the books are cool Rachel Sauer Mon, 08/03/2026 - 15:31

There’s still plenty of time to dive into a summer reading list, and College of Arts and Sciences authors can meet every reading mood

Friends, it’s hot out—don’t-touch-the-steering-wheel, try-to-fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk hot, with scant relief in the forecast.

It’s the sort of weather that calls for a hammock in the shade and a good book. So, even though we’re well into summer and perhaps starting to think about heading back to school, it’s not too late to dive into a summer reading list.

If you’re looking for some recommendations to see you through the rest of summer, the College of Arts and Sciences can help. Our faculty and alumni have written books that cater to a fascinating range of interests—from Roman temple robbery to a middle school student trying to figure things out to an exploration of Colorado’s eeriest places.

So, what are you in the mood to read?

Reading vibe: Creepy but make it Colorado

Suggestion: Eerie Colorado: Mountain Folklore, Monsters and Tales of the Supernatural, by Jack Daly, a lecturer in the University of Colorado Boulder Program for Writing and Rhetoric.

Daly explores all things supernatural, unexplainable and unnerving in the Centennial State. Beyond simply organizing these legends in one volume, Daly also grapples with the role supernatural folklore plays in the historical and contemporary culture of Colorado.

Reading vibe: Thinking about the Roman Empire

Suggestion: Stealing from the Gods, by Isabel Köster, a University of Colorado Boulder associate professor of classics whose research focus is the history, religion and literature of the Roman Republic and the early Empire.

Ancient Romans often plundered temples in their wars of conquest—sometimes openly and with astonishing scale. Large statues and famous works of art were carried away from foreign lands to Rome, treasuries were emptied and sacred spaces were stripped bare.

Yet, despite how frequently these robberies occurred, Romans still expressed sharp moral outrage about it—not for the plundering itself, but for particular individuals accused of committing it for the “wrong” reasons.

Reading vibe: Remembering forgotten histories of choice and liberal religion

Suggestion: God Bless the Pill, by Samira Mehta, a University of Colorado Boulder associate professor of women and gender studies and director of the Program in Jewish Studies.

It's time to remember the often-forgotten history of mid-20th-century Protestant, Jewish and Catholic leaders and believers who embraced birth control as part of God’s plan. In fact, many denominations that were “skeptical to disapproving” in the early 20th century came around to supporting and advocating for birth control and family planning.

Reading vibe: The "A" in AI could also stand for "art"

Suggestion: Lily in a Codebox, by Lee Frankel-Goldwater, an assistant teaching professor of environmental studies at the University of Colorado Boulder.

In the summer of 2023, Lee Frankel-Goldwater was heavily immersed in Boulder’s poetry community. He was also very aware of the waves that ChatGPT was making in the tech world.

"I started doing some experiments and playing with this AI to see what it could do poetically,” says Frankel-Goldwater. He was already certain AI was going to change everything, and he wanted to see how it might be used to explore new realms of poetics.

Reading vibe: Feeling like a mango

Suggestion: Confessions of a Mango, a mid-grade novel by Katheryn Lumsden, a University of Colorado Boulder molecular, cellular and developmental biology alumna, and Nathan Pieplow, an associate teaching professor in the Program for Writing and Rhetoric.

Pieplow says it was important to them to write a book that was realistic and relatable: The parents may be occasionally clueless, but they want what’s best for their kids. The teachers and administrators at the school are supportive, and the other kids may be squirrelly sometimes, but they’re otherwise normal, decent kids.

“I grew up in Boulder and my husband and I are raising our kids in Boulder, and the parents here are fantastic, but sometimes there can be this feeling of life or death if you don’t do well (in school),” Lumsden says. “There isn’t a lot of room to fail, and people sometimes won’t even say the word ‘fail’ to kids. But it’s important that kids know sometimes they’ll fail and it’s not the end of the world.”

Reading vibe: Gloriously alive

Suggestion: How it Feels to Be Alive: Encounters with Art and Our Selves, by Megan O'Grady, an assistant professor in art and art history and a former art critic at The New York Times.

“I have often been bludgeoned by art’s beauty, energized or pulverized by its emotional content, vacuum-sealed within its force-field," O'Grady says. "I’ve looked at it and thought, This is exactly what it feels like to remember someone I lost, or, This is what love is, a tenderness toward existence.”

Additionally, she contends, art “provokes unanswerable questions about how to live in a fragmenting society. It enacts transfers of energy, joy and defiance. It suggests new forms of connection and belonging.”

Reading vibe: More reading, please

Suggestion: The Novel Experience, by Helmut Müller-Sievers, a professor of Germanic and Slavic languages and literature.

Helmut Müller-Sievers has an idea to help reignite students’ interest in taking literature courses: Rather than teaching novels as a source of knowledge, academics should encourage young readers to pay attention to the experience of reading.

“Every experience is novel, and every novel is an experience,” he says.

Reading vibe: Science can happen anywhere!

Suggestion: A Life of Science—In Gyms!, a memoir by Doug Seals, a distinguished professor in the Department of Integrative Physiology who chronicles more than four decades in biomedical research.

Imagine a biomedical research laboratory. Chances are, visions of gleaming equipment, climate-controlled rooms, and the hum of precision instruments come to mind.

But what if that lab was really a century-old gymnasium plagued by electrical outages, noise and temperatures that swing with the seasons? Those are just some of the challenges Doug Seals faced while establishing one of the most productive aging research programs in the country.

Reading vibe: Walking through the garden

Suggestion: The Garden, a work of poetry by Julie Carr, professor of English and creative writing and chair of women and gender studies.

Questions of what to do about violence and the spiritual paralysis it can cause let Julie Carr down wandering paths of mystical tradition, of memories of her uncle, of dreams of fire in the dry Colorado grass, of imaginings like fragments of broken glass. And she arrived at The Garden, her recently published book that weaves fractured narratives into reoriented themes of time, war, Jewishness, memory, techno-biology, friendship and grief.

Keep reading!

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There’s still plenty of time to dive into a summer reading list, and College of Arts and Sciences authors can meet every reading mood.

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Why remembering the Big Thompson Flood of 1976 matters today

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 29 Jul 2026 15:44:28 +0000

Why remembering the Big Thompson Flood of 1976 matters today Rachel Sauer Wed, 07/29/2026 - 09:44

A cabin lodged on a private bridge just below Drake, Colorado, following the Big Thompson Flood in 1976. (Photo: W.R. Hansen/U.S. Geological Survey)

Bradley Worrell

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� Natural Hazards Center Director Lori Peek says there are still lessons to be learned from the devastating flash flood, 50 years later

Fifty years ago this week, a beautiful summer evening in Colorado ended in catastrophe.

On the night of July 31, 1976, a powerful thunderstorm stalled over the Big Thompson Canyon west of Loveland, unleashing a torrential rainfall in a matter of hours. The resulting flash flood killed 144 people and became the single deadliest disaster in the state’s history.

For Lori Peek, professor of sociology and director of the Natural Hazards Center at the University of Colorado Boulder, the flood’s most important legacy may be the lessons that emerged from it—and the realization that those lessons still require attention today.

Lori Peek is a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� professor of sociology and director of the Natural Hazards Center.

“Anniversary events like this one are so important because they serve as moments for communities to come together and reflect upon what was lost, what we’ve learned and what we still need to do to become more resilient in the future,” she says.

A perfect storm of human, environmental and built factors

While the Big Thompson Flood is often remembered for its meteorological extremes, Peek says that disasters are never caused by nature alone.

“One of the things we say in this field of study is that there are natural hazards, but there’s no such thing as a natural disaster,” she says. “Every disaster has a human component.

“There are, of course, natural hazards—floods, fires and tornadoes—but what turns them into disasters is the collision between vulnerable built environments, vulnerable human systems and the natural environment. That’s what creates a disaster.”

In the case of the historic Colorado flood, Peek says several factors converged to maximize the damage. These included:

Storm stalled: Rather than moving through an area as storms tend to do, the storm that evening stalled over the canyon, dumping more than 12 inches of water in just over four hours. “It was almost like pouring water into a bowl,” Peek says.
Rapid water rise: The floodwaters rose with astonishing speed, leaving many people trapped in cabins, automobiles or low-lying areas before they understood the danger.
Geography: The canyon’s steep walls funneled water into a narrow corridor, placing people in homes, hotels, campgrounds and vehicles along the river in harm’s way. “The topography played a major role,” Peek acknowledges.
Nightfall: The storm struck after dark, when many people were sleeping. Also, of those who were awake, some could not see or sense the danger.
Cars: Many victims were in cars—either trying to flee the storm or parked near the river. “The people with the highest risk of dying were those who remained in their vehicles,” Peek says.
Timing: The storm struck during the final holiday weekend of the summer, when the canyon was crowded with campers and visiting tourists, as well as a mix of full-time and part-time residents. In total, it is estimated that about 2,500 people were in the canyon at the time.

