Division of Social Sciences

Why remembering the Big Thompson Flood of 1976 matters today

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

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

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

Bradley Worrell

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

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

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

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

Lori Peek is a CU �鶹ӰԺ professor of sociology and director of the Natural Hazards Center.

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

A perfect storm of human, environmental and built factors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A (new) sign of the times in 1977

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Comparing the floods of 1976 and 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why some lessons go unlearned

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

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

Why do these failures persist?

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

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

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

A state that has changed—and largely forgotten the storm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'It is easy to get lost in this jungle of solar panels'

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 27 Jul 2026 21:25:49 +0000

'It is easy to get lost in this jungle of solar panels' Rachel Sauer Mon, 07/27/2026 - 15:25

Yaks graze beneath solar farm panels on the Tibetan Plateau. (Photo: Sanggay Tashi)

Sanggay Tashi

How the development of solar and wind farms on the Tibetan Plateau is affecting local communities

China is building some of the world’s largest solar farms on the Tibetan Plateau, where nomadic people have grazed herds of animals for millennia.

It’s not the first time Tibetan regions have become a major source of renewable energy in China. Since the mid-1990s, many Tibetan communities have lived alongside hydropower stations.

Now, with vast open landscapes and high elevations that provide ideal conditions for harnessing solar and wind energy, many pastoral lands have become key sites for large-scale renewable energy projects.

Sanggay Tashi is a PhD candidate in the CU �鶹ӰԺ Department of Anthropology.

As part of my ethnographic research, I spoke to number of people in this area, offering a rare look at how large-scale energy development is affecting nomadic communities.

Herding yaks on solar farms

I spent time in a nomadic community located about 100 miles (161 km) southeast of Xining city, the capital of Qinghai province.

Beginning in 2017 and accelerating more recently, regional subsidiaries of energy companies such as PowerChina have built three solar panel power plants – enough to generate about 1 gigawatt of power – and a dozen wind turbines on the area’s open grasslands.

Sandy, desert-type land is well known to be suitable for solar and wind farms. Yet the grasslands and many other pastoral areas turned into solar farms are not sandy deserts. They are productive grazing land where Tibetans have herded yaks and sheep for generations.

Parts of what was once open fine alpine grassland, which Tibetans call pangtang where herders moved freely and gazed across the boundless horizon, are now covered by dense rows of solar panels. It remains unclear how these sites comply with China’s grassland conservation regulations. Other solar projects elsewhere in China have reportedly been investigated for environmental violations.

Walking through the sites feels like moving through a dense forest of iron pillars rising into the air. “It is easy to get lost in this jungle of solar panels,” Tsering, a local observer, told me as we walked between long rows of panels on a windy winter day in 2023.

That day, I also met Dolma, a local Dokpa, or nomad, herding yaks under solar panels. As we talked, she told me the solar farm had changed the experience of herding. She said, “I am used to herding on open grassland. So, herding under these glass panels feels like something is wrapping around my head. It feels very depressing.”

Individual and collective tensions

These energy projects in nomadic communities are presented as part of of national efforts to modernize rural areas, bring capital to local communities and promote renewable energy development as part of China’s clean energy and carbon reduction agenda.

But their implementation brings tensions and contradictions in the communities where they are located.

Tibetans walk through a solar farm in Tibet, while animals graze in the distance. (Photo: Sanggay Tashi)

Based on my conversations with more than 20 people in the community, some view them as good economic opportunities and are envious of those whose grazing lands were selected for lease. Others oppose them, saying they “open the gate” for outsiders to appropriate local land for short-term financial gain by a few.

As more outsiders move in and the landscape changes with these energy projects, the overall concern that I observed from talking to different people is that the land that generations have lived on and protected may not retain the same sense of home in the future.

Tsering, who guided me through the solar farms, is very critical of those who agreed to lease land to solar farms, saying, “I may sound pretentious, but these days people are like grass growing on a wall – easily swayed by the slightest breeze of money.”

