Division of Arts and Humanities

Filmmaker charts path from rented cameras to Hollywood marquees

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 20 Jan 2026 22:35:57 +0000

Filmmaker charts path from rented cameras to Hollywood marquees Rachel Sauer Tue, 01/20/2026 - 15:35

Bradley Worrell

On campus on Wednesday for a screening of his movie Roofman, CU ��ý�� alum Derek Cianfrance praises the professors who mentored him and talks about what motivates him today as a filmmaker

From making short films as a teenager to sitting in the director’s chair today for Hollywood marquee films, Derek Cianfrance’s path to professional filmmaker has been anything but conventional.

Long before he directed films such as Blue Valentine and The Place Beyond the Pines, Cianfrance was a kid growing up in Lakewood, Colorado, who turned birthday parties into movie sets. At age 13, he was shooting short films on a rented video camera—driven by a sense of play that he says still fuels his work today.

In a recent, candid conversation with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine, Cianfrance reflects on the formative years that shaped his vision, the mentors who guided him at the ��ý�� and the persistence—and rejection—that defined his rise from short home films to Hollywood movies.

CU ��ý�� alumnus Derek Cianfrance directed films such as Blue Valentine and The Place Beyond the Pines, in addition to his most recent, Roofman.

Question: What’s it like for you to come back to ��ý�� now? And what are your plans while you are here?

Cianfrance: It’s always amazing coming back. ��ý�� shaped me as a filmmaker. I had transformative experiences there—with mentors like Phil Solomon, Stan Brakhage, Bruce Kawin, Don Yannacito and Jim Palmer. Some aren’t around anymore, but they left a mark.

On Wednesday evening, at the Muenzinger Auditorium, I’ll be screening my most recent movie, Roofman, and I’ll probably do an intro and a Q&A.

I’ve been back to ��ý�� many times since leaving college—and some of my most important relationships came from there. Every time I return, I enjoy getting to see the next generation of students and teachers carrying on that tradition.

Question: You started experimenting with film and other media as a teenager?

Cianfrance: Earlier, actually. At age 6, I borrowed my older brother’s tape recorder and used it to make skits, fake movie trailers and to do interviews. At 13, I rented a video camera from my school librarian at Green Mountain High School and made The Bat Movie, which was about this rubber bat that attacks people. The movie was 15 seconds long, four shots, and it was from the point of view of the bat. It was actually kind of funny and ridiculous. …

From then on, I kept making little films. It was play for me—like a sport. Even now, in my 50s, I feel connected to that 6-year-old—it’s still play at its best moments.

And, I have to say, my parents were very supportive. I feel very fortunate. They dealt with me putting a camera in their face, filming birthday parties, turning the birthday party into a set for my movie. If they hadn’t supported that, I don’t know if I would have had the confidence to keep going. My parents were awesome that way.

And I immersed myself in film. I grew up on VHS and Hollywood movies—Martin Scorsese and George Romero. I had a picture of Scorsese over my bed.

Question: Many aspiring filmmakers set their sights on NYU or UCLA. Why did you choose CU ��ý��?

Cianfrance: I wanted to attend UCLA, USC or NYU as well. When I was in high school, I was obsessed with the film school generation back in the 1990s, but those schools were cost-prohibitive. I ended up going to CU because I knew they had a film program and ��ý�� seemed like a great place to be. I didn’t know what to expect, but it was transformative.

At CU, my professors deconstructed cinema. Stan Brakhage showed us films out of focus to study shadow and light, and very quickly I learned I was getting a unique education. It was avant-garde, experimental. I learned aesthetics and formalism differently. Bruce Kawin taught screenplay structure; Jim Palmer taught thematic analysis.

When I showed my student films at festivals, I realized just how unique my education was. NYU students had huge budgets; mine cost $1,000 and was shot on 16mm Bolex. CU taught me to embrace limitations. That has shaped everything I do.

If you go

CU ��ý�� alumnus Derek Cianfrance will be present for a screening of Roofman at 7:30 p.m. Wednesday, Jan. 21, and will participate in a Q&A after the film.

What: International Film Series screening of Roofman with writer and director Derek Cianfrance

When: 7:30 p.m. Wednesday, Jan. 21

Where: Muenzinger Auditorium E050

Admission: $8 students/$10 general admission

Learn more

Question: What year did you graduate?

Cianfrance: Well, I didn’t actually graduate. I spent five semesters at CU. At the time I entered film school, Trey Parker and Matt Stone (later of South Park TV series fame) had just graduated and made Alfred Packer: The Musical. I was watching that from afar, as this young, ambitious film student, and so by the time I was a junior, I decided I was going to make a feature, too.

I dropped out for what I thought at the time would be a semester, raised $40,000, and shot Brother Tied. It took four years to finish, and it went to Sundance in 1998.

I spent a year on the road with that film. I had no money. I was literally living off of hors d’oeuvres from film festivals. I was like Ratzo Rizzo from Midnight Cowboy at the film festivals, just stuffing my pockets with food. The movie went to about 30 festivals and it won a handful of awards.

I got a lot of business cards, and I met a lot of people in the industry while I was doing that. I was writing Blue Valentine at the time, so I started sending out scripts for Blue Valentine—and I got a lot of rejections. Just non-stop rejections, but I just kept working on it.

It was far from an instant success. From when I first started writing Blue Valentine it was 66 drafts and 11 years later that I shot it.

Question: After leaving CU, did you move to Hollywood?

Cianfrance: No, I moved to New York in 1999. I lived on couches, edited tribute videos for TV award shows and worked enough to buy time back to write. That leapfrogging lasted 10 years until I made Blue Valentine.

Derek Cianfrance's (striped jacket) most recent film, Roofman, is about a convicted spree robber who hides out in the roof of a Toys R Us after escaping from prison.

Question: Blue Valentine was praised by critics and received multiple award nominations. Did you feel like you had ‘arrived’ as a director after it debuted?

Cianfrance: I don’t believe in arrival points. It’s a journey. That hasn’t changed for me. That’s why I feel so connected to my 6-year-old inner child—because I’m doing the same process I’ve done forever.

When you experience success, it removes barriers, which can be dangerous. Resistance and rejection are blessings—because they force growth. Blue Valentine took 11 years because I needed that time. By the last draft, I was married with kids, so I could tell the story authentically.

Question: Many people aspire to become a screenwriter or director but success eludes them. What do you believe helped you break through?

Cianfrance: Focusing on the work—not ego. I never cared about seeing my name on a marquee—only the movie’s name. It’s about staying true to your inner voice. Success and failure both come, so keep swinging.

Question: Even today, rejection comes with the territory as a recognized director?

Cianfrance: That’s the life of a filmmaker. You’re just knocking on doors and saying, ‘Do you want to buy this idea that I have?’

No one’s ever asking for those (films). Like, no one was asking for Blue Valentine. No one was asking for Roofman. Those were things where I found myself in a story and then you have to get excited about them.

I always feel like making movies is like the energy source. It’s the sun. When I see an energy source that I’m attracted to, I start orbiting it. And my job is to pay so much attention to it that other people start to pay attention to it as well, because you can’t do it alone.

It’s not like being a painter or a writer. You can write all by yourself, but to be a filmmaker, you need so many people. It costs so much money and there’s so many different elements involved.

That process has not changed at all for me. Roofman, Brother Tied, Blue Valentine—every movie I’ve ever made is pretty much the same. What has happened to me, though, is actors like Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams believed in me—and because they believed in me, with the performances they delivered in Blue Valentine—that meant other actors would then trust me. And so, I think a definition of my work has really been about the quality, the vulnerability and the courage of the performances.

CU ��ý�� alumnus Derek Cianfrance (right) praises the vulnerability and courage of the performances from actors with whom he's worked (including Kirsten Dunst, left, in Roofman).

I don’t want to say I’ve arrived as a director, but that’s been the thing that allowed me to make the films that I’ve been able to make. Without my actors, I’m nothing.

Question: Today, what attracts you to a movie project?

Cianfrance: Family stories. Movies feel voyeuristic—about secrets, flaws and relationships. I’m interested in impossible choices and consequences. My films reflect my life: Blue Valentine came from being a child watching my parents’ marriage; Roofman reflects on being a father.

Question:Can you name a creative decision that you made as a director that scared you at the time but that you’re proud of now?

Cianfrance: Roofman, as a whole. It pushed me out of my comfort zone—I aimed for a tone that was sad and sweet, not just dark. It was terrifying but rewarding.

Question:If you had unlimited resources and no commercial expectations, what kind of movie would you make?

Cianfrance: Honestly, I’ve had that once, with HBO’s I Know This Much Is True. But limitations often create magic. Throwing money at problems isn’t always good.

