Books

Loriliai Biernacki wins American Academy of Religion Book Award

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 11 Nov 2024 20:46:32 +0000

Loriliai Biernacki wins American Academy of Religion Book Award Rachel Sauer Mon, 11/11/2024 - 13:46

The award jury called Biernacki’s 2023 book, The Matter of Wonder: Abhinavagupta's Panentheism and the New Materialism, ‘both striking and original’

Loriliai Biernacki, professor of religious studies at the University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder, is one of this year’s winners of the American Academy of Religion Book Award (AAR).

The group’s annual award “recognizes new scholarly publications that make significant contributions to the study of religion,” according to the award announcement. Biernacki’s book, The Matter of Wonder: Abhinavagupta's Panentheism and the New Materialism, published by Oxford University Press, won in the category of constructive-reflective studies, beating out five other finalists.

“Loriliai Biernacki makes a fascinating case for the contemporary relevance of Abhinavagupta’s 11th-century Indian philosophy,” the AAR jury said. “By analyzing wonder (camatkāra) as rooted in the material rather than in a cognitive faculty, The Matter of Wonder is both striking and original in its approach. The links she draws with viruses and AI in particular make this work pertinent and fresh.”

A faculty member at ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder since 2000, Biernacki researches Hinduism, gender, New Materialism and the religion-science interface. She’s published dozens of book chapters and journal articles, as well as two other books: God's Body: Panentheism across the World's Religious Traditions and Renowned Goddess of Desire: Women, Sex and Speech in Tantra, the latter of which won the Kayden Award in 2008.

"As I was working on this book, reading these medieval Sanskrit authors, I found myself continually marveling at how prescient and cogent these medieval Indian thinkers were, so it felt very important to be able to connect us today to the thought of these writers so many centuries ago," Biernacki says. "Also, feel fortunate to be at the University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ, which has been supportive of my work here."

Biernacki’s fellow recipients this year include Sinem Arcak Casale, Elizabeth O’Brien, Molly Farneth, Carlos Eire, Mbaye Lo and Carl W. Ernst.

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The award jury called Biernacki’s 2023 book, The Matter of Wonder: Abhinavagupta's Panentheism and the New Materialism, ‘both striking and original.’

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Flying with the man behind the capes

Anonymous — Wed, 18 Sep 2024 18:44:03 +0000

Flying with the man behind the capes Anonymous (not verified) Wed, 09/18/2024 - 12:44

Doug McPherson

ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder alumnus Patrick Hamilton discusses his new book on influential comic book artist George Pérez during Hispanic Heritage Month

When alumnus Patrick Hamilton was growing up, he, like many kids, found comfort in comic books. “I’m an almost lifelong comics fan, and specifically a fan of ‘Avengers’,” Hamilton says.

As Hamilton continued enjoying comics and learning more about the people behind them, he eventually came across the name George Pérez. It’s a name you may not immediately recognize, and that’s a key point Hamilton makes in his new book, George Pérez, which hit shelves earlier this year.

“The main argument of the book [is] that Pérez had a larger impact on comics than he’s generally been given credit for,” says Hamilton, an English professor at Misericordia University in Pennsylvania who earned his PhD in English at the University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder in 2006.

ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder alumnus Patrick Hamilton (PhDEngl'06), a lifelong comics fan, highlighted the groundbreaking work of Marvel Comics and DC Comics artist George Pérez in an eponymous new biography.

But in the comic book world, the name George Pérez and his work turn heads—not just for his impact on the art, style and story structure of comics, but because he was one of the first Hispanic artists to become a major name in the industry and helped pave the way for greater diversity in the field.

Pérez, who worked both as an artist and writer starting in the 1970s, played a significant role in blockbuster series such as Fantastic Four and The Avengers for Marvel Comics. In the 1980s, he created The New Teen Titans, which became a top-selling series for publisher DC Comics. And he developed DC Comic's landmark limited series Crisis on Infinite Earths, followed by relaunching Wonder Woman.

Hamilton says Pérez is also “pretty synonymous” with large event titles, most prominently DC Comic’s Superman revamp in 2011 and Marvel’s Infinity Gauntlet.

“And he developed a reputation for a dynamic and hyper-detailed style, particularly in terms of the number of characters and details he’d put into a page, that was highly regarded and ultimately influential in the … 1970s and 1980s and beyond.”

Hamilton says he sees his book as attempting to expand Pérez’s legacy.

“Despite his acclaim and prominence, he hasn’t really been seen as an artist that contributed to the style and genre of comics in ways artists before him … are seen,” he says. “I argue in the book that Pérez made contributions to the style of comics, not only in the layout of the page and what effects that could achieve, but especially in his way of building what we would call the story world around the characters, where he embraced the possibilities for the fantastic within comics.”

Paving the way

The book also speaks to Pérez’s interest in representations of race, disability and gender, the latter of which Hamilton says Pérez consciously strove to improve in his art over his career.

Artist George Pérez was reknown for his work with both DC Comics and Marvel Comics. (Photos: DC Comics, left, and Marvel Comics, right)

Hamilton adds that he believes a lot of other Black, Indigenous and artists of color working today likely see Pérez as “an influence and as carving out a space” for them within the industry.

“I think you can look at the significant number of Hispanic and Latinx creators working in comics today—many of them as artists—and see them as following, in some cases quite consciously, in Pérez’s footsteps.”

He adds that Pérez did much to help define the look and feel of modern superhero comics in the 1970s and 1980s, as did another Latino artist, José Luis García-López.

“Garcia-Lopez, who, among other things, created the official reference artwork for DC Comics that is still much in use today. So, you have two Latino creators working in the late 20th century, when the comic book industry was even more predominantly white than it is today, and shaping the look of it.”

Hamilton says one of the more interesting findings about Pérez that meshes with how Pérez has been overlooked is a kind of “invisibility or transparency” in his art.

“It [his art] is never meant to overshadow and … is always in service to the story or narrative. What surprised me is how much this was a conscious choice on Pérez’s part, that he never wanted his art to draw attention to itself in a way that was detrimental to the overall storytelling. It’s kind of ironic, and … surprising, because Pérez does have one of the most recognizable styles in comics, but his goal as an artist was always to do what’s best for the realization of the story first.”

Perez died in 2022 at age 67. You can see examples of his Marvel Comics art here and his DC Comics art here.

Top image: A group scene of DC Comics characters drawn by George Pérez (Photo: DC Comics)

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ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder alumnus Patrick Hamilton discusses his new book on influential comic book artist George Pérez during Hispanic Heritage Month.

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Professor Mary Rippon led a secret, separate life

Anonymous — Tue, 17 Sep 2024 21:31:39 +0000

Professor Mary Rippon led a secret, separate life Anonymous (not verified) Tue, 09/17/2024 - 15:31

Silvia Pettem

In book, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder alumnus Silvia Pettem details a little-known chapter of the trailblazing faculty member's story

As a student at the University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ, I often passed through the Mary Rippon Outdoor Theater on the way to my classes. I had assumed Rippon was a woman associated with the theater department, but that was not so. I later learned that she had arrived in Boulder in 1878 and became the university's first female professor. After her death in 1935, then-President George Norlin named the theater (then under construction) in her memory.