Since the 1950s, all land in China has been either government-owned or collectively owned; private land ownership is not allowed. Individuals may hold fixed-term “land-use rights” that can be transferred, sold or leased. In the 2000s, the government allocated land to individual families in nomadic areas of Qinghai and granted them 50-year “grassland use certificates."This enables the locals to raise livestock on the land and lease it to others. Most certificates are set to expire in 2050.

Some holders of grassland use certificates have leased their land to energy farms. In the area I studied, those leases typically are for around 25 years, to align with the remaining term of local grassland use rights. What will happen when these land use rights expire remains unknown.

Yaks graze beneath solar farm panels on the Tibetan Plateau. (Photo: Sanggay Tashi)

Money matters

In practice, leasing is extremely complex. When I asked a dozen families about their official contracts with the energy companies, several people said they signed it without fully understanding what it said.

"The only thing people made sure to know is how much money they are receiving,” one person said to me. The documents included long and complicated legal or technical language in Chinese, some of which was orally translated into Tibetan during the signing, because many nomads who are heads of households and more than 40 years old can’t read either Chinese or Tibetan.

Negotiations and leasing decisions are often carried out between company representatives and a small number of heads of households, brought together with the help of local officials. That leaves many residents uninformed about the terms and conditions of the agreements.

Households that lease grazing land to energy projects receive a one-time payment that depends on the amount of land involved and which company is seeking the lease. From 2017 to 2026, residents have told me they received offers between 3,000 and 4,000 yuan (US$440 to $587) for each mu, a unit of area equivalent to about 0.16 acres. Those rates have resulted in payments between 40,000 and 100,0000 yuan ($7,300 to $147,000) per household.

Human relations with the land

The energy companies’ contracts treat local households and land as individually owned properties in financial transactions. But local Indigenous communities have a different understanding and relationship to the environment.

Socially and historically, and regardless of the government policies on land ownership, Tibetans have perceived pastoral land as communal and experienced it as inhabited by all kinds of beings besides humans, including deities, animals, insects and other visible and invisible beings that are important in the Tibetan cosmological worldview. The energy planners often disregard these local ways of understanding and relating to the land.

During a dinner conversation, four local residents told me about one of these deeper spiritual concerns. During the construction of transmission lines to carry the solar power to users, they said, several transmission poles were placed very close to a labtse of a neighboring community. A labtse is a sacred site where an important mountain deity is believed to reside and where community members make regular offerings.

A solar farm under construction in eastern Tibet. (Photo: Sanggay Tashi)

When locals asked for the poles to be moved, the energy developers suggested they would cover the cost of relocating the labtse instead – which, culturally, cannot be done, and if it were would require direction from high-ranking religious figures.

For the local people, however, this was not a matter of compensation but of protecting the deity from being stabbed by the giant poles. Some residents were even willing to pay the planners to move the poles. After a series of negotiations, the poles were eventually moved a short distance from the labtse.

Living alongside energy farms

Herding on energy farms comes with new challenges.

When the solar panels were installed, excavation for support posts and underground cables disturbed the topsoil and destroyed the native grasses, which consist of a diverse species of grass. According to people involved in the work, the replacement grasses consisted of only one or two dominant species among the several that were common in the local ecosystem. And the seeds used for restoration came from beyond the local area, so residents are unsure whether the replanted grasses are exactly the same as the types that grow locally.

During winter, snow under the shade of solar panels takes a long time to melt, causing baby lambs to freeze in the cold. Dolma also told me, “The solar panels are making a fortune for the wild fox because it is hard to see them when they attack little lambs under the panels.”

Dolma told me that when the wind turbines were being built, their noise frightened her livestock and carried across the valley, disturbing neighbors during windy times.

The locals also told me that wind blowing through the posts and wires of solar farms produces persistent and unsettling noises that disturb both animals and people.