Question:Are there any film genres you’d still like to explore?

Cianfrance: Horror. That’s how I got into movies—Creepshow was my first VHS obsession. Horror allows limitless experimentations in form. That excites me. You can go anywhere with a horror movie.

Question:If you could give two or three bullet points of advice for today’s CU ��ý�� film students, what would it be?

Cianfrance: Stay close to your friends. Help each other make things—you can’t do it alone. Get comfortable with rejection—it’s 99% of the process, so learn from it without losing your voice. And have a life—movies about movies aren’t enough.

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On campus on Wednesday for a screening of his movie Roofman, CU ��ý�� alum Derek Cianfrance praises the professors who mentored him and talks about what motivates him today as a filmmaker.

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Top photo: Derek Cianfrance (right, baseball cap) on the set of Roofman with actor Channing Tatum (in orange). (All photos courtesy Derek Cianfrance)

Modesty is not a solo sport

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 14 Jan 2026 18:21:49 +0000

Modesty is not a solo sport Rachel Sauer Wed, 01/14/2026 - 11:21

Clay Bonnyman Evans

If it doesn’t include social interaction, norms and a desire not to offend, it’s not modesty, CU ��ý�� philosopher Derick Hughes argues

When it comes to definition, “modesty” doesn’t seem all that modest.

Consider that Webster’s Dictionary offers nine definitions of the word, with a profusion of meanings. Modesty can denote everything from modesty in dress and appearance to the estimation or presentation of one’s abilities, the size of a house, reserve and prudishness.

Derick Hughes, a lecturer in philosophy at the ��ý�� who specializes in moral psychology and ethics, says the concept of modesty is less concrete than perceived virtues.

Derick Hughes, a CU ��ý�� lecturer in philosophy, argues that the concept of modesty is less concrete than perceived virtues.

“No one really thinks that compassion, honesty or generosity are elusive traits. We don’t find them puzzling in any way,” he says. “But modesty and humility are much more elusive. There are so many ways to describe and interpret them, which makes them valuable.”

In his paper, “Modesty’s Inoﬀensive Self-Presentation,” published in the journal Philosophical Psychology, Hughes offers an interpersonal view of modesty “that requires an emotional disposition sensitive to causing others offense based upon one’s self-presentation.”

Following the lead of the 19th- and early-20th-century psychologist and philosopher William James, Hughes makes the case that self-contained modesty isn’t really modesty at all. It requires social interaction.

“Modesty cannot be purely internal and private,” he says. “It has to be something more deeply social and emotional. … There has to be a shared sense that some content, action or behavior could provoke offense” to another person.

For example, a person may minimize his or her talents, but if it’s not expressed somehow to at least one other person, that’s not quite modesty. “Inoffensive self-presentation,” whether in dress, behavior, estimation of one’s talents or something else, is about gauging how others will receive and perceive one’s actions.

Modesty depends on norms and therefore can vary widely within different cultures, religions, families, friendships and situations, Hughes argues.

For example, wearing flip-flops, shorts and no shirt to a job interview violates norms and could cause offense (not to mention the candidate being dismissed as unfit), as could boasting about one’s wealth in the presence of people of more—ahem—modest means, or a boxer standing over a vanquished foe and yelling about his feat.

Or consider worship ceremonies. In some traditions, silence is the norm, whereas in others, exuberant shouting, clapping and singing is expected.

Hughes observes that even seemingly similar circumstances can influence what’s perceived as modest.

“When you talk about two people sharing the same goal or directly competing to win a competition, that seems to be a case where you would temper your attitude and responses toward the other person,” he says.

Modesty is in the eye of the beholder

“No one really thinks that compassion, honesty or generosity are elusive traits. We don’t find them puzzling in any way. But modesty and humility are much more elusive. There are so many ways to describe and interpret them."

On the other hand, when not in an adversarial or competitive situation, “there is more room to poke and prod other people to keep at it, to do better. If I’m a successful author, and I know you are writing a book, I might not hold back because I want to cultivate your interest or keep [you] pursuing your goal,” Hughes says.

And modesty is often in the eye of the beholder. Russian mathematician Gregori Perelman declined the $1 million Clay Millennium Prize in 2010 and has kept himself in virtual seclusion ever since. He explained that “if the proof is correct, then no other recognition is needed,” noted that mathematics depends on collaboration, and declared, “I’m not interested in money or fame; I don’t want to be on display like an animal in a zoo.”

While many perceived his refusal as modesty, some thought he was engaged in “arrogant humility” and was “being braggadocious by declining participation,” Hughes says.

Norms are critical to perceptions of modesty, he notes. For example, one study found that Canadians consider concealing one’s positive contributions to society to be dishonest, whereas Chinese people did not. “Chinese adults rated deception in such situations positively while rating truth-telling in the same situations negatively,” according to the study. “These cross-cultural differences appear to reflect differential emphases on the virtue of modesty in the two cultures.”

Immodesty even can be considered virtuous in some situations. For example, women violated norms of modesty when some began driving in Saudi Arabia in contravention of societal rules and expectations. That societal “immodesty” ultimately led to women being extended the right to drive.

Though generally thought of as a virtue, modesty may not be so virtuous in the face of “problematic norms,” Hughes says.

To be truly modest, modesty requires social interaction, the acceptance of norms and “a disposition to avoid offending others,” Hughes argues.

That definition, he concludes, can account for “the variety of modesty norms concerning one’s merits and achievements, personal objects and traditional modesty norms in dress and self-presentation.”

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If it doesn’t include social interaction, norms and a desire not to offend, it’s not modesty, CU ��ý�� philosopher Derick Hughes argues.

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Top sculpture: "Modesty" by Giosuè Argenti (1866)

Scholar considers limits on God and freedom for humans

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 07 Jan 2026 16:50:59 +0000

Scholar considers limits on God and freedom for humans Rachel Sauer Wed, 01/07/2026 - 09:50

Clay Bonnyman Evans

CU ��ý�� philosophy PhD student Nathan Huffine offers ‘limited foreknowledge’ to solve the paradox of human free will and an all-knowing deity

For many believers, squaring belief in a traditional “omni” deity—a god that is omniscient, omnipotent and omnibenevolent—with the notion that human beings possess free will poses a quandary.

Here’s how ��ý�� philosophy PhD student Nathan Huffine describes the paradox:

“If there is an omniscient being, such as God, who infallibly knows the truth-values of all propositions, including propositions about future human actions, then no human action can be performed freely. No human action is free, since any human action is subject to the implications of this eternal and infallible knowledge of God. Such knowledge implies that an agent cannot do otherwise than what God knows she will do.”

Nathan Huffine, a CU ��ý�� philosophy PhD student, argues that belief in both divine foreknowledge and free will are necessary to address the classic theological “problem of evil,” also known as the “problem of suffering."

Huffine argues that belief in both divine foreknowledge and free will are necessary to address the classic theological “problem of evil,” also known as the “problem of suffering”—if a deity is all-powerful, all-knowing and all-good, why is there suffering and evil?

“If one believes there is a god, one also ought to posit that humans have libertarian free will”—individuals are free to make, and therefore must take responsibility for, all their choices—“in order to deal with the problem of evil,” Huffine says.

But in his recent paper, “Limits on God, Freedom for Humans,” published in the International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, Huffine defends the foreknowledge-freedom problem from assertions that it’s merely a game—an intellectual bauble or “pseudo-problem” —and considers two potential solutions to the conundrum, settling on one as most viable.

“It’s an interesting subject because the ideas of God and free will are important to me, and to many other people in their daily lives,” Huffine says.

He first considers what’s commonly referred to as “the eternity solution,” which posits that an atemporal deity—one that exists “outside” of time and space—would be always and eternally aware of everything that is, was and will be. Or as he describes it, “all times are equally real.”

Huffine describes a hypothetical situation in which a woman, Ellie, skips work to go to the beach. While there, a bottle washes onshore, bearing a message predicting that she will skip work and go to the beach that day.

“Suppose Ellie does have the ability to choose otherwise, and that the prophetic statement … has existed since 102 BC. … Also suppose that Ellie actually goes to work … never visiting the beach,” he writes. “Given this, the prophetic object (the bottle) from 102 BC would be wrong, and consequently, God would be wrong.”

But if a deity is inerrant and infallible, such a “conclusion is absurd,” Huffine writes. Because under eternalism, there is no time at which the bottle and message did not exist, “Therefore, there is no moment in Ellie’s life where she can act otherwise.”

Limited foreknowledge

Huffine finds the next potential solution, that of “limited foreknowledge,” more viable and persuasive.