Publicly, "Miss Rippon" was highly respected by students and faculty. However, unknown to Norlin and the others, she had a secret private life that would have been considered scandalous, had she not hidden her husband and daughter behind a Victorian veil of secrecy.

The long-concealed truth was revealed in 1986 when an elderly man donated Rippon's diaries, account books, and journals to the university's archives. He was Rippon's grandson and revealed that she had had a romantic relationship with one of her students, became pregnant in 1888, secretly married, and took a year's sabbatical in Germany to give birth.

ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder alumnus and historian Silvia Pettem (left) wrote Separate Lives about a little-known chapter in the life of influential ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder Professor Mary Rippon, namesake of the campus theater.

At the time, there was no rule concerning teacher-student relationships, as it never occurred to anyone to implement one. Rippon was 37, and her husband, Will Housel, was 25. When the baby, Miriam, was born, Housel was still at ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ in his senior year.

After graduation, Housel joined his wife and daughter in Europe before Rippon returned to Boulder and continued to teach as if nothing in her life had changed. Housel and Miriam remained in Europe, where he attended graduate school. Initially, Miriam was placed in a series of orphanages. At the age of 4, she was taken to Rippon's extended family in Illinois.

At the time, Victorian-era society expected women with children to be supported by their husbands. If a professional woman married, she would have been accused of taking a job away from a man with a family to support. Rippon had to completely separate her public and private lives in order to keep her job. She continued to teach for 20 more years.

As a revered pioneer woman educator, Rippon appears to have valued career over family, but she may have, instead, realized that she needed to work to financially provide for her daughter's care.

Eventually, Rippon and Housel divorced. Housel remarried when Miriam was 8 years old and provided his daughter a home, but he lacked an adequate income. On a salary less than her male colleagues, Rippon continued to support her daughter, as well as her divorced husband, his second wife, and, eventually, their four children!

Meanwhile, Rippon was a role model for her female students, a full professor, and even chair of the Department of German language and literature. Except for confiding in two close friends, she took her secret to her grave in Boulder's Columbia Cemetery.

For decades, the only tangible evidence on the ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ campus of Rippon's secret life was ivy that Housel had planted outside of Old Main, where Rippon held her classes. His sentiment was obvious in a poem he penned his senior year that read in part, "But the ivy is for friendship and it seemeth best of all; 'tis the rose of love and petals that will never fade or fall."

Silvia Pettem’s In Retrospect column appears once a month in the Daily Camera, where this first appeared. She can be reached at silviapettem@gmail.com. She will be signing copies of Separate Lives: Uncovering the Hidden Family of Victorian Professor Mary Rippon (Lyons Press, 2024) at the Boulder Bookstore on Oct. 22.

In book, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder alumnus Silvia Pettem details a little-known chapter of the trailblazing faculty member's story.

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For medieval Iberian queens, love was a dangerous sickness

Anonymous — Tue, 13 Aug 2024 22:45:41 +0000

For medieval Iberian queens, love was a dangerous sickness Anonymous (not verified) Tue, 08/13/2024 - 16:45

Blake Puscher

In a newly published history of the region’s female monarchs, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder scholar shows the connections between love, grief and madness

Like many of their royal European counterparts of the time, the medieval queens of Spain and Portugal often married for politics, but rarely for love.

Instead, their marriages generally embodied the political intrigue facilitated by personal relationships in hereditary monarchical power structures. During a time of religious conflicts between Christian and Muslim kingdoms, as well as cultural and philosophical developments spurred by the rediscovery of Aristotle, their marriages were more political maneuvering than swooning.

And even when love was involved, it rarely ended well.

Núria Silleras-Fernández

In a newly published exploration of emotion and political power in the medieval Iberian Peninsula, which is composed largely of peninsular Spain and continental Portugal, University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder scholar Núria Silleras-Fernández, a professor of Spanish and Portuguese, analyzes a time and place and the royal women who navigated the treacherous territory between heart and state.

In her book The Politics of Emotion: Love, Grief, and Madness in Medieval and Early Modern Iberia, Silleras-Fernández focuses broadly on these powerful emotions through the individual stories of three queens, whose stories in some ways presage the issues that women in politics still face today.

Somewhat confusingly for the reader, several were named Isabel, so Silleras-Fernández gives each woman a brief distinguishing title: Isabel of Portugal (1428–96), who was the grandmother of Isabel of Aragon (1470–98) and Juana of Castile (1479–1555).

A comparative study of the three women, whom historians had not previously put together, is informative not only because their lives tell us about the politics and culture of their society, but because—despite facing similar tragedies—Juana, Isabel of Aragon, and Isabel of Portugal’s lives took very different directions.

‘El amor es un gusano’

According to Silleras-Fernández, these three women “suffered from very intense grief following the death of their spouses.” Their grief was ultimately viewed as excessive, in part because of the cultural attitude towards love— expressed in the poem “Las Mañas del Amor” by Florencia del Pinar, Silleras-Fernández says. “She describes love as un gusano, a worm.

“In medieval times, passionate love was seen as a sort of affliction. When someone was really in love, it was seen as dangerous.”

This is not to say that love had no place in court culture; in fact, according to a historian whom Silleras-Fernández cites, it was fashionable for Spanish lords to pretend to be in love.

In The Politics of Emotion: Love, Grief, and Madness in Medieval and Early Modern Iberia, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder scholar Núria Silleras-Fernández notes that in medieval times, passionate love was seen as an affliction.

Nonetheless, authentic, passionate love was seen as a personal affliction, a spiritual danger and a political vulnerability. “Passionate love was even medicalized,” Silleras-Fernández says, and in a way, it “was seen as an affliction that was tied to melancholy,” with unrequited passions causing lovesickness.

When it came to medieval Christian culture in Spain, she explains, “there was something called the religion of love. For men, their lady was not merely the object of their desire, as in courtly love; she became more important to them than God.” This was understood as a form of idolatry and therefore a violation of the second of the 10 commandments from the Bible.

Moreover, Silleras-Fernández says, “royal marriages were arranged for political purposes, so it was common for women not to be in love with their husbands. The idea was that the couple would enjoy some sort of affection and collaborate in ruling the kingdom and producing heirs.”

To the extent that it interfered with remarriage, love was even an obstacle to the political maneuverings of the royalty. Ultimately, then, passionate love “was seen as dangerous, and it was not encouraged for royal partners.”

Conflict at court

Isabel of Portugal, who was born in Portugal but became Queen Consort of Castile and León through her marriage to King Juan II (as opposed to becoming a queen regnant in her own right by inheriting the throne), exemplified the dangers of “loving too much.”

