Division of Arts and Humanities

Holocaust victims to be memorialized on campus

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 16 Apr 2025 17:23:18 +0000

Holocaust victims to be memorialized on campus Rachel Sauer Wed, 04/16/2025 - 11:23

Holocaust Remembrance Day, or Yom HaShoah, to be observed by a public reading of the names of Jews killed in the Holocaust

Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, will be observed on campus again this year with a public reading of the names of European Jews murdered by the Germans and their allies during the Holocaust.

Weather permitting, the reading will take place on Thursday, April 24, from 10 a.m. until 5 p.m. at the Dalton Trumbo Fountain Court in front of the University Memorial Center.

The event’s organizers encourage the campus and broader communities to participate in the readings. Prospective participants may sign up here.

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

Holocaust Remembrance Day

What: Public readings on Yom HaShoah

When: Thursday, April 24, from 10 a.m. until 5 p.m.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ��ƷSM��ӰƬ event is presented by the Program in Jewish Studies. It is co-sponsored by the ��ƷSM��ӰƬ Department of History, Department of Women and Gender Studies and Center for Humanities and the Arts.

For more information on the Days of Remembrance and Yom HaShoah commemoration, please contact Professor Thomas Pegelow Kaplan, the Singer Endowed Chair in Jewish History, at thomas.pegelow-kaplan@colorado.edu.

“In our rapidly changing domestic and global political situation and the various devastating ongoing wars, especially in Israel and Gaza, these commemorations have again taken on yet a different meaning,” Pegelow Kaplan said.

“This event will also once more amount to a small contribution towards addressing charges of antisemitism (‘structural’ or not) that are still leveled against CU not only by right-wing non-Jewish and Jewish groups, but even by officials in or close to the federal government.”

Pegelow Kaplan noted that April 24 is also the anniversary of the start of the Armenian genocide, “and we will most certainly mention it and other mass crimes and mass death, especially in Gaza/Israel.”

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Holocaust Remembrance Day, or Yom HaShoah, to be observed by a public reading of the names of Jews killed in the Holocaust.

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Voices of the Andes: Sharing Quechua stories and culture through modern media

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 16 Apr 2025 14:21:08 +0000

Voices of the Andes: Sharing Quechua stories and culture through modern media Rachel Sauer Wed, 04/16/2025 - 08:21

Cody DeBos

In new audio storytelling project, ��ƷSM��ӰƬ scholar Doris Loayza works to preserve the traditional tales and lore of the Peruvian highlands

In the highlands of Peru, Andean cultures have thrived for millennia. There, Quechua, the most widely spoken indigenous language in the Western Hemisphere, is more than just a means of communication—it’s a medium of cultural heritage, stories and traditions.

As a predominantly oral language, Quechua has historically been underrepresented in modern media. To bridge this gap, Doris Loayza, a teaching assistant professor in the ��ƷSM��ӰƬ Latin American and Latinx Studies Center, is on a mission to preserve and revitalize Quechua storytelling. Her project, “Producing and Distributing Audio Stories in Central Quechua of Peru,” aims to capture the voices of Quechua speakers and share their stories with a broader audience.

Doris Loayza (center, brown jacket), a teaching assistant professor in the ��ƷSM��ӰƬ Latin American and Latinx Studies Center, is leading a project to preserve and revitalize Quechua storytelling.

By recording these stories in audio form, Loayza and her team aren’t just connecting with millions of native speakers; they’re also honoring the oral traditions that have kept Quechua alive for centuries.

“We have so much to share and contribute in our own language, because our languages are the repository of our knowledge and our ways of relating with the world,” she says.

Connecting heritage and modern media

Across the Andes—primarily in Peru, Bolivia and Ecuador, with smaller pockets in Columbia, Argentina and even the United States—some 8 to 10 million people speak Quechua. For Loayza, Quechua is more than just a language; it’s a connection to her heritage.

Preserving Quechua stories and traditions is deeply personal for her. Growing up in the central Andes of Peru, she learned the Central Quechua variety from her mother.

“I always loved hearing and telling stories in Quechua,” she recalls. “Growing up, we always listened to the radio, especially the local radio. Today, I still love radio, and now podcasts.”

While earning a master’s degree in Latin American Studies at NYU, Loayza focused her research on Quechua radio in the Andes and learned the Southern Quechua variety. After graduating, she discovered the Colectivo Quechua Central, a volunteer group of native Quechua speakers who publish an online newspaper to promote reading and writing in Central Quechua.

“I reached out and proposed the idea to make audio versions of their newspaper stories, focusing on local cultural topics like food and identity, and then sharing them in a podcast format to distribute to radio stations in the central Peruvian Andes and on social media,” she explains.

Grant supports language education

Doris Loayza, teaching assistant professor at the Latin American and Latinx Studies Center and affiliated faculty of the Center for Native American and Indigenous Studies, along with co-project directors Joe Bryan, Leila Gomez and Ambrocio Gutierrez Lorenzo, has won a two-year, $149,925 National Endowment for the Humanities grant to develop course modules and educational resources about Quechua and Zapotec language and culture as part of efforts to expand and strengthen the Latin American Indigenous Languages and Cultures program.

“The group welcomed the idea, and thanks to support from ��ƷSM��ӰƬ’s Center for Native American and Indigenous Studies, we recorded the first episode this summer in Peru.”

The challenges and joys of storytelling

The lengthy process of recording and distributing audio stories in Central Quechua began with a discussion of where to perform interviews—and what to talk about. For the pilot episode, Loayza and the Colectivo settled on stories about tuqush, the Quechua word for “fermentation.” Tuqush also is an important traditional food in the central Andes, prepared from potato pulp or maize.

“We started in Lima, where thousands of migrants from the central Andes speak the language and are fervent consumers of tuqush,” she explains, “which is known as the penicillin of the Andes because it is a natural antibiotic.

“We got off to a great start because, during our first interview, we were eating tuqush while we were recording, which made the interview really intimate and enjoyable.”

She later traveled to Chavín de Huántar in Peru’s Ancash region, the site of one of the most ancient cultures of the Andes, to reconnect with members of the Colectivo and record nearly 20 more interviews.

“We have so much to share and contribute in our own language, because our languages are the repository of our knowledge and our ways of relating with the world,” says Doris Loayza of her "Producing and Distributing Audio Stories in Central Quechua of Peru" project. (Photo: Doris Loayza)

“One big challenge was finding time to get together because the members of the Colectivo have their own jobs and commitments where they live,” Loayza says.

The team also ran into some pleasant “trouble” when their arrival in Chavín coincided with the first day of a weeklong fiesta.

“I had just started an interview in Chavín when the brass band arrived,” she recalls. “Of course, we had to stop and dance with them at the entrance of the town.”

That wouldn’t be the only memorable moment of the trip. In her hometown of Llamellin, Loyaza interviewed the couple who rent her parent’s farm in the highlands.

“He told me that he still makes tuqush there, but that it was hidden because people used to steal it. He gave me instructions on how to find the site of a stream where potatoes were buried in a hole beneath the water,” she says. “I was excited to find this place on a hot sunny day in the highlands because it was on my father’s land. It meant a lot to me personally.”

After completing the interviews, Loayza and members of the Colectivo began editing the recordings and distributing them to local listeners.

“I learned so much about food, vocabulary and their storytelling style,” Loayza says. “The Andean people, especially Quechua women, are great storytellers. They are so proud to tell their stories.”

Sharing Quechua with everyone

With the successful launch of their pilot episode, Loayza and the Colectivo aim to continue editing and distributing the recorded stories, making them accessible to a wider audience of Quechua speakers.

The Quechua audio stories will also play a role in educating the next generation of students at ��ƷSM��ӰƬ, Loayza says: “With Professor Leila Gómez, we are working on developing a new curriculum to include the Central Quechua variety of these podcasts in our classes and teach it along with the Southern variety that we currently teach.

“Being able to offer both varieties to our students will enrich and expand the cultural understanding of the Quechua culture.”

Loayza adds that she hopes these audio stories will inspire others in Peruvian highland communities to start their own recordings, further preserving the language and its cultural significance.

“It is so important to connect and learn from other indigenous languages and cultures,” she says. “We all have similarities and particularities. Everyone on this team is excited to share their knowledge, enthusiasm and time so that this project continues.”

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In new audio storytelling project, ��ƷSM��ӰƬ scholar Doris Loayza works to preserve the traditional tales and lore of the Peruvian highlands.

