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How deep is that snow? Machine learning helps us know

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 10 Jul 2025 13:30:00 +0000

How deep is that snow? Machine learning helps us know Rachel Sauer Thu, 07/10/2025 - 07:30

Blake Puscher

CU Boulder researchers apply machine learning to snow hydrology in Colorado mountain drainage basins, finding a new way to accurately predict the availability of water

Determining how much water is contained as snow in mountain drainage basins is very important for water management, because measuring it is a necessary part of predicting the availability of water—especially in places that rely on snowmelt for their water supply, like Colorado and other western states.

Snow water equivalent is the amount of water in a mass of snow or snowpack. The depth of this water is a fraction of the snow depth, and this fraction is obtained by multiplying the depth by the snow density, which is expressed as a percentage of the density of water. If there are 10 inches of snow with a density of 10%, the snow water equivalent is 1 inch.

A persistent challenge is that snow water content is calculated from both snow depth and snow density, yet it remains unfeasible to directly measure snow density over a large area. Traditionally, this issue has been addressed with remote sensing, which allows for consistent and relatively large-scale measurements. However, remote sensing methods have their own limitations, which has prompted the search for an alternative in machine-learning technology.

CU Boulder researchers Jordan Herbert (left), a PhD candidate, and Eric Small, a professor of geological sciences, developed a model that can estimate the snow density at times when and in places where it has not been observed or sensed.

In their study on the subject, University of Colorado Boulder Ph.D. candidate Jordan Herbert and Professor Eric Small of the Department of Geological Sciences developed a model that can estimate the snow density at times when and in places where it has not been observed or sensed. This model is split into different scenarios, each trained on a different subset of the data, and while performance varied, all scenarios were more accurate than extrapolation from remote sensing methods, according to Herbert and Small.

Model performance analyses also demonstrated that information from Airborne light detection and ranging (LIDAR) can be transferred to different times and places within the region it was collected.

LIDAR and SNOTEL data

LIDAR surveys are an important tool in snow hydrology, as they provide detailed information about snow properties, specifically through their detection of snow depth.

“You fly the plane twice,” Small says, “once when there’s no snow, once when there is snow. The laser reflects off the surface, and if you know where the plane is and the distance to the surface, then you know the height of the snow relative to the ground surface.” This is called differential LIDAR altimetry.

While LIDAR is very useful in snow hydrology, it does have some limitations. The first is that it only measures snow depth, but snow density (either measured or modeled) is also needed to determine snow water equivalent. This isn’t a unique limitation, however, because snow density cannot be surveyed in the same way as snow depth.

“Measuring snow density in the field reveals just how variable the snowpack is,” Herbert explains. “Depending on if you dig a snow pit under a tree or on a north versus south facing aspect, you can get a completely different answer.”

This is a major limitation of on-site observations. Density also varies with depth, and remote sensing signals will be affected by the amount of liquid water content in snow, which makes measuring snow density remotely or over a broad scale impossible for the foreseeable future.

The second and more easily addressed issue with LIDAR surveys is the logistical issues associated with necessary plane flights.

“You can’t fly a plane all the time,” Small says. “It’s too expensive, and we don’t have enough planes to fly everywhere.” Planes also cannot be flown when the weather is bad, and surveys only provide a snapshot of snow depth, which can change rapidly as snow falls or melts.

“Measuring snow density in the field reveals just how variable the snowpack is. Depending on if you dig a snow pit under a tree or on a north versus south facing aspect, you can get a completely different answer,” says CU Boulder researcher Jordan Herbert. (Photo: Pixabay)

These limitations can be worked around by using the LIDAR data to train computer models. “Based on that,” Small says, “you can use the LIDAR information to make predictions in the absence of LIDAR at another time or date or location. So, you’re leveraging the scientific information from LIDAR to improve your knowledge generally.”

Snow telemetry (SNOTEL) is an automated system of snow and climate sensors run by the National Resource Conservation Service, which is part of the U.S. Department of Agriculture. There are about a thousand SNOTEL sites across the western United States—small wilderness areas filled with sensing equipment that measures precipitation, snow mass and snow depth.

“All snow hydrology is based on data from these stations,” Small says. “The problem is that they only cover a small area. If you take all the SNOTEL stations in the western U.S. and put them next to each other, they’d be about the size of a football field, so they’re vastly under sampling. That’s why people want to use LIDAR to fill in all the spaces around them.”

The random forest model

Linear regression makes quantitative predictions based on one or more variables, but it becomes difficult to perform when many of these variables interact with each other in complex ways. In this case, some examples are elevation, solar radiation, slope, tree cover and so on. The difficulty of working with all these variables can be minimized by a modeling tool called a regression tree.

“A binary regression tree splits your sample into two groups, and it splits that sample to figure out which variable has the most effect on the thing you're trying to predict,” Small explains. The branching structure created by these splits gives the model its name and is designed to minimize errors. Each branching point is a condition like true/false or yes/no, the answer to which determines the path taken.

Regression trees are useful in that they fit the data better than multiple linear regression models, which are the other option when it comes to using linear regression when there are many variables involved. The better a model fits the observed data, the better it will be at predicting data that have not been observed, Small says.

However, regression trees have their own limitations.

“The downside of a binary regression tree is that it only gives you categorized values,” Small says. “For example, snow depth could be 70 centimeters, 92 centimeters or 123 centimeters. You end up with a map that just has these particular values.” This issue can be solved by combining multiple regression trees into a random forest model.

“What a random forest does,” Small explains, “is take a bunch of these binary regression trees and samples them randomly to give you continuous distributions of the variable that you care about. So instead of it being in these categories, it's more like how we think about snow depth.”

“All snow hydrology is based on data from (SNOTEL) stations. The problem is that they only cover a small area. If you take all the SNOTEL stations in the western U.S. and put them next to each other, they’d be about the size of a football field, so they’re vastly under sampling," says CU Boulder Professor Eric Small. (Photo: Ruvin Miksanskiy/Pexels)

Machine learning

While using binary regression trees allows the predictive model discussed in this study to fit the data better, there are other things to consider, Small says. “In machine learning and other statistics, there’s this trade-off between how well a model can fit the information you give it and how generalizable it is. If I keep adding training data, training the model and tuning the parameters, I can have it fit the data pretty well, but then it becomes fixated on those very specific data, and it’s not going to make good predictions elsewhere.”