“There’s also the human dimension—whether people understood the risk, knew what to do, could physically take action and could get to safety,” Peek says. “That complicated mix is what led to so many deaths.”

A cabin lodged on a private bridge just below Drake, Colorado, following the Big Thompson Flood in 1976. (Photo: W.R. Hansen/U.S. Geological Survey)

She adds that research conducted soon after the flood found that survival often depended upon a simple but critical decision: getting out and moving uphill.

“What the research on who survived and why—and who died and why—showed was that the key to survival was getting out … and literally climbing to safety,” she says.

She says that finding is one of the flood’s most enduring lessons.

A (new) sign of the times in 1977

Today, anyone who travels through Colorado canyons is likely familiar with the bright yellow signs depicting a person climbing uphill.

Peek says those signs endure because they communicate something essential: Survival depends upon taking immediate action.

Today, anyone who travels through Colorado canyons is likely familiar with the bright yellow signs depicting a person climbing uphill. (Photo: Brad Turner/KUNC)

“If you’re going to communicate risk effectively, the message has to be actionable,” she explains. “That’s why, even 50 years later, the signage remains so powerful. It tells people exactly what to do in the face of an imminent threat to life safety.”

Peek notes those climb-to-safety signs were the result of an August 1977 working paper by ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� researcher Eve C. Grunfest, who interviewed dozens of flood survivors, first responders, emergency management professionals and others to learn what worked and what needed to be improved following the Big Thompson Flood. Grunfest studied under Gilbert F. White, a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� professor of geography who Peek says is widely considered the father of floodplain management and who founded the Natural Hazards Center in 1976.

The Natural Hazards Center was not established because of the Big Thompson Flood, as White was already in the process of founding the organization in 1975. However, Peek says the flood demonstrated why such an academic research center, dedicated to translating and sharing findings, was needed.

“The Natural Hazards Center was established because, at the time, a lot of research wasn’t making it into the hands of practitioners and policymakers,” says Peek, who was a graduate research assistant at the center from 1999 to 2005. She returned to ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� in 2017 to serve as the center’s director. “The Natural Hazards Center was established to nurture the hazards and disaster research community and share information with those concerned with reducing disaster risk. That’s the work that federal agencies like the National Science Foundation support us to do, because the evidence shows that actions we take before disaster can save lives and prevent unnecessary harm and suffering.”

Comparing the floods of 1976 and 2013

In many ways, Colorado today is better prepared for flooding than it was in 1976, Peek says.

At the time of the 1976 disaster, emergency managers lacked many of the tools that are the norm today. Then, there were no cellphone alerts, no modern emergency notification systems, no social media networks and few of the sophisticated weather forecasting capabilities available today.

Peek says that weather forecasting has become more precise, at-risk communities have installed warning sirens and emergency communication systems can distribute alerts through many channels and in many different languages to serve diverse groups.

In the Big Thompson Canyon, some vulnerable structures destroyed in the 1976 flood were never rebuilt in the same locations.

“Portions of the built environment have been moved out of the highest-risk floodways and floodplains,” Peek says. “Some of the streamside motels, cabins and other structures that were destroyed in the flood were not rebuilt in those same vulnerable locations.”

When the Big Thompson River flooded again in 2013, Peek says it demonstrated both the value of those improvements and the continuing reality of flooding danger. While the 2013 flood caused massive damage and resulted in at least eight deaths, Peek says she believes losses would have been even worse without decades of investment in warning systems and flood mitigation.

Why some lessons go unlearned

Despite the progress made since 1976, recent disasters show that communities do not always implement best-practice safety measures. Peek points to the 2025 Camp Mystic tragedy in Texas, where children were swept away in a flash flood.

“They didn’t have an emergency action plan. They didn’t have sirens. They didn’t have timely cell phone alerts. They hadn’t moved structures in the floodplain out of harm’s way,” Peek notes.

Why do these failures persist?

Peek offers several reasons. While disasters can create “policy windows” for lawmakers and regulators to act, those windows close more quickly today due to short public attention spans, and consensus is harder to build in today’s age of political polarization, she notes. Additionally, even when guidance exists, people may not know where to begin or may be overwhelmed, she adds.

Still, Peek sees some reasons for optimism. New guidance documents from the Association of State Floodplain Managers provide step-by-step instructions for camps and RV parks to create emergency action plans and offer model ordinance language for lawmakers.

“That’s a good example of how progress happens,” she says. “Such guidance can help spur action.”

A state that has changed—and largely forgotten the storm

Meanwhile, back in Colorado, Peek says one of the bigger challenges in commemorating the anniversary of the Big Thompson Flood is that most Colorado residents—and nearly all of its visitors—have no memory of it.

“Fifty years is a long time,” she notes. “Most visitors would have no reason to know anything about the Big Thompson Flood unless they are particularly interested in disaster history.”

The Big Thompson Flood remains the deadliest disaster in Colorado’s history. By learning what happened, how lives could have been saved then and how lives can still be saved today, we have an opportunity to build a more resilient state.”

Even among residents, Colorado today is a relatively young state demographically. Many people weren’t alive when the flood occurred, and many didn’t attend school here. As a result, public awareness of flood risk remains low, Peek says.

“People are often surprised to learn that Boulder is one of the state’s communities most at risk to flash flooding,” she says.

At the same time, Colorado itself has changed dramatically since 1976. The state’s population has swelled from 2.6 million then to more than 6 million today. More people are hiking, camping and driving through canyons than ever, oblivious to the dangers that flash floods pose. And while technology has improved, many of those areas are still without reliable cell service, Peek notes. She adds that floods can strike with little warning.

Could a disaster like the 1976 Big Thompson Flood could happen today?

Peek’s answer is an unequivocal yes. That’s why physical signage, emergency planning measures, public education and land-use planning all remain essential—especially in a warming climate, she says.

“Risk isn’t static,” she says. “As we experience more extreme rainfall events, places that once weren’t considered high risk, or weren’t mapped as flood hazards, may now be vulnerable.”

Peek says it’s also why remembering anniversaries like the 1976 Big Thompson Flood still matters today.

“It’s so important to know our history,” she says. “The Big Thompson Flood remains the deadliest disaster in Colorado’s history. By learning what happened, how lives could have been saved then and how lives can still be saved today, we have an opportunity to build a more resilient state.”

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��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� Natural Hazards Center Director Lori Peek says there are still lessons to be learned from the devastating flash flood, 50 years later.

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Top photo: Damage caused by the 1976 Big Thompson Flood (Photo: Maurice L. Albertson/Maurice L. Albertson Papers at Colorado State University)

If these stones could talk…

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 18 Jun 2026 17:01:37 +0000

If these stones could talk… Rachel Sauer Thu, 06/18/2026 - 11:01

In the 1860s and 1870s, the area that would eventually be the ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� campus was referred to as "The Great American Desert." (Photo: Boulder Historical Society/Museum of Boulder)

On an Ampersand walking tour of campus during ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� 150^th anniversary year, Professor Emeritus Paul Chinowsky weaves a tapestry of campus stories one brick at a time

Listen to The Ampersand

Lean in close—close enough to hear the whispers of the stones and bricks that build the University of Colorado Boulder.

Are they telling the story of the young man who rode his horse to campus, so he was frequently late and only avoided being locked out of Old Main because Joseph Sewall’s daughter had a crush on him and let him in?

Are they, too, expressing mystification about where the turtles in the pond came from? Do they have something to say about when Boulder was identified on maps as The Great American Desert?

Paul Chinowsky is a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� professor emeritus of civil, environmental and architectural engineering.

These are the stories Paul Chinowsky hears when he puts his ear to the stones. A professor emeritus of civil, environmental and architectural engineering, Chinowsky sees not just structures, but stories as he roams campus. He recently joined host Erika Randall, ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� dean and vice provost of undergraduate education and professor of dance, on "The Ampersand,” a College of Arts and Sciences podcast. Randall and guests explore stories about ANDing as a “full sensory verb” that describes experience and possibility.

On a walking tour of the Quad, Chinowsky reflected on ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� founding to understand the choices made throughout its history that brought the university community to this point of celebration, 150 years later, and planning for the next 150 years.

PAUL CHINOWSKY: It's really important when you're looking at buildings to not look at them as you are today. Think of them as they were being built. What were the creators trying to do? What was the feeling?

ERIKA RANDALL: What's the world that they're building?

CHINOWSKY: What were they trying to create? The first 50 years of this campus, we didn't know what we wanted to be. So, every building reflects, "Let's try this." In the 1860s and 1870s, we didn't know. We just knew there was gold. There was something out here. It was referred to as "The Great American Desert."

When this territory was looked at, the first Army explorers that came out here, it's on maps. This is "The Great American Desert." They came back in the early 1800s and said nobody will ever want to live there. There's nothing there.

RANDALL: Now that's what the bumper stickers say. It's like, oh, it's terrible here. Tell your friends. But when you stand in front of Old Main, and then you look across to the old library …

CHINOWSKY: Right.