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Art and transformation are inherently connected, prof says

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 08 Apr 2025 16:02:54 +0000

Art and transformation are inherently connected, prof says Rachel Sauer Tue, 04/08/2025 - 10:02

Bradley Worrell

For artist and professor of printmaking Melanie Yazzie, making art is about much more than creating something aesthetically pleasing

For Melanie Yazzie, professor of art practices and head of printmaking in the Department of Art and Art History at the ��ƷSM��ӰƬ, art and transformation are intrinsically connected.

That’s because she describes her art as being much more than just about creating aesthetically pleasing work—it’s a medium for sharing social, cultural and political experiences shaping the lives of native peoples in the United States and beyond. Her artwork—which takes the form of paintings, printmaking, sculptures and ceramics—is shaped by her personal experiences, as well as events and symbols from her Diné (Navajo) culture.

For Melanie Yazzie, a ��ƷSM��ӰƬ professor of art practices and head of printmaking in the Art and Art History, art and transformation are intrinsically connected.

“I think when you’re really digging deep inside yourself and you make a work about something that’s really important, maybe it’s a certain theme you are trying to get across, when someone else sees it and gets it and is affected by it, that’s when you really see the power in artmaking,” she says. “It can transform you as the maker and also the person who sees it.”

Yazzie says her artwork follows the Diné dictum “walk in beauty”—the idea of creating beauty and harmony. “There’s always positive and negative in the world, a sort of yin and yang. In Navajo culture, walking in beauty is really about walking a balanced path and trying to stay in a positive frame of mind,” she explains.

That doesn’t mean avoiding controversial subjects in her art, but she says it does color the approach she takes.

“When I was younger and in grad school, I made artwork that was very much in your face,” Yazzie says. “And in a sense, I was preaching to the choir. People who understood what I was saying would stay and listen, but what I realized with that work was that the people I wanted to reach dismissed (my work) as just, ‘she’s an angry woman or she’s an angry person of color.’”

Today, much of her work straddles the line between abstractionism and representationalism, with recurring motifs of abstracted animal and plant forms, as well as people—notably women—who are rendered in a spectrum of colors. Yazzie says casual gallery viewers have described some of her paintings and prints with words such as “beautiful” and “whimsical” and even “silly.”

For those willing to inquire, however, there are deeper meanings to many of her works, which can tackle such serious issues as the horrible treatment of Native Americans in boarding schools run by the U.S. government from the 1880s to 1920s or the unsolved murders of indigenous women today.

“In a sense, it’s like using honey to draw people in and then educating them,” Yazzie says of her artwork today. “It’s a much slower path, but I’ve seen it over the years making bigger strides than when I was shouting ‘injustice.’”

Particularly with her earlier works, but even in some cases today, Yazzie says some people who “very rigid” in their views don’t appreciate her art. While it’s not always easy to hear, she credits her upbringing on the Navajo nation in northeastern Arizona with keeping her grounded and confident.

“Since a very young age I was brought up among Navajo people and around really strong women role models. That was my foundation,” she says. “So, when people were sometimes rude or racist, I would think back to my grandmother, who only spoke Navajo, and she would explain (their outlook) to me by saying people will sometimes act like bad children, and they don’t understand how to behave, so you have to show more patience with them and have a kind heart.”

Sharing personal experiences

Artwork has allowed Yazzie to tap into and share deeply personal experiences, such as a series of paintings she did after she was first diagnosed with Type II diabetes and was for a time at risk of losing her eyesight. Those paintings were notable for featuring small numbers in “thought bubbles” in the background of various works, capturing her blood sugar highs and lows on a given day.

Yazzie says gallery patrons who are diabetic oftentimes picked up on the hidden numbers. She has enjoyed talking with them about why her numbers were particularly high or very low in certain paintings.

“I think when you’re really digging deep inside yourself and you make a work about something that’s really important, maybe it’s a certain theme you are trying to get across, when someone else sees it and gets it and is affected by it, that’s when you really see the power in artmaking,” says Melanie Yazzie (with her sculpture "Strength from Within"). (Photo: Melanie Yazzie)

“That type of conversation is something that you can only have with someone who understands that illness. And it was beautiful, because for the people who saw the work who were diabetic, it was like a secret language between us,” she says.

She adds, “People sometimes make diabetes like it’s something shameful, but when we talked about it in a public setting, they (patrons) felt embraced and included. That artwork is about creating a space of healing and acceptance.”

And while she is proud of her Navajo cultural heritage, Yazzie says she takes pleasure in the fact that she makes art that people would not normally expect from an indigenous artist.

“I think there are stereotypes of what people—even in my own Navajo community—would classify as being Native American artwork, and I think a lot of times I go against that,” she says, noting she generally eschews paintings of pottery work, tepees or male warriors on horses. “And I think that’s one of the things that makes my work really strong is that it’s unique and different and not fulfilling stereotypes about Native American artwork.”

Through the years, Yazzie’s art has been featured in more than 500 group and solo exhibitions around the world. Her work can always be found at the Glenn Green Gallery in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Just as being an artist can bring transforming knowledge to others, Yazzie says artists need to be open to transformation in their own work and how it is presented. She learned that lesson for herself recently, when people who follow her work asked if she could make her art more accessible, which led her to a new direction as an artist.

“I’ve started doing jewelry pieces and scarves. That idea came from collectors and others who were saying, ‘I have one of your paintings or prints and I wish I could carry it with me when I’m going to see the doctor or because I’m having a hard time now,” she says. “In the Navajo tradition, jewelry is worn for protection and to bring about good things. So, this came about from people who say my work brings them hope.”

Balancing the best of both worlds

Yazzie says she’s been creating art for as long as she can remember. Still, her career path wasn’t always set in stone. Her parents, who were both educators, encouraged her in her formative years to follow their path, as they had some concerns about whether being an artist was a viable career.

“In any community, it’s really a struggle to make a living as an artist, and so I think they were just worried about that,” she says. For a time, she seriously contemplated becoming an English or Spanish teacher, but eventually decided to pursue a career in the arts, a decision she says her parents ultimately came to appreciate.

“My father would always tell me, choose something that you are really passionate about and that you love. And many people say that: that if you do something you love it never really feels like work. That was my experience. I just found that artmaking and being in the artist community really fed me in ways that other things didn’t.”

Today, as a professor at ��ƷSM��ӰƬ, Yazzie says she is able to combine the best of both worlds as an artist and an instructor.

“Being a professor and helping students share their stories and experiences is deeply rewarding,” she says. “I think it’s wonderful to be able to help create a strong human being who is speaking their truth through their artwork.”

Even for ��ƷSM��ӰƬ students who have no interest in pursuing a career in the arts, Yazzie strongly encourages them to take classes that engage their creative side.

“My advice would be: Take an art class, a writing course, a music class, or anything in the creative realm,” she says. “It opens up parts of you that help you see the world in a more well-rounded way, and I think that is the power of a liberal arts education.”

"Remembering Brittany"

"Growing Stronger"

"She's Singing"

"Simon Joe Benally is Looking for a Rich Girlfriend"

"Speak Truth"

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For artist and professor of printmaking Melanie Yazzie, making art is about much more than creating something aesthetically pleasing.

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Dropping perfectionism and embracing purpose and joy

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 07 Apr 2025 15:22:31 +0000

Dropping perfectionism and embracing purpose and joy Rachel Sauer Mon, 04/07/2025 - 09:22

Pam Moore

��ƷSM��ӰƬ alumna Julie Chavez reflects on her new memoir, which chronicles her journey through a mental health crisis to finding a new motto: ‘Be adequate’

When Julie Chavez (Span’00) graduated from the ��ƷSM��ӰƬ with a major in Spanish language and literature, she didn’t see herself becoming an author. As a self-proclaimed “lifelong reader” who blogged for fun, she’d been told many times that she should write a book.

Although flattered, Chavez, who lives in Pleasanton, California, with her husband Mando Chavez, a 1999 ��ƷSM��ӰƬ graduate, and their two sons, was comfortable in her role as a librarian at her sons’ school. And besides, she says, “I didn’t know what I wanted my story to be.”

��ƷSM��ӰƬ alumna Julie Chavez (Span’00) describes learning to advocate for herself and let go of her perfectionist tendencies, embracing the motto “be adequate,” in her memoir Everyone But Myself.