This is called “overfitting,” and it can be described simply as the model becoming too used to patterns in the data it was trained on. In anticipating these patterns, the model will make incorrect predictions that would have been right in the same place or under the same circumstances as the training data were collected, but aren’t otherwise.

This explains the different performance of the three different versions of the model: the site-specific model, the regional model and the site-specific and regional (SS+Reg) model. The site-specific model makes predictions about a given basin using LIDAR data from the same basin that was collected at other dates, whereas the regional model makes predictions about a basin using data from other basins and at other dates. The SS+Reg model was trained using all available data.

The SS+Reg model was the most accurate, but all models were generally accurate, both compared to models from prior studies and remote sensing methods. Because models of the sort used in this study output on the 50-meter scale, this scale was used to compare this study’s models to existing ones, and the former were more accurate. The models’ outputs were at a scale of 50 meters, but these were upscaled to 1- and 4-kilometer scales as well.

The 1- and 4-kilometer scales are more typically used in water management applications, and all three models became more accurate when applied to these scales, outperforming SNOTEL. This means that the models were more accurate than extrapolation from observation data. The success of both the SS+Reg and regional models indicates that information gained from LIDAR is transferable to different times and locations within the Rocky Mountain Region.

Besides fitting the data well and being adaptable to different scales between the three model scenarios, this approach is also beneficial because it does not rely on modeling physical processes (like snow formation, accumulation and melt) or on uncertain weather data. This makes it so that, once a model is trained, it doesn’t take long to make predictions. “The big gain is that it's much more computationally efficient and it just takes a fraction of the time,” Small says. “It's about 100 times faster.”

Herbert says “machine learning has been a huge benefit to my research, with the results to back it up. It’s freed up my time in the winter to put skis on and dig more snow pits to get the density data we desperately need.”

“For whatever reason, all our physically based models and our knowledge of science just gets in our way of making predictions,” Small explains, “because we've tried to boil it down to these simple equations, but it's not simple.”

"Machine learning has been a huge benefit to my research, with the results to back it up. It’s freed up my time in the winter to put skis on and dig more snow pits to get the density data we desperately need."

Expanding to other regions

The primary limitation of the snow density-measuring framework that the researchers created for this study was its reliance on on-site and LIDAR data for snow depth measurements. Small says that this could be addressed by bringing in other data sets, which would provide a more independent test of success than models’ ability to predict snow density in regions they were not trained on.

One of these data sets, the fractional snow-covered area (how much of the ground is covered by snow), could be measured using LIDAR equipment mounted to a satellite rather than relying on airplanes. While LIDAR has been used with satellite technology, this doesn’t address the limitations of plane-mounted LIDAR, because as Small says, “the (satellite) overpass interval is very slow. It’s about 90 days before it comes back to the place you’re looking at. So, you get a snapshot very infrequently, but it’s everywhere on the planet.”

The next step of developing this kind of model is to apply it to other regions, and it remains to be seen how easily that translation can be made, Herbert says.

“We’ve just begun running the model in California to see if the model works in regions with different climates,” he says. “We want to see how transferable data from one region is to another, and California is an ideal test site since it has more LIDAR than anywhere else in the world.”

The presence of LIDAR is important because these data were the most useful when it came to statistical model validation, or making sure that the models were accurate and reliable, compared to data limited by the small-area reporting of SNOTEL and the variability of on-the-ground snow density measurements. Without data to judge models’ predictions against, it is impossible to determine how well they do, because the actual snow depth is unknown.

Also, because LIDAR isn’t available everywhere, it is important to continue developing other methods of validation, the researchers say. Small says reducing reliance on LIDAR will help the innovative modeling framework apply to many parts of the country.

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CU Boulder researchers apply machine learning to snow hydrology in Colorado mountain drainage basins, finding a new way to accurately predict the availability of water.

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Up, up and away … to another Superman movie

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 09 Jul 2025 13:30:00 +0000

Up, up and away … to another Superman movie Rachel Sauer Wed, 07/09/2025 - 07:30

Bradley Worrell

CU Boulder’s William Kuskin, who teaches a course on comics and graphic novels, considers Superman’s enduring appeal as Hollywood debuts a new adaptation about the Man of Steel

A new Superman movie arrives in theaters Friday, raising the question: Will American moviegoers turn out in large numbers to watch it?

Some recent superhero-themed films from Marvel and DC Comics have underperformed at the box office, prompting a debate about whether moviegoers are suffering from superhero fatigue. However, there’s some reason to believe Superman will prevail against lethargy thanks in part to a dedicated, supportive fan base, says William Kuskin, University of Colorado Boulder Department of English chair, who teaches a popular course on comics and graphic novels and whose expertise includes popular culture and film.

“The comic shop boys I hang out with have been talking about this film for a bit now. To normal mortals, we’re probably all exhausted with the latest summer blockbuster movies, but I think there are going to be a good number of fans who will go see it,” he says.

CU Boulder Professor William Kuskin, chair of the Department of English, notes that the new film Superman may prevail against "superhero fatigue" thanks in part to a dedicated, supportive fan base.

Even beyond those most ardent of Superman fans, Kuskin says he believes the Man of Steel continues to enjoy approval in popular culture in part because he uses his superhuman powers to fight for “truth, justice and the American way”—making him a symbol of unity in a time when the country is deeply divided.

Additionally, Kuskin says that with this new film, DC Comics has signaled it is turning away from the dark, gritty tone that permeated its previous superhero films, most notably the Batman trilogy directed by Christopher Nolan and the 2021 Zack Snyder Justice League movie, where Batman has a dark vision of Superman being controlled by the supervillain Darkseid. Kuskin says he believes such a move could help broaden the film’s appeal as DC seeks to relaunch the franchise.

“I think the goal with the new movie is to be not so dark; it’s to brighten him (Superman) up and in some ways bring us back to the model that (Superman actor) Christopher Reeves set in the 1970s,” he says. “I think that’s also reflected in the choice to have James Gunn direct, as they (DC Studios) were looking for a director who could bring some joy to the franchise. ”

Gunn previously directed several Marvel films, including the Guardians of the Galaxy trilogy, where he earned a reputation for bringing some charm and levity to the franchise, Kuskin says. As just one example, he points to Star-Lord’s extended disco-dance scene to the tune “Come and Get Your Love” in the opening of the first film.

What’s old is new again

While DC Comics may be looking to get audiences back into theaters by recreating Superman’s positive, wholesome appeal in movies from the 1970s and 1980s, Kuskin says it’s important to note that Superman’s persona—and his superpowers—have evolved since he first debuted in Action Comics in 1938.