First, he argues, one must assume an omni-deity cannot “do the metaphysically impossible”—the classic example is that a deity cannot create a stone that is too heavy for it to lift; or, as Aquinas argued, God cannot make a circle a square.

But if one defines God as “that than which nothing greater can be ideally conceived,” Huffine writes, then “one cannot ideally conceive of any being that is capable of performing metaphysically impossible feats.”

And if it is metaphysically impossible—contradictory—to square human free will with a deity that is already is aware of every future event, then something has to give, Huffine concludes.

“Therefore, God does not know the truth-value of all propositions but only those propositions it is possible for God to know without threatening human freedom,” he writes. If that’s true, he acknowledges, then “Jesus’ prophecies had the potential to be wrong.”

Huffine acknowledges that his thesis includes complicated, debatable metaphysical arguments, such as whether a deity limited is truly omniscient or omnipotent, given that metaphysics and logic can appear to trump its abilities.

“But you have to explore all these crazy pretzels,” he says. He cites the field of quantum mechanics: “We have to try to make sense of it, and whatever the data says, we have to try to square it with macro-reality.”

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CU ��ý�� philosophy PhD student Nathan Huffine offers ‘limited foreknowledge’ to solve the paradox of human free will and an all-knowing deity.

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Classicist explores fantasy of law in an empire of violence

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 06 Jan 2026 21:23:34 +0000

Classicist explores fantasy of law in an empire of violence Rachel Sauer Tue, 01/06/2026 - 14:23

Cody DeBos

In new book, CU ��ý�� classics Professor Zach Herz focuses on the law, the bureaucrat and the Roman Empire

When Zach Herz talks about Roman law, he says things like, “Maybe the biggest misconception is that the Roman Empire had the rule of law.”

The idea might surprise those unfamiliar with the legal timeline of the world’s most famous empire. But Herz and other legal scholars who study the period know there is truth behind this confounding theory.

Herz, an assistant professor of classics at the ��ý�� and trained attorney, explores the idea further in his newly published book, The God and the Bureaucrat: Roman Law, Imperial Sovereignty, and Other Stories. In it, he questions the long-standing assumption that Roman law was a systematic, even apolitical legal achievement.

Zach Herz, a CU ��ý�� assistant professor of classics, recently published The God and the Bureaucrat: Roman Law, Imperial Sovereignty, and Other Stories, in which he questions the long-standing assumption that Roman law was a systematic, even apolitical legal achievement.

Instead, beneath a layer of dry humor and self-awareness, Herz argues that the bureaucracy of Roman law functioned as a fantasy constructed to impose a sense of order on a world that was anything but ordered.

What we get wrong about Rome’s judicial system

Modern historians often describe Rome as a pristine model of legality adorned in tunics and stonework, the purest version of legal order and one that has persisted as long as its ideals.

“What I think happened is Romans lived in this world that was autocratic and violent and very scary,” Herz says. “Different people thought about this in different ways. For some, the thing they needed to do was think very hard about law.”

Viewing their ideas in an unblemished light ignores the political reality that existed throughout much of the Roman Empire. Emperors held unchecked power, assassinations were common and violence permeated daily life.

So, how did a society plagued by these problems end up producing one of the most detailed legal traditions in world history?

“The Romans were trying to imagine how a fairer state might be run. This exercise generated these massive tomes about how problems should be solved. Everyone who read them knew it wasn’t how problems were actually solved. So this thing we now see as perfect law coming from a perfect world was actually people in a very imperfect world imagining a perfect law,” Herz explains.

In other words, Roman law helped people imagine a world where the state operated predictably and justly—even if their lived experience told them otherwise.

Bureaucracy as comfort, law as theater

The illusion of a fair legal system in Rome was an important political tool. It helped stabilize Rome by giving people a language for justice and a sense they could navigate the state by rules, not whims.

In a world without modern civil institutions, that illusion was valuable. But even in today’s world, it’s still valuable, Herz argues.

“Law still does a lot of work in making our lives better by allowing us to just not think about things so much. It allows us to put certain possibilities of violence or extreme tragedy out of our minds so we can focus on the things we enjoy,” he says.

Roman law, in Herz’s view, was more about storytelling, allowing people to imagine what ethical government might look like, especially when the emperor—who held unchecked power—was corrupt, disinterested or 12 years old.

CU ��ý�� scholar Zach Herz argues that the bureaucracy of Roman law functioned as a fantasy constructed to impose a sense of order on a world that was anything but ordered.

“It's clear that Romans wanted to believe there were checks and balances. And in some ways, there were. There was a remedy for having a bad emperor, right? It was a knife,” Herz says.

“A lot of our legal sources come from a particularly turbulent period in Roman history, early third century. It's called the Severan period. And I don't think that's a coincidence. We see law moved to the center of Roman political culture when the emperor is an obviously ‘good’ guy. I'm not saying everyone agrees with that, I'm not saying it's true, but that's sort of how everything is represented,” he adds.

Known as the Pax Romana (Roman Peace), this second-century CE period is remembered for a stretch of “Five Good Emperors.” With a trusted leader in power, the legal system was not often on the minds of the populace.

But when a bad emperor took the throne, that narrative changed quickly.

“If everyone agrees the emperor is good, we don’t have a problem. He is going to be ethical. There are going to be checks and balances. It's when the emperor is bad, now you need rules,” Herz says.

When the emperor cites precedent

One case study in Herz’s book tracks how legal rhetoric changed under child emperors, of which Rome had several. Drawing on techniques he learned during a stint in a corporate law firm, Herz noticed something curious.

“Cites to precedent are pretty rare in imperial decision-making because you're the emperor. But they showed up a lot more when the emperor was a child,” he says.

One boy emperor from the Severan period was four times more likely to cite prior decisions than adult emperors. Herz argues this was a strategic effort by Roman officials to borrow credibility from past rulings.

“It was a way to say, ‘Even though the emperor is a kid, the system still works,’” he explains.

That system, of course, was fragile. Even so, its stories of order held power.

“If the emperor is 12, you do not want a 12-year-old boy making decisions for you. You’d rather have lawyers doing that. You’d rather have statues doing that. You’d rather have coherent prospective guidance than whims, right? So, people decided to lean into the legal system,” Herz says.

Vestiges of the past

Although the Roman Empire is long gone, its influence endures in ways that we can see traces of throughout the modern world. In fact, most of continental Europe still bases its legal codes on Roman foundations. Even Louisiana maintains vestiges of Roman law.

“It was that or witches,” Herz quips. “They built their own laws on that imagined Roman Empire because that’s just what they had to work with.”

More importantly, Herz argues that we’ve inherited the Roman idea that states ought to operate through law. From Rome, we came to believe that legitimacy comes from procedure and precedent.

“Even in places that don’t explicitly follow Roman law, those notions are still deeply, deeply classical,” he says.

"Law still does a lot of work in making our lives better by allowing us to just not think about things so much. It allows us to put certain possibilities of violence or extreme tragedy out of our minds so we can focus on the things we enjoy."

That belief can be comforting, but also misleading, Herz says. As in Rome, modern legal systems can sometimes obscure violence, exclusion or inequality under layers of ritualized language and illusory checks and balances.

Imagined order, real impact

So, what can we gain by not upholding Roman law as a perfect blueprint, but instead treating it as a cultural artifact? For Herz, the answer is a better way to understand the interplay between power and imagination in human society.

“A huge amount of what law does is create this mirage of order. And it's backed up by force in unpredictable and confusing ways, if you really want to get into it,” he says.

Despite that ambiguity, Herz doesn’t see law as sinister. Nor does he see Rome’s imagined structures for a utopian world as malevolent. He believes it is human.

Our instinct for structure and fairness drive us to create something bigger than ourselves to believe in.

“You don’t have to think something totally real to think it’s incredibly useful. For most of us, the lives we want to make for ourselves don't require us to get into deep thinking about violence or crime and law prevents us from having to get into it. That's a very important gift that law gives to us,” he says.

For Herz, what makes Roman law worth studying is not that it worked inherently, but that it worked because people wanted it to.

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In new book, CU ��ý�� classics Professor Zach Herz focuses on the law, the bureaucrat and the Roman Empire.

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Why a boy and his tiger still matter

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 18 Dec 2025 18:44:15 +0000

Why a boy and his tiger still matter Rachel Sauer Thu, 12/18/2025 - 11:44

Bradley Worrell

Calvin and Hobbes, Bill Watterson’s beloved comic strip, ended three decades ago this month, yet its magic endures, says William Kuskin, CU ��ý�� English professor and expert on comics and graphic novels

When teaching his popular course on comic books and graphic novels, William Kuskin’s classroom represents a microcosm of the university, where engineering majors sit alongside business students and aspiring writers.