That is, until her story found her.

When anxiety and perfectionism culminated in a debilitating panic attack and a paralyzing sense that she was always falling short no matter how hard she tried, Chavez’s world irrevocably changed.

After navigating many obstacles to accessing mental health services, working with a therapist to put her own proverbial oxygen mask on before tending to her family and finally learning to advocate for herself and let go of her perfectionist tendencies, she emerged with a new motto— “be adequate”—and the idea for the book she needed to write.

Told with humor and honesty, Chavez’s new memoir, Everyone But Myself, released last year and named a Washington Post noteworthy book and a USA Today bestseller, chronicles her journey from the depths of a crushing mental health crisis to a life filled with joy and purpose. Chavez spoke with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine to explain the story behind the story.

Question: What motivated you to write Everyone But Myself?

Chavez: I knew that if I was going to write a book, it would have to have value for readers. Even though I loved writing, I didn’t see myself as a fiction writer and I didn’t think I had a story to tell.

But then I had my annual review with my principal. Over the prior year, my mental health had taken a nosedive, and I thanked her for having shared her own struggles with me during that time. Her candor really helped me through what I call my ‘mid-mom crisis’—which I later learned is something that many over-extended working moms struggle with as our elementary grade kids grow into humans who don’t need us intensely as they once did.

She said, ‘That’s what you should write your book about.’ That was when I realized that my story could truly be helpful for someone else.

Question: Who is Everyone But Myself for?

Chavez: I wish it hadn’t taken debilitating anxiety for me to finally understand that my self-care and creating boundaries around my own happiness was not only good, but necessary.

So, I wrote this for all the readers who see themselves in my story. It’s for the perfectionist moms, the anxious moms, the moms who, in trying to do their best for their families, have inadvertently abandoned themselves.

In her memoir Everyone But Myself, ��ƷSM��ӰƬ alumna Julie Chavez chronicles her journey from the depths of a crushing mental health crisis to a life filled with joy and purpose.

It’s also for all the moms who feel they don’t ‘deserve’ help. I love my life and my family so much. I feel grateful that I get to live a relatively comfortable life. And yet, even with all the privilege I’ve been afforded, I was taken aback at how aggressively and how quickly my mental health declined—and how hard it was to find a therapist when I needed one.

We tend to put our suffering on a ‘sliding scale’ or to minimize it by comparing it to other people’s problems but the truth is, when it’s hard, it’s hard, and it’s OK to ask for help.

Question: What challenges did you encounter on the road to publication?

Chavez: The book you have in your hands is my fourth rewrite. I can’t tell you how many times I asked myself whether it was worth it.

I started writing in the spring of 2019 and by the end of the year I had 30,000 words, which I thought was a book. It wasn’t. Then, I attended a class on publishing, where I learned that without a platform, it would be extremely difficult to find a publisher, particularly for a memoir.

So, I started working with a hybrid publisher, who recommended a rewrite. Meanwhile, [publisher] Zibby Owens’ Book Club published an essay of mine, which was an excerpt from the book, which did really well. Zibby ended up taking me on as one of her first acquisitions, and I parted ways with the hybrid publisher.

Following advice from Zibby’s team, I started a fresh rewrite. Instead of a memoir, it was an essay collection, but it just didn’t work. So now, I had an agent and I was starting with a blank page, which is actually kind of backward. Usually you get an agent once you have a fully written manuscript. I finished that version in December of 2022 and the book was published just over two years later.

Through it all, I had to re-learn the same lesson I learned in the pages of my book—that I had to keep showing up, remember my “why,” and not be too attached to the outcome.

Question: What has surprised you over the course of your publishing journey?

Chavez: There’s been a surprising number of women who have said, ‘You are telling my exact story.’ So many have said that after reading my story, they understand what they’re going through, which has been wonderful.

That was always my hope—that my book could be a friend to them and to open the door to the kinds of conversations we need to have.

But my favorite thing is when someone says they’re giving it to a friend or asks me to sign it for their sister.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

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��ƷSM��ӰƬ alumna Julie Chavez reflects on her new memoir, which chronicles her journey through a mental health crisis to finding a new motto: ‘Be adequate.’

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Tales as old as time … yet we still love them

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 04 Apr 2025 15:36:10 +0000

Tales as old as time … yet we still love them Rachel Sauer Fri, 04/04/2025 - 09:36

Rachel Sauer

With yet another Snow White adaptation currently in theaters, ��ƷSM��ӰƬ scholar Suzanne Magnanini reflects on the enduring appeal of fairy tales

Once upon a time—this time, in fact, and many of the ones that came before it—there was a story that never grew dull in its telling.

It possibly leaped the porous cultural and national borders of narrative, carried by caravans or ships or ethernet cables and planted in the ready imaginations of successive generations of story lovers—those who tell them and those who hear them.

Maybe it’s the story of a young person who ventures into the unknown, where they encounter magic and beasts of all sizes and a resolution specific to the tale’s time and place. Maybe there really even are fairies involved.

Suzanne Magnanini, a ��ƷSM��ӰƬ associate professor of Italian and chair of the Department of French and Italian, notes that fairy tales' malleability helps them remain fresh and relevant over centuries of retellings.

And we never seem to tire of hearing about them.

The recent theatrical release of Disney’s live-action Snow White—one of countless retellings of the tale over more than 400 years—highlights the place of honor that fairy tales occupy in cultures around the world and in the hearts of people hearing them for the first time or the thousandth.

One of the reasons they remain fresh through countless years and iterations is their malleability, says Suzanne Magnanini, a ��ƷSM��ӰƬ associate professor of Italian and chair of the Department of French and Italian. “The Italian author Italo Calvino, who also edited a seminal collection of Italian folktales, writes of fairy tales as being like a stone fruit, where you have that hard core center that is always the same—you’ll usually recognize a Sleeping Beauty story, for example—but the fruit can be radically different around that.”

Stories of time and place

As a researcher, Magnanini has published broadly on fairy tales, including her 2008 book Fairy-Tale Science: Monstrous Generation in the Fairy Tales of Straparola and Basile. She began studying fairy tales while working on her PhD, finding in them a fascinating dovetailing between her interests in monstrosity and otherness.

“As a scholar, I take what’s called a social-historical approach,” she explains. “I’m really interested in all those little details that link a tale to a very precise place in time where it was told, and I’ve written about the ways in which fairy tales are used to elaborate on and think about scientific theories of reproduction that hadn’t really been nailed down at the time—questions that were still being circulated about whether humans could interbreed with animals, for example, and would that produce a monstrous child?

“You look at a some variations of Beauty and the Beast, like Giovan Francesco Straparola’s story of a pig king, where it’s a magical version of these questions, and maybe what’s actually happening is that fairy tales are a way to think through the anxieties and interests of the time.”

Fairy Tales at ��ƷSM��ӰƬ

The ATU Index is one of the search elements that Suzanne Magnanini and her students are including as they develop the database for Fairy Tales at ��ƷSM��ӰƬ. The project aims, in part, to improve access and searchability of the more than 2,000 fairy tale collections that are part of the Rare Books Collection at Norlin Library.

The project is a partnership between undergraduates and graduate students under the direction of Magnanini and Sean Babbs, instruction coordinator for the University Libraries' Rare and Distinctive Collections, as well as Hope Saska, CU Art Museum acting director and chief curator, who has trained students in visual-thinking strategies. The project is supported by Undergraduate Research Opportunities Program, the ASSETT Innovation Incubator, the President’s Teaching Scholars Program and the University Libraries.

Fairy Tales at ��ƷSM��ӰƬ will host a showcase of CU's fairy tale collection from 3:30 to 4:45 p.m. April 16 in Norlin Library M350B. Learn more here.

Though fairy tales may be spun in response to what’s happening in a specific time and place, they also often address concerns that aren’t specific to one location or culture but are broadly pondered across humanity. “Andrew Teverson has written that fairy tales are literature’s migrants because they can move across borders, they can move across boundaries and then make themselves at home and assimilate to a certain extent in different cultures,” Magnanini says.

For example, the Brothers Grimm heard a tale called “Sneewittchen” (Snow White) from folklorist Marie Hassenpflug, as well as from other sources, and included it as tale No. 53 in their seminal 1812 Grimm’s Fairy Tales. However, says Magnanini, there was a similar tale called “The Young Slave” in Giambattista Basile’s 1634 work Pentamerone. In fact, Snow White is type 709 in the Aarne–Thompson–Uther Index (ATU Index), which catalogs and describes common motifs and themes in fairy tales and folklore around the world.