Upon his introduction, Superman was remarkable for being “faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive (and) able to leap tall buildings at a single bound.” However, as Kuskin notes, Superman couldn’t actually fly in the beginning, and many of his other powers were added over time to make him more formidable.

Perhaps even more notably, Kuskin says Superman could be an antagonist if the situation called for it.

“The very first Superman story has him saving a woman who has been falsely accused of murder. Superman has to break down the governor’s door and insist in no uncertain terms that the governor rescind her sentence,” he says. “His message is that the ethical choice is always obvious—even if it means turning against the government, which makes him a figure, essentially, of anarchy.

Superman debuted in Action Comics in 1938. (Art by Joe Shuster and color by Jack Adler)

“The story conveys that it takes someone with real guts to right those wrongs; it’s a really powerful message.”

As Superman entered the World War II years, Kuskin says, he joined the pantheon of superheroes who battled the Axis powers in the pages of comic books. Around that time, Superman took on the qualities of not just a hero but an American savior, Kustin adds—even though his well-known origin story has him being born on the planet Krypton.

“With the embrace of ‘truth, justice and the American way,’ that’s how Superman transforms from something of an anarchist to this figure of Americanness,” Kuskin says.

He notes it was also during that time period that Superman came to be defined as a contrast to DC Comics’ other main hero protagonist—Batman. Whereas Superman embraces authority and represents a figure of absolutism, Batman tends to operate outside of the law. In fact, in Batman’s formative years in the late 1930s and early 1940s, he used guns and operated “as a masked vigilante seeking to make (Gotham) city safe for commerce,” Kuskin says.

At the same time, Kuskin adds, with no superpowers to speak of, as a practical matter, Batman was forced to rely on his intelligence, his cunning and his gadgets.

Meanwhile, Kuskin says it’s worth noting that Batman and Superman are derivative of earlier comic book heroes, particularly Olga Mesmer, a superhero from Venus whose superpowers roughly mirrored those of Superman, including super-strength and X-ray vision, and Lee Falk’s The Phantom, who was a somewhat wealthy costumed crime fighter with no superpowers, akin to Batman, who relies on his intelligence and skill with his two handguns.

Masking and unmasking

Kuskin says one of the more interesting aspects of Superman and Batman relates to masking and unmasking, and what it means symbolically to their roles as heroes.

“Superman is a figure of extroversion, so for him it’s all about unmasking. It’s about going from glasses—which indicate a studious nature and a monastic sensibility—to no glasses,” he says. “My read of Superman is that the glasses are a signal of allowing himself a release, while Batman is the opposite. He goes from no glasses to putting on a mask, so it’s a signal of masking and turning inward.

“To put it another way, Superman is the extrovert who can’t wait to shed his suit and tie and leap out the window and proclaim his affinity for humanity with all his boundless energy. Batman is the exact opposite,” Kuskin says. “He needs to hide his external nature to deal with the world, not as himself, but as the truly dark version within himself. That expression is not very healthy, but it’s the only way he can really make a difference in the world. It’s effective, but it’s not a celebration in any way; it’s more of a revelation.”

In the end, Kuskin argues, all superheroes fall into one of those two molds, as an extrovert or the introvert. If that’s the case, it begs the question: Which one does Kuskin prefer?

“Well, I have Batman tattooed on my arm, and I don’t have one of Superman, so that probably tells you something,” he says with a laugh. “For one thing, Batman has the narrative constraint of not using guns because of his ethical position. It’s also a constraint that makes it even harder for him to be victorious, and yet Batman never loses. And then there’s the whole issue with his traumatic childhood, so he’s not even playing on a level playing field. He’s got problems and he has to deal with those, too.”

Meanwhile, back at the cineplex

While superhero movies have enjoyed a mixed reception as of late, Kuskin says he believes a lot of that has to do with the quality of the storytelling (or lack thereof) rather than audience support for the superhero genre. He gives special credit to the Marvel franchise for the strong continuity of its storylines across multiple films, and particular kudos for the storytelling in its Avengers Infinity War and Avengers Endgame movies.

“I loved Endgame and Infinity War. I thought they were wonderfully crafted and heartfelt,” he says. “After that, I didn’t find much joy in either Marvel or DC offerings. I did really like Robert Pattinson’s rendition of Batman. I felt he captured the sense of introversion that lies at the heart of Batman. And there’s a scene where he makes a public appearance as Bruce Wayne and he’s so beaten and so broken. That is the reality of Batman, so I really enjoyed that movie.

“Will I go see this new Superman movie? The jury’s still out,” Kuskin says. However, after watching the 7-minute movie trailer, he says he’s a bit underwhelmed, based upon what he sees as an over-reliance on CGI effects and slow-motion punches—seemingly at the expense of a compelling story.

“I still think Batman is king. Society has become despairing and Batman’s despair speaks so powerfully,” he says. “Still, Superman is a tremendous property, so we’ll see what DC studios can do.”

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CU Boulder’s William Kuskin, who teaches a course on comics and graphic novels, considers Superman’s enduring appeal as Hollywood debuts a new adaptation about the Man of Steel.

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Actor David Corenswet plays Superman in the film being released July 11. (Photo: Warner Bros)

That lightbulb represents more than just a good idea

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 08 Jul 2025 18:39:18 +0000

That lightbulb represents more than just a good idea Rachel Sauer Tue, 07/08/2025 - 12:39

Rachel Sauer

In research recently published in Science, CU Boulder scientists detail how light—rather than energy-intensive heat—can efficiently and sustainably catalyze chemical transformations

For many people, the role that manufactured chemicals plays in their lives—whether they’re aware of it or not—may begin first thing in the morning. That paint on the bedroom walls? It contains manufactured chemicals.

From there, manufactured chemicals may show up in prescription medicine, in the bowls containing breakfast, in the key fob that unlocks the car, in the road they take to work. These products are so ubiquitous that it’s hard to envision life without them.

Professor Niels Damrauer and his CU Boulder and CSU research colleagues were inspired by photosynthesis in designing a system using LED lights to catalyze transformations commonly used in chemical manufacturing.

The process of transforming base materials into these desired products, however, has long come at significant environmental cost. Historically, catalyzing transformations in industrial processes has frequently used extreme heat to create the necessary energy.

Now, continuing to build on a growing body of research and discovery, University of Colorado Boulder scientists are many steps closer to using light instead of heat to catalyze transformations in industrial processes.