In that mix, the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes, which debuted in November 1985, sparks an enthusiasm across students—even though the comic strip ended its syndicated run in December 1995, before most of those students were born, says Kuskin, a ��ý�� Department of English professor and department chair.

“Students will march down at the end of class and gush about Calvin and Hobbes,” he says. “It’s not just nostalgia; there’s an ongoing love for it in this generation.”

William Kuskin, CU ��ý�� department chair and professor of English, teaches a course on comics and graphic novels that draws students from disciplines across the university.

That love often comes with a personal twist.

“A lot of dads and kids sat around reading comics together,” Kuskin explains. “Students tell me this course brings them closer to their dads. There’s a comic culture out there that spans generations.”

While no new Calvin and Hobbes comic strips have been produced since 1995, author Bill Watterson authorized the publication of 18 books between 1987 and 2005 that reprinted comic strips from various years. In honor of the publication of the three-volume The Complete Calvin and Hobbes in 2005, re-runs of comic strip were made available to newspapers from Sept. 4, 2005, to Dec. 31, 2005.

Kuskin says the beloved comic strip is not just a relic of the bygone newspaper era—it’s a shared language of humor and imagination between generations.

Describing Calvin and Hobbes to a newcomer

How does one describe what Calvin and Hobbes is about to the uninitiated?

Kuskin says the task is not as easy as it sounds, because the comic transcends its characters. On one level, it’s about Calvin, a mischievous 6-year-old boy who enjoys undertaking adventures with his stuffed tiger, Hobbes, who seemingly comes to life with biting humor when alone with Calvin. Beyond that, Kuskin says, it’s about the endless possibility of childhood, served up with doses of humor, philosophy and whimsy.

He identifies two endearing qualities that he says gives the comic strip its remarkable staying power. The first is its balance of cynicism and sentimentality.

“Calvin and Hobbes critiques the world but ends with love and warmth,” he says. “As cruel as the outside world is, they still have time for a hug. Our world needs that—maybe now more than ever.”

Kuskin says Watterson’s work reminds its audience that skepticism doesn’t have to cancel tenderness. He notes that Calvin’s sharp observations about consumerism or dreary school regimen coexist with moments of pure joy—snowball fights, sled rides and bedtime musings.

Calvin and Hobbes invites readers to slow down, to imagine, to laugh—and perhaps to question what really matters, Kuskin says.

“Our culture promotes avarice and excess over happiness and personal expression,” he says, quoting Watterson: ‘To invent your own life’s meaning is not easy, but it’s still allowed, and I think you’ll be happier for the trouble.’”

Kuskin says the second appeal of Calvin and Hobbes results from the comic strip’s role as a portal to the imagination.

“Hobbes himself is a gateway,” he says of Calvin’s stuffed tiger. “He’s both real and imaginary. That ambiguity invites readers to participate in the magic.”

The Exploring Calvin and Hobbes exhibit will be open to the public through Dec. 31 at the Fenimore Art Museum in New York City. (Screengrab: Fenimore Art Museum)

From cardboard-box “transmogrifiers” to intergalactic daydreams, Kuskin says the comic strip celebrates childhood imagination. Hobbes—neither fully stuffed nor fully alive—embodies that space where fantasy and reality blur, Kuskin says.

Comics as high art

Kuskin says the recent Calvin and Hobbes exhibition at the Fenimore Art Museum in New York underscores the comic strip’s artistic stature, which he sees as part of a broader movement to elevate comics.

“Comics have a fundamental tension,” he explains. “They don’t belong comfortably to any one discipline. They’re literature, but they’re also visual art. And they’re tied to franchise culture.”

That tension creates a spectrum—from mass-market superhero films to avant-garde graphic novels. Watterson, like Art Spiegelman (author of Maus), staked out the high-art end of that spectrum, resisting the strong pull of merchandising, Kuskin says.

“He stood by his principles. He made his art. It’s beautiful and lasting,” he adds. “There are many ways to make comics, but Watterson’s way—purity of vision, resistance to exploitation—defines a kind of artistic practice that’s very beautiful.”

Art over commerce: Watterson’s high road

Unlike many cartoonists who embraced merchandising, Watterson famously resisted commercialization. Thus, no Hobbes plush toys and no animated specials. Kuskin sees that as a principled stand.

“Watterson fought hard for artistic control,” he says. “He framed his work as art, connecting back to early innovators like George Herriman (Krazy Kat) and Winsor McCay (Little Nemo). Comics often straddle art and commerce—Watterson pushed toward high art.”

That decision was not without cost. While Peanuts became a multimedia empire—complete with beloved TV specials—Calvin and Hobbes remained confined to the printed page. That purity may be why the strip feels timeless rather than dated, Kuskin says.

“Would the world have been better for a few more Hobbes stuffed animals snuggled in at night?” he muses. “Watterson thought not. He believed the work should speak for itself.”

The cultural company Calvin and Hobbes keeps

Will CU ��ý�� students still be talking about Calvin and Hobbes in another 10 years?

“Calvin and Hobbes critiques the world but ends with love and warmth,” he says. “As cruel as the outside world is, they still have time for a hug. Our world needs that—maybe now more than ever.”

Kuskin doesn’t hesitate in his response: “Absolutely. Parents and grandparents will keep sharing it. And it’s entered that rare cultural space—like Spider-Man, Batman or even Marilyn Monroe. It’s iconic.”

That “iconic space” includes other comic strips that transcended their medium: Peanuts, Krazy Kat and Little Nemo. Like them, Kuskin says, Calvin and Hobbes combines accessibility with depth—simple enough for children but layered enough to be appreciated by adults.

“The best comics have always transcended age,” he says. “They’re not just for kids. They explore fantasy, philosophy—even avant-garde art.”

And while Calvin and Hobbes often gets mentioned in the same breath as Peanuts, Kuskin says featuring cute kids and animals is not a prerequisite for a comic strip having enduring appeal.

“Will Dilbert ever go away? I can’t imagine—it nails corporate life,” he says.

Endings as beginnings

For Kuskin, Watterson’s final comic strip—with Calvin and Hobbes sledding into a snowy landscape—is a farewell, but also a reminder that imagination is infinite.

“It’s about endings as beginnings,” he explains. “The snow becomes a metaphor for possibility. Watterson’s goodbye is a clean start—not an end.”

The dialogue is simple: “It’s a magical world, Hobbes, old buddy … let’s go exploring.” But Kuskin says its resonance in the comic panels is profound: the blank whiteness of snow mirrors the blank page—a canvas for imagination.

“The snow looks like snow because we invent it as snow in our imagination,” he says. “That’s the genius of Watterson—he makes us co-creators.”

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CU ��ý�� philosopher building a bridge to Africa

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 09 Dec 2025 22:11:46 +0000

CU ��ý�� philosopher building a bridge to Africa Rachel Sauer Tue, 12/09/2025 - 15:11

Cody DeBos

Associate Professor Ajume Wingo was recently appointed as a research associate at the Center for Philosophy in Africa at Nelson Mandela University, a recognition of his decades of scholarship

For a young Ajume Wingo growing up in Nso, a northwestern region of Cameroon, philosophy wasn’t a topic relegated to ancient Stoics or the halls of academia.

“Philosophy was not an abstract pursuit. It was a living practice woven in everyday life,” says Wingo, an associate professor of philosophy at the ��ý��. “As a child I was surrounded by elders who transmitted their wisdom to me through storytelling, through rituals, through symbols, through ceremonies. That had deep philosophic meaning.”

That early foundation shaped not just how Wingo views philosophy today, but also how he practices it. He values using lived experience as a starting point and working toward the abstract, rather than the other way around.

Ajume Wingo, a CU ��ý�� associate professor of philosophy, was recently appointed as a research associate at the Center for Philosophy in Africa at Nelson Mandela University.

“I start from life, and then I go up. That’s the way I think about philosophy as a living practice. As life,” he explains.

Looking beyond our circles

Recently, Wingo’s philosophical journey has taken a major step forward.

In October, he was appointed as a research associate at the Center for Philosophy in Africa at Nelson Mandela University in South Africa. The role recognizes his decades of scholarship and offers a new platform for expanding international research collaborations between African and Western thinkers.

“At a personal level, it’s a recognition many years in the making. It gives me the opportunity to work collaboratively at the international level, to act like a bridge between Western philosophy and African philosophy,” Wingo says.

His appointment is the result of a personal connection with Nelson Mandela University that has grown over many years. Wingo had previously delivered lectures across South Africa, but his keynote speech in April 2024 at Nelson Mandela University titled “In the Shade of Power” sparked something more.

“Many of the students from the university came up to me after. They wanted to exchange numbers and work with me and all that,” Wingo recalls.