Not so happily ever after

The origins of many fairy tales can be traced as far back as ancient Greece, Rome and China, Magnanini says, which speaks to their ability not only to help people of particular times and places explore their anxieties and questions, but to address the feelings that have been central to the human condition almost since our species emerged from caves.

“When I think about fairy tales, I think about number of characteristics that make them really appealing across time and space,” Magnanini says. “If you think about it, the protagonists are almost always young people heading out into the world—much like our students are heading out—leaving home behind, having to make their way in world, facing challenges. That experience can be very transformational, so in a way these stories are all about metamorphosis and change.

“A lot of times that’s when you’re living your life in Technicolor and all the emotions are new. So, even if you’re no longer in that moment of life, fairy tales tap into experiences like the first falling in love, the first adventure from home. And they often end right after the wedding, so you don’t see someone having to do their taxes or being like, ‘Oh, my god, I’ve been in this relationship for 30 years and I’m bored.’ I think part of the reason we don’t get tired of fairy tales is because they capture this fleeting time in life.”

“If you think about it, the (fairy tale) protagonists are almost always young people heading out into the world—much like our students are heading out—leaving home behind, having to make their way in world, facing challenges," says ��ƷSM��ӰƬ scholar Suzanne Magnanini. (Photo: Disney Studios)

While fairy tales, particularly as they’ve been interpreted and simplified by Disney, are stereotyped as having “and they lived happily ever after” endings, fairy tales pre-Disney more commonly ended with justice served, Magnanini says. For example, the version of “Snow White” in the 1812 Grimm’s Fairy Tales ends with the evil queen being forced to step into a pair of red-hot iron shoes and dance until she dies.

“A lot of people will say, ‘Oh, it’s the happy ending that’s the appeal of fairy tales,’ but it’s important to remember the vast majority of fairy tales end with the deliverance of justice—something really unjust has happened, someone has been discriminated against, there’s some evil in the world, and justice is delivered,” Magnanini explains. “People who study the formal aspects of fairy tales always talk about how the ‘happy ending’ is found in justice.

“Disney Studios has a tendency to remove the ambiguity from these tales and remove most of the violence—simplifying them in a lot of ways. If you read the French version of Beauty and the Beast, Charles Perrault’s version, there were other siblings in there; there was a complex family structure with complex interactions and a lot of really heavy issues—the family must deal with economic disaster.”

In fact, the field of fairy tale scholarship addresses everything from feminist interpretations of the stories to the ways in which children use fairy tales to help navigate psychosexual rites of passage. Generations of authors have told and continue to retell these familiar stories through different lenses of gender, sexuality, geography, racial identity, economic status and many, many others.

“What makes these stories different, and what I think is a big part of the appeal of fairy tales, is the magic or the marvel,” Magnanini says. “For it to be a fairy tale, scholars would say there has to be magic in there—not just the presence of magic, but magic that facilitates the happy ending by allowing the protagonist to overcome whatever obstacles are in the way of what they desire, maybe the marriage, the wealth, the happy ending. There’s something so satisfying about that, because it doesn’t happen in your quotidian day-to-day life. I mean, imagine if you met a talking deer.”

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With yet another Snow White adaptation currently in theaters, ��ƷSM��ӰƬ scholar Suzanne Magnanini reflects on the enduring appeal of fairy tales.

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CU prof fighting to keep Latin classes alive through video storytelling

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 01 Apr 2025 15:51:17 +0000

CU prof fighting to keep Latin classes alive through video storytelling Rachel Sauer Tue, 04/01/2025 - 09:51

Cody DeBos

For Reina Callier, learning Latin ‘is like lifting weights for your brain’

When a student in one of Reina Callier’s Latin classes said, “I came for the language, I stayed for the vibes,” she laughed, but the phrase stuck with her.

It captured something essential about Latin classrooms. Beyond conjugations and declensions, they offer students a haven for community, curiosity and a shared passion for the ancient world.

In recent years, though, that community has been shrinking.

Reina Callier, a ��ƷSM��ӰƬ teaching assistant professor of classics, notes that “Latin survives because people love it. And as long as we keep sharing that love, it’s not going anywhere.”

“Enrollment in Latin classes, especially at the secondary level, has largely been declining,” Callier explains. “During COVID, Latin classes were seen as non-essential, so they lost a lot of students. And they’ve been having a hard time bringing the numbers back up.”

For Callier, a teaching assistant professor of classics and the Latin Program Coordinator at the ��ƷSM��ӰƬ, this trend is more than an academic concern.

She wasn’t alone in her worries. In response to falling enrollment rates, the Colorado Classics Association (CCA) formed a committee dedicated to promoting interest in Latin classes.

The solution? A project that would convey the benefits of learning Latin to students in their own words.

A language in decline

Across the country, Latin programs have struggled to justify their existence in an education system increasingly focused on STEM fields and workforce development. In some districts, administrators have proposed cutting Latin entirely, forcing teachers and students to fight for their programs.

In collaboration with the CCA and local high school educators, Callier helped spearhead You Belong in Latin, a video project designed to remind high school students why Latin is worth learning.

“We finally came up with the idea for a video, because it’s something you can share easily. It’s more entertaining than just looking at a brochure that says, ‘Here’s why Latin is a good thing to take,’” Callier says.

The project quickly took shape as teachers across Colorado filmed interviews with their students, capturing firsthand accounts of what Latin means to them. They also collected footage of classrooms filled with laughter, animated discussions and moments of discovery.

“One of the things we noticed is that once students get into Latin class, they really love it,” Callier says. “You just have to get them in the door.”

The team secured a grant to bring the project to life, which allowed them to hire a former ��ƷSM��ӰƬ student who majored in film—and took several semesters of Latin with Callier—to professionally edit the videos.

Over the course of a year, the raw footage was transformed into a compelling series of short videos, each emphasizing a unique aspect of the Latin classroom experience.

Now available on YouTube, the You Belong in Latin videos are a vital resource for teachers, students and parents to share.

Latin is for everyone

A central theme of You Belong in Latin is the tight-knit community formed in Latin classrooms. Unlike more popular language programs, Latin classes tend to be small, allowing students to form deeper relationships with their peers and instructors.

“At ��ƷSM��ӰƬ, if you take Latin, aside from the first semester where there are two sections of Latin I, after that, everybody’s in the same class together,” Callier explains. “You continue to see the same instructors in the department as well. So you get to know them, and you get to know your peers in a way that’s not really very common at the college level.”

The same holds true in high schools, where Latin students often stay in one cohort across multiple years and gain a sense of unity and belonging.

The videos also seek to challenge the misconception that Latin is elitist—a subject reserved for Ivy League prep schools and aspiring academics.

“Latin actually isn’t elitist. Everybody’s starting from the same level when they walk into Latin class. There’s no barrier, and everybody can benefit from it in various ways,” Callier says.

And while Latin’s reputation as a “dead language” often turns students away, Callier argues that its benefits are very much alive. Latin gives students a foundation for English vocabulary, enhances their analytical skills and prepares them for careers in law, medicine and the sciences, she says, adding that it also provides direct access to Latin texts, “which is immensely beneficial to anyone who is enthusiastic about Roman literature or history.

“Latin actually isn’t elitist. Everybody’s starting from the same level when they walk into Latin class. There’s no barrier, and everybody can benefit from it in various ways.”

“Learning Latin is like weightlifting for your brain,” she says with a smile.

Keeping the momentum going

Now that the You Belong in Latin videos have been published, Callier is working to spread the word.

“We have been sharing our Colorado Classics Association YouTube channel with educators from around the country who are looking for different ways to promote Latin,” she says.

Feedback on the project has been encouraging for Latin educators who rarely receive recognition for their efforts.

“What we are doing as Latin educators is something that is really having an impact,” Callier says. “Students are getting a lot out of Latin in various ways, and they’re really appreciating what we bring to the table.”

At its heart, this project isn’t just about keeping Latin alive but also celebrating what makes it special. As Callier and her colleagues know, the language is only the beginning. The real magic comes from the people who learn and teach it.

Callier says, “Latin survives because people love it. And as long as we keep sharing that love, it’s not going anywhere.”

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For Reina Callier, learning Latin ‘is like lifting weights for your brain.'