RANDALL: … they're trying to decide.

CHINOWSKY: What Old Main is, at that time, you have to think about what was high society in the 1870s. It was St. Louis. St. Louis was the last civilization before you got to San Francisco.

RANDALL: So, we're serving St. Louis vibes?

CHINOWSKY: This is St. Louis. If you went to St. Louis, this would fit right in. Who would have ever built red brick here? They didn't even make these bricks here. This was all imported

RANDALL: From St. Louis?

In the 1860s and 1870s, the area that would eventually be the ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� campus was referred to as "The Great American Desert." (Photo: Boulder Historical Society/Museum of Boulder)

CHINOWSKY: From the Midwest. All of this was moved. All the stone around the windows, that all comes from Indiana. Everything's imported. Now, you have to get a feel of it.

RANDALL: Yeah, let's go this way.

CHINOWSKY: Can we walk? You have to kind of … if you look back, this was wasteland.

RANDALL: And you see that in a few photographs.

CHINOWSKY: You see it in the early pictures—this land was just, it wasn't even good grazing land, because in the winter, the snow would come through and bury the cows. So, this was grazing land. And in fact, across the street, right across Broadway, was where the rancher that owned a lot of this land, that's where he kept his steers.

RANDALL: But he had to bring them in in the winter?

CHINOWSKY: He had to bring them in in the winter. So, this was all donated land. They made a big deal that it's all donated.

RANDALL: Well, that's because they didn't want it.

CHINOWSKY: They didn't want it. It's just these were the people that donated the land. This was just extra land.

RANDALL: $439.60.

CHINOWSKY: For 22 acres. Yep, that was Andrews land. That was land right where Norlin Library is now, because we're oriented this way. Here's Marinus Smith's land. That's where we're standing.

RANDALL: $509.

CHINOWSKY: $509.

RANDALL: And 80 cents.

CHINOWSKY: And 80 cents. Arnett has that triangle just on the other side of where Geography is, for $76. But he did donate 80 acres later on for a team of horses.

RANDALL: But nobody wanted this!

CHINOWSKY: Nobody wanted this. So, this was our front yard. This little area, there were no trees here. You have to imagine Hale puts in the trees afterwards, 10 years later. This was the front lawn.

An 1889 view of ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� campus with Old Main in the distance. (Photo: Joseph Bevier Sturtevant/Carnegie Library for Local History)

RANDALL: Wow.

CHINOWSKY: And when we talk about the buildings, you have to feel it.

RANDALL: OK, I'm feeling it.

CHINOWSKY: You feel it? So, this is 150-year-old stone. Feel there's no rough edges.

RANDALL: No, this is hard-hewn. You can see all the chisel marks. They're not trying to keep this clean or sleek.

CHINOWSKY: No, this was rough, Colorado. This was the West. This was not clean.

RANDALL: So, this part is the West? The foundation is the West, but just beyond reach--

CHINOWSKY: This is what we thought. This is really if we could evolve--

RANDALL: Vertically up, we could be that.

CHINOWSKY: We could be that.

RANDALL: Wow! That's cool to think with that.

CHINOWSKY: And so, the mythology right from the beginning was we are going to lift what we thought, what the Europeans thought of, as new land.

RANDALL: Yes. We Europeans and our savior complexes. Oh, god!

CHINOWSKY: We are going to lift this territory into civilization. And that from the very beginning, 1870s, that was our mythology: CU was put here to lift this area up.

RANDALL: Which, when we think about it now, no wonder there isn't a ton of support always.

CHINOWSKY: There never was support for the university. It was only a year after we started that they thought we should actually have operating expenses. They gave the land but there was no money from the state to actually operate the university. Kittredge was the one in the legislature who passed the bill that we could actually have operating funds. But no funds could go to any building that wasn't a classroom building.

RANDALL: So, there was administrative and academic always together?

CHINOWSKY: Yes.

RANDALL: Huh. Was the pond here?

A view of the Museum of Natural History from 1937. (Photo: Carnegie Library for Local History)

CHINOWSKY: No. The pond didn't get here until about 1907. It was after Hale was built, and they were having flood problems, so the pond was put in as a flood control.

RANDALL: Where did they import the turtles from?

CHINOWSKY: It's a good question. I've always wondered that too. It's like, yeah, these don't belong. There's a lot of things on campus you go, huh, that doesn't belong here. So, what we're looking at is what was the empty field that people would come across to walk to Old Main. This walkway was the shortcut. This road is the original road where the horse and buggies would come in.

RANDALL: It's so wild to think of.

CHINOWSKY: Come in, drop people off there and then make the turn where Macky is to go back out. And this was the shortcut. If you were walking, you would walk straight across from the corner of Broadway and what's now University, and you come across the field to the building. And you had to get in the front door before 9 a.m.

RANDALL: Or?

CHINOWSKY: Or they closed it and locked it.

RANDALL: Our students would be in so much trouble!

CHINOWSKY: Because Joseph Sewall, who was our first president, who lived right here, he believed … he came from Illinois. He was a doctor. And punctuality was very important. So, his daughter Jane had the job. They rang the bell in the bell tower at 9 a.m., and she closed the door. No one's allowed to come into class after 9 a.m.

RANDALL: How old was when she was ringing the bell in the bell tower?

CHINOWSKY: She was about 10, 11. And there's a story that she writes. She had a crush on one of the early students, and he was never on time because he rode in on his horse, and the stables were down near where the Union is now.

RANDALL: It's impossible to imagine.

CHINOWSKY: He would have to take his horse down to the stables and run back and come in the back door.

RANDALL: And there's no sidewalks. There’re no Lime scooters.

CHINOWSKY: There's nothing. And so, she would hold the door open for him so he could sneak in the back door because he was never on time.

RANDALL: So stinking cute.

CHINOWSKY: But here in the first floor, right over here, this was where the Sewalls' apartment was on the first floor. So, they moved in 1877, and it was a year or two later, a carriage comes in. And Jane and her sister would love to try and run out before their mom got out here. It would drive their mother just crazy as they would do it.

They would wait over here, out of that window, so they could see first. And if they saw first, their goal was to try and get out.

RANDALL: There was no Instagram or television. This is what they were doing.

CHINOWSKY: Exactly. Their goal was to try and get out there before their mom stopped her. So, one day, there's a carriage coming up with four gentlemen in a dress, top hats, everything. And they saw this, and they went, oh, this must be something important. And Jane goes running out with her sister. The carriage pulls up right here, right in front.

She comes running down the stairs, bounds up into the carriage, and jumps on the lap of the first person saying, "Hello, I'm Jane. You must be important." And her mom comes out and just stands there and is just mortified. It was President (Ulysses S.) Grant.

He came. After he got out of office, he came because his daughter-in-law lived here up in Summit County. So, he was here on his post-presidency visit. He was here with the governor coming to view the land that he had granted.

RANDALL: So, kind of the most important carriage of all time?

CHINOWSKY: And she's jumping on there, going, "Hi!"

RANDALL: Oh, my god, I love Jane.

CHINOWSKY: So those are the kind of things that are going on at the beginning. It's this mix of trying to be proper, but there's this Western casualness that's going on at the same time. And there's this push and pull of what are we going to be?

RANDALL: What are we going to be?

CHINOWSKY: What are we going to be? Nobody had written the story. It was our story to write. And there was this feeling, we've got something here.

Click play to hear the rest of the conversation!

Did you enjoy this article? Subscribe to our newsletter. Passionate about history? Show your support.

On an Ampersand walking tour of campus during ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� 150th anniversary year, Professor Emeritus Paul Chinowsky weaves a tapestry of campus stories one brick at a time.

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Wildfire’s toll on animals went largely unreported, researchers show

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 27 Apr 2026 18:10:13 +0000

Wildfire’s toll on animals went largely unreported, researchers show Rachel Sauer Mon, 04/27/2026 - 12:10

Clint Talbott

After the Marshall Fire, researchers at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� and Western Washington University muse on why animals disappear from disaster stories and suggest a remedy

When the Marshall Fire swept through Boulder County on Dec. 30, 2021, it killed two people and destroyed 1,084 homes. Colorado’s governor called the relatively modest loss of human life a “New Year’s miracle.”

As University of Colorado Boulder sociologist Leslie Irvine later found, however, the wildfire also killed more than 1,000 companion animals who were trapped in homes that rapidly incinerated while their people were at work, traveling or stuck in evacuation traffic.

New research from Irvine and Cameron Whitley, a sociology professor at Western Washington University, quantifies the extent to which the loss of sentient animal life was overlooked by public officials and the news media.

In recently published research, ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� sociologist Leslie Irvine and colleague Cameron Whitely quantify the extent to which the loss of sentient animal life was overlooked by public officials and the news media following the Marshall Fire.

For many residents, the toll was devastating but largely invisible.

Out of 981 news stories published in the two months after the fire, only 16% mentioned animals at all. Fewer than 5% focused on animals in their coverage. Government officials mentioned animal loss in less than 1% of public statements.