In a study recently published in Science, Niels Damrauer, a CU Boulder professor of chemistry and Renewable and Sustainable Energy Institute fellow, and his research colleagues at CU Boulder and Colorado State University found that a system using LED lights can catalyze transformations commonly used in chemical manufacturing. And it’s entirely possible, Damrauer says, that sunlight could ultimately be the light source in this system.

“With many transformations, the economics are, ‘Well, I need this product and I’m going to sell it at this price, so my energy costs can’t be larger than this amount to make a profit’,” Damrauer says. “But when you start to think about climate change and start to think about trying to create more efficient ways to make things, you need different approaches.

“You can do that chemistry with very harsh conditions, but those harsh conditions demand energy use. The particular chemistry we are able to do in this paper suggests we’ve figured out a way to do these transformations under mild conditions.”

Inspired by plants

Damrauer and his colleagues—including first authors Arindam Sau, a CU Boulder PhD candidate in chemistry, and Amreen Bains, a postdoctoral scholar in chemistry at Colorado State University in the group of Professor Garret Miyake—work in a branch of chemistry called photoredox catalysis, “where ‘photo’ means light and ‘redox’ means reduction and oxidation,” Damrauer explains. “This type of chemistry is fundamentally inspired by photosynthesis. A lot of chemistry—not all of chemistry, but a huge fraction of chemistry—involves the movement of electrons out of things and into other things to make transformations. That happens in plants, and it happens in photoredox catalysis as well.

“In photosynthesis, there’s a beautiful control over not only the motion of electrons but the motion of protons. It’s in the coupling of those two motions that a plant derives functions it’s able to achieve in taking electrons out of something like water and storing it in CO2 as something like sugar.”

Further inspired by photosynthesis and a plant’s use of chlorophyl to collect sunlight, the research team used an organic dye molecule as a sort of “pre-catalyst” that absorbs light and transforms into a catalyst molecule, which also absorbs light and accelerates chemical reactions. And because the four LED lights surrounding the reactor are only slightly brighter than a regular home LED lightbulb, the transformation process happens at room temperature rather than extreme heat.

The molecule is also able to “reset” itself afterward and harvest more light, beginning the process anew.

“We set out to understand the behavior of a photocatalyst that was inefficient at this process, and my student Arindam discovered there was this fundamental transformation to the molecule occurring while we did the reaction,” Damrauer says, adding that the team discovered there are key motions not just of electrons, which is essential for photoredox, but also of protons.

“In our mechanism, the motion of the proton occurs in the formation of a water molecule, and that very stable molecule prevents another event that would undermine the storage of energy that we’re trying to achieve,” Damrauer says. “We figured out what the reaction was and, based on that reaction, we started to make simpler molecules.

“This was a really fortuitous discovery process: We were studying something, saw a change, took the knowledge of what that change was and started to design systems that were even better. This is the best advertisement for basic science—sometimes you can’t design it; you’ve got to discover things, you’ve got to have that freedom.”

A sunny future

Damrauer, Sau and their colleagues in the multidisciplinary, multi-institutional Sustainable Photoredox Catalysis Research Center (SuPRCat) are continuing to build on these discoveries, which happen at a small scale now but may have the potential for large-scale commercial use.

In an essay for The Conversation, Sau noted, “Our work points toward a future where chemicals are made using light instead of heat. For example, our catalyst can turn benzene—a simple component of crude oil—into a form called cyclohexadienes. This is a key step in making the building blocks for nylon. Improving this part of the process could reduce the carbon footprint of nylon production.

“Imagine manufacturers using LED reactors or even sunlight to power the production of essential chemicals. LEDs still use electricity, but they need far less energy compared with the traditional heating methods used in chemical manufacturing. As we scale things up, we’re also figuring out ways to harness sunlight directly, making the entire process even more sustainable and energy efficient.”

Damrauer adds that he and his colleagues aren’t trying to change the nature of manufactured chemicals, but the approach to how they’re made. “We’re not looking at making more stable paint, for example, but we’re asking if it costs a certain number of joules to make that gallon of paint, how can we reduce that?”

In addition to Niels Damrauer, Arindam Sau and Amreen Bains, Brandon Portela, Kajal Kajal, Alexander Green, Anna Wolff, Ludovic Patin, Robert Paton and Garret Miyake contributed to this research.

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In research recently published in Science, CU Boulder scientists detail how light—rather than energy-intensive heat—can efficiently and sustainably catalyze chemical transformations.

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Top image: dreamstime.com

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 University of Colorado Boulder, 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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The ‘Forgotten War’ asks to be remembered

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 24 Jun 2025 19:25:31 +0000

The ‘Forgotten War’ asks to be remembered Rachel Sauer Tue, 06/24/2025 - 13:25

Cody DeBos

On the 75th anniversary of the United States entering the Korean War, CU Boulder war and morality scholar David Youkey discusses the cost of the ‘forgotten war’

Seventy-five years ago this month, on June 27, 1950, President Harry S. Truman ordered U.S. troops to the Korean Peninsula. North Korea had invaded the South just two days earlier, and with that decision, the United States entered a conflict that would claim millions of lives on its way to fading from the collective memory of the American public.

The Korean War, often called “The Forgotten War,” rarely features in Hollywood productions or history classrooms. But David Youkey, a CU Boulder associate teaching professor of philosophy who teaches the course War and Morality, believes it deserves a closer look.

“Being eclipsed by Vietnam is a major factor (in why the Korean war is often overlooked), but I’m not sure it’s the whole story,” he says.

David Youkey, a CU Boulder associate teaching professor of philosophy, studies applied ethics, including war and morality.

What makes a ‘just’ war?

In Youkey’s class, students examine centuries of moral and philosophical reasoning about when it is permissible to go to war and how wars should be conducted. One key concept, the just war theory, traces back to ancient philosophy, but its definitions were sharpened in the 20th century by the horrors of the world wars and the Geneva Conventions.

“Concerning justice of war, the idea is that only wars of defense are justified,” Youkey says, “and just war theory tends to define ‘defense’ very narrowly.”

This idea looks beyond the events preceding a conflict.

Youkey explains, “Within just war theory there is a basic distinction between justice of war, and justice in war. That is to say, the war itself might be just, but behaviors within the war might be unjust.”