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Patty Limerick and George Orwell merge to celebrate anniversaries

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 18 Mar 2025 15:17:07 +0000

Patty Limerick and George Orwell merge to celebrate anniversaries Rachel Sauer Tue, 03/18/2025 - 09:17

Daniel Long

The historian loaned her voice to the author in the summer of 2024 to commemorate her 40th year in Boulder and the 75th anniversary of 1984

It was a hot summer evening in June of 2024, in a barn on the east side of Boulder, Colorado. On a low stage blanketed with a small, thin rug, two empty chairs sat facing each other, and between them, tall and menacing against the black backdrop, stood a red banner with “1984” written on it.

A large gray eye gazed out upon the audience from the center of that banner, lidless and all-seeing, an icon of surveillance.

Big Brother, it seemed, was watching, and he likely disapproved of what he saw.

��ƷSM��ӰƬ Professor Patty Limerick embodied 1984 author George Orwell in several public conversation, guided by the belief that “historians are people who try to reactivate the voices of the departed.”

His creator and harshest critic, George Orwell (born Eric Arthur Blair), had returned from the dead to discuss his life and work nearly 75 years after succumbing to tuberculosis at the age of 46 on Jan. 21, 1950, seven months following the publication of his most famous novel, 1984, the nightmare-vision that gave the world Room 101, memory holes, Newspeak and doublethink.

It would be the first of two public conversations he’d have over the summer, this one with TV show host Aaron Harber and the second with scholar, author and educator Clay Jenkinson.

Harber took the stage and faced the humble gathering of spectators. “I would like to introduce to you George Orwell,” he said.

Applause mounted in the sweltering barn as the author of Animal Farm, Road to Wigan Pier and numerous essays ambled down the aisle dividing the crowd and stepped up to meet Harber, dressed sharply but unseasonably in a jacket, trousers, tie and hat . . .

. . . and bearing a remarkable resemblance to ��ƷSM��ӰƬ history professor Patty Limerick.

Why channel Orwell?

“Tragedy . . . belonged to the ancient time, to a time when there was still privacy, love, and friendship, and when the members of a family stood by one another without needing to know the reason.”
—George Orwell, 1984

The year 2024 marked Limerick’s 40th in Boulder, which is another way of saying she moved there in 1984. She wanted to celebrate, but how?

“Then I thought, ‘Yes, 1984—when was that published?’ I thought I knew, but I didn't. And when I checked, it was the 75th anniversary.”

This convergence of round numbers gave Limerick an idea: Maybe she could observe both anniversaries together, with the same event, as only a historian would.

Her initial thought was to ask her friend Jenkinson to don Orwell’s persona while she interviewed him. Having impersonated many historical figures—Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt and J. Robert Oppenheimer, among others—for a variety of audiences, including Supreme Court justices and U.S. Congress, he seemed the natural choice.

But Jenkinson didn’t have sufficient time to prepare for the role, which left Limerick wondering: Could she do the impersonation herself?

She’d impersonated President Richard Nixon in her American History survey course several years prior, thinking this would prove more engaging than her usual lecture on the man. “The lecture on Richard Nixon was so useless because I, as a person of my age group, have a lot of feelings about Nixon,” Limerick says. “The lecture would be quite interesting if you were curious about my feelings about Nixon, but if you thought you might want to learn about Richard Nixon, you came to the wrong place.”

Even without the standard accoutrements—makeup, clothing, five o’clock shadow—Limerick’s impersonation of the 37th president did the trick, she says. Her students asked thoughtful questions, and she got the chance to put some flesh and sinew on the bones of her Nixonian knowledge.

“I certainly conveyed some moments in which Nixon was insufferably full of questionable convictions, but I also . . . conveyed his accomplishments,” such as “the lessening of tensions with China and the signing of crucial environmental laws,” she recalls. “I feel I got it right.”

So, why not impersonate Orwell? Why not lend him her voice as she had Nixon?

Why not indeed. After all, Limerick says, “historians are people who try to reactivate the voices of the departed.”

Guaranteed tyranny

“Don’t you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow the range of thought? In the end we shall make thoughtcrime literally impossible, because there will be no words in which to express it.”
—George Orwell, 1984

One of 1984’s most famous innovations is Newspeak, a language Orwell constructed to represent the nation-state of Oceania’s drive to control not just its citizens’ behavior but also what went on in their heads.

Patty Limerick (left), a ��ƷSM��ӰƬ historian, embodied George Orwell during a televised conversation with Aaron Harber. (Screen grab: PBS)

“The purpose of Newspeak was not only to provide a medium of expression for the world-view and mental habits proper to the devotees of Ingsoc (English socialism), but to make all other modes of thought impossible,” Orwell says in his appendix to 1984, “The Principles of Newspeak.”

“It was intended that when Newspeak had been adopted once and for all and Oldspeak forgotten, a heretical thought—that is, a thought diverging from the principles of Ingsoc—should be literally unthinkable, at least so far as thought is dependent on words.”

“Newspeak,” says Limerick, “is the foundation of guaranteed tyranny. You don’t let people have the words that they need. What became of justice? What became of freedom? What became of honor? They can’t ask those questions if they don’t have those words. People can’t resist if they don’t have the word ‘resist.’”

Orwell held strong views about the relationship between word and thought. He famously criticized nebulous prose in his essay “Politics and the English Language” by arguing that fuzzy writing both emerges from and leads to fuzzy thinking.

Decades later, not fully realizing her indebtedness to Orwell, Limerick made a similar case in her essay “Dancing with Professors,” though she approached the issue from an educational rather than a political angle. Yet both agreed that the stakes of clarity are high: freedom of thought for Orwell, the legitimacy and survival of academia for Limerick.

But what about some of the words that appear in the media these days—words like “mistruths” in place of “lies”? Would Orwell consider these examples of Newspeak?

Not necessarily, Limerick argues. For one thing, these words, wooly as they may be, add to the English language, creating new shades of meaning, while Newspeak feeds on subtraction.

“Do you know that Newspeak is the only language in the world whose vocabulary gets smaller every year?” the Newspeak enthusiast Syme asks of 1984’s protagonist, Winston Smith. “Every year fewer and fewer words, and the range of consciousness always a little smaller.”

For another thing, a word like “mistruth,” says Limerick, is often used not by the powerful to maintain their power but by media outlets that are trying to report on falsehoods without using incendiary words like “lie” or “liar.”

“If you're going to call the leader of the United States a liar repeatedly, and his supporters are not gentle and forgiving people, you’re going to spend much of your conscious life wondering how you’re going to cope with the consequences of your having said he’s lying.”

Newspeak does not deal in such subtleties, Limerick believes. Newspeak is where subtlety goes to die.

Two plus two equals five

“You are a slow learner, Winston,” said O’Brien gently.
“How can I help it?” (Winston) blubbered. “How can I help seeing what is in front of my eyes? Two and two are four.”
“Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.”
—George Orwell, 1984

Another of Orwell’s stickier inventions in 1984 is doublethink, or the capacity to believe two logically opposed things at once—things like war is peace, freedom is slavery and ignorance is strength.

“Doublethink is the power of tyrants to say contradictory things and not be held responsible for the disparities,” Limerick explains. “It is really bad, and really dangerous, and really perilous.”

Winston discovers how perilous when he’s interrogated by O’Brien, a character he assumes is a friend but who turns out to be a member of the Thought Police tasked with rooting out thought-criminals. After learning of Winston’s secret opposition to Ingsoc, O’Brien tortures him relentlessly to convert him back into doublethink, arguing that it “is impossible to see reality except by looking through the eyes of the Party.”

Yet Limerick points out that it is important not to mistake the direct contradictions of doublethink in 1984 with the paradoxes of real life.

Take historical figures, for example. The more one learns about them, says Limerick, the more complex they become, to the point that they may force students of history to hold seemingly contradictory thoughts when appraising them.

This happened to Limerick herself with William Stewart, senator of Nevada from 1865-75.

“Environmental activists and historians hold Stewart in contempt because he was the guy who wrote the 1872 mining law, which enshrines the notion that individuals can just go out and make mining claims and owe nothing in the way of revenue to the government,” she says.

Yet Stewart also proved crucial to getting the Fifteenth Amendment passed in 1870, which granted African American men the right to vote—an accomplishment Limerick urges everyone to admire.