“What surprised me most wasn’t just what showed up in the media,” Whitley says of the research, which was recently published in the journal Anthrozoös. “It was what didn’t—especially considering how many people think of their animals as family.”

For Irvine, now retired from ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� but still deeply engaged with the work, the Marshall Fire reopened questions she had hoped never to revisit.

Two decades earlier, after Hurricane Katrina, Irvine wrote Filling the Ark: Animal Welfare in Disasters, a groundbreaking book documenting how disaster-response systems failed people with pets—and how those failures increased human risk as well. After Katrina, Congress passed the PETS Act, requiring emergency plans to account for companion animals.

“I said I would never study disasters and animals again,” Irvine recalls. “It was too devastating.”

Then the Marshall Fire struck Boulder County “right in my backyard,” she says. Whitley, who grew up in nearby Lafayette and earned his BA from ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, came to the project with both scholarly training and knowledge of personal loss.

“As people were grieving animals—pets, wildlife, livestock—they kept telling me the same thing,” Whitley says. “They weren’t seeing that grief reflected anywhere.”

Using systematic content analysis, Whitley and his co-authors coded every Marshall Fire news story published by local, state and national outlets in the fire’s immediate aftermath. They tracked when animals appeared, how they were framed, and—critically—when entire categories of loss vanished.

Domestic pets received the most attention, but usually as side notes to evacuation instructions or “feel‑good” reunion stories. Agricultural animals were typically counted collectively—horses evacuated, livestock lost—rarely described as individuals. Wildlife barely appeared at all.

“The default hierarchy is still very clear,” Irvine says. “Humans first. Then property. Animals come after—if at all.”

When the ‘hierarchy’ obscures the truth

“The only thing some families have left of their animals is a burned‑out food bowl. That alone should tell us something about what we’re failing to see,” says ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� researcher Leslie Irvine. (Photo: Patti Benninghoff-Lawson)

That hierarchy persists despite decades of research showing that people routinely risk their lives for animals during disasters. Some refuse to evacuate without them. Others re‑enter burn zones to try to rescue them—sometimes requiring rescue themselves.

In fact, one of the two human fatalities in the Marshall fire was Edna Turnbull, who died while trying to rescue her dogs. “Turnbull’s refusal to leave without making sure her companion animals were safe is not unique,” Whitley and Irvine write.

From an economic or safety standpoint alone, Irvine argues, ignoring animals is irrational. She contends: “If government officials took animals seriously in disasters, they would reduce risks to first responders, reduce chaos and improve outcomes for everyone.”

One consequence of invisibility is what Whitley calls unrecognized grief. He cites research showing that losing a companion animal can provoke grief comparable to losing a human family member. But when that loss is absent from public discourse, grieving people also feel isolated, he observes, adding:

“In the LA County fires we’re studying now, people talk about losing their home as something they could move past. Losing their animal, or being forced to give that animal up months later because of housing instability, that’s what they say they’ll never recover from.”

That secondary grief rarely appears in disaster coverage. Nor do the long‑term consequences that follow fires even after humans rebuild.

Irvine points to toxic exposure as an underreported crisis. Dogs in burn zones may now need booties and paw decontamination. Outdoor cats may carry contaminants inside. Veterinarians report increases in respiratory illness and unexplained deaths among animal patients months or years later.

Merlin, a cat injured during the Marshall Fire, has since recovered. (Photo: Shelby Davis/Soul Dog Rescue)

“These aren’t dramatic images,” Irvine says. “They don’t fit into breaking news. But they shape everyday life for years.”

“We tend to act as though a disaster ends once people rebuild their homes. But for people with animals, the disaster often continues for the rest of those animals’ lives—through toxic exposure, long‑term illness and ongoing grief.”

Why journalism struggles with animals

The researchers note the challenges facing journalists. Disaster coverage focuses on what can be confirmed quickly, counted easily and tied to economic loss.

“Homes and infrastructure are quantifiable,” Whitley says. “Animals aren’t, unless they’re agricultural, and even then, they’re usually listed as numbers, not lives.”

The media also gravitate toward redemptive narratives—pets reunited with families, miraculous survivals—rather than mass loss without resolution.

“There’s a kind of collective discomfort with stories that don’t offer closure,” Irvine says.

Whitley notes that journalists are reporting statements of public officials, whose focus is on humans and property. “Less than 1% of official government statements mentioned animals at all. That’s not just a media problem; that’s a policy failure.”

But when animals disappear from disaster coverage, so do the people who love them.

The study offers a suggestion on disaster reporting: prioritize sentient life—human and nonhuman alike—before property loss.

“This isn’t about placing animals above people,” Whitley says. “It’s about telling the whole story.”

As climate‑driven disasters become more frequent, these questions will arise more frequently, the researchers note.

“The Marshall Fire taught us that firestorms are no longer remote or rare,” Irvine says. “And it showed us something else—that we are still failing to see whole parts of our communities when disaster strikes.”

Whitley adds: “When we talk about disasters, we celebrate the minimal loss of human life—while thousands of animals die without acknowledgement. For the people who lost them, that silence matters.”

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After the Marshall Fire, researchers at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� and Western Washington University muse on why animals disappear from disaster stories and suggest a remedy.

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Artist encourages talking with your mouth full

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 17 Apr 2026 21:06:15 +0000

Artist encourages talking with your mouth full Rachel Sauer Fri, 04/17/2026 - 15:06

Alvin Gregorio (seated, black cap) leads an art project during a recent Talk With Your Mouth Full event at which he was the featured artist. (Photo: Alvin Gregorio)

Kayleigh Wood

As the featured artist at a recent Black Cube event, ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��'s Alvin Gregorio emphasized how getting primal and getting to know each other—and yes, sharing meals—makes better people

Alvin Pagdanganan Gregorio understands the value of a shared meal. The University of Colorado Boulder professor of drawing and painting and associate chair for art practices was the recent featured artist and host of Talk With Your Mouth Full, a series of free, artist-led community potluck brunches organized by Black Cube, a nomadic art museum based in Englewood.

Artists invited to host Talk With Your Mouth Full select one ingredient for a main dish prepared by a local chef. Participants are encouraged to bring a dish as well, although it is not required, nor must it include the selected ingredient. After food and conversation, the artist leads a simple activity with the aim of fostering discussion.

For Gregorio, the choice of ingredient was simple: “Immediately I thought of ube, which is the purple yam of the Philippines,” he says. “It’s one of the most striking colors in Filipino food.”

Alvin Pagdanganan Gregorio, a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� associate professor of art and art history, was the featured artist at a recent Black Cube Talk With Your Mouth Full potluck event, which featured ube cheese pandesals. (Photo: Alvin Gregorio)

To take on the challenge, Black Cube enlisted the help of Cakeheads Bakery, a family-owned Filipino American bakery in Centennial that created ube cheese pandesals: deep purple bread rolls filled with melted cheese and topped with golden breadcrumbs.

The artistry of the pandesals parallels Gregorio’s art, which features vibrant, eye-catching palettes and diverse textures. Through an unrestricted practice transcending any one technique, material or form, Gregorio creates drawings, paintings, installations, sculptures, performance and audio pieces that explore immigration, family, war, spirituality and defense mechanisms.

Sharing meals, lowering your defenses

Talk With Your Mouth Full addresses an assumption to which Gregorio is particularly adverse: the role of food in the studio and museum space (or lack thereof). Generally, exposing art to food and drink can threaten the quality of the work or destroy it entirely.

Yet Gregorio welcomes food in both the studio and his classroom. “I’m into [the potluck], much in the same way I am in class,” he says. “I want people to eat. As long as you clean up after yourself, I want you to eat in class too, because then you know you’re at home and safe. You’re in a place where you [can] put your guard down.”

In addition to allowing his students to eat in class, Gregorio aims to incorporate shared meals into his teaching practice. “College students aren’t great at feeding themselves,” he says. “Even the best of us get busy, so that’s one of things I want to include in the classroom. If there’s a 12-12:30pm break between all of our classes, then, all right, [every] Wednesday, let’s see everyone. Let’s do a community meal. When you start feeding people, people are like, all right, these people do care about me.”

In the classroom, Gregorio says he’s “trying to do it the right way, you know, where people aren’t being vulnerable [with] people they don’t trust.” Many art classes at the University of Colorado Boulder, including Gregorio’s, hinge on portfolio-building and periodic critiques, which are structured opportunities for a student’s peers to evaluate and analyze their work and share feedback, often requiring a degree of vulnerability from the student.

He sees shared meals as a tool to ease the pressure of critiques and to build trust, because “eating with other people is grounding, talking about things you love is grounding… It’s kind of hard [to] keep your guard up when [you have] powdered sugar all over your face.”