Even a war that begins for morally sound reasons can turn morally questionable when boots—or bombs—hit the ground. Take the decision to drop atomic bombs on Japan at the end of World War II or the firebombing campaigns that killed hundreds of thousands of civilians in the preceding days. These actions may have helped end the war, specifically one the U.S. was “justly” involved in after Japanese attacks on Pearl Harbor, but they raise enduring moral questions.

“The most important idea is that civilians are off limits,” Youkey says. “There will be accidental civilian casualties in any war—that’s acknowledged. But civilians cannot be directly targeted, and the warring parties should do what they can to minimize civilian casualties.”

A morally gray conflict

So, how does the Korean War measure up under the framework of just war theory?

“I’d say, if we narrowly focus on South Korea defending itself from the North, that’s justified by just war theory. But the larger context is this Cold War element,” Youkey says.

North Korea’s invasion was a clear act of aggression, he notes. Therefore, South Korea’s response can be seen as just. But when it comes to U.S. intervention, the lines begin to blur. At the end of WWII, the Korean Peninsula was divided at the 38th parallel not by the Korean people, but by external powers—namely the United States and the Soviet Union.

“Were we in Korea to defend the universal human rights of the Korean people, or were we there because we didn’t like the ideologies of the Soviets and the Chinese?” Youkey asks. “Some of both, probably, but just war theory would only support the first.”

Then there’s the matter of how the Korean war was fought.

Soldiers of the 3rd Battalion, 34th Infantry Regiment, 35th Infantry Division take cover behind rocks to shield themselves from exploding mortar shells, near the Hantan River in central Korea. (Photo: Library of Congress)

“Apparently, McArthur gave the order to burn North Korea to the ground, and the same firebombing tactic used against Japan in World War II was imported to Korea. Again, from the point of view of just war theory, civilians are off limits,” Youkey says.

He adds, “It’s hard to understand how to interpret the scorched earth strategy used against North Korea except as an atrocity.”

What forgetting costs us

Youkey is less interested in labeling wars as “good” or “bad” than he is in encouraging critical moral reflection. Such introspection becomes even more imperative when a war fades from public memory.

“The U.S. military is currently, and has for a long time been, involved in conflicts all over the planet, and few civilians pay attention,” he says.

“How many military conflicts have we been involved with recently in Africa where the average American citizen has no idea? That’s not history. It’s stuff going on right now.”

That same forgetfulness—or perhaps willful ignorance, Youkey says—helps explain why the Korean War receives so little attention in our national memory despite its massive human and political costs. Remembering Korea only as a footnote to Vietnam or the Cold War limits our ability to engage with its moral complexity—and to question the long-term consequences of outside intervention.

“There are plenty of movies out there about the heroic deeds of U.S. troops in World War II. And there certainly were a lot of heroic deeds. But we also intentionally murdered hundreds of thousands of Japanese civilians during the firebombings, a strategy we later exported to Korea and then to Vietnam,” Youkey says.

He argues that when wars are remembered selectively, often highlighting heroism while omitting brutality, our understanding of history becomes distorted.

Memory and maturity

If there is a lesson to draw from the Korean War 75 years later, reflecting on just war theory alone won’t teach it. Rather, Youkey says he hopes to see a collective cultivation of the moral maturity needed to seek peaceful solutions before conflict happens.

“I do believe there is such a thing as just war. And the world would be better off if more of its nations paid attention to just war theory,” he says. “But we really ought to be moving toward a world where diplomatic solutions are the focus.”

Realizing that vision requires a seismic moral shift in how Americans think about global conflict, he adds. Remembering wars like Korea—those living in shadows of more iconic battles—pushes us to look beyond easy right-versus-wrong debates. It reminds us that even wars waged with justification leave behind legacies of destruction.

As Youkey suggests, the burden of memory is not to glorify the past but to help us imagine a better future where we don’t repeat—or forget—our mistakes.

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On the 75th anniversary of the United States entering the Korean War, CU Boulder war and morality scholar David Youkey discusses the cost of the ‘forgotten war.’

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Top image: Father Emil Kapaun (right) and Capt. Jerome A. Dolan (left), a medical officer, help an exhausted GI off a battlefield in Korea. (Photo: Catholic Diocese of Wichita)

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 University of Colorado Boulder 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)

Artist features the beauty of nature on a 140-foot canvas

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 20 Jun 2025 15:21:21 +0000

Artist features the beauty of nature on a 140-foot canvas Rachel Sauer Fri, 06/20/2025 - 09:21

Rachel Sauer

‘The Tender Hand of the Unseen,’ an immersive video installation by CU Boulder artist Molly Valentine Dierks, is featured through June on D&F Tower in downtown Denver

It happens most often in autumn and winter, when large flocks of starlings roost in protected spots like woodlands, marshes and even buildings. Before settling for the night, often in the gloaming twilight, they sometimes paint the sky in formations called murmurations.

Hundreds—sometimes thousands—of starlings dance in undulating, ever-shifting shapes, a spontaneous choreography that fills the sky like the liquid fall of silk.

One day after class while she was earning her MFA at the University of Michigan, Molly Valentine Dierks saw a murmuration of starlings. She pulled out her phone to capture it—footage that wasn’t as good as she’d like it to be but that nevertheless captured a transcendent moment of ephemeral sculpture in the sky.

Molly Valentine Dierks is an assistant teaching professor in the CU Boulder Department of Art and Art History.

Memories of that murmuration guided her in creating “The Tender Hand of the Unseen,” an immersive video installation that is a featured work through June on D&F Tower in downtown Denver, part of the Night Lights Denver program.

For Dierks, an assistant teaching professor in the University of Colorado Boulder Department of Art and Art History, her work represents a confluence of many influences, musing on the nature of time and referencing periods of growth and rebirth.

As a sculptor and interdisciplinary artist, “and also a nature geek—I’m really interested in the idea of this physical sculptural performance in the sky,” Dierks explains. “They’re stunning, the patterns are beautiful, the way that they change is really gorgeous, plus there’s something about the idea of moving intuitively as a group that I think as human beings we don’t have or we’re not comfortable with. This society of beings is so in sync with one another that they can move as a fluid unit, and it’s also performance and also art.

If you go

What: "The Tender Hand of the Unseen" immersive video installation

Where: D&F Tower, 1601 Arapahoe Street, downtown Denver

When: Evenings through June

Learn more

“As an artist and educator, particularly in the classroom I really encourage my students to get in touch with their intuition and develop spiritual understanding of who they are. For me, as an artist, there’s something about looking at big flocks of birds that gets me in that state. We’re all so comfortable looking at screens, for example, but as a society we’re not really encouraged to just look at sky. (This piece) is an excuse to encourage people to look at sky, even though it's a screen that is sneakily subverting that tension.”