According to Silleras-Fernández, the chronicles of her life suggest an unusually intense love for her husband. The conflict between her and Álvaro de Luna, the royal favorite and Constable, is an example of this.

Both Isabel and Álvaro exercised significant influence over Juan, Silleras-Fernández says: “Álvaro de Luna’s role as adviser put him in clear competition with the functions of the queen.” Isabel and her faction within the nobility and Juan’s entourage eventually won out, and she convinced the King to have Álvaro executed.

While overtly political, this situation may not seem at first to involve love. However, according to Silleras-Fernández, Álvaro wrote a letter to Juan’s advisors from prison, asking them to prevent the king from having too much sex, arguing it could compromise his health. This suggests the intimate nature of Álvaro’s interference with the king and queen’s relationship and demonstrates the importance of love to a queen consort’s political power.

Perhaps more illustratively, Isabel “felt such great pain at the death of her husband that she fell into a sickness so grave and long that she was never able to recover,” Silleras-Fernández writes, and lived the rest of her life without much political influence.

Mixing politics, religion and grief

Isabel of Aragon, one of Isabel of Portugal’s grandchildren, also suffered greatly after the death of her first husband. She became Princess of Portugal through her marriage to Crown Prince Afonso, and this marriage was, by all accounts, happy, Silleras-Fernández says—if brief.

"Infanta Isabel de Trastámara," artist unknown.

Unfortunately, Afonso died young, which caused national grief and inspired a series of consolatory texts by noted clergymen. Isabel of Aragon was “presented with works explaining that his death should be seen as an opportunity for her to become a better Christian, and that she needed to remember that it was important to love God above anyone else,” Silleras-Fernández explains.

Like her father-in-law, João II, Isabel received letters from important clergymen blaming the bereaved for the death of their loved ones, Silleras-Fernández explains. João was even accused of loving his son more than God, and informed that his son’s death was a form of retribution for this sin.

Despite Isabel’s continued mourning, she was a princess and therefore a political asset for the Catholic monarchs, most especially because she could secure a marriage alliance for them. Whether because she did not want to remarry, or because the religious messages in the consolatory letters had heightened her Catholic convictions, she requested, as a condition of her planned second marriage to Manuel I, that all the “heretics” be expelled from his kingdom, Portugal.

The exact meaning of “heretics” here is unclear, but according to Silleras-Fernández, “it probably meant that she wanted the expulsion of the Jews, the Muslims, and all the recent converts from Judaism to Christianity who had been prosecuted by the Inquisition.”

Regardless of Isabel’s motivations, it is clear that grief played a role. Hence, Silleras-Fernández says, grief and other emotions can have serious consequences when they interact with politics and religion, which were closely related in medieval and early modern times.

Juana the Mad

“Most people knew about Juana,” Silleras-Fernández says, “because she is famous as Juana the Mad.” Like Isabel of Aragon, she was a daughter of Isabel the Catholic, and she was the mother of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V. Like Isabel of Portugal, her grandmother, Juana was ultimately alienated from the political power she once possessed, Silleras-Fernández explains, spending the rest of her life put away.

“The difference between her grandmother and Juana’s eldest sister Isabel was that both of them were queen consorts, while Juana was queen in her own right, and she needed to rule.”

Perhaps the most extraordinary story of Juana’s grief—also incited by the unexpected death of her husband—was her insistence on personally accompanying the king’s remains to Granada, a trip of more than 400 miles, while she was in the third trimester of pregnancy. This trip was a perpetual funerary procession, taking more than two years and including religious services at every stop.

Juana is reported to have become ill along the way, and began to not change her clothes, as well as eat and sleep on the floor. After this, her father, King Fernando, sent her to a palace in Tordesillas where she was confined for the rest of her life.

"The Madness of Joanna of Castille" by Lorenzo Vallés (1866)

When she finally returned from her husband’s burial, she was in a bad place emotionally and mentally, but her condition improved. “If you read the letters that the people who were living with her sent to her son, Charles V, it was obvious that she was feeling better.

“The problem was that, when you send someone away because you have decided that person cannot rule, you cannot easily reestablish that person as a viable ruler,” Silleras-Fernández continues. “Neither her father nor her son was interested in rehabilitating Juana because they were already doing Juana’s job.” They had taken over out of necessity while Juana was gone and did not want to give up power. For her family to continue ruling, she had to be put away.

According to Silleras-Fernández, what makes her situation different from those of Isabel of Portugal and Isabel the Catholic is that the Isabels had more freedom as queen consorts. Since they were not formal rulers, they were not seen as a threat to the status quo, but “because Juana had the potential to personally take charge of the kingdom, she was dangerous.”

‘Backwards and wearing high heels’

These three Iberian queens embody the lesson that, as a ruler, “one needed to be perceived as someone could control their emotions, because they served as a mirror for their subjects,” Silleras-Fernández says. “A ruler needed to be in control, and the ruler needed to demonstrate balance and stability—what Aristotle called the golden mean.”

It was particularly difficult for women to present themselves this way because, she says, “as in the eyes of Aristotle, women were seen as imperfect males. It was harder for them because they were asked to perform like men but were not valued like men. At the same time, of course, women had to adhere to the standards and preconceptions of the time regarding gender. It’s a little bit like the old saying that Ginger Rogers had to dance as well as Fred Astaire, but in her case, going backwards and wearing high heels.

“In many ways, this is a period that is very far from today’s reality, but you would be amazed how much of the dynamics and prejudices surrounding gender and emotion are similar and how— despite the fact that we live in an age of science—medicine and health are still socially and culturally constructed. I expect that with recent events, we will see all of these dynamics at play today in the USA over the course of the next four months.”

Top image: Juana la Loca by Francisco Pradilla y Ortiz (1877)

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In a newly published history of the region’s female monarchs, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder scholar shows the connections between love, grief and madness.

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Prescribing kindness in modern medicine

Anonymous — Tue, 23 Jul 2024 21:43:30 +0000

Prescribing kindness in modern medicine Anonymous (not verified) Tue, 07/23/2024 - 15:43

Doug McPherson

In her new book, Microaggressions in Medicine, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder alum and bioethicist Heather Stewart writes that some healthcare professionals are causing emotional and psychological harm

Contrary to what is sworn in the Hippocratic Oath, a new book co-written by University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder alumna Heather Stewart (MPhil'17) argues, those who vow to first do no harm are, in fact, causing harm regularly via microaggressions.

In the recently published Microaggressions in Medicine, Stewart defines microaggressions as “comments, actions, bodily gestures or even features of physical spaces” that subtly communicate bias or hostility toward those in marginalized groups.

In a newly published book, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder alumna and bioethicist Heather Stewart (MPhil'17) argues that the effects of microaggressions in medicine may compound over time.

“Microaggressions are particularly pernicious forms of bias or discrimination precisely because they’re frequent and subtle, and so they’re often disregarded as insignificant,” says Stewart, now an assistant professor of philosophy at Oklahoma State University. “From the perspective of those on the receiving end of microaggressions, however, they can be incredibly harmful, especially as their effects compound over time.”