Caring for the person–not just the portfolio

As art practitioners rely heavily on critiques to improve, Gregorio insists that the most important aspect of his teaching practice is earning trust from his students by prioritizing their safety and comfort. “That has to be first,” says Gregorio. “If we’re talking about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, at the bottom there’s safety . . . If people don’t feel safe there (in the classroom), then they can’t get to the top, and the top is generosity and creativity.”

To encourage trust, Gregorio gives social homework, or what he calls “fake homework.” These “fake homework” assignments range from suggestions to hang out with a peer over the weekend to long-term collaborative assignments that occur during class, like starting a “band” with a group of peers, carefully curating a vibe and designing an album cover over the course of a semester. Gregorio also often assigns “docu-buddies,” which are groups of peers responsible for photographing each other’s work in progress throughout the term.

"Plush Safe, We Think," by Alvin Pagdanganan Gregorio, mixed media on paper

While these simple, unserious social assignments may seem menial, Tyson Tieu, a senior in the Department of Art and Art History and a former student of Gregorio’s who attended Talk With Your Mouth Full, says he misses the social activities. In most studio art classes, Tieu says, “you’re in your own little bubble, like you’re doing your own thing and you’re at your table, whereas with Alvin, it could be annoying, but, yeah, he does force to you to, like, get up and move and work outside your comfort zone… if you’re [having] art block or something, it just helps you get your hand moving.”

Gregorio says, looking back, “It’s always been that first—people. I’m [only] able to get [my students] to trust me when we’re doing really hard things if I earn it along the way. . . . So then, if I say something that I need to say to make the work better, it’s a little bit easier for people to accept, because I earn the trust through caring for the whole person rather than just the portfolio.”

‘Art shifts the vibe’

The same ethos of security and companionship helped Gregorio shape his activity for Talk With Your Mouth Full, for which he was intent on addressing the current moment: “I didn’t want to do anything so escapist. I wanted [to] acknowledge that [we’re] living through a weird time.”

For his exercise at Talk With Your Mouth Full, Gregorio started by admitting to his audience: “I hate violence, I hate war . . . I hate Donald Trump and all that he stands for . . . One of the things I hate about right now is [that] I’m living in a time where I feel like there’s a lot of hate in the world, and it’s f***ing exhausting.”

To combat this exhaustion, Gregorio reorients his mindset by wishing the person or thing that angers him well. He asked his audience at Talk With Your Mouth Full to do the same thing, first by offering his own example. “Hi, Donny,” he said to President Trump, “I wish that something great would happen for you today, so that you can have what I have. So that you can feel love in your life that I have. I hope that someone does something for you today.”

Alvin Gregorio (seated, black cap) leads an art project during a recent Talk With Your Mouth Full event at which he was the featured artist. (Photo: Alvin Gregorio)

For Talk With Your Mouth Full, he prepared print outs of his own work for participants to collage onto manilla envelopes he’d spray painted and signed, in the hopes that they could make something beautiful and flip difficult things into positive ones, in collaboration with others, during a time of tension and political unrest. “It’s just to try to remind people that art can help change perspective,” says Gregorio.

Before beginning the art activity, Gregorio explained the significance of the manilla envelopes: to pay for his undergraduate degree, Gregorio worked early mornings as a janitor on his college campus. During his shifts, he plucked used manilla envelopes and other discarded material found in the trash cans of professors and faculty members, a foundation which he transformed into some of the first works he ever sold.

A thread through Gregorio’s work is using art to address difficult things head on and “shift the vibe.”

As the grandson of a Filipino World War II guerrilla sniper, Gregorio spent most of his life hating the soldiers that came to the Philippines and killed his family. Eventually, he says he realized how exhausting that was. “Instead of expelling their ghosts,” Gregorio says, “I want to enlist them. And I think to myself, like, hey, they’re just f***ing teenagers too, [and] their government forced [them] to go to another country and do these things. They're just working-class people, too. So, I started to think, hey, instead of hating the Japanese that came to my village– those soldiers were just like my grandfather. They were sent to do something they couldn’t handle.

“Then I found in my practice that I could truly change my perspective, change my life. I don’t have to hate anymore. I like using art to think of a different way, like, hey, I genuinely want the offspring of those people to [be] happy and safe and peaceful.

‘The best part of my week’

In 2015, Gregorio was diagnosed with Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyneuropathy (CIDP), a rare autoimmune neurological disorder affecting the myelin, or protective covering, of peripheral nerves, preventing them from conducting electricity in the way they should.

“Every Friday, Mary [Gregorio’s partner] gets my shots,” Gregorio told his Black Cube audience. “Three [shots], and it lasts three hours. And it’s the worst part of my week, and I’ve been doing it for 10 years.

“I want you all to consider the power we have in reframing the things that we do, and [how] art does that,” Gregorio tells the Black Cube audience. Asking them to hold him accountable, he says, “from here on out, I want you to remind me that [these shots are] the best part of my week. That is the part of my week that helps me be [around] for our continuum… So in front of you all, I’m going to try to change that.”

“I could do the opposite and just talk s*** on everything,” he says, admitting that it would probably be easier. Sharing his mother’s advice, he says, “If you’re not going to do it out of love, don’t do it. And growing up, I was like, are you trying to tell me that I have to be in a good mood about all the things that I have to do? And what I realized is that what I [think] she’s saying now that I look back, is like, if you could figure out how to find the good in it, it’s going to be better for everybody. You’ll enjoy it, the product will be better… that’s art, right? Trying to shift the perspective. Like, hey, you have the ability to shift your perspective… we have the power to reimagine the way we see things.”

At Talk With Your Mouth Full, in his classroom and his day-to-day life, Gregorio says, “I hope to remind people that creativity is an awesome tool. Art is an awesome tool.”

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Top image: Alvin Gregorio (front row, black cap) with attendees at the recent Talk With Your Mouth Full event organized by Black Cube

Debating America’s power—and peril—in a time of instability

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 14 Apr 2026 16:59:45 +0000

Debating America’s power—and peril—in a time of instability Rachel Sauer Tue, 04/14/2026 - 10:59

Bradley Worrell

Veteran national security advisors John Bolton and Susan Rice sparred over whether America is committing “superpower suicide,” headlining the Conference on World Affairs week

“The United States is not committing superpower suicide,” veteran national security advisor John Bolton told a capacity audience gathered Monday evening in the University of Colorado Boulder’s Glenn Miller Ballroom. He paused, then added a qualifier, “So far.”

Seated a few feet away, veteran national security advisor Susan Rice offered a very different take.

“Sadly and dangerously,” she said, “the United States, under the current administration, is indeed in the process of committing superpower suicide.”

Susan Rice (left) and John Bolton (second from right) with Jennifer Schubert-Akin (second from left), chairman and CEO of The Steamboat Institute, and Chancellor Justin Schwartz (right).

The stark disagreement between the two policy experts set the tone for a wide-ranging debate, during which the pair clashed over the extent to which America’s status as the world’s sole superpower has been damaged. Monday’s debate, sponsored by The Steamboat Institute and the Bruce D. Benson Center for the Study of Western Civilization, headlined ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� 78th Conference on World Affairs week.

While the debate’s title—“Is the United States is in the process of committing superpower suicide?”—was deliberately provocative, what emerged during the roughly two-hour debate was a respectful disagreement on certain subjects and a fair amount of common ground between Bolton, a staunch Republican, and Rice, a lifelong Democrat.

Bolton and Rice both have extensive experience shaping American foreign policy for U.S. administrations. Bolton was a national security advisor during President Trump’s first term in office and was U.S. ambassador to the United Nations from 2005 to 2006. Rice’s previous roles in government include serving as a U.S. national security adviser (2013–17), U.S. ambassador to the United Nations (2009–13) and domestic policy adviser (2021–23).

Opening salvos contrasted views

In her opening remarks, Rice issued a sweeping indictment of the Trump administration. She accused the administration of undermining the “five key pillars” of America’s postwar superpower status: military strength, economic power, alliances, domestic resilience and soft power.

“On each of these five dimensions, we are far weaker today than we were even 18 months ago,” she argued. She specifically accused the administration of politicizing the Pentagon and purging senior officers, implementing an unpredictable tariff policy, damaging the European alliance and openly threatening allies. She also took the administration to task for making cuts to research funding, attacking universities, expressing hostility to public health institutions, dismantling USAID and rolling back environmental protections.

Bolton did not dispute that American foreign policy under Trump—as well as previous administrations—had gone badly wrong. What he rejected was the claim that the damage was fatal.

“We have made multiple mistakes since the end of the Cold War,” he said, arguing that both political parties share responsibility. After the Soviet Union collapsed, Western leaders mistakenly believed history ended and rapidly reduced military spending, he told the audience, adding, “we have never recovered from that mistake.”

Bolton said U.S. leaders misunderstood Russian nationalism and ignored Vladimir Putin’s warnings that he viewed the Soviet collapse as a geopolitical tragedy. Failures to deter Russian aggression in Georgia and Ukraine flowed from that misreading, he said.

John Bolton (left) and Susan Rice (right) discussed whether the United States is committing "superpower suicide" during a Conference on World Affairs event Monday evening.