Future uncertainties

While these solar farms are generally considered “renewable” and part of “sustainable development,” their future remains uncertain. Locals told me they do not know whether the land-lease contracts will be renewed or abandoned when they expire in about 25 years. Solar panels also last around 25 years, and local people wonder how the waste will be disposed of.

As more Indigenous communities around the world become locations for climate mitigation projects, energy production and data centers, the stories of local people are essential to understand how their ways of life, culture and environment are affected by these new interventions.

Sanggay Tashi is a PhD candidate in the CU �鶹ӰԺ Department of Anthropology specializing in cultural anthropology.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

How the development of solar and wind farms on the Tibetan Plateau is affecting local communities.

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Top photo: Livestock graze near solar panels in eastern Tibet (Photo: Sanggay Tashi)

Where did language come from?

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 27 Jul 2026 21:02:23 +0000

Where did language come from? Rachel Sauer Mon, 07/27/2026 - 15:02

Karen Stollznow

Nobody really knows, but the theories are fascinating

Humans are the only species known to use fully symbolic language: a system capable of expressing abstract ideas, imaginary worlds and endless combinations of meaning. But how did we get there?

The origins of language have fascinated philosophers, scientists and storytellers for thousands of years. Despite all our advances in linguistics, archaeology and cognitive science, we still don’t know exactly how language began.

That uncertainty hasn’t stopped people from trying to solve the mystery. In fact, some of the earliest theories of language’s origins are among the strangest and most entertaining ideas in the history of science.

Karen Stollznow is a visiting scholar in the CU �鶹ӰԺ Department of Linguistics.

Bow wow, ding-dong

In the 19th century, scholars proposed a flurry of curious theories to explain how speech first emerged. Many of these theories were given playful nicknames by the German philologist Max Müller, who intended them partly as satire. Yet the theories were genuine attempts to tackle one of humanity’s biggest questions.

The most famous is probably the Bow-Wow Theory. This suggested language began through imitation of natural sounds. Early humans, according to this theory, copied the noises around them: animal cries, splashing water, thunderclaps and birdsong. Words such as “buzz”, “hiss”, “bang” and “splash” seem to support the idea because they sound like what they describe.

But there is a problem. Different languages hear the same sounds differently. English dogs go “woof” or “bow-wow”, but in Turkish they go “hev-hev”, while Indonesian dogs go “guk-guk”. Even animal noises, it turns out, are filtered through culture and language.

And onomatopoeic words (words that imitate sounds) make up only a tiny fraction of our vocabularies. Most words sound nothing like their meanings. For instance, there is nothing inherently tree-like about the word “tree”.

That brings us to the Ding-Dong Theory, which argued that sounds and meanings are naturally connected in some deeper, almost mystical way.

Some words do seem to fit their meanings uncannily well. “Mini”, “teeny” and “itsy-bitsy” feel small and delicate. “Lump”, “rump” and “plump” sound heavier and rounder.

Modern linguists call this sound symbolism. One famous experiment asked participants to match two nonsense words, “bouba” and “kiki”, to two shapes: one rounded and one jagged. Most people matched “bouba” with the soft shape and “kiki” with the sharp one.

The effect is real, but it is limited. Most language still appears to be arbitrary, which means there is no natural reason why a particular sound should mean a particular thing.

German philologist Max Müller gave playful nicknames to competing theories of language’s origins. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

Pooh-pooh, la-la, ye-he-ho

Other theories focused less on imitation and more on emotion and social interaction.

The Pooh-Pooh Theory proposed that speech began with instinctive emotional cries such as “ouch”, “oh” or perhaps less publishable exclamations uttered after stubbing a toe. According to this idea, language evolved from spontaneous vocal reactions to pain, surprise, fear or joy.

Again, though, there are complications. Interjections vary widely across languages. English speakers say “ouch”. Greeks say “aou”. Czechs might exclaim “ach”. Emotional sounds are not nearly as universal as they seem.

Then