Evidence sometimes demands conflicting feelings, Limerick says. Villains can do heroic things, and heroes can do villainous things, including Orwell. The great champion of free thought also expressed complicated, often inconsistent views about women, Jews and Catholicism. He wasn’t perfect, and any estimation that claimed he was would be flat. Posterity can both praise and blame him simultaneously—paradoxical, but true.

But that doesn’t mean two plus two will ever equal five.

Orwell’s lingering relevance

“We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future. We shall take part in it as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. But how far away that future may be, there is no knowing.”
—George Orwell, 1984

The conversation between Jenkinson and Limerick’s Orwell, organized by the Vail Symposium, took place on Aug. 21, 2024, at the Donovan Pavilion in Vail. That night, the two engaged in an often funny and frequently tetchy back-and-forth about Orwell’s childhood, his views on socialism and his enduring legacy.

“Doublethink is the power of tyrants to say contradictory things and not be held responsible for the disparities. It is really bad, and really dangerous, and really perilous,” argues historian Patty Limerick.

When, about three-quarters of the way through the discussion, Jenkinson revealed he was wearing a 1984 T-shirt, Orwell stared at it, nonplussed, and asked, “My understanding from that shirt is that my name and that book are still recognizable?”

“Universally!” Jenkinson proclaimed. “One of the most recognizable books written in English and certainly one of the most recognizable books of the 20th century. And it has become extremely important again in the last dozen years or so because the world is having a strange flirtation with authoritarianism, and one of the ways that people have coped with this abroad and at home . . . is to go back to your book. And they find solace in it, they find warning in it, they find hope in it, and they find discouragement in it, but it is a key text as people try to sort our way through this extraordinarily difficult time in modern history.”

A long silence followed while Orwell gathered his thoughts.

“I’m having such mixed feelings,” he admitted to Jenkinson. “I hoped that what I wrote about (in 1984) would become mocked, humorous. ‘He thought these terrible things were going to happen. Nothing like that happened! Boy, did he get that wrong!’

“As an author, I am gratified knowing that (1984) went on and on,” he added. “(But) as a human being who welcomed a child (his adopted son Richard Blair) into the world, I’m not anything but shaken to believe that this book is still so relevant.”

Yet Orwell’s distress turned to horror when Jenkinson delivered the worst news of the night: the definition of the word “Orwellian.”

“When we say ‘Orwellian,’” Jenkinson said, “we mean surveillance, torture, discrimination, disappearances, propaganda, lies, permanent war, keeping the class system, keeping down the poor … ‘Orwellian’ is a dystopian word for us meaning a nightmare world.”

Orwell winced at this revelation. “The things I tried to prevent, the things I tried to warn people about, they associate with me?” he railed. “Change that word!”

Jenkinson held out his hands, welcoming Orwell’s ideas. “What would you prefer?”

Orwell offered two alternative definitions: one about intellectual openness and diversity, the other about the necessity of precise language.

But a third definition, one governed not by foreboding or criticism but by a zeal for life and all it contained, can be culled from the beginning of Orwell and Jenkinson’s talk.

“If you think . . . that I wrote 1984 when I knew I was dying, and knew that this would be my last book, and that the grimness of this book comes from the melancholy and despair of a dying man, you have that wrong,” Orwell said. “I lived with a commitment to being alive that never, never faltered.”

Perhaps the only thing comparable to Orwell’s commitment to being alive is Limerick’s commitment to keeping him alive—or, if not him, at least his memory. He won’t be memory-holed on her watch.

“I hate it so much that he died when he did, just a few months after 1984 came out, and that he was so sick and so frail while he was writing it,” she says. “I wanted to do anything I could to provide people today with an interlude where he was speaking.”

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The historian loaned her voice to the author in the summer of 2024 to commemorate her 40th year in Boulder and the 75th anniversary of '1984.'

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Top illustration: Márton Kapoli

��ƷSM��ӰƬ religious studies professor says Twelver Shi’ism is open to discourse

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 17 Mar 2025 15:09:22 +0000

��ƷSM��ӰƬ religious studies professor says Twelver Shi’ism is open to discourse Rachel Sauer Mon, 03/17/2025 - 09:09

Bradley Worrell

Associate Professor Aun Hasan Ali’s book about Islam’s School of Hillah explores the dynamics and formation of Twelver Shi’ism, arguing that the faith was open to diverse intellectual traditions

Twelver Shi’ism, the largest branch of Shi’ite Islam, tends to be viewed as fundamentally authoritarian, particularly as seen through the lens of the ideology of the Iranian government.

Aun Hasan Ali, associate professor in the ��ƷSM��ӰƬ Department of Religious Studies whose area of focus is on Islamic intellectual history, particularly pre-modern Twelver Shi’i traditions, says he believes that modern perceptions of the faith have been colored by the 1979 Iranian Revolution.

“It was an unprecedented moment in a lot of ways, because for the first time in the history of Shi’ism, you had a theory of government where the jurist was the head of the state,” he says. “Traditionally, there was always a kind of separation between those two spheres.”

Aun Hasan Ali, ��ƷSM��ӰƬ associate professor of religious studies, argues that modern perceptions of Twelver Shi'ism have been colored by the 1979 Iranian Revolution.

As a result, Ali says the idea took root among some in the West and also in the Muslim Sunni tradition that Shi’i clerics were free to make whatever political or religious decisions they pleased, because they were not bound by the history of tradition. However, that’s not an accurate portrayal of how jurists and other followers come to decisions in Twelver Shi’i religious tradition, he adds.

Instead, Ali makes the case that Twelver Shi’ism is better understood as a “discursive tradition,” which, as defined by noted cultural anthropologist Talal Asad, involves researching foundational Islamic texts, such as the Quran and the writings of exemplary historical Shi’i religious figures, for context. Ali says his own definition of discursive tradition is tied less to foundational texts and more to how noted Shi’i religious figures interpreted those texts, as that is how most followers of the faith first engage on religious topics.

“In the same way that someone addressing ethics in contemporary philosophy needs to address (Immanuel) Kant, for instance, I view that as a parameter of the conversation,” he explains. “Similarly, when it comes to Islamic tradition, there are important figures that one needs to address. So, in the simplest terms, a discursive tradition should be thought of as a conversation across time and space among experts.”

In contrast to the idea that scholars make decisions based solely upon their authority, Ali contends that thinking of the Twelver Shi’i faith as a discursive tradition means the faith continually remains open to discussion, debate, mediation and modification.

Ali’s ideas on discursive tradition were shaped in part by his PhD dissertation on the School of Hillah, a center of religious learning that played a major role in preserving and promoting Twelver Shi’i Islamic religious traditions, while also being open to integrating diverse intellectual traditions, during its formative years, from the 12th to 14th centuries. Ali’s revised dissertation was published in 2023 by I.B. Taurus as the book, The School of Hillah and the Formation of Twelver Shi’i Islamic Tradition, which is being translated into Arabic for wider distribution.

Recently, Ali spoke with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine about the importance of the School of Hillah in the formation of Twelver Shi’ism and its profound effect on the Shi’i faith today. His answers have been lightly edited and condensed for space considerations.

Question: Why does the School of Hillah take root in what is now southern Iraq?

Ali: Hillah becomes a center of scholarship for two reasons. One is that you have a (regional) Shi’i dynasty come to power that patronizes these scholars. The second reason is that you have the Mongol invasion in the 13th century, which pushes a lot of people looking to escape that devastation southward.

So, you end up with a concentration of scholars who are sought-after in the region. People travel to Hillah from the Levant, from Bahrain and from Iran. They travel there because they were seeking expert education, and the major figures of Hillah were the undisputed experts. (Students) came there to receive that kind of education in the same way that today somebody might come to CU seeking a world-class program in astrophysics. The same thing was happening in Hillah; they came there to learn from these masters.

With the Mongol invasion, sure, there’s devastation, but there are also opportunities. There are trade routes that enrich particular families in the area, and, as we all know, education requires money, so the influx of wealth also becomes a reason why they’re able to offer patronage to those scholars.

In The School of Hillah and the Formation of Twelver Shi’i Islamic Tradition, which is being translated into Arabic for wider distribution, author Aun Hasan Ali explores the School of Hillah, a center of religious learning that played a major role in preserving and promoting Twelver Shi’i Islamic religious traditions.

Question: Is the School of Hillah equivalent to what we would think of today as a university or maybe a seminary?