Meanwhile, China represents another long-running error, Bolton said. American officials assumed economic integration would produce political liberalization, but “we were wrong on both counts,” he said, warning that China today is more autocratic and more aggressive.

Yet Bolton insisted these failures—serious as they are—do not mean America’s greatest days are behind it.

As for President Trump, Bolton said, “We are suffering undeniably by his mistakes, but it is not superpower suicide. He is an aberration and will pass from the scene.”

United on alliances and the UN

Despite their opposing conclusions, Rice and Bolton did find agreement on the importance of alliances.

“NATO is the greatest alliance in human history,” Rice said, emphasizing its deterrent value and reminding the audience that Article 5, which regards an attack on one NATO member as an attack on all, had only been invoked once—following the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks on the United States. Undermining NATO, she warned, benefits Russia and China.

“NATO is the envy of Russia and China, which is why they are trying to subvert it,” she said.

Bolton largely agreed.

“What has provided peace and security in the world since 1945 was American power and the system of alliances that we built,” he said. He dismissed the idea of a “rules-based international order” as a myth, arguing that stability came from American strength.

Their disagreement was on tone and trust. Rice said Trump’s threats regarding his desire to see the U.S. acquire Greenland and annex Canada and his transactional rhetoric have damaged allies’ confidence in America, while Bolton emphasized the long-standing failure of European allies to meet defense commitments, acknowledging that Trump’s confrontational style prompted allies to increase defense spending.

Bolton and Rice also agreed that the United Nations is largely dysfunctional, but disagreed about whether it can be fixed.

“The UN’s main political bodies are broken beyond usefulness,” Bolton said, while acknowledging some of its specialized agencies do valuable work.

“The UN is a mess, but we would be worse off without it,” Rice said. “The challenge is reform—not abandonment.”

As for China and its aspirations to reclaim Taiwan, Bolton argued that the United States should abandon its policy of “strategic ambiguity” regarding the island nation in favor of a stated commitment to defend Taiwan to deter possible Chinese aggression.

“I think if we lose Taiwan, even slowly, to China … all of East Asia and Southeast Asia are in real jeopardy, because our credibility would be shot beyond repair,” he said.

Rice did not offer an opinion as to whether the U.S. should formally commit to defend Taiwan but she said Trump’s foreign policy regarding Asia is distracted.

Susan Rice (left) and John Bolton (right) during Monday night's Conference on World Affairs discussion.

Experts divided on Iran

Iran exposed the deepest philosophical split between the two national security experts.

Bolton argued that a hostile regime bent on acquiring nuclear weapons and supporting terrorist networks ultimately leaves America with only one option: “If a regime that’s hostile to the United States can’t be persuaded or forced to change its behavior, regime change is the only option.”

Rice forcefully disagreed.

Noting that she would welcome regime change in Iran, she added, “Regime change through the barrel of a gun virtually never works … and it definitely never works without a ground invasion.” Preventing Iran from obtaining nuclear weapons was best pursued through diplomacy rather than sustained military escalation, she argued.

Bolton said he believes that, as a result of recent U.S. strikes on Iran’s leadership and military sites, the Iranian regime is at its weakest point since it took power in 1979 and it could experience a “slow-motion collapse” before the end of the year if the U.S. applies sufficient pressure.

Rice countered that by taking out the country’s leadership in a U.S.-Israeli first strike, Iran’s new leaders are now willing to do whatever they believe is necessary to remain in power—which has made Iran more dangerous.

What Bolton and Rice did agree on is that the United States currently has not clearly improved its strategic position against Iran.

“That spirit—open inquiry, civil discourse and the exchange of ideas across differences—is the fundamental role of universities in the United States and exactly what the Conference on World Affairs was created to advance."
Chancellor Justin Schwartz

The U.S. and Iran are now engaged in brinkmanship, waiting to see if their opponent blinks, Rice and Bolton agreed. “If it depends upon Trump’s resilience, we’re screwed,” Bolton said, drawing laughter from the crowd. Trump fired Bolton during the president’s first term due to sharp disagreements over foreign policy.

The Steamboat Institute allowed those in attendance and watching online to take a poll as to whether they believe the United States is committing superpower suicide. Before the night’s debate, 77% of those casting votes said the country is committing superpower suicide, 9% said it is not and 14% were undecided. After the debate, 75% of respondents said the country is committing superpower suicide, 13% said it is not and 12% were unsure.

CWA designed to foster civic debate

Kicking off Monday’s debate, ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� Chancellor Justin Schwartz noted that higher education is often criticized for failing to platform diverse political opinions.

“Tonight, we are here and we are pushing back on that perception,” he told the audience, adding,

“That spirit—open inquiry, civil discourse and the exchange of ideas across differences—is the fundamental role of universities in the United States and exactly what the Conference on World Affairs was created to advance. At the University of Colorado Boulder, we believe democracy depends on our willingness to debate hard questions with rigor and with civility. Tonight, that belief is alive and visible.”

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Veteran national security advisors John Bolton and Susan Rice sparred over whether America is committing “superpower suicide,” headlining the Conference on World Affairs week.

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Top image: Susan Rice (left) and John Bolton (right) during Monday night's Conference on World Affairs discussion. (All photos by Glenn Asakawa/��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��)

‘A home for the humanities, a home for the liberal arts’

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 10 Apr 2026 22:55:07 +0000

‘A home for the humanities, a home for the liberal arts’ Rachel Sauer Fri, 04/10/2026 - 16:55

Rachel Sauer

Hellems Arts and Sciences building reopens Friday following an almost three-year renovation that enhanced its accessibility, sustainability and role as the heart of the arts and humanities at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��

A while back, third-year student Natalie Cleary was on her way to a Shakespeare class in the Engineering Center when she bumped into a friend—an engineering major—who was perplexed by her presence and asked her, “What are you doing here?”

It’s not that she wasn’t welcome, but she’s an English creative writing major, and she was far from the Hellems Arts and Sciences building—the heart of arts and humanities at the University of Colorado Boulder. In a way, she was far from home.

"For most students, Hellems is literally where their ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� journey begins," said Daryl Maeda, interim dean of the College of Arts and Sciences.

Friday afternoon, then, was a homecoming, as Hellems officially reopened following an almost three-year renovation that saw the 105-year-old building become more accessible, more sustainable and more welcoming and expand its role as “a home—a home for the humanities, a home for the liberal arts and for the unending work of understanding the human experience,” said Daryl Maeda, interim dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, during a reopening ceremony on the steps in front of the Hellems main entrance.

“We do live in a moment that sometimes questions the value of a liberal arts education and the profound thinking that this building represents. I want to say very clearly that the questions explored here have never been more important: How do we understand our history to help us navigate our future? How do we find common cause across cultures and languages? How do we reason thoughtfully about what is right and what is true and what is ethical and what has integrity? These are the questions the world urgently needs answered, and Hellems is where ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� says, ‘We believe in these questions, we invest in them and we honor the people who ask them.’”

More than just a building

Hellems’ reopening Friday was imbued with particular significance because it happened during ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� 150th-anniversary year, a time to celebrate the university’s past and to envision its future. Hellems plays a significant role in both.

When it opened in 1921, it was the first campus building designed by architect Charles Klauder in what has become the university’s signature—and iconic—Tuscan vernacular style, which has aesthetically defined the university for a century. It was named in honor of Fred Burton Renney Hellems, who served as dean of the College of Arts and Sciences for 30 years, beginning in 1899.

Maeda noted that about 85% of undergraduate students take at least one class in Hellems during their time at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, and 56% of all first-year students take a class at Hellems during their first semester, “so for most students, Hellems is literally where their ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� journey begins. It’s a shared experience that unites students and alumni across many generations.”

Chancellor Justin Schwartz observed that there are moments on a university campus when a building reopening feels like something much more. Hellems, he said, is not just where a student's experience at the university begins, “but where the ideas of the university take root, where perspectives are challenged and where intellectual confidence begins to take shape.”

Schwartz praised the state of Colorado, whose leaders committed 40% of the funds for the $105.2 million total renovation cost. That public investment, he said, affirms that the humanities and the liberal arts are a public good, essential to civic life, economic vitality and a society that is capable of making thoughtful, informed decisions.

The Hellems renovation "demonstrates that we can honor the character of a place while dramatically improving how it performs for the future,” said Chancellor Justin Schwartz.

Further, Schwartz praised the renovation’s significant improvements in sustainability, which reduce the building’s energy use by 68% while still adding air conditioning for the first time in its history. The renovation also preserved more than 80% of the building’s original clay roof tiles, which “demonstrates that we can honor the character of a place while dramatically improving how it performs for the future,” Schwartz said.

“Taken altogether, these choices reflect something larger than just a renovation. They reflect our commitment to stewardship—stewardship of the public investment that made this happen, stewardship of this historic space that all of you who had a class in here previously can reflect on and stewardship of our core academic mission that defines ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��. It also reflects a clear belief that the significance of a building isn’t just the building; it’s what happens within it.”

Schwartz noted classrooms designed for flexibility, shared spaces that invite students to stay and greatly increased accessibility that reflects a commitment to dignity, independence and ensuring that everyone can participate in the life of the university. “This is a renovation guided by the idea that we put students first,” he said.

‘A home away from home’

As the center of arts and humanities on the ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� campus, Hellems is home to the departments of history, English, linguistics and philosophy, as well as the Anderson Language and Technology Center and the Colorado Shakespeare Festival. In fact, Klauder returned to campus in 1938 to design the building wings framing the courtyard that’s home to the Mary Rippon Outdoor Theatre, where Colorado Shakespeare Festival performances happen.

The Hellems renovation also reflects a commitment to the arts in the four commissioned works of original art now on display.

For Cleary, “Hellems has been the breath of fresh air I needed on campus this semester,” she said, adding that before it reopened, her study spots were growing stale, and she was zig-zagging all over campus to attend classes and meet with professors. Now, she said, she’s at home in the building’s wide-open spaces and natural light and is there most days—often making a beeline for the cozy new study booths.

“Hellems is a home away from home,” she said, “and the heart of the College of Arts and Sciences is beating stronger than ever.”

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All photos by Glenn Asakawa/��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��

Students create better ways to communicate science

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 10 Apr 2026 15:58:11 +0000

Students create better ways to communicate science Rachel Sauer Fri, 04/10/2026 - 09:58

Joselyn Ramirez (left) and Genessis Garcia (right) with an interactive display board based on Institute for Behavioral Genetics research finding that playing video games doesn't show consistent associations with impulsivity.

Rachel Sauer

In a program with Northglenn High School students, Institute for Behavioral Genetics researchers ask for creative and innovative ideas on how to talk about science

With all due respect to the dedicated and passionate scientists at the University of Colorado Boulder, but Northglenn High School students Joseph Zuniga and Alecsander Morain’s main goal was to “convert this study into a manageable format for normal people,” Morain explains.

The study in question was a recently published paper finding that children’s early interactions with music shape—but don’t determine—their musical lives decades later. The research, based on 40 years of data from surveys of 1,900 people in The Colorado Adoption/Twin Study of Lifespan Behavioral Development and Cognitive Aging (CATSLife), also considered shifting genetic and environmental influences.

Northglenn High School senior Carla Camacho holds the graphic novel that she and her fellow students created from an Institute for Behavioral Genetics study.

“It took quite a few readings to understand what the study was saying,” Zuniga says, and Morain adds, “and even then, we get to the results and there’s this graph that makes zero sense.”

Daniel Gustavson, first author of the study and a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� assistant research professor in the Institute for Behavioral Genetics (IBG), was standing fairly near as Zuniga and Morain expressed their honest opinions, but no hard feelings. That insight was why the two young men, along with more than 100 of their fellow Northglenn High School students, were gathered at the Sustainability, Energy and Environment Complex (SEEC) Thursday morning.

They were participating in a program envisioned and led by Analicia Howard, a psychology and neuroscience PhD student and Gustavson’s research colleague at the IBG. The program, which is funded by a Public and Community-Engaged Scholarship grant, is part of a broader research study called Comunidad, which is centered at IBG but has collaborators across campus and at Washington University.

“We were designing this study so that the community we’re most interested in, which is here in Colorado, is more involved in that development part of the study—that they are engaged in every aspect of research,” Howard explains, adding that a lot of effort in the first several years of community-based research like theirs should be focused on building partnerships.

“An issue with academia in general is there’s such a tough history with a lot of scientific research, especially if it includes human subjects in marginalized communities. So, we’re wanting to connect with the community in a way that’s mutually beneficial and leverage community partnerships in the future with established, trusted organizations. Schools felt like a natural segue to reaching broader audiences and meeting our goal of communicating science better. We were asking, ‘How do we communicate in a way that’s engaging, in a way that reaches the communities we’re interested in reaching?’”

They thought: Let’s ask the students.

Explaining science better

The idea is straightforward: select a handful of IBG research papers and ask students, working in groups, to choose one and create a project focused on how to better communicate the science to their broader community.

Howard and Gustavson approached Northglenn High School because CU Science Discovery and the Institute of Arctic and Alpine Research had previously worked with students and faculty there, “so there was already an established relationship and trust,” Howard says.

As a STEM high school, Northglenn requires every class to have an aspect of STEM, “but we were still thinking in terms of the accessibility of the science when we were choosing the papers, because the theme of genetics can be difficult to parse if you’re fairly new to it,” Gustavson says.

Meet the student award winners

Award for scientific accuracy

Ricardo Ayala
Brandon Diaz Renteria
Maddy Duncan
Alex Dunn
Caleb Ewudzi-Acquah

Award for innovation

Alex Trillo Salais
Will Watt
Joey Marquez
Angel Mendoza Maldonado
Frankie Pillar Cornell

Award for accessible presentation

Carla Camacho
Jane Heslop
Kimberly Olivas
Aylin Ramirez

The IBG scientists selected six of their papers that centered on topics that might be interesting to teenagers—video games, music, mental health—and presented them to Amy Murillo’s and Cheyenne Rost’s multicultural literature classes.

“Every year we incorporate a practice-based learning project into the curriculum, and we thought this was a real-world opportunity that the kids could grab onto,” Murillo says. “It’s been part of our research and analysis unit, so for the first few weeks we were talking about things like misinformation and fake news and why it’s important to read these studies.”

Then Murillo and Rost and about 120 students—all seniors except for one junior graduating early—arrayed across four classes spent a week reading a practice study.

“We were going through it step by step, learning how to read a scientific paper and trying to give them the autonomy to make mistakes and learn from them,” Rost says. “We were talking about things like how to understand results and how a layman would understand the jargon.”

Howard and Gustavson also visited the classes to answer questions once students had chosen the papers on which they’d focus their projects.

Thinking creatively about science

As for the projects, “we knew we had to make the paper simpler,” says Joselyn Ramirez, who along with classmate Genessis Garcia chose an IBG-led study finding that playing video games didn’t show consistent associations with impulsivity, but rather screentime in general is associated with impulsive tendencies in adulthood.

“There was a lot of stuff where I had to go back and go back and go back because I didn’t understand it,” Ramirez says, and Garcia adds that if they, as students at a STEM high school, had such difficulty understanding the study, what would it be like for a non-scientist community member to try reading it?

So they created interactive videos, which they showed on a screen they set up on their display table Thursday morning.

Zuniga and Morain also thought to adapt the music research to a format Murillo and Rost teach their students—a recipe, with ingredients, steps and finished product. Students also were encouraged to think creatively and in multimedia terms as they designed their projects, so Zuniga and Morain created a survey on a poster board on which event attendees could mark the kind of instrument they’d like to play.

For Carla Camacho, Jane Heslop, Kimberly Olivas and Aylin Ramirez, thinking creatively about communicating the science meant writing, designing and drawing a graphic novel. They also chose the video games and impulsivity research and created a story about two twins, Samantha and Sammy, and how each is affected by screen time.

“The study is based on twin research, so we thought that’s where we should start,” says Camacho, who drew the final graphic novel.

“There was a lot of rewriting and rewording, because we were summarizing and trying to use simpler words,” says Heslop, who drew the original storyboards for the novel. “But I think I have better time management and better communication skills now, because we had to think about what we really needed to say and how we should say it in a way that people would understand.”

The students’ projects were judged Thursday by volunteer IBG faculty members and graduate students, and part of the judges’ assessment was how clearly students expressed their ideas on how to communicate science better.

“Definitely more visual appeal,” says Chloe Ibarra, who with classmate Alejandra Franco also chose the video games and impulsivity study. “If you look at the study, there’s nothing that really catches your eye, but if you look at ours,” and she indicates a poster on an easel behind them that takes a vision board approach to communicating the science, “there’s color everywhere and it’s interesting to look at.”

For Isaac Aranda and his project partners Josue Sanchez and Leo Lin, who also chose the video games and impulsivity study, a key to communicating science is using language that people will understand: “We had to look a lot of stuff up,” Aranda says, “and I don’t know if everyone would have the patience to do that.”

But it’s important to find the right words and the right way to talk about the science, Sanchez says, because “this study isn’t saying video games are bad, it’s really saying we shouldn’t be on our phones all the time.”

Alejandra Franco (left) and Chloe Ibarra (right) with their project that emphasizes the need for visual interest when communicating science.

Institute for Behavioral Genetics scientist Daniel Gustavson (right) talks with Northglenn High School students about their science communication project.

IBG research associate Jeff Lessem (left) talks with Kimberly Olivas (center) and Carla Camacho (right) about their science communication project, which won the award for most accessible presentation.

Alecsander Morain (left) and Joseph Zuniga (right) with their project communicating research finding that children’s early interactions with music shape—but don’t determine—their musical lives decades later.