A common example of microaggression, Stewart says, is misgendering a person who is trans or non-binary, referring to a person who is transmasculine with feminine identifiers such as “ma’am,” “Miss” or “Mrs.”

“When done unintentionally, the person committing the microaggression often doesn’t realize why it’s harmful, but it’s also likely that they assume their mistake is a one-off occurrence, and they fail to consider that trans and non-binary people may face misgendering regularly,” Stewart explains.

Stewart, who earned her master’s in philosophy from ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder in 2017, adds that being misgendered, especially routinely, can be “incredibly harmful” to trans and non-binary people’s senses of who they are and how they want to be perceived and treated in the world. “From that perspective, microaggressions and their consequences really aren’t micro at all, but touch on core aspects of identity, belongingness and self-respect.”

Feeling unseen

In the book, Stewart and her co-writer, Lauren Freeman, describe several short- and long-term consequences of microaggressions. After a microaggression, they note, the person on the receiving end might feel confused, shocked, disrespected or unwelcomed.

“They might feel as if they’re not being seen, heard, recognized or respected,” Stewart says. “Over time, as microaggressions add up and wear on a person, they can cause real harm to one emotionally, psychologically and more. They can cause one to doubt themselves and question how others see them.

“The goal is to better understand the nature of this distrust so that we can work to form better relations between these communities and the important institutions which govern our lives,” says Heather Stewart.

“In medical contexts, the stakes can be incredibly high. Frequent microaggressions can cause marginalized patients to lose trust in their healthcare providers, which makes them less likely to communicate openly, and can even lead them to delay or avoid seeking medical care. This obviously has serious consequences for the health and wellbeing of marginalized people and communities.”

While she doesn’t share details of her personal healthcare experiences in the book, Stewart does say she’s had “first-hand experience” in not being taken seriously by a healthcare provider and that she’s faced “harmful consequences” such as misdiagnoses and delayed diagnoses.

“I’ve certainly been on the receiving end of microaggressions, including being doubted and dismissed when making claims of pain,” she says. “A long-term consequence of these experiences has been that my trust in healthcare has been shaken. It takes a lot for me to allow myself to be fully open and vulnerable in healthcare settings.”

But her own experiences aside, Stewart says she sees the book as a way to “amplify the voices” of others and their experiences navigating healthcare, and to think about how healthcare can and must do better by them.

A key in solving the problem, Stewart says, is to improve “structural and background conditions.”

“For example, when healthcare professionals are under intense time pressures and constraints, it can be harder to be fully thoughtful, deliberative and empathetic with patients,” she says. “And when healthcare workers haven’t been given adequate education and training about diverse identities and experiences, they might not realize how their words or actions can be harmful. This points to the need for more robust and inclusive training throughout medical education as well as continuing education.”

In a similar vein, Stewart also is studying marginalized groups’ distrust in institutions, specifically distrust that LGBTQ+ communities often have in healthcare institutions.

“The goal is to better understand the nature of this distrust,” Stewart says, “so that we can work to form better relations between these communities and the important institutions which govern our lives.”

Did you enjoy this article? Subcribe to our newsletter. Passionate about philosophy? Show your support.

In her new book, Microaggressions in Medicine, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder alum and bioethicist Heather Stewart writes that some healthcare professionals are causing emotional and psychological harm.

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Dystopian ‘fissures of disaster’ intensify our own world

Anonymous — Fri, 12 Jul 2024 18:55:16 +0000

Dystopian ‘fissures of disaster’ intensify our own world Anonymous (not verified) Fri, 07/12/2024 - 12:55

Rachel Sauer

In newly published story collection The Rupture Files, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder’s Nathan Alexander Moore explores identity and community in dystopian worlds

Nathan Alexander Moore was thinking about the end of the world—not how to survive the apocalypse or overcome it, necessarily, or even how to fix it, but rather the decisions we make when the world collapses around us.

“Who do you become?” asks Moore, an assistant professor in the University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder Department of Women and Gender Studies. “What choices do we make in this new world? How do we understand ourselves, and understand ourselves in community, in the larger context of a world that is ending or starting anew?

“For me, as someone who loves all things speculative fiction, dystopias are so interesting because these worlds become dystopic because of who the events are happening to. And the largest impacts, in fiction and real life, often happen to people who are marginalized. Dystopia largely impacts people who are Black or Brown, in places that are underdeveloped and underfunded.”

Nathan Alexander Moore, an assistant professor of Black trans and queer studies in the ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder Department of Women and Gender Studies, explores issues of identity in her newly published dystopian story collection The Rupture Files.

From that end—or beginning—of the world was born The Rupture Files, Moore’s newly published story collection. Touted by publisher Hajar Press as “supernatural stories of life in the fissures of disaster,” Moore’s tales actually plunge deeper into the ruined Earth, with Black and queer and trans characters exploring who they are and who they might become.

“I’m very aware of all of the history and the many cultural representations that have shaped Black people, and specifically Black queer people,” Moore explains. “I feel so much in our culture and in representations in film and television and literature, that Black characters and Black queer characters either become paragons or, on the opposite end, they’re kind of the worst of the worst, the villains, the despicable ones.

“For me, it’s about telling a story about a person who is nuanced. Some will see them as the hero, some as the villain, but at the core they are a person who is learning and growing and struggling. I want to show them—to show us—as beautiful, nuanced, complex characters, and that whatever their experience is, it’s a real experience. To try to be universal would strip us of what makes it interesting.”

Becoming a writer

Moore, who identifies as Black and trans, was a reader before she was a writer, finding motivation to finish her homework so she could crack open an Anne Rice novel. One of the first stories she wrote and shared with other people was called “Midnight and Nocturnes”—“I was using big words,” Moore recalls, “I thought I was so cute in high school”—about a vampire who was turned in ancient Egypt.

The vampire wakes at dusk “and she’s like, ‘I’m gonna go eat some people, I’m hungry.’ Then she runs into a vampire hunter, and for the first time she pauses at killing because he has the exact eyes of someone she knew in life. She says, ‘I remember when I was human, I loved you. You broke my heart, and I loved you’ and it ends with her making a big choice whether she’s going to live or die.”

Moore wrote it when she was 16 or 17 and submitted to a contest on Facebook and ended up winning third place. “It was the first story where I very much remember writing it and thinking, ‘OK, I think I’m writing, I think I might be a writer.’ And then when I came in third, I was like, ‘Oh, she’s on her way!’ It also helped that I wrote that story when Twilight/True Blood/Vampire Diaries was of the moment, and I was reading all of those books.”

Through graduate school, she focused on creative writing and Black literature and cultures, delving deeper into speculative fiction through a lens of feminism and collective memory. Her PhD, earned at the University of Texas at Austin, focused on contingency and Black temporal imaginations, and included a chapter titled “From Catastrophe to the Cataclysm: Black Speculations on the Limits of the Anthropocene & the Temporality of Disasters.”