Ali: Certainly, it’s different in the sense that it’s not primarily organized in brick-and-mortar institutions. It’s more unstructured. Classes took place in the home of an individual, a prominent scholar.

It’s similar in the sense of curriculum. What I mean is that certain texts come to be understood as definitive of a tradition. And that’s part of the reason why Hillah is so important. A lot of the texts that we think of today as being definitive of Shi’i tradition were written in Hillah and continue to be studied today, so we can think of it in terms of there is, not uniformity, but an expectation that anybody who masters this tradition would read these texts. In that sense, it’s similar.

It’s also similar in the sense of structures of authority. Just as someone wishing to put forth a view in, let’s say, American jurisprudence, has to engage particular jurists; similarly, somebody wishing to put forward a view in Shi’i theology has to engage with the views of particular jurists. So, structures of authority can be similar in that way. The idea of a curriculum can be similar in that way, but it’s not organized as a single space in primarily brick-and-mortar institutions.

That was actually one of the points in the book. The organizing principle of the School of Hillah is these large families in which particular types of expertise is concentrated. So, one family may have an expertise in genealogy; another family may have an expertise in philosophy; while another family may have an expertise in law. These large families (in the community) structure the School of Hillah. And, of course, people intermarry between these families, so it becomes a network of intellectuals.

Question: For the students who completed their studies at Hillah, did they generally go on to become clerics and religious scholars?

Ali: If we look at the contemporary Twelver Shi’i tradition, it runs the full gamut. Before you have modern schools, people learn basic numeracy and literacy in religious institutions, which is the same as it was in the West.

Some of those people, after getting basic literacy and numeracy, go on to become merchants or preachers, for example. A smaller group will become teachers within the institution, and then a (small percentage) of those will become the next generation of masters of the tradition. Most people don’t reach that level, because it takes a long time—we’re talking maybe 20 years or more—to be considered competent within that tradition. It’s a very grueling process, and most people leave before they finish the entire process.

Question: Can you talk about how your idea of discursive tradition contrasts with the idea of jurists having the authority to make whatever decisions they want?

Ali: That’s exactly the idea I was pushing back against in the book—this kind of free-for-all idea about authority. That’s not to say authority isn’t important, or that jurists don’t exercise that kind of authority. But again, they do it within the horizons of possibility that are shaped by discursive tradition, as a conversation across space and time.

And yes, there’s a kind of push and pull where a really important figure can push a conversation forward, can expand at the horizons of possibility, but it’s not an arbitrary process. It’s a process that’s linked to the past at the same time that it looks ahead.

Question: Were there any major developments or contributions that came out of the School of Hillah that made a profound impact on Islam today?

Ali: Philosophy becoming integrated into theology is something that we can look to Hillah for, within the Shi’i world. That development takes place earlier within the Sunni world, but in the Shi’i world, Avicenna’s philosophy, or Avicenna’s metaphysics, comes to be integrated into Shi’i theology. In that time period, the integration of mysticism into Shi’ism is also something that happens in Hillah.

"There’s a kind of push and pull where a really important figure can push a conversation forward, can expand at the horizons of possibility, but it’s not an arbitrary process. It’s a process that’s linked to the past at the same time that it looks ahead."

When we think of (Islamic) law, that’s really one of the most important contributions that happens at Hillah, and you see the integration of advanced mathematics and advanced science into law. For example, in Islamic law, figuring out the direction of prayer from a distance, given the curvature of the earth is also a complicated thing, which leads to advanced discussions of science and mathematics integrated into the chapter on ritual prayer, for instance. Those would be a few examples.

At Hillah, you also have the production of these kinds of biographical dictionaries. So, when Muslims evaluate a piece of information, part of the way they evaluate it is by looking at who communicated that information. You can imagine that it would be very useful to have a kind of a biographical dictionary, where you could look up a particular individual and see what they were like. Were they known to be somebody who had scholarly expertise? Were they known to be somebody who was an upright person? Or were they known to be unscrupulous in the way that they narrated information? These kinds of biographical dictionaries, which facilitate legal discussions and conversations, were produced at Hillah.

Question: Despite the School of Hillah’s contributions to Islamic thought, you say there is not much scholarship about it. Why do you think that is?

Ali: I believe a lot of it has to do with the history of Islamic studies in the West—and that only in recent years has Shi’ism gotten the attention it deserved. Previously, scholars who studied Islam largely dealt with Sunni sources. And so, even when they talked about Shi’ism, they were talking about it through the lens of Sunni authors and Sunni sources.

This is despite the fact that Shi’ites—while making up somewhere between 15 and 20 percent of the (Muslim) population—their contributions, intellectually, to Islamic tradition has been disproportionate.

Things started to change in the 1980s and 1990s, but even among scholars focused on Shi’ism, they have tended to focus on its origins, or trying to explain how the Iranian Revolution happened, so in both of those ways Hillah was ignored.

Question: Do you have any particular hopes for your book?

Ali: In general, the book has been received well. I think that people (in Islamic studies) recognize this was a crucial period in Shi’i religious history that hadn’t really been sketched out the way I did in the book.

In terms of contributing to a broader discussion, my hope is the book brings together theoretical conversations in religious studies with meticulous historical scholarship. In Islamic studies, it’s sometimes separated by people who do theoretically rigorous projects and people who do meticulous historical scholarship. I tried to do both, and I hope that the book contributes to bridging the gap between these two different approaches within Islamic studies.

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Associate Professor Aun Hasan Ali’s book about Islam’s School of Hillah explores the dynamics and formation of Twelver Shi’ism, arguing that the faith was open to diverse intellectual traditions.

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Juan Pablo Dabove, professor of Spanish, passes away at 56

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 11 Mar 2025 21:14:10 +0000

Juan Pablo Dabove, professor of Spanish, passes away at 56 Rachel Sauer Tue, 03/11/2025 - 15:14

Colleagues, students recall one of the ‘most significant commentators of Hispanic narrative’

Juan Pablo Dabove, professor of Spanish and Portuguese at the ��ƷSM��ӰƬ, passed away on Jan. 21, 2025. He was 56.

Dabove was an expert on postcolonial Latin American literature and culture, bandit narratives and Gothic literature.

Considered one of the “most significant commentators of Hispanic narrative” by the Revista Canadiense de Estudios Hispánicos, Dabove’s research focused on 19th- and 20th-century Latin American literatures, cultures and history.

Juan Pablo Dabove, professor of Spanish and Portuguese at ��ƷSM��ӰƬ, passed away on Jan. 21, 2025.

Colleagues and students remembered him as an influential and colorful figure in their lives.

“Smart. Funny. Driven. Juan Pablo was all of these things and more,” said a former student, Nikki, identified by first name only. “He convinced me to pursue a master's degree in Spanish literature at ��ƷSM��ӰƬ. If it hadn't been for his encouragement, I never would have applied. His unique perspective and insights opened up a whole new world for me and gave me a greater appreciation of Latin American literature.”

“He left us too soon and will be dearly missed,” Nikki added.

Mary K. Long, a teaching professor and the director of Spanish for the Professions, recalled that Dabove joined the department in a period of transition and “hit the ground running by making valuable contributions across all areas of crucial departmental need: teaching, research, service.”

Long added: “During these early years, we both had our offices next to each other in the basement. He used to listen to loud music when he was preparing his seminars. The energy coming through the wall was contagious, and I remember him telling me with joy, ‘This is what I always wanted to do.’”

Tania Martuscelli, associate professor of Spanish and Portuguese, said Dabove was a respected scholar whose work played a key role in making the Department of Spanish and Portuguese one of the top graduate programs, as recognized by the National Research Council, she said, adding:

“His research had a strong impact on the academic community. At literary conferences, mentioning ��ƷSM��ӰƬ instantly brought to mind the name ‘Juan Pablo Dabove.’ We will miss the gaucho!”

Julio Baena, professor emeritus of Spanish and Portuguese, noted that he and Dabove were not close friends and were often on the opposite sides of departmental debates, such that Baena and Dabove had “frequent clashes,” Baena recalled, adding:

“That frequency, though, that amount of interaction, that abundance of point/counterpoint engagement built, over the years, a measure of mutual respect as solid as personal friendship, because one thing that we had in common was the worship of sincerity, the unmovable basement of honesty and the impulse to shake a worthy adversary’s hand.”