During that same visit, he also participated in many broader conversations around ethics and justice in business alongside thinkers and industry leaders from across Africa.

Wingo’s research draws on both his formal training and his cultural roots in Cameroon. That dual grounding allows him to explore concepts through multiple lenses, he says, from Western theories of justice to African communal models of governance.

“Philosophy reflects the lived experience of the people that philosophers are dealing with,” he says. “And that already gives us some kind of differentiation.”

For Wingo and the kind of political philosophy he practices, Nelson Mandela University is a natural home.

“The Nelson Mandela University is named after Nelson Mandela, who was a victim of apartheid and who came out with a lot of compassion and reconciliation,” he says.

Take the concept of freedom.

In Western political philosophy, Wingo says, freedom is often defined as the absence of interference or constraint. But he says that idea doesn’t translate well into many African contexts.

“The African perspective on freedom is the presence of the right kind of associations. The presence of the community, of belonging. The more you belong, the more you are associated with people, the more freedom you have,” Wingo explains.

He says this contrast extends to views on politics, citizenship and even the role of blood and kinship in shaping identity. Where Western models may emphasize choice, contract and individual rights, African perspectives tend to view community as organic and identity as inherited.

“Politics from the African perspective has always been about … these bounded people in this place with a story, real or imagined, deciding for themselves how they should live,” Wingo says.

By bringing these frameworks into the conversation, he hopes to “humanize” politics and offer new ways of asking questions that might help us understand global and regional challenges. However, he warns that conversation can only happen when philosophers are willing to look outward.

“Philosophy itself is a kind of death when it is inward looking,” Wingo says. “Some of the time I worry that philosophy is becoming like a ghetto … a bunch of people sitting around talking among themselves about themselves.”

“You miss a lot when you’re inward looking, when you keep asking the same thing over and over again. And you gain a lot when you open up to the rest of the world.”

He believes true philosophical vitality comes when thinkers “communicate across the mighty mountains and across the vast oceans,” adding, “That’s philosophy at its best.”

Becoming a bridge

For now, Wingo hopes his appointment at Nelson Mandela University can serve as a bridge, both for his own work and for the CU ��ý�� community. He’s already planning faculty and student exchanges between the two institutions as well as an international symposium and conferences in both Colorado and South Africa.

“Even just the idea of me being there is exciting. Many people will learn about CU ��ý�� because of me and will get to hear a new perspective on philosophy,” he says.

That kind of cross-cultural exchange is good for the discipline, helping to shape the ideas born of those who practice it.

“To learn about your culture, you should make it foreign to you by learning about the cultures of other people,” Wingo says, paraphrasing Aristotle. “And in that way, you learn about your culture, not just the cultures of other people.”

In a world facing increasingly global challenges, Wingo believes that philosophers must rise to the moment. He says asking bold questions, ones that defy norms and societal comforts, is the only way we can overcome today’s biggest obstacles.

“You miss a lot when you’re inward looking, when you keep asking the same thing over and over again,” he says, “And you gain a lot when you open up to the rest of the world.”

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Associate Professor Ajume Wingo was recently appointed as a research associate at the Center for Philosophy in Africa at Nelson Mandela University, a recognition of his decades of scholarship.

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Sanctuary brims with happy tales (and tails)

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 02 Dec 2025 14:30:00 +0000

Sanctuary brims with happy tales (and tails) Rachel Sauer Tue, 12/02/2025 - 07:30

Clint Talbott

Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary, founded and run by CU ��ý�� alumna Jess Osborne and her husband, CU ��ý�� Professor Myles Osborne, gives unwanted or neglected animals a safe, comfortable forever home

Why did this chicken cross the road? No one knew. And this was no joke.

Late last month, the chicken was strutting on Magnolia Road in the mountains near Nederland—a place inhabited by coyotes, fox and other canines. Three passersby stopped to help, and, together, they captured the bird by wrapping it in a shirt, whereupon one good Samaritan drove the bird to Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary.

Friends of the sanctuary posted the news to the local Facebook group, called Nedheads, hoping to find the chicken’s owner. No one claimed the bird.

Myles (left) and Jess Osborn founded Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary to rescue "unwanted and discarded animals and provide them with high-quality food and medical care to live out their natural lives.” (Photos: Clint Talbott)

It’s possible that the chicken wandered away from its home, through the forest, to this road. It’s also possible that the bird, which appears to be a rooster, was dumped on the side of the road because it won’t produce eggs. (Discarding roosters is common.)

Jess and Myles Osborne, who founded the sanctuary, have adopted the rooster and named it Chamonix, after the resort town in France. Like his namesake, Chamonix is striking, but why name a bird after a town? Thereby hangs a tale.

Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit launched in 2021 by Jess, who graduated in 2005 from the ��ý�� with degrees in communication and fine arts, and Myles, CU ��ý�� associate professor of history.

The sanctuary, just south of Magnolia Road west of ��ý��, aims to rescue “unwanted and discarded animals and provide them with high-quality food and medical care to live out their natural lives.”

On the sanctuary’s 23-acre parcel, more than two-dozen animals—horses, pigs, goats, ducks, dogs, plus a cat, yak, donkey, turkey and, now, chicken—enjoy lives they otherwise would not have had.

And an oink-oink here…

Consider the pigs, named Bolton and Berlin, which a friend of the Osbornes noticed wandering on another roadside near Nederland. The pigs had broken out of their home because they were starving and didn’t have water, and their owner gave the OK to take the pigs. Bolton and Berlin now sleep, snort and snuffle, in the sanctuary’s loving embrace.

Each animal has a backstory.

Wilbur, a dog named for Wilbur, Washington, came to the sanctuary after his foster family refused to put him down, against the advice of three veterinarians, to join his biological brother, Ziggy, named after Zagazig, Egypt.

Chamonix the (suspected) rooster came to Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary in October after being found strutting alone on Magnolia Road near Nederland; attempts to find an owner were unsuccessful.

The brothers were both born with the same neurological disorder. Wilbur also has a dog version of Wilson’s disease, which makes him retain excessive amounts of copper. He takes medicine to remove copper from his blood.

Wilbur was in a wheelchair but now can walk, though unsteadily. Ziggy suffers from spells resembling seizures that prevented him from walking or standing at least 30 times a day. He often had to be carried.

Wilbur and Ziggy are clearly happy, though, and Jess dubs them the “wiggle brothers.”

Talkeetna (Alaska), a yak usually called “Tallie,” was born prematurely and was unlikely to survive. She was donated to the sanctuary, which took her to Colorado State University and gave her a shot at survival. These days, Tallie is hale and hearty and hangs around with the goats. She seems to enjoy gently headbutting people who walk by.

London and Brooklyn are mini horses who had been awfully neglected. Both had severely overgrown hooves when they were rescued from a kill pen at auction. Brooklyn had suffered some kind of trauma when she was younger, and her left eye has been removed once at Tails to give her the same standard of care as humans and dogs.

Both mini horses love being taken for walks and chomping as much roadside grass as possible in the broad meadow that sits under a stunning vista featuring James Peak, South and North Arapahoe Peaks.

A herd of elk often gathers nearby, drawing curious glances from many of the animals, perhaps none more than Rio, a 2,000-pound draft horse whose head is higher than the eaves of the sanctuary.

Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary provides a loving home and high-quality care to animals in need and creates a welcoming place for humans to experience the love, joy and healing of connecting with animals.

When Tails adopted her from a rescue in Montana, Rio had a crooked foot and still needed extensive veterinary care to make sure she was comfortable and could walk comfortably. Now, she’s playful and mischievous, sometimes inadvertently crushing pieces of the aluminum fencing around the horses’ area.

Animals soothe the human psyche

Jess Osborne has always loved animals. As a kid in Gunbarrel, she collected the critters her mother could afford (and their home could accommodate): frogs, geckos, chickens and dogs.

Animals helped her feel better, much better. She has grappled with ADHD and anxiety since childhood. As she speaks, her focus can drift into several sometimes-related topics.

Jess Osborne with Tallie the yak (left) and Darwin the dog.

But focusing on animals is no problem. “Even though I can’t remember history or make it through any of Myles’ books without falling asleep, when it comes to medicines and animal care and stuff like that, I go down the hyper-focusing tunnel,” she told The Colorado Sun.

And the animals helped other people, too, Jess noticed. Nine years ago, when she was working at a nursing and memory-care facility in ��ý��, Jess brought her dogs Dublin and Brisbane. The residents loved the dogs.

After adopting Brisbane and Dublin, who died in 2023, Jess and Myles adopted a bunny and, later, the mini horses.