In fact, writing The Rupture Files wasn’t completely Moore's idea. An editor at Hajar Press saw a presentation she gave for Black Women Radicals about writing Black geopolitics through speculative fiction and asked Moore if she wrote her own speculative fiction.

As it happened, there were some people she’d been living with for a while…

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVaoC1JgHnE&t=680s]

‘The world we’re living in’

“The first story (in The Rupture Files) is called ‘Sequela,’ and it’s about this far-future dystopia where the world is mostly ocean and everything is transient,” Moore says. “There were portions (of that story) I had written as series of prose poems, and they had been kind of living in my head. With the other stories, I had characters who weren’t fully realized—I had a snapshot, a photograph, they were peering over the fence and I was like, ‘Hmm, what are you doing?’ For a long time, they were thought experiments, and in writing them they became real.”

The story “Sequela” is about a woman named Shalomar, who lives in one of a series of stations in this new ocean world—“I imagine the stations like metallic squids, though I never said it in the story, and they kind of hunker on land and then jump around,” Moore explains—and whose job is station archivist. Whatever the station pulls out of the ocean, it’s her job to analyze it and think about its historical value. As a Black woman, Shalomar had been trying to document Black history before the apocalypse, and after it she discovered that the water wanted her to tell a different story, as did the mermaids.

In a story called “Ashes for Your Beauty,” Moore tells the story of a woman who is the consort (read: food source) of a vampire in a bombed-out, post-nuclear world, who discovers that she has power, and she can make power. “So, she has to decide, ‘Am I going to stay in this life that’s very scary and terrible but stable, or burn shit down?’” Moore says.

Writing the four stories in The Rupture Files was a different experience from the novel manuscript Moore wrote while earning her master’s.

“I was thinking about narrative arcs, about character development, who is the main person, whose perspective feels the most interesting,” Moore says. “I was balancing the expansiveness of living in a brand-new world that even I didn’t know all the rules of and also making it containable in short form. It was a steep learning curve but really fun.”

It also, she says, allowed her to more deeply consider the world as it currently is: “What’s always interesting about dystopias is they are projected as far futures, but any time someone’s writing a dystopia, they’re writing about the present—expanded and intensified, but the present. Dystopic writing is really about looking out at the world we’re living in today.”

Top: Background dystopia image by Daniele Gay

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In newly published story collection The Rupture Files, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder’s Nathan Alexander Moore explores identity and community in dystopian worlds.

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Balancing fraught history and modern collaboration in America’s ‘best idea’

Anonymous — Mon, 24 Jun 2024 21:17:55 +0000

Balancing fraught history and modern collaboration in America’s ‘best idea’ Anonymous (not verified) Mon, 06/24/2024 - 15:17

Rachel Sauer

In new book, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder scholar Brooke Neely explores pathways to uphold Native sovereignty in U.S. national parks

Since Yellowstone became the United States’ first national park in 1872, these parks have existed in a dual space—praised, per author Wallace Stegner, as “the best idea we ever had. Absolutely American, absolutely democratic, they reflect us at our best rather than our worst," while existing on Native lands.

National parks “have a fraught history in the United States and globally with respect to Indigenous lands. The creation of U.S. national parks in the late 19th and early 20th centuries was part of a broader project to dispossess Native peoples of their homelands,” writes Brooke Neely, a research fellow in the University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder Center of the American West, and her co-editors Christina Gish Hill and Matthew J. Hill in National Parks, Native Sovereignty: Experiments in Collaboration, a recently published collection of case studies and interviews exploring pathways for collaboration that uphold tribal sovereignty.

Brooke Neely, a research fellow in the University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder Center of the American West, co-edited National Parks, Native Sovereignty: Experiments in Collaboration.

“There’s a tension between the ugly history of U.S. national parks and the ongoing efforts to assert Native peoples’ sovereign rights to these lands,” Neely explains. “A goal with this book is to rethink relationships between national parks and tribal nations, especially in light of shifts in federal policies over the past 20 years. It’s helpful to think that not everyone is going to come to the table with the same goals or interests, but we can find some room for collaboration.

“So, there are some discrepancies in terms of how the park service understands its job and the land resources, how it separates cultural resources versus natural resources, and the perspectives of tribes who may not distinguish between the two because they see the whole landscape as important or meaningful.”

Perspective of the tribes

Neely became interested in U.S. national parks and Native peoples in graduate school, when she studied Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse Memorial in South Dakota’s Black Hills. Both sites exist on Native land, “so I was looking at how they grapple with this contested history,” Neely says. “How do national park sites work to include more people and tell a broader story?”

During the time Neely was doing her PhD research, Gerard Baker, a member of the Mandan-Hidatsa Tribe of the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation, became superintendent of Mount Rushmore National Memorial—the first Native American to earn the position. “I got interested in what he was working to do there,” Neely says, “bringing in the perspectives of the tribes, creating exhibits, bringing in Native speakers.”

In 2016, Neely was one of several researchers from the Center of the American West and the ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder Center for Native American and Indigenous Studies to begin working with representatives from Rocky Mountain National Park and members of area tribes to expand interpretive programs and build collaborative relationships with the tribes.

Through this work and research she previously conducted for the 2014 sesquicentennial of the Sand Creek Massacre, Neely met Christina Gish Hill, an associate professor of anthropology and American Indian studies at Iowa State University, and Matthew Hill, an applied anthropologist who was principal investigator for two National Park Service projects focused on early American treaty-making and the Black Hills as a contested heritage landscape, her co-editors on National Parks, Native Sovereignty.

National Parks, Native Sovereignty presents case studies and interviews exploring pathways for collaboration in national parks that uphold tribal sovereignty.

Between 2016 and 2019, the researchers worked together on an ethnographic overview and assessment of Mount Rushmore for the National Park Service, seeking to understand the meaning of Mount Rushmore for Native people.

Talking about history

The idea for National Parks, Native Sovereignty came, in part, from a desire to highlight case studies from National Park Services sites, focusing on contemporary efforts to address the colonial history of U.S. national parks through research, outreach and collaborative partnerships with tribal nations, Neely says. It includes interviews with Gerard Baker and Max Bear, the tribal historic preservation officer for the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes of Oklahoma, among others, as well as research and commentary from scholars and historians.

“Our goal was to represent a wide range of folks and the kind of work that’s being done currently,” Neely says. “There’s a federal mandate to consult with tribal nations, and it’s a unique mandate because tribes have sovereignty, so these interactions are government-to-government, and consultation can vary considerably across park sites.

“We focused on efforts over the last 15, 20 years to broaden that consultation and engagement. We wanted to look at what parks are doing to build relationships, to establish co-stewardship or co-management or some steps toward that.”

Neely and her co-editors chose interviews and scholarship that represent a range of national parks, “some of them in very emergent stages of exploring this kind of work, all the way to ones that have some kind of co-management relationship with tribes,” Neely says.