Baena noted that his style and Dabove’s were strikingly different, from the way they wrote to how they kept their offices. “His was in perfect order (compulsive at times) while mine was, as you all know, a mess, ‘una leonera.’”

Baena recalled a retirement party given in his honor at Dabove’s home. “I felt deeply moved and surrounded by the best company. It was not an institutional act. It was the personal initiative of a not-close friend who held me in high esteem, just as I held him. ‘Thanks for all these years; we’ll miss you,’ he was saying to me. Thanks for all these years, Juan Pablo: We’ll miss you, is what I now want to say to him.”

Dabove’s book Nightmares of the Lettered City: Banditry and Literature in Latin America, 1816–1929 won the 2010 Kayden Award and was met with critical acclaim for its “insightful and comprehensive analysis” of the portrayal of banditry in Latin American literature.

Drawing on the concept of the “lettered city” coined by Ángel Rama, Dabove explored how bandits were constructed in literature as symbols of resistance, rebellion or disorder, depending on their alignment with or opposition to emerging state powers.

Juan Pablo Dabove was the author of Nightmares of the Lettered City: Banditry and Literature in Latin America, 1816–1929, which won the 2010 Kayden Award and was met with critical acclaim, and Bandit Narratives in Latin America: From Villa to Chávez.

This book was followed in 2017 by Bandit Narratives in Latin America: From Villa to Chávez, also published by Pittsburgh. In this sequel, Dabove extended his exploration of banditry into the 20th and 21st centuries, focusing on how the figure of the bandit has evolved in literature, film and political discourse.

The book examines iconic figures like Pancho Villa and Hugo Chávez, analyzing their representation as both heroes and outlaws. Dabove considered how bandits challenge traditional notions of power, justice and social order, emphasizing their symbolic role in critiques of state authority and capitalism.

Like its predecessor, Bandit Narratives was critically acclaimed, particularly for how it illuminated the intersection of history, nation-building and literary, cultural and social traditions in Latin America, and for how it engaged in a broader discussion about the nature of language, literature and the role of intellectuals in the region.

In recent years, Dabove became interested in Gothic literature, probing the relationship between Gothic modes of representation and the crisis of liberalism in Latin America. By exploring how the Gothic aesthetic has been employed by Latin American writers, and its role in expressing social anxieties and historical traumas, Dabove’s research shed light on the Gothic’s role in articulating Latin America’s complex histories and identities.

At the moment of his passing, Professor Dabove was working on a book project titled The Gothic Moment in Argentine Culture.

Professor Dabove lectured nationally and internationally, being invited to deliver keynote addresses or as guest speaker at several conferences and universities in Latin America, Europe and the United States.

He contributed several entries for various dictionaries and encyclopedias of Latin American literature and culture, as well as several book chapters and articles for edited volumes, ranging in topic from canonical authors, such as José Fernández Lizardi or Jorge Luis Borges, to lesser-known writers.

Dabove was also very active in the Latin American Studies Association, the largest association of scholars studying the region.

Support Spanish and Portuguese scholarship at ��ƷSM��ӰƬ

Colleagues, students recall one of the ‘most significant commentators of Hispanic narrative.'

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‘My role is to remind you that we are all humans’

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 11 Mar 2025 14:37:12 +0000

‘My role is to remind you that we are all humans’ Rachel Sauer Tue, 03/11/2025 - 08:37

Collette Mace

In a community discussion March 4, Buffs One Read author Javier Zamora shared his immigration story, emphasizing the importance of representation

El Cadejo is a spirit figure in Central American folklore that takes the shape of a dog and can either help or harm travelers depending on whether their Cadejo is good or bad.

Salvadoran author and poet Javier Zamora sees his Cadejo as an embodiment of his ancestors, protecting and sheltering him through his arduous childhood immigration journey. He credits those who came before him with his survival against the odds.

Zamora shared this and other perspectives March 4 during the CU Buffs One Read author discussion. This academic year, the program chose Zamora’s memoir, Solito, as its Common Read selection.

Javier Zamora (left, with microphone) discussed his memoir, Solito, during a community event March 4 for the Buffs One Read program. (Photo: Collette Mace)

Solito details Zamora’s experience as a child immigrating from El Salvador to the United States, a journey that took him over land and sea, through dense urban settings and desolate deserts. In the memoir, he tells the story of his journey through his 9-year-old self’s eyes—a story that encapsulates the themes of courage that the Buffs One Read program aimed to highlight.

Zamora began the program by answering a few questions about his first book of poems, Unaccompanied, published in 2017. Addressing the book’s tone of urgency, Zamora noted that the purpose of this book was mainly to answer the question, “Why am I here?” Written right before the 2016 U.S. presidential election, he said he knew immigration was heavy on the minds of the nation, and he felt it was urgent to tell his story about migration, as well as his parents’ stories.

His family, part of the 2% of Salvadoran immigrants granted refugee status by the U.S. government, didn’t discuss with Zamora why they left El Salvador until he was much older. He recalled learning about his country through the ominous, ever-present headlines about the violence and cartel wars raging there.

The images of Salvadoran migrants were mostly “unaccompanied minors,” something Zamora both identified with and rebelled against, knowing that there was more to the migrants’ stories than what was being shown on the news.

This was partially why Solito had such a heavy change in tone, he said. He wanted to show the journey the way he experienced it as a boy—exploring the confusion, half-truths and even pockets of joy that he experienced on the journey. This was something that he only felt capable of doing after he had been employed at Harvard as a fellow, he said.

“Time is a privilege,” he said, adding that he recognized that the benefits his higher education, and thus employment, gave him the ability to process his childhood trauma enough to write his memoir well and authentically.

He credits therapy with his success in this and remarked that therapy is a lifelong journey from which everyone could benefit. Through his therapy, Zamora said he was able to explore his feelings about the “unaccompanied minor” stereotype associated with Salvadoran migration—imagery that was widely circulated around the United States in the early 2000s of El Salvadoran parents sending their children across the border unaccompanied, which furthered racism and anti-immigration rhetoric by painting Salvadoran parents as irresponsible. He questioned where he fit into that narrative and how to reckon with the overwhelming sense of survivor’s guilt that he still feels to this day.

His way of coping with the questions “Why me? Why did I survive when so many did not?” is through traditional Salvadoran folklore, which he mentions frequently in the memoir in the form of the spirit El Cadejo.

Feeling safe

Zamora also discussed his experience after migrating to the United States, specifically in schools. He said that he experienced bullying even in his predominantly immigrant community and oftentimes used “assimilation as a coping mechanism.” He tried to turn himself into an “American-born Salvadoran” to fit in, he said, by doing things like only speaking English and not having a strong attachment to El Salvador, and didn’t fully embrace his identity as an immigrant until much later in life, after years of therapy.

"Everyone should be allowed to exist as humans. Not just the children and not just the ‘good students,’ but everyone. My role is to remind you that we are all humans."

It wasn’t until late high school that he even considered writing poetry, he said. He recalled how looking up “Salvadoran poets” and seeing that representation was the catalyst for his interest in writing: “All of the sudden,” he said, “writing was something I could do, if I wanted to.”

He said that one of the most important discoveries he made within Salvadoran poetry was the coexistence of Spanish and English on the page, a reflection of how his parents and grandparents spoke, as well as English and academic language. “Representation fuscking matters,” he said.

One theme that Zamora strongly emphasized was the importance of teachers in the American school system, who make young immigrants feel a little bit safer. He mentioned how important it is for teachers to signal to students that they are safe. Even something as simple as speaking to him in Spanish was enough to signal to a young Zamora that his teachers were trustworthy; even if he chose not to talk with them about his trauma and experiences, he knew that he could, and that was what was important, he said.

Especially in a time where immigrants and children of immigrants may feel unsafe in school settings, he added, signaling to students that their teachers are there for them and that they are all on the same team is critical in making sure that children feel supported in the education system.

Explaining what he wanted people to take away from the Buffs One Read discussion, and from Solito as a whole, Zamora said, “Everyone should be allowed to exist as humans. Not just the children and not just the ‘good students,’ but everyone. My role is to remind you that we are all humans.”

He said he wanted the audience Tuesday to leave the conversation with the knowledge that borders and citizenship are new concepts and that being human is what binds us together: “We need to remember the past as actively as we are trying to erase it.”

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In a community discussion March 4, Buffs One Read author Javier Zamora shared his immigration story, emphasizing the importance of representation.

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