This was the seed of an idea: Elderly people often can’t care for (or aren’t allowed to have) pets. Unwanted and abused animals need forever homes where they can live their best lives. And rescued animals can bring comfort and joy to people who—for many reasons—don’t have animals in their lives.

This was true for Jess’ grandmother, whom Jess and Myles took care of and who died in 2021. It was also true for a neighbor’s boy, who was on the autism spectrum.

He rode and brushed the horses to build core strength and fine motor skills. Occupational and physical therapists have shown that movement and interaction with horses can improve physical, cognitive and emotional well-being in people with varying conditions.

In the career world, Jess had not found her place, but launching an animal sanctuary was her calling. She and Myles bought the sanctuary’s current home, which is large enough to allow the sanctuary to help more animals and humans. There, they have room for large horses and the rest of the menagerie.

But what to call the sanctuary? Happy Tails wasn’t quite right. Given Myles’ extensive travel and his English background, Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary seemed to fit, even though the place is not Dickensian.

The name reflects the fact that both Jess and Myles love to read and travel.

Of course, the place, which had been a regular home with a two-car garage and a large deck, had to be converted to serve its primary residents, the animals. The garage was turned into a barn, and an additional shelter for the goats was built adjacent to the newly fashioned barn.

Myles Osborne with several of the eight goats, who often lounge on the sunny deck and fall asleep, snoring.

A sunny enclosure next to the deck serves as a warm spot for the pigs and sometimes the eight goats, who often lounge on the sunny deck and fall asleep, snoring.

Below the deck, the chicken, Chamonix, the newest feathered child, and ducks (Louise, Abe and Albie, after Lake Louise and Lake Abraham, Canada, and Lake Albert, Uganda) have their own petite house called the Duck Tails Saloon, which resembles an Old West bar, next to a small fenced area.

Jess, Myles and sanctuary volunteers build and mend fences, string electric fencing (which keeps big horses in and bears out), fashion goat playgrounds, and spend their days raking muck, preparing special food for two-dozen different palates and attending to the animals’ medical needs.

Being as bold as your dreams

It’s a lot of work and, no doubt, a fair amount of stress. As he talks about this, however, Myles’ demeanor remains steady and calm, just as it does when he discusses the history of colonialism in Africa, the necessary steps to refashion a horse fence or his attempted climb of Mount Everest, which he abandoned in the “death zone” to save a man’s life.

Myles suggests that the decision to start a sanctuary was a no-brainer:

“If you have a dream and something that you are excited about, you have to lean into it. And if you are in your early 40s and financially secure, if you're not gonna do it, then when are you gonna do it?”

He observes: “I do think that generally when people are brave and people lean into things that seem intimidating, it works itself out. … And why not be brave? Why not go for it? And it clearly is Jess’ passion in life. It's what she was put on the earth to do, very clearly. So it wasn't that tough of a decision.

“Now, keeping the numbers reasonable is a bit more of an ongoing conversation,” he adds. There are bills for veterinarians, racks of hay, tons of animal feed, walls of sawdust (for sleeping and padding) and more. The operation is 40% self-funded (down from 70% self-funded last year).

But it’s worth it, they say.

The couple still visit elder-care facilities in which there will be 25 or 30 people in wheelchairs in a circle. “And we just release 2,000 pounds of goats and yak and the dogs. And they all know exactly how to behave, how careful they need to be. And (the animals) will walk around the circle, they will greet everybody, everyone pets them.”

Tallie the yak was born prematurely and given scant odds of survival, but these days she is hale and hearty and hangs around with the goats. She seems to enjoy gently headbutting people who walk by.

Myles also relates a story about a blind woman who came to the sanctuary and walked onto the deck. Goats quickly crowded around her. The woman petted them and marveled aloud that four goats were pressing into her.

Myles told her there were actually six goats. Goats (seeking treats) can become pushy around fully able-bodied people, but they took it easy on this visitor.

“And then we said to her that there has actually been a 500-pound yak who has been two yards away from you for the past 15 minutes, who clearly understands that you have some issue that she's not familiar with and she's holding back and she's waiting.”

The animals, he adds, “understand instinctively when people are old or disabled or young or blind or something, they get it.” And for the woman, the experience was “profound.”

The next horizon

Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary has more its leaders hope to do. Chief among them is to build a “proper” barn that has more room for the animals, whose design facilitates feeding, cleaning, visitors’ experiences and volunteers’ work.

While that’s on the horizon, more immediate tasks remain. On a recent evening, Myles and three volunteers worked to rearrange and refashion the fence that keeps the horses from wandering away and separates the minis from the large horses and Murphy, the donkey.

As Myles worked here and there, tools usually in hand, Stanley, the turkey (named for Istanbul), followed Myles around.

Stanley came from a backyard homestead whose owners didn’t have the heart to slaughter him. And no wonder. Jess describes him as “the friendliest turkey on Earth.”

Stanley’s gobble, a cheerful trilling song, often punctuates the background sounds of barks, whinnies, bleats, clucks and snorts. Stanley tends to follow people around the sanctuary.

With Myles in the horse pen, Stanley performed some “turkey dances,” with Myles’ gentle encouragement and praise.

So there they were, human and animal, working and strutting, talking and gobbling. Two tales as one.

Learn more about Tails of Two Cities Sanctuary at this link.

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Rosa Parks: 70 years beyond the bus seat—a lifetime of activism

Julie Chiron — Mon, 01 Dec 2025 18:14:17 +0000

Rosa Parks: 70 years beyond the bus seat—a lifetime of activism Julie Chiron Mon, 12/01/2025 - 11:14

Bradley Worrell

CU ��ý�� historian Ashleigh Lawrence-Sanders delineates misperceptions surrounding ‘the mother of the Civil Rights Movement’ and the Montgomery Bus Boycott while highlighting Parks’ enduring legacy

When people hear the name Rosa Parks, they likely picture a quiet, tired, older African American seamstress who refused to give up her seat to a white patron on a Montgomery, Alabama, bus on Dec. 1, 1955.

Ashleigh Lawrence-Sanders

But as ��ý�� historian Ashleigh Lawrence-Sanders explains, 70 years after Parks’ act of civil disobedience—and the Civil Rights Movement it helped ignite—there is a lot Americans tend to get wrong about that defining moment, which she says is far more complex, courageous and enduring.

“Many people still think of her as a tired seamstress and an old lady, but she was just 42 years old, she was the secretary of the local NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Colored People) chapter and she had been politically active in campaigns previously,” says Lawrence-Sanders, a Department of History assistant professor who specializes in African American history, including the Civil Rights Movement.

Notably, Parks was not the first Black person to be arrested for violating Montgomery’s segregated bus seating rules, Lawrence-Sanders says. She explains that civil rights activists had been looking for a test case to initiate a city-wide boycott to push for integration of the bus system and Parks was deemed a promising candidate.

“In class, I tell my students why Rosa Parks was chosen—because she was considered a respectable older woman who was married. Also, although she grew up in a working-class family and worked as a seamstress, she had completed high school, which was a rare achievement for Black Southerners then,” Lawrence-Sanders says. “There were teenage girls like Claudette Colvin who had been arrested before but weren’t chosen because, unfortunately, movement leaders did not view them as the right public face for a court challenge.”

Arrest prompts the Montgomery Bus Boycott

Rosa Parks was arrested on Dec. 1, 1955, in Montgomery, Alabama.

Days after Parks’ arrest, Black leaders in Montgomery organized a city bus boycott. On Dec. 5, 1955, about 40,000 Black bus riders—representing the majority of the city’s bus commuters—boycotted the city transit system.

Seven decades after the bus boycott, Lawrence-Sanders says many people don’t fully appreciate the herculean task of organizing the endeavor, the sacrifices it required and its duration. She says that when she asks her history students to guess how long the bus boycott lasted, they typically say about a few weeks or a month. In truth, it lasted 381 days.

There also tends to be a misperception that the bus boycott was a spur-of-the-moment act—but that was not the case, Lawrence-Sanders says.

Black leaders working for civil rights in Montgomery had been waiting for an opportunity to challenge the city’s segregated bus system—and after Parks’ arrest, they leapt into action with astonishing speed—all without email, social media or other modern technologies. Flyers were printed and distributed by hand by the Montgomery Women’s Political Council, and churches became organizing hubs.

“The Montgomery boycott was planned—not spontaneous,” Lawrence-Sanders says. “Activists were organized and strategic.”

Organizers established vast carpool systems that operated as shadow transit networks, but many Black men and women trudged on foot for miles to and from work every day rather than use the city’s segregated bus system, Lawrence-Sanders says. In some cases, wealthy white women offered rides to their Black domestic workers, which sparked some controversy within Montgomery’s white community, she notes.