For example, Natasha Myhal, who earned her PhD in the ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder Department of Ethnic Studies, wrote about indigenous connections at Rocky Mountain National Park, and Clint Carroll, an associate professor of Native American and Indigenous studies in the Department of Ethnic Studies, focused on Cherokee medicine keepers and the making of a plant-gathering agreement at Buffalo National River in Arkansas.

“There are 574 federally recognized tribal nations with different views on how they want to engage with public land agencies,” Neely says. “We consider the painful histories, the lands that have been taken illegally, the customs and traditions that existed for centuries before the parks were established. So, this book looks at the push and pull of this conflict and collaboration, and at the way we educate and talk about our shared history and shared landscapes in this country.”

ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder scholar documents plant-gathering agreement

In April 2022, the Cherokee Nation and the National Park Service signed a landmark agreement to designate a 1,000-acre site along the Buffalo National River in Arkansas as the Cherokee Nation Medicine Keepers Preserve.

Under the agreement, the National Park Service will issue an annual permit to the Cherokee Nation to gather 76 types of plants within the national river area, and the Cherokee Nation agrees to provide a list of those who will be gathering plants.

For Clint Carroll, an associate professor of Native American and Indigenous studies in the Department of Ethnic Studies and citizen of the Cherokee Nation, the agreement was a significant moment in his longtime work and research with the Cherokee people in Oklahoma on issues of land conservation and the perpetuation of land-based knowledge and ways of life.

Clint Carroll, an associate professor of Native American and Indigenous studies in the Department of Ethnic Studies and citizen of the Cherokee Nation, collaborated with Cherokee Medicine Keepers and research colleagues to study the desirability and feasibility of a plant-gathering agreement in Buffalo National River.

In most situations, taking plants from national park land is against federal law, but a 2016 rule protected plant gathering by members of federally recognized tribes. The Cherokee Medicine Keepers, with whom Carroll closely works, contributed “their expertise on land-based knowledge and stewardship practices that provided the basis for such a landmark agreement,” Carroll wrote.

The Cherokee Medicine Keepers also were the experts with whom Carroll and his co-researchers—Richard Stoffle, a professor of anthropology at the University of Arizona, and Michael Evans, a cultural anthropologist with the National Park Service—partnered while studying the desirability and feasibility of the Buffalo National River agreement, which research they detailed in “Returning to Gather: Cherokee Medicine Keepers, the National Park Service and the Making of a Plant-Gathering Agreement at Buffalo National River” for the book National Parks, Native Sovereignty.

“It was a multiyear collaboration that entailed multiple visits to the park and meetings with the elders,” Carroll explains. “One visit was to make sure the places elders would be gathering were safe and had amenities for them. The next visit entailed an ethnobotanical study, where a team of researchers from the University of Arizona interviewed the elders during a two-day event at Buffalo National River, asking them about the plants that would make up the list that is now represented through the agreement.”

Plants such as wild onion, sage, bloodroot, wild indigo and river cane have long been important to citizens of the Cherokee Nation for food, medicine, art and other purposes, Carroll explains. However, patchwork land divisions with differing ownership, as well as habitat loss related to climate change, have made some of these plants harder to access and harder to find.

In fact, many tribes still feel the effects of the Dawes Act, which divided communally held tribal lands into individually owned private property, so lands where Cherokee people had long gathered plants “can be private property, state land, other types of lands that Cherokee people simply don’t have access to anymore,” Carroll says.

“It’s an issue of not only limited access to land, but those places where Cherokee people were gathering, the plants they were seeking were less prevalent. So, it was these compounding factors that led to thinking about what else can we do to ensure that Cherokee people can continue to gather into generations beyond this one.”

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In new book, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder scholar Brooke Neely explores pathways to uphold Native sovereignty in U.S. national parks.

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For some women, STEM may not be the great equalizer

Anonymous — Mon, 17 Jun 2024 06:00:00 +0000

For some women, STEM may not be the great equalizer Anonymous (not verified) Mon, 06/17/2024 - 00:00

Chris Quirk

In newly published book, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ economics alumna Susan Averett analyzes whether STEM fields offer an equal path to prosperity for all women

When Susan Averett began her study of economics as an undergraduate, she recalls that the prevailing credo in the discipline was to adhere closely to the analysis of production, consumption and related topics.

That changed when she arrived at the University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder to begin work on her PhD in economics. “I got really interested in the economics of gender, and (former faculty member) Elizabeth Peters, a true mentor in every sense of the word, was absolutely instrumental in that,” Averett says.

Peters taught courses in labor economics and economic demography that expanded Averett’s thinking. “It made me understand that economics can be used to look at questions like fertility, marriage and discrimination—things outside the purview of mainstream economics.”

ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder economics alumna Susan Averett researches the economics of gender, with a focus on labor and health economics and gender outcomes.

What she learned about economics at ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder informed Disparate Measures: The Intersectional Economics of Women in STEM Work, her recently released book written with Mary Armstrong.

Averett, now the Charles A. Dana Professor of Economics at Lafayette College in Pennsylvania, has gone on to become a renowned scholar in the field of economic demography, which looks at how economic factors affect various groups of people in society. Her work to date encompasses labor and health economics, with a focus on gender outcomes.

In Disparate Measures, Averett and Armstrong analyze how different groups of women have fared in STEM fields, and whether the presumption that STEM jobs broadly present a pathway to prosperity holds up.

Well-documented pay gap

The pay gap between women and men in the workplace is well documented, Averett notes. A Pew Research Center report last year found that white women earned 83% of what white men earned, and Black and Hispanic women earned far less. And while the report stated that the proportion of women in managerial positions in STEM fields was on the rise, they are nowhere near parity with men.

Averett says the idea for the book was to analyze exactly how much women had benefitted from STEM employment—sometimes called the STEM premium—and to do it in a granular way, looking at subgroups of women to identify differences in outcomes for women in varied demographics.

“The idea is that STEM is being sold as this great equalizer for women, good for innovation and good for the economy,” Averett says. “We took a different tack, and asked what actually happens once women are in the workforce.”

In the book, Averett and Armstrong, whose field is women and gender studies, worked from the massive trove of economic and demographic data in the American Community Survey, which the U.S. Census Bureau generates from questionnaires sent to a large sample of households.

Disparate Measures analyzes how different groups of women have fared in STEM fields, and whether the presumption that STEM jobs broadly present a pathway to prosperity holds up.

Averett and her colleague wrote eight case studies on different subgroups of women, four on more standard demographics (Black women, American Indian and Alaska Native women, Asian and Pacific Islander women and Hispanic/Latina women), and four on groups of women not often separated out in studies of this kind (foreign-born women, women with disabilities, Queer women, and mothers).

The approach is what Averett calls an economic analysis of the population groups in an intersectional way, meaning that the study takes into account that people belong to more than one demographic group at the same time, such as women who are Black, or a men who have a disability.