A 140-foot canvas

Public, site-specific art and installations are defining aspects of Dierks’ practice for their ability to foster healing, stillness and growth, she explains. So, when a friend told her about the Night Lights Denver program, she contacted the curator, David Moke, with her idea for a large-scale installation focused on starling murmurations.

When her proposal was accepted, the work of art began. The murmuration she recorded in Michigan didn’t work—there were a lot of trees in the way—so she worked with footage shot in the Netherlands that would be crisp and clear when projected onto the side of D&F Tower, a 140-foot canvas.

Molly Valentine Dierks' immersive video installation "The Tender Hand of the Unseen" will show on D&F Tower in downtown Denver through June. (Photos: Molly Valentine Dierks)

She manipulated and sculpted the footage on her computer, then did test projections from the parking garage near the tower that houses the Night Lights Denver projection center.

“I would bring a thumb drive with an hour-and-a-half of tests, and I just sat there and took a bunch of notes to figure out the best settings,” Dierks says. “(The footage) was taken at different times of day and in different weather conditions, so I could start to see that if the background was too dark or too blue or too purple, I couldn’t see the starlings as well as I wanted.

“I played with timing as well, slowing the footage down in spots and thinking about grains of sand or sand in a timer. I was looking for crescendos—not just contrast and brightness, but does it feel like a piece of music?”

The tender hand

The name of the work is a line from the poem “On Pain” by Kahlil Gibran, which also says:

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

“We all go through difficult times: we go through grief, we go through breakups, and I found poetry kind of a resting spot for me,” Dierks explains. “I could read a poem and get outside the nuts and bolts and bureaucracy of everyday life and get to the heart of what I feel, after a while I started naming my pieces after lines in poems that spoke to me about certain stages in my life.”

In describing the work, Dierks wrote, “The work is my way of confronting a socially fractured landscape, where screens more frequently mediate our understanding of self … overshadowing more embodied connections to each other and the natural world.”

The piece is Dierks’ first large-scale projection, and although there’s really nowhere to hide with a 140-foot public canvas, Dierks says she wouldn’t want to. “There’s something really nice when you install in public, outside of the art world, (where) people don’t have to go to a gallery … I prefer it in a lot of ways.

“(D&F Tower) is in this beautiful area on 16th Street and there’s a park so people can walk around and look at it. When I did the first test last August, I could see people stopping and looking at it, looking at these beautiful formations, these birds in flight—just taking that moment to stop and look.”

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‘The Tender Hand of the Unseen,’ an immersive video installation by CU Boulder artist Molly Valentine Dierks, is featured through June on D&F Tower in downtown Denver.

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What’s more hardcore than history?

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 18 Jun 2025 22:24:13 +0000

What’s more hardcore than history? Rachel Sauer Wed, 06/18/2025 - 16:24

CU Boulder alumnus Dan Carlin brings a love of history and a punk sensibility to a new season of The Ampersand as he discusses his hit podcast, Hardcore History

Listen to The Ampersand

There are a lot of places to experience punk: in the dim, smoky basement of Club 88 in Los Angeles in 1983, listening to a then-little-known band called NOFX, but also on the ancient battlefields of Britannia, where Briton warriors drew their swords against the invading Romans.

In the first scenario, Dan Carlin was actually there wearing his signature black T-shirt and Orioles cap. The battlefield? He visits it in his vivid imagination (still in a black T-shirt and ball cap)—drinking in the details and drawing a sensory-rich narrative from historical texts and records.

CU Boulder history graduate Dan Carlin brings a punk sensibility to his wildly popular podcast, Hardcore History.

Carlin, a University of Colorado Boulder history graduate, is something of a journalist of the past—a punk rock kid who became a punk rock adult who brings that counterculture ethos to Hardcore History, among the most popular podcasts in the United States with millions of downloads per episode.

He recently joined host Erika Randall, CU Boulder interim dean of undergraduate education and professor of dance, to kick off a new season of "The Ampersand,” the College of Arts and Sciences podcast. Randall joins guests in exploring stories about “ANDing” as a “full sensory verb” that describes experience and possibility.

Their conversation covered everything from creativity to punk rock to a dog named Mrs. Brown.

DAN CARLIN: So, what makes the past interesting is not so much that it's just, oh, here's a wild story from the past. It's that even though—what did Shakespeare say? Right, "All the world's a stage, and all the people merely players"—the people in the story are people just like we are.

And so, the ability to touch base with something that is otherwise impossible for us to relate to, right, the past is a foreign country, as the saying goes. They do things differently there. Trying to imagine living in a society where they perform human sacrifice, for example, is not possible for us. But you can start to realize that the people in the story are the same as we were.

And if you took a human infant out of the incubator at your local hospital, put them in a time machine, sent them back in the past to a time where people enjoyed visiting public executions, and that child was raised in that culture, they, too, would enjoy going to public executions. So, genetically speaking, we're the same people. And I think that's the end toward understanding the past. I mean, if people ever end up on Mars someday, we might not be able to imagine what it's like to be on Mars. But we can imagine what it's like to be people, even on Mars.

ERIKA RANDALL: I teach dance history, and it really, to me, is about the people and then the context, right, and the people who are next to the people, and how going to see a World's Fair was akin to having access to the world wide web because you suddenly got to be in a moment in time. In the 1900s, all these people came together, and then the forum changed.

So, to say that with just dates and facts but not to go, “Imagine that in this moment Loie Fuller is there with Marie Curie at the same event, running into each other. And look at what that did to dance. Look how technology and art, creativity and science came together because of that confluence of human people at an event.”

And that helps to get students excited versus, “This is the kind of piece that was made at this time on this date,” but to really get into the storytelling. And then the letters, the archives, the archival material that actually brings those humans to life, I find, oh, I want students to get as excited about that as I do. What do you think we do in this generation of people who are learning with so much information that they maybe don't read the bylines perhaps the way you and I did or dive into the works cited to get into the detail of, like, what can make me feel here?

CARLIN: There's a lot to unpack in that question because I think it touches upon a lot of things that I think about but don't have any answers for. I think this is self-evident and obvious, but we're involved in a mass giant human experiment right now. And anybody who's raising kids, even my kids are late teens, early 20s, so, I mean, but they're not really kids anymore.