And while leaders were chosen for the movement, including a young Martin Luther King Jr., decisions were democratic: at mass meetings, ordinary citizens voted to continue the boycott despite the challenges, Lawrence-Sanders says.

“There are obviously people who are considered leaders of the movement, but ordinary people in the community are making these sacrifices to try to overturn a really unjust system,” she adds.

Montgomery amid the broader struggle for civil rights

Lawrence-Sanders says it’s important to understand the Montgomery bus boycott in the scope of the larger Civil Rights Movement in the 1950s.

“At the time, we’re just about one year in time removed from the Brown vs. The Board case, which sets off initial school desegregation battles. In my African American history course, I try to make clear (the idea) that ‘The Supreme Court decides it, but it is not decided,’” she says. “There is not a single moment where all of the schools in the South have abandoned segregation; there are multiple local battles for the next two decades or so.”

“We know from images at the time how violent some of those battles became in Little Rock, Arkansas, and in Mississippi and other places.

And then, just months before the Montgomery Bus Boycott began, Emmett Till, a 14-year-old Black boy from Chicago was abducted and lynched after allegedly flirting with a young white woman while visiting family in rural Mississippi, in violation of Southern societal norms at the time.

The brutality of Till’s slaying and the acquittal of the men charged with his murder drew international attention to the long history of lynching in the South in particular, Lawrence-Sanders says. What’s more, Till’s murder laid bare the limitations of U.S. democracy at a time when the United States was engaged in a Cold War with the Soviet Union, where America was portraying itself as the home of liberty and justice, she adds.

“I think the Cold War context is really important, as international media actually picks up what is happening in the United States surrounding the lynchings and murder of Black people and Black children,” Lawrence-Sanders says. “Emmett’s mother’s decision to have an open casket to show what happened to him is a turning point, I think, for some people who may have been unaware of the brutality of the violence of the Jim Crow South.

“The fact that the men that are charged with his murder are acquitted was not a surprise to most people who were familiar with the Jim Crow legal system, but it may have been shocking to those people seeing it for the first time.”

It was against that backdrop that civil rights activists pushed for desegregated busing in Montgomery, often facing intimidation, violence and arrests, Lawrence-Sanders notes. It bears mentioning 70 years later that there was no guarantee their efforts would ultimately prove successful, she adds.

Victory in Montgomery comes at a cost

Handwritten reflections from Rosa Parks on her arrest.
Click to see full document.

On June 5, 1956, a Montgomery federal court ruled that any law requiring racially segregated seating on buses violated the 14th Amendment to the Constitution, which guarantees all citizens—regardless of race—equal rights under state and federal laws. The city appealed that ruling, but on Dec. 20, 1956, the Supreme Court upheld the lower court’s ruling.

Montgomery’s buses were officially integrated the next day.

Lawrence-Sanders says the success of the Montgomery boycott is now seen as one of the first successful mass protests on behalf of civil rights in the United States, setting the stage for successive actions to bring about legal protections for African Americans. It also resulted in Martin Luther King Jr. becoming a national civil rights leader and solidifying his commitment to nonviolent resistance, she notes.

At the same time, Lawrence-Sanders says it’s important to recognize that there was a cost to be paid for the people who participated in the Civil Rights Movement.

“Activism was never glamorous, protests like sit-ins were disruptive and unpopular at the time,” she says. “Activists faced danger and hostility. We praise them now, but they weren’t celebrated then. We fail to recognize that many people involved in the Civil Rights Movement either died young or struggled for the rest of their lives.”

A number of civil rights leaders had their homes bombed or were killed for their activism, including King. As for Parks, she and her husband moved to Detroit in 1957 after they both lost their jobs and she received death threats.

“She never stops being an activist, though,” Lawrence-Sanders says. “She was involved in the Black Power movement in Detroit, in the anti-apartheid movement and pan-African causes well into the 1980s and 1990s. Like a lot of activists then and now, Rosa Parks protested segregation, sexual violence, unjust imprisonment and apartheid; she understood that solving one issue didn’t end the struggle.”

Parks was later recognized for her efforts, receiving the Congressional Gold Medal in 1992—the highest honor the nation bestows on citizens. At the same time, Lawrence-Sanders says that Parks spent her last years in near poverty, living in a modest Detroit apartment and at one point facing eviction before a rich benefactor came to her aid.

An enduring legacy for civil rights

Lawrence-Sanders says that when she teaches students about the Civil Rights Movement, she instructs them to avoid the trap of seeing those leaders one-dimensionally, in that one moment of their lives.

“History tends to freeze these activists in these celebrated moments, like Rosa Parks in 1955—but she lived for 50 more years and never stopped being an activist,” Lawrence-Sanders says. “The most important part of Rosa Parks’ legacy is her long life of activism—not just the one act we all know about. She made a decision that ignited one of the most important acts of civil disobedience in U.S. history—and then she kept fighting for justice for five decades more.”

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Rosa Parks was arrested, fingerprinted and briefly jailed for "refusing to obey orders of a bus driver."

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Why Skinner Myers isn’t chasing Hollywood glory

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 19 Nov 2025 14:30:00 +0000

Why Skinner Myers isn’t chasing Hollywood glory Rachel Sauer Wed, 11/19/2025 - 07:30

Cody DeBos

The CU ��ý�� Cinema Studies and Moving Image Arts assistant professor is finding success as an independent filmmaker

When Skinner Myers shoots a movie, he doesn’t need a Hollywood backlot, a multi-million-dollar budget or even a month-long shooting schedule. For Myers, a career in film isn’t about glitz and glam. It’s an opportunity to tell stories he’s passionate about while adhering to a moral code.

That dedication to his craft has carried him on a lengthy path full of unexpected twists to who he is today: an award-winning filmmaker and recipient of the prestigious Amplifier Fellowship.

“I submitted an original pilot and I got selected. It’s really opened up my network to individuals that I probably could reach as … an indie filmmaker professor,” Myers says of the opportunity. “So, it’s been good. The timing has been really good.”

Skinner Myers, a CU ��ý�� assistant professor of cinema studies and moving image arts, recently received an Amplifier Fellowship from Film Independent.

He’s currently in the middle of two projects, including Tragic Boogie, a pro-wrestling crime drama, and a feature film called Mood Swing Whiskey.

“We shot the latter in March of this year in Los Angeles during CU’s spring break. It’s a slow-cinema, avant-garde horror thriller shot on black-and-white Super 16 film,” he says.

Earlier this year, another of Myers’ films premiered at the Berlin Critics Week film festival and was quickly picked up by a distributor, with a release planned for 2026.

But for Myers, an assistant professor of cinema studies and moving image arts at the ��ý��, these are more than artistic milestones. He sees each one as proof that it’s still possible to make bold, personal work outside the traditional Hollywood system.

Rewriting his own script

Myers didn’t originally set out to be a filmmaker. In fact, he spent much of his early career pursuing gigs on the other side of the camera.

“I was originally an actor, starting at the age of 18,” he says.

He moved to New York City to study acting, performed in off-Broadway plays and started a band. After 9/11, he relocated to Los Angeles in search of commercial work but found the industry disheartening.

“I got quickly disillusioned with the idea of making it as an actor,” Myers recalls.

Rather than ending the story there, Myers decided to pick up the camera for himself. He began experimenting with documentaries, including a self-financed trip to Uganda to shoot a vérité-style doc in the slums of Kampala.

“After that, I applied to film school, which was a big change for me, because this entire time I was an actor, I didn’t know much about filming,” he says.

“I remember one of the teachers who had seen my feature doc during the admissions process asked me, ‘Why do you want to come to film school? You’re already making films.’ At the time I didn’t really understand the question, which I do now, but I wanted connections, so I went anyway,” he adds.

After stints in graduate school, work on the TV series True Detective, and a job teaching film to middle and high schoolers, Myers began producing short films on the side. Eventually, he landed a full-time role at Loyola Marymount University, which allowed him to finance his first feature, The Sleeping Negro, shot in just six days and on a $40,000 budget.

The film went on to play at Slamdance in 2021, receive coverage in the Los Angeles Times, and score a 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes after being screened in 20 countries.

Filmmaker Skinner Myers shot his film The Sleeping Negro in just six days and on a $40,000 budget. It went on to play at Slamdance in 2021, receive coverage in the Los Angeles Times and score a 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes after being screened in 20 countries. (Photo: Josiah Myers)

“It won lots of awards, and that was when I started to apply for tenure-track positions outside of LA, just because LA was really expensive for my growing family,” Myers said.

His momentum carried him to ��ý�� and gave him the confidence to keep shooting films.

A radical approach to independent cinema

Myers is committed to a filmmaking approach he describes as deeply personal, politically intentional and structurally independent.