“Everybody has different identities, and the idea was to make groups that have been invisible, visible,” Averett explains. “For example, with Black women, we looked at foreign-born Black women versus native-born Black women. With Asian women, we separate out Pacific Islander from AAPI, because they are usually grouped together.”

Inequality in the STEM economy

The results of the analysis are stark. Among Black women, 2.7% work in a STEM field, as opposed to 11% of white men. “In general, Black women as compared to white non-Hispanic men are poorly represented in the fields of engineering and STEM management,” Averett says. “Furthermore, Black women do not have wage parity with white men in any area of STEM work. They earn 75% of white men’s wages in STEM management, 76% in computer or math jobs, 78% in the physical and life sciences and 79% in engineering.”

In STEM-related occupations, such as medical fields, foreign-born Black women earn more than those born in the United States, across the board, she notes.

Averett says she hopes that this granular study will prompt policymakers and those who manage personnel in STEM fields to think equality in STEM. “Our use of an intersectional lens allows us to see that economic inequality is woven into the STEM economy. STEM wage gaps should be part of our thinking about how groups fare in STEM, but a continued focus on the STEM premium distracts from that.”

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In newly published book, ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ economics alumna Susan Averett analyzes whether STEM fields offer an equal path to prosperity for all women.

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Horsepower: Professor unveils a new history of horses

Anonymous — Tue, 11 Jun 2024 19:10:30 +0000

Horsepower: Professor unveils a new history of horses Anonymous (not verified) Tue, 06/11/2024 - 13:10

Doug McPherson

In his upcoming book, ‘Hoof Beats: How Horses Shaped Human History,’ William Taylor writes that today’s world has been molded by humans’ relationship to horses

Nearly a million years ago in what is now southern England, human ancestors called Homo heidelbergensis were creating tools from horse bones. Fast forward to about 30,000 years ago, and humans across Europe and northern Eurasia were regularly painting horses on cave walls and carving their likenesses from bone and ivory.

“The connection between people and horses is among the most ancient connections that we have with the animal world,” says William Taylor, an assistant professor of anthropology at the University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder and curator of archaeology for the ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder Museum of Natural History.

But Taylor says it’s what happened about 4,000 years ago that really changed things. That’s when people living in the grasslands near the Black Sea first domesticated horses.

William Taylor, a ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder assistant professor of anthropology and curator of archaeology for the ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder Museum of Natural History, notes that "the connection between people and horses is among the most ancient connections that we have with the animal world.”

And when that happened, Taylor says the effect on the world and the centuries that followed was not a gradual development “but a sudden jolt, a shock to the system” that influenced nearly every aspect of human life―revolutionizing things like transportation, agriculture and warfare.

“After domestication, horses spread like wildfire, stampeding into new societies, creating new partnerships with people that shook up the structure of the ancient world almost everywhere they went,” he explains.

It’s just one of the many insights in Taylor’s new book Hoof Beats: How Horses Shaped Human History, available Aug. 6. Taylor’s book also has received the spring 2024 Kayden Book Award from the ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder College of Arts and Sciences, with a $5,000 award given annually to a book representing excellence in history and the arts.

In the book, Taylor offers a broad swath of the horse-human connection along with new findings based on more than a decade of researching horse domestication and archeological fieldwork around the globe―in places like the Eurasian steppes, the mountains of inner Asia, the pampas of Argentina and the Great Plains of North America.

“These are places and cultures that have had a tremendous impact on human history, but factors like low population densities, tough weather, difficult fieldwork, lack of written records and bias from written records that do exist have all helped keep that story from being properly integrated into the bigger picture,” Taylor says.

Breaking new ground

Taylor is helping break new ground with his scientific perspective on horse domestication, the timing and origins of which scholars have argued over for decades. Taylor says his book tells “a very different narrative” about the origins of horse domestication, one that’s grounded in interdisciplinary science.

One of the book’s main threads, he says, is to understand that nearly all of the most important facts about horses can be told well only by combining other kinds of information with archaeology.

William Taylor's book Hoof Beats: How Horses Shaped Human History has received the spring 2024 Kayden Book Award from the ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder College of Arts and Sciences.

“The book relies first and foremost on the archaeological record, and to pair the most cutting-edge and up-to-date scientific information with all the other insights we gain from things like ecology, evolutionary biology, oral traditions, historical records and everything in between.”

The book connects this new understanding of horse domestication with new insights into the timing of key innovations, including the origins of horse cavalry and equipment like the saddle and stirrup, which seem to be “closely intertwined with cultures from the steppe,” Taylor says.

One of Taylor’s newest findings is the role ancient people in Mongolia played in innovating the saddle and the stirrup, two technologies that Taylor says most people take for granted today, but which really revolutionized what people could do while mounted.

“Saddles and stirrups allowed folks to do all sorts of things on horseback that were harder before, like staying mounted with heavy armor, bracing for impact with heavy weapons like lances or standing in the saddle for archery. Our recent collaborative scholarship shows that Mongolian cultures were doing this by the 4th or 5th centuries.”

To understand Taylor’s interest in horses, he says it helps to look at his own history. “I first became interested in the human-horse story as a way of understanding my family and their own past,” he says.

His grandfather was a cowboy, and Taylor’s dad grew up with horses, too. Taylor is from the first generation in his family that didn't grow up with horses.

“So, when I started studying the ancient world, I was immediately drawn to understanding horses. One of my first experiences as a student was getting to study the skeleton of a 2,500-year-old horse. That’s when I became really curious about all the things we could learn about people through the study of horse remains. Living in places like Montana or ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ today, we are still in a legacy horse culture.”

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In his upcoming book, ‘Hoof Beats: How Horses Shaped Human History,’ William Taylor writes that today’s world has been molded by humans’ relationship to horses.

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Ghost stories: understanding a present haunted by the past

Anonymous — Fri, 07 Jun 2024 17:49:15 +0000

Ghost stories: understanding a present haunted by the past Anonymous (not verified) Fri, 06/07/2024 - 11:49

Blake Puscher

A ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder poet considers the socioeconomic and political environment of the turn of the 20th century through the history of her own family

Mud, Blood, and Ghosts is not a typical history book.

To write it, Julie Carr delved not just into archives and manuscripts, but also into her own family’s history—specifically, the story of her great-grandfather Omer Kem, a People’s Party politician who served three terms in the U.S. House of Representatives representing Nebraska between 1891 and 1897. Kem’s story weaves everything from populism to eugenics to spiritualism, and represents a broader narrative of a particular time, place and people in the American West.

Subtitled “Populism, Eugenics, and Spiritualism in the American West,” the book, through Kem, tells the story of how factors as disparate as economic inequity, water scarcity and scientific racism, among many others, shaped the region and the country and still resonate politically and socially today.

Julie Carr, a ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder professor of English and chair of the Department of Women and Gender Studies, plumbed her family's history to write Mud, Blood, and Ghosts.