Dan Carlin's "The End Is Always Near" explores some of the apocalyptic moments from the past as a way to frame the challenges of the future.

But this is all part of this generation, as I tell my oldest, that cropped up literally right after she was born. I mean, once the iPhone comes around, and we're walking around with—what did Elon Musk say? We're all cyborgs now, right? Once we enter that world, we firmly leave the analog world behind.

And what I mean by that is I try to explain to people that the entire history of humanity up until about the 21st century, maybe the very, very end of the 20th, that's an analog world, right? So, if you grew up, as I did, in a pre-computer world, you lived in the same world that the people in ancient Assyria lived in, right? I mean, they came home when the metaphorical streetlights went on, just like we did, right? No way to call mom, no tracking.

But the point is so, all of a sudden, now we enter into a world where we don't know how this plays out because there hasn't been enough time. What's more, unlike ancient times, where the pace of change was slow, so that even if there was some revolutionary new discovery, right, a brand new plow is invented that's going to change the entire world, you would probably have several hundred years to incorporate that new technology and see what that was going to do to society. Even movable print, which shook up the whole world, is nothing compared to what we have now because what we have now, if you said nothing's really going to change for another 50 years, then we could sit there and try to incorporate what's happened, right?

So, there's the ability to absorb and sort of make it a part of. In other words, society redirects around the inventions so that it then becomes the society plus those inventions. But what I think we're all aware of now is that the pace of change is so quick that by the time we would incorporate, oh, my gosh, what is the world plus Facebook like…

RANDALL: It's already moved on.

CARLIN: We're off of Facebook. Yes! And so, the ability to ever get to the absorption phase is gone. What that does for society is a big unknown.

So, the question is often brought up about things like the ability to think deeply or to contemplate. Or, I mean, do people get bored without their cell phone for two minutes? Does that rob us of the ability that ancient thinkers used to have to just sit out in the open air amongst the trees and think? Or as one person pointed out—and I think there's real benefit to this, too—the counterreaction to boredom, right, what boredom makes us do.

RANDALL: Yes.

CARLIN: To not be bored ends up being…

RANDALL: It sparks creativity. It actually lights us up.

CARLIN: Yes. The games you have to invent as a kid because there is no easy access to something else, right?

RANDALL: Yeah.

CARLIN: I don't know what that means for society. I tell my kids all the time that if you happen to be somebody who bucks that trend, it reminds you of the line, "In the world of the blind, the one-eyed man is king," right? I mean, if you can do math and nobody can do math anymore, that's an advantage, right? So, I always try to turn it into, well, if you're one of the few who reads, that's going to help you.

I think doing the show when you're doing five hours of history podcasting sometimes, and that there's an audience for that, helps you go, oh, well, good. There's still that out there. But when you have more than a billion people as your potential audience, getting a few million here or there that are interested in your little niche thing is not necessarily reflective of broad societal trends.

So, I don't know that our audience is representative, and I'm not sure I can draw many conclusions from that.

RANDALL: But it doesn't make you want to go get those other billion. It makes you—like, you don't want to have to necessarily adapt your path towards those folks who want the quick flip and quick hit.

Dan Carlin has hosted Hardcore History since 2006.

CARLIN: I wouldn't do that. No, I wouldn't do that for several reasons. One, there's people who have that lane—lots of people who have that. It’s an easier lane, to be honest. But also, because it's the same thing with why I'm following the Baltimore Orioles when I live in Los Angeles, and I've never been to Baltimore. I mean, this is—I was a punk rock person. I'm a Generation X person.

There's a whole bunch of things in my biography where you just go, oh, this guy is going to do it differently. My wife would say, you just have to be different, don't you? And, yeah, I think that's what it is. So, I don't want those other people. I kind of take pride that the audience invented a name for themselves. They call themselves the "hardcorps," C-O-R-P-S.

RANDALL: Oh, I love that.

CARLIN: This is how I always was as a kid, too. It's not that I'm different and bad. I'm different, and I'm going to take pride in that. And I want my several million, instead of the billions, because it's us, right? It's our own private "hardcorps" club.

RANDALL: In the basement.

CARLIN: We're doing our own thing. You can go enjoy your 30-second TikTok pieces of entertainment.

RANDALL: I can't imagine you in that ball cap and black T-shirt as a punk rock guy. Like, who were you listening to? Were you pierced? What are we talking about? Did the visual change, or were you a contrarian there, too, when you rolled up with your Orioles cap into the basement with people with mohawks?

CARLIN: Well—and I'm speaking to people who were there now in your audience who remember—punk is a caricature of what it was then. It's hard to describe what it was like in '79 or '80 or '81.

RANDALL: In L.A., right?

CARLIN: Yeah. I mean, listen, I remember John Doe, who was the lead singer of X. He had a great line. He said punk was wearing black jeans and having a normal haircut—what we would call a normal haircut today.

If you had short hair in 1978, people would yell out the car. You know, he said people would yell out the car and yell Devo at you because that was contrary. He said, “All I had was a normal American haircut, but that was a statement in 1978.”

So, we looked more normal. A lot of times, we had a lot of hair colors. But with me, if you saw me at CU, I didn't look… I had long hair at CU.

RANDALL: Were you punk? Were you punk at CU?

CARLIN: I was always punk.

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

Listen to The Ampersand

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CU Boulder alumnus Dan Carlin brings a love of history and a punk sensibility to a new season of The Ampersand as he discusses his hit podcast, Hardcore History.

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We still need a bigger boat

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 17 Jun 2025 17:02:38 +0000

We still need a bigger boat Rachel Sauer Tue, 06/17/2025 - 11:02

Rachel Sauer

Fifty years after ‘Jaws’ made swimmers flee the ocean, CU Boulder cinema scholar Ernesto Acevedo-Muñoz explains how the 1975 summer hit endures as a classic

On June 19, 1975, it wasn’t such a terrible thing to feel something brush your leg while frolicking in the ocean. It was startling, sure—humans’ relationship with the ocean has long harbored a certain element of fear, says University of Colorado Boulder Professor Andrew Martin—but the rational mind could more quickly acknowledge that it was probably seaweed.

That changed the following day, when a film by a young director named Steven Spielberg opened on screens across the United States. On June 20, 1975, to feel something brush your leg in the ocean was to immediately think, “SHARK!”

Ernesto Acevedo-Muñoz, a CU Boulder professor of cinema studies and moving image arts, regularly teaches "Jaws" in Introduction to Cinema Studies.