“One of the things that makes my approach unique is the lack of resources I’ve had,” he says. “I’ve never had more than six days to make a feature.”

Efficiency—often forced by that lack of resources—is reflected in his poignant, narrative-driving scripts and his low shooting ratio. One thing he splurges on is shooting exclusively on film. These decisions are as much logistical as they are part of his larger philosophy on telling a meaningful story, Myers says.

“I’m also a huge fan of the Black radical cinematic traditions that come before me,” he says, citing the influence of Oscar Micheaux, Haile Gerima and Charles Burnett.

“I want to create films that connect the traditions from the ’30s, ’40s, ’50s, ’60s and ’70s to today, because I feel like that bridge has not been connected,” he adds. “These are the things I think about as I’m writing, as I’m thinking through visuals, as I’m thinking about characters, making something that is not only equitable to the crew and cast financially, but is unique in its own way.”

His latest project, Tragic Boogie, is a crime thriller set in the world of professional wrestling.

“We just finished the script on that one. I’m really stoked on it because I think it’s something that, for pro wrestling fans, they’ll totally attach to, but it’s still me and still the type of film I want to make,” Myers says.

Thematically, the film explores how bodies, especially those of Black athletes, are commodified and discarded in entertainment industries.

Myers also sees it as a community project.

“Really, my goal is to make the film here in Denver and really try to bring the local community together and have everyone involved, and even have some students involved,” he says.

Amplifying voices from screen to classroom

Earlier this year, Myers received an Amplifier Fellowship from Film Independent, a nonprofit arts organization that supports emerging filmmakers. The program, sponsored by Netflix, is designed to elevate underrepresented voices in film.

“I try to use my work to show students that, ‘Hey, this is totally doable.’ I try to bring in these real-world experiences as they’re happening to me. And I’m very candid and open with my students."

“It’s been great,” Myers says. “Materialistically, I got financial support. But more importantly, I’ve gotten some new mentors in my life who really understand what I’m trying to do.”

“They have a lot more experience than I do. They’re a lot older. And that’s been really nice, getting some of that wisdom and guidance,” he adds.

The fellowship also has given him precious time. It’s a gift he’s using to write, to collaborate and to think about what kind of artist and educator he wants to be as his career continues to develop.

At CU ��ý��, Myers sees filmmaking and teaching as two parts of a whole. He makes a point to include students in real productions and to demystify the business side of the industry by sharing real stories from his own work and that of his colleagues.

“I try to use my work to show students that, ‘Hey, this is totally doable,’” he says. “I try to bring in these real-world experiences as they’re happening to me. And I’m very candid and open with my students.

“I’ve made three features at this point. I’ve gone through the distribution process (and) the festival process,” he says. “That way, they can see, all right, there’s a way to balance some type of life where you make money and your artistic life.”

Staying true to the story

As for what’s next, Myers is passionate about continuing to create projects that don’t always fit into a press kit.

“I’m not trying to make a Hollywood film; that doesn’t interest me,” he says.

He also encourages young filmmakers to choose their medium with purpose and not to be afraid of change.

“There are a lot of artistic mediums out there other than film,” he says. “So, really know why you need to use that medium to say what you want to say and not something else.”

And if that calling ever changes?

“It’s OK to not do this forever,” he says. “Maybe you say what you want to say in five films. It’s OK to say, ‘OK, I’m going to do something else in my life.’ That’s totally OK.”

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The CU ��ý�� Cinema Studies and Moving Image Arts assistant professor is finding success as an independent filmmaker.

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Top image: Skinner Myers in his film The Sleeping Negro (Photo: Josiah Myers)

CU ��ý�� launches research initiative with Israeli and German partners

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 18 Nov 2025 23:13:49 +0000

CU ��ý�� launches research initiative with Israeli and German partners Rachel Sauer Tue, 11/18/2025 - 16:13

Collaboration between the Department of History, Open University of Israel and Berlin’s Center for Research on Antisemitism brings scholars and graduate students together in joint research

Scholars in the ��ý�� Department of History recently launched a first-of-its-kind international research initiative to bring U.S., Israeli and German graduate students and scholars together to partner on collaborative research.

The partnership is between CU ��ý��, the Open University of Israel (OUI) and the Center for Research on Antisemitism (ZfA) at the Technical University Berlin (TU Berlin), and this semester the three institutions launched a tri-university graduate course on modern German-Jewish ego-documents, or autobiographical writings, team-taught by faculty across all campuses.

The course, which is currently underway, brings together students and professors from the United States, Israel and Germany in a hybrid format that blends synchronous Zoom meetings and asynchronous Canvas Networks coursework with an intensive, eight-day in-person seminar in Berlin that ended last week.

Thomas Pegelow Kaplan (standing, wearing glasses) and students from CU ��ý��, Open University of Israel and the TU Berlin work with ego-documents at the archives of the Jewish Museum Berlin last week. (Photo: Thomas Pegelow Kaplan)

The initiative originated in spring 2024 discussions between Thomas Pegelow Kaplan, professor and Louis P. Singer Endowed Chair in Jewish History, and Guy Miron, OUI vice president for academic affairs and faculty member in the Department of History, Philosophy and Judaic Studies. They envisioned creating a research program that would connect U.S. and Israeli students and scholars through collaborative, cross-cultural study, Pegelow Kaplan says.

He adds that OUI, which was founded in 1974 with an open admissions model and a distance-learning structure intended to democratize access to higher education, is an ideal research partner because it serves one of Israel’s most diverse student populations, ranging from ultra-Orthodox Jewish communities to Druze and Israeli Arabs. In the wake of the upheavals following October 7, 2023, he says, this diversity made OUI an especially compelling partner for a project aimed not only at academic cooperation but also at fostering understanding among students from different backgrounds.

The CU ��ý�� Graduate School and Department of History were early champions of the partnership, Pegelow Kaplan says, and discussions soon expanded a dual partnership between CU ��ý�� and OUI to include the ZfA at TU Berlin. Established in 1982 and rooted in a university founded in 1770, the ZfA is one of the world’s leading centers for the study of antisemitism. Its recent launch of an interdisciplinary MA program added further momentum to the emerging partnership, Pegelow Kaplan says.

Expanding a research network

A key piece of the initiative is the recently completed in-person seminar in Berlin, which is home to Germany’s largest Jewish community and is a global center for Jewish and Holocaust studies and served “as a living classroom,” Pegelow Kaplan says. Participants worked directly with archives and institutions, including the Jewish Museum Berlin and the New Synagogue Berlin–Centrum Judaicum. Students met with leading scholars, archivists, memory activists, city officials and Jewish community representatives for learning and broad-ranging discussion.

The seminar coincided with Germany’s annual commemoration of the November 1938 anti-Jewish pogroms, also known as Kristallnacht —events that marked a turning point in the Nazi regime’s persecution of Jews. Students served as “participatory observers,” analyzing contemporary memory practices during the commemorations as part of their research.

The CU ��ý�� Department of History, Graduate School, Research and Innovation Office and Benson Center, as well as several new donors who joined the trip as auditors, contributed to student travel costs for the Berlin seminar.

Pegelow Kaplan emphasizes that the Berlin seminar was the first step of many. Plans are already underway for future course offerings, an international conference in Berlin in June 2026, expanded research trips—including, once conditions allow, to Jerusalem—and broader disciplinary participation extending beyond the humanities and social sciences into fields such as engineering.

The initiative also aims to establish exchange pathways to bring Israeli and German students and faculty to ��ý�� and to send CU affiliates abroad for both short- and long-term stays. More ambitious possibilities, including joint degree programs, are being explored, Pegelow Kaplan says.

Throughout its development, the project has remained closely aligned with CU ��ý��’s mission, he says, to be “a global research and education leader intent on transforming individuals, communities and the entire human experience.”

As this international partnership grows, Pegelow Kaplan says he and his colleagues in Israel and Germany are aiming to make it not only a model of collaborative scholarship but also an avenue for fostering meaningful connections among students navigating a rapidly changing world.

Professor G. Miron (left, gray jacket) of Open University/Yad Vashem introduces students to the most pertinent debates at the House of the Wannsee Conference Memorial in Berlin. (Photo: Thomas Pegelow Kaplan)

Program participants at the Gleis 17 Memorial in Berlin, which commemorates the 50,000 Berlin Jews deported to their death in the East. (Photo: Thomas Pegelow Kaplan)

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Collaboration between the Department of History, Open University of Israel and Berlin’s Center for Research on Antisemitism brings scholars and graduate students together in joint research.

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Top image: CU ��ý�� MA students working with archival collections at the Centrum Judaicum in Berlin. (Photo: Thomas Pegelow Kaplan)

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