In crafting the book, which was published last year, Carr, a University of ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder professor of English and chair of the Department of Women and Gender Studies, blended historical exposition with poetic language, a way of writing that she says is essential for expressing complex emotions. Because of the personal nature of the subject, Carr says, she was interested in speaking from her own perspective in the present as well as from Kem’s perspective in the past, demonstrating the idea that history is always with us.

In this sense, the reference to ghosts in the title has a double meaning, not just refering to 19th century spiritualists, but how “we are haunted by our pasts. They are with us all the time, and they are directing what we do,” Carr says.

“To acknowledge that is to take responsibility for it, to think, ‘Given all of that, what is my responsibility to the future and to the present?’”

A farmer’s populism

Omer Kem was born in 1855 in Hagerstown, Indiana, to an itinerant and largely unsuccessful farmer who often moved his family to find better work. Kem’s family was ravaged by disease and continuing financial instability, so he set out on his own, ultimately moving to Nebraska. As a young man, he farmed through government programs like the Swamp Lands Act and the Homestead Act, but failed due to infertile conditions. Many farmer settlers in Nebraska were in a similar situation, falling into debt as the seeds they sowed blew away in the hot winds of the region’s 1889-1899 drought.

When Kem ran for and won a seat in Congress, his experiences inspired him to join the populist movement of the time along with many rural farmers and other people living in poverty. The movement was a response to the economic and social conditions of the Gilded Age, according to Carr:

“Both urban laborers and rural laborers were left in the lurch,” as the former lacked protections like the eight-hour workday and the latter faced unregulated crop prices and railroad rates, among other issues. Meanwhile, with no graduated income tax, the people at the top did not pay more, and there was no significant social safety net at that time.

Mud, Blood, and Ghosts details how factors as disparate as economic inequity, water scarcity and scientific racism, among many others, shaped the American West and the country and still resonate politically and socially today.

“All of these things combined with the problem of weather and climate in the Plains states,” Carr says. Many poor farmers had moved to states in the Great Plains region during the mid- and late-19th century following the Homestead Act, but in dry climates, the land couldn’t produce without massive irrigation. In the South, where climate was not the issue, “we’re looking at a totally different dynamic having to do with the end of Reconstruction, and poverty among Black farmers especially.”

What unites the People’s Party with today’s populists might be its criticism of the societal elite, Carr says, “coupled with the demand for greater representation in politics. I think a lot of people would say that many contemporary American populists, on the right or the left, are people who for various reasons have not felt included in the political system.”

American eugenics at the turn of the 20th century

Kem also was influenced by the racial segregation and fear of “mixing races” that was both commonplace and largely unchallenged for several generations after the Civil War. Along with large swathes of the American public, Carr says, Kem came to believe in the ideology of eugenics, a term coined to describe attempts at increasing the number of people with “superior” mental and physical traits through the human equivalent of selective breeding. It grew, in part, from elements of Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution, particularly the heritability of traits.

“The science itself was not very detailed,” Carr explains. “It was the beginning of an understanding of how genetics works. That science got married to criminology, ideas around welfare, the problems that came with urbanization, the first wave of the Great Migration and the huge numbers of immigrants coming in during the beginning of the 20th century.”

These major demographic and political changes made some people afraid, especially members of dominant groups, Carr says. Because of the widespread belief that many traits and behaviors were inherited, eugenicists justified ostracizing or marginalizing people who were Black, poor, disabled, criminals and immigrants, insisting they would “taint” the gene pool.

“Many people who believed in ‘progress’ believed in eugenics,” Carr says, including those who might be considered left-wing. “That’s important to say because it points to the ways in which white supremacy and fascistic thinking can bleed into different political mindsets or belief systems.” Even prominent feminists of the time like Margaret Sanger espoused eugenic beliefs, though she never fully bought into forced sterilization as Kem did, Carr says.

The spiritualist movement

In addition to eugenics, Omer Kem believed in spiritualism, a movement centered around the idea that it is possible to communicate with the spirits of the dead. Carr notes in her book that spiritualism was common in Midwest Populist circles as well as among the general public; there were an estimated 5 to 6 million adherents by the 1860s, according to a historian cited by Carr.

A number of scholars document spiritualists’ involvement in progressive political causes. For example, the Bland family, Washington, D.C., activists whom Kem met when he moved to the capital after being elected to Congress, were populists as well as the founders of the National Indian Defense Association, a reform organization that opposed the forced assimilation of Native Americans.

ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder Professor Julie Carr focused on the story of her great-grandfather Omer Kem to explore the history of spiritualism, populism and eugenics in the American West and the United States.

At a dinner that Kem had with the Blands after he had been placed on the House Indian Affairs Committee, the Blands’ niece Maggie, a purported medium, described the ghosts of Kem’s mother and beloved sister Ellen as glowing orbs hovering near his head. This led to a series of encounters with his dead family members, including his son Bert.

Carr suggests that the Blands might have been using their spiritualism as a form of lobbying, as after these encounters with his dead relatives, Kem became very close to the Blands and did, in fact, advocate for their cause in Congress. Later, Kem’s spiritualism took another turn when he began to “see” a Native American “spirit guide” who he believed had entered his body.

Historians understand the prevalence of Native spirit guides differently. Some interpret it as yet another form of removal, reducing Native Americans to spectral presences, while others argue that spiritualists were generally sympathetic toward Native Americans, and sometimes used the “voices” of Native spirits to advocate for reforms (though these generally involved coerced assimilation through institutions such as the Indian schools). While this may have been a form of social justice work, it was a distorted one, according to Carr, based as it was on both appropriation and projection.

“In my great-grandfather’s case,” Carr says, “he started having visions of the ‘spirit’ of a ‘Native American healer’ entering his body in the 1890s when he was in Congress. He maintained this imagined relationship with this ‘spirit’ for the rest of his life. I think there’re some interesting psychological dynamics going on there, one being a desire to identify with Native Americans because of the way that he understands Indigenous people as having a legitimate right to the land.

“The other complexity is that, even as he’s making speeches on the congressional floor advocating for at least some level of Native sovereignty, he is also legislating for the further removal of Native people from land. In that split, you can see a kind of crisis. If nothing else, it has to be a crisis of conscience. Creating for himself, in a sense, an imaginary friend in this spirit guide he calls ‘Fleet Wind’ is a way, I think, to respond to that crisis of conscience. Perhaps this is true of many forms of appropriation and projection.”

Kem’s “complex history of bad and good luck, of power struggles, and of property,” as Carr describes them, highlights how the past haunts the present like a ghost, despite the flaws of its actors. Carr finds stark contrast between the past and the present in the People’s Party platform: “This Republic can only endure as a free government while built upon the love of the whole people for each other.”

“Though this word love, like the phrase the people, has so often been cheapened, distorted and mobilized for violent ends,” Carr writes, “I still want to ask: What if we took them at their word?”

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A ŷ��ڱ��Ƶ Boulder poet considers the socioeconomic and political environment of the turn of the 20th century through the history of her own family.

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