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In a program with Northglenn High School students, Institute for Behavioral Genetics researchers ask for creative and innovative ideas on how to talk about science.

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Top image: Northglenn High School students explain their science communication project to IBG judges. (All photos by Arielle Wiedenbeck/PACES)

How local journalists help Brazil’s favelas endure

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 09 Apr 2026 20:12:09 +0000

How local journalists help Brazil’s favelas endure Rachel Sauer Thu, 04/09/2026 - 14:12

Fala Roça is one of the community newspapers that served as a vital source of information during the COVID-19 pandemic for people living in Rio De Janeiro's favela neighborhoods. (Photo: Fala Roça)

Cody DeBos

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� sociologist Molly Todd finds that community newspapers were vital for people living in Brazil’s favelas during the COVID-19 pandemic

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit Rio de Janeiro in early 2020, residents of the favelas Maré and Rocinha faced a crisis of communication. Public health messages in Brazil were contradictory—including the government’s denial of COVID-19. Like so many under-resourced and overlooked communities, the roughly 210,000 residents of these favelas received information laden with jargon, misinformation and directives that did not align with their daily realities.

Fortunately, inside the favelas, local newspapers like Maré de Notícias and Fala Roça were picking up the slack. They offered readers humor and solidarity while providing their communities with a shared sense of direction that helped them survive the pandemic.

For Molly Todd, an assistant teaching professor in the University of Colorado Boulder’s Department of Sociology and the International Affairs Program, this grassroots journalism stood out.

Molly Todd, a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� assistant teaching professor of sociology, and her research colleagues found that community newspapers were an important source of information in Brazil's favela neighborhoods during the COVID-19 pandemic.

“We really wanted to understand what it was they were doing in the face of a global pandemic that made them such important pillars of their communities,” she says.

Todd and an interdisciplinary team of co-authors recently published a study in the Journal of Urban Affairs examining how these two community-run newspapers helped guide residents through the pandemic and endure it with dignity. The project, which included scholars from Brazil and the U.S., offers a new lens on crisis response and who gets to tell the ensuing stories.

City within a city

Brazil’s favelas are often misrepresented in the media. They tend to be depicted as chaotic and dangerous places that tourists to sunny Rio de Janeiro should avoid. While favelas do struggle with crime and drug trafficking, they’re also rich with social networks, political activism and neighborhood pride.

Speaking of the teams behind Maré de Notícias and Fala Roça, Todd says, “These are journalists who are rooted in the places they report on. They’re talking about things that are very much on the minds of folks living next door in these communities.”

Residents of Maré and Rocinha, which are densely populated urban areas often excluded from formal infrastructure, have long relied on information from community sources. When COVID-19 arrived, this network became even more critical.

“In many cases, favelas are characterized by both hyper surveillance and neglect. The state is failing to meet the basic needs of its residents while disproportionately policing them—even though they’re Brazilian citizens who should have the full rights that other citizens have,” Todd says.

During the pandemic, state-led responses were lacking. Official communication was slow and often misleading. Moreover, widely shared health advice was rarely tailored to the unique realities of favela life.

That’s where the community newspapers stepped in.

“They were very clear about the fact that they wanted to be sources of credible information, sources of timely information and sources of information that were contextualized for the community,” Todd says.

Stay safe, stay sane

Todd and her team of researchers collaborated to analyze how Maré de Notícias and Fala Roça responded to the pandemic. One team member, Vanessa Guerra, was interested in a central theme early on: resilience.

“We often talk about resilience as if it’s just ‘bouncing back,’ but that misses a lot of the bigger story behind-the-scenes of how people survive,” Todd says. She adds that discussions of resilience need to include a critique of the systemic oppression that produces the need to be resilient in the first place.

Informationally, the favela newspapers filled gaps left by the state. They ran myth-busting columns, answered readers’ questions and provided updates on local infection rates. They provided regular COVID updates and used WhatsApp to circulate infographics, FAQs and emergency contacts.

But information was just the start. The papers also nurtured archives of community culture and memorials for those who didn’t survive. One article collected portraits of neighbors lost to the virus. Another ran a photo series of the newly empty public spaces in Maré paired with poetic reflections from the community.

“They were doing this work of archiving sort of how a community comes through a moment like this together,” Todd says.

Who gets to speak?

Mainstream coverage of Brazil’s favelas often skews toward the negative, focusing on issues like violence and poverty. During the pandemic, that narrative sharpened to portray the neighborhoods as volatile, ungovernable zones where health guidance was ignored.

The favela newspapers told a different story—one of hope, community and organizing for a future. That was something Todd and her fellow researchers wanted to capture and preserve.

Todd has continued to explore questions of representation, voice and power in other projects related to Maré. At ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, she organized an interactive visual and textual library exhibit called Maré from the Inside. Hosted in Norlin Library from September 2025 to February 2026, the exhibit was intended to “[c]enter and display the intellectual and artistic production of the mostly Black and indigenous residents of Complexo da Maré. . . . The project leverages art’s pedagogical potential with the hope to contribute to a more nuanced public understanding of favelas.”

“There’s so much history of academics just extracting from communities, writing about them and then leaving. It’s not really been a reciprocal process,” says ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� scholar Molly Todd, emphasizing the importance of collaborating with local communities on projects that benefit their interests. (Photo: Wolf Schram/Unsplash)

Reflecting on the work her team put in, Todd asks, “How can we produce a memory of a place marked by so many erasures? Can this memory help us imagine a different future? How do we encounter unfamiliar places in ethical ways and relate across our differences?”

Visitors were able to walk through a favela story on their own terms, feeling immersed in the ways neighbors cared for each other and allowed creativity to thrive even in an incredibly dark time. They also took in workshops, panels and tours hosted by artists in residence surrounding the exhibit’s opening.

Artists participating in the exhibit included Henrique Gomes da Silva, Andreza Jorge, Paulo Vitor Lino, Wallace Lino, Dayana Sabany, Francisco Valdean and Antonello Veneri. Exhibit organizers included Nicholas Barnes, Andreza Jorge, Henrique Gomes da Silva, Desirée Poets and Molly Todd.

What we can learn from favela newsrooms

Though Todd’s study and the Maré from the Inside exhibit focus on Brazil, she believes the lessons within apply far beyond the borders of Latin America.

“If we want people to feel safe and informed in a crisis, we need to think about trust,” she says.

Top-down communication often fails to resonate with marginalized communities, breeding distrust and false narratives. Local journalism led by people with lived experience can be the link that builds enduring relationships in their communities.

As for her involvement, Todd reiterates the importance of collaborating with local communities on projects that benefit their interests.

“There’s so much history of academics just extracting from communities, writing about them and then leaving. It’s not really been a reciprocal process,” she says.

“To be fair, our project still wasn’t reciprocal in the sense that we have our names on the article and the journalists don’t. In my eyes, I would like to see even more collective kinds of scholarship in the future.”

Looking ahead, Todd hopes this work starts deeper conversations about collaborative knowledge production and whose voices shape our collective memory. In a world facing climate disasters and political upheaval, she sees an urgent need for models that put local knowledge and lived experiences front and center.

“If we’re going to build more just societies,” she says, “we need to pay attention to … people telling stories about their own communities and find ways to amplify their voices.”

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��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� sociologist Molly Todd finds that community newspapers were vital for people living in Brazil’s favelas during the COVID-19 pandemic.

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Top photo courtesy Maré de Notícias

Remembering victims of the Holocaust by speaking their names

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 08 Apr 2026 21:01:42 +0000

Remembering victims of the Holocaust by speaking their names Rachel Sauer Wed, 04/08/2026 - 15:01

Holocaust Remembrance Day, or Yom HaShoah, will be observed on ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� campus Tuesday with a public reading of the names of Jews killed in the Holocaust

The University of Colorado Boulder community will observe Yom HaShoah, or Holocaust Remembrance Day, on campus Tuesday with a public reading of the names of European Jews murdered by the Germans and their allies during the Holocaust.

Chancellor Justin Schwartz will begin the reading at 10 a.m. at the Dalton Trumbo Fountain Court in front of the University Memorial Center, and the reading will continue until 3 p.m.

Event organizers encourage members of the campus and broader communities to participate in the readings. Prospective participants may sign up here.

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

Holocaust Remembrance Day

What: Public readings on Yom HaShoah

When: Tuesday, April 14, from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� event is presented by the Program in Jewish Studies. It is co-sponsored by the ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� Department of History and Center for Humanities and the Arts.

Though the reading of names occurs each year, those names “have not lost any of their meaning and significance,” says Thomas Pegelow Kaplan, the Singer Endowed Chair in Jewish History. “On the contrary.”

For more information on the Days of Remembrance and Yom HaShoah commemoration, please contact Pegelow Kaplan at thomas.pegelow-kaplan@colorado.edu.

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Holocaust Remembrance Day, or Yom HaShoah, will be observed on ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� campus Tuesday with a public reading of the names of Jews killed in the Holocaust.

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