Are sharks really as scary as their reputation?

In the 50 years since “Jaws” made people flee the water for fear of sharks, the film has become widely recognized as a cinematic landmark.

“’Jaws’ is a movie I teach regularly in Introduction to Cinema Studies—yes, it’s that important,” says Ernesto Acevedo-Muñoz, a CU Boulder professor of cinema studies and moving image arts, adding that “Jaws” also is an important case study for misconceptions, including the evolution and de-evolution, of the term “blockbuster.”

A disaster-horror movie

The cinematic landscape in which “Jaws” arrived was one of greater daring and a transition away from the focus on producers in the classical Hollywood era to a focus on a new cohort of directors—“mostly men, mostly white,” Acevedo-Muñoz acknowledges—who studied cinema in college and were greatly influenced by the French New Wave.

“With the collapse of the Hollywood studio system, suddenly there’s more opportunity for creativity, for edgy content,” he says. “In the late ‘60s, early ‘70s, you have some movies that really were trailblazers in what’s unofficially called the American New Wave. ‘Bonnie and Clyde,’ 1967, comes to mind—nobody had seen that kind of romanticization of violence and graphic violence before.”

Young directors like Spielberg, Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese were more in touch with the counterculture of the time, and old-guard producers, recognizing these young mavericks might be lucrative, green-lit projects like “The Godfather,” “Mean Streets” and “Jaws,” Acevedo-Muñoz says.

“There’s incentive to be risky in that juncture of the ‘60s to the ‘70s,” he notes. “Then to that context you add the economic crisis of the early 1970s, the recession and unemployment, plus the end of the Vietnam War, heads are getting hot and people are angry.

Creating doom in two simple notes

It’s possible for a universe of dread to exist between two notes: duu-DU … duu-DU

Just two notes, played with increasing urgency and speed, let moviegoers know that a shark is coming, and fast.

An element of the genius of John Williams’ Oscar-winning score for the film “Jaws,” released 50 years ago Friday, is how much it conveys in just those iconic two notes.

“Williams layers melodic tension in these notes with an increasing rhythmic motion—he accelerates the speed in which we hear the notes, and he accelerates their frequency,” says Michael Sy Uy, a CU Boulder associate professor of musicology and director of the American Music Research Center. “When you combine that with the emotions attached to the fear, anxiety and dread of being attacked by a shark, then we start to feel how this music is living with and entering our ears, and it makes us feel actual anxiety or dread.”

The two notes of duu-DU are separated by the closest interval in Western musical notation that our ears are trained and socialized to hear, he adds—a half step—that, when played in succession, can help listeners feel a sense of melodic tension.

In the case of the “Jaws” soundtrack, it can help listeners feel a deep dread. In fact, some scholars argue that “Jaws” would not be the cinematic landmark it is without John Williams’ score.

“It’s hard to imagine movies today and over the past five decades without their soundtracks,” Uy says. “We make music a part of the storytelling because music can add an extra layer of meaning. It can contradict what is happening in a scene between actors, or it can validate what they’re saying. Music can tell the story even when words don’t.”

Learn more about CU Boulder's film and television soundtrack connections in the American Music Research Center's Dave Grusin collection. Grusin is a Grammy-winning composer, contemporary of John Williams and CU Boulder alumnus.

“The crises of the 1970s are one of the reasons why we have the flourishing of the disaster film at that time. I would point first to ‘The Poseidon Adventure,’ which is the best of them all, and ‘The Towering Inferno,’ ‘Earthquake.’ And to a certain extent, ‘Jaws’ is a hybrid of the classic horror monster movie and the 1970s disaster movie.”

The dire economic background of the early 1970s was important to “Jaws” and other disaster films, Acevedo-Muñoz says, because “a disaster movie, like a horror movie, tells us we are going through a really rough time, but if we all work together and we make a few sacrifices, we’re going to get out of this OK. If we follow the lead of Paul Newman or Steve McQueen or Gene Hackman, we’ll eventually get out of this all right.”

Driving the buzz

“Jaws” is often called the original summer blockbuster, but relentless repetition of this idea does not make it true, Acevedo-Muñoz says: “There’s no one movie we can point to as the original summer blockbuster.”

In fact, he adds, the term “blockbuster” really refers to the end of a classic Hollywood distribution and exhibition practice called block booking: If theaters wanted to show big-draw feature films, they also had to book smaller, cheaper, shorter films that came to be known as “B movies," which "were made quickly by 'B units' that often reused sets or even costumes from the big movies to cut costs. But scholarship on B movies has argued that because the studios weren’t paying too much attention to those units, some of the B movies were rather edgy and interesting."

Block booking meant that the producers and distributors controlled a lot of what was in exhibition venues, "but there were occasionally movies that may have broken that pattern, and those were in some ways the original blockbusters—as in busting the block of block booking practice," he says.

While “Jaws” did break box-office records of the time, it’s also noteworthy in cinema history as one of the first miracles of marketing, he says. It was based on a mega-bestselling book by Peter Benchley, one that was optioned for film while still in galleys, and the film marketing piggy-backed on the name recognition of the book.

Further, “Jaws” was one of the first films to intentionally create buzz as part of the overall publicity and marketing plan, including strategically leaked tidbits from the film’s set on Martha’s Vineyard.

On its June 20, 1975, opening day, “Jaws” was one of the most prominent films to benefit from a practice called “front loading,” which meant making more prints of the film and showing it in as many theaters as possible, rather than the previous practice of rolling openings from largest to smallest markets.

“The marketing and distribution team of Universal Pictures also decided to take a front-loading approach with ‘Jaws,’ so that it was playing everywhere,” Acevedo-Muñoz says. “Or almost everywhere. It still took months to get to my hometown, but we knew it was coming, and that anticipation was building.

“So, ‘Jaws’ is important because it was this consolidation of these different practices of marketing, creating buzz, creating anticipation, creating tie-ins—it put all these things in one place that were practices that had been around before the summer of ’75 but afterwards became the model.”

As for the film’s effect on moviegoers and their summer vacation plans? “I know a lot of people,” Acevedo-Muñoz says, “who refused to go swimming after they saw ‘Jaws.’”

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Fifty years after ‘Jaws’ made swimmers flee the ocean, CU Boulder cinema scholar Ernesto Acevedo-Muñoz explains how the 1975 summer hit endures as a classic.

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Protesters taking freedom of assembly to the streets

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

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

Rachel Sauer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Question: Do public protests matter or make a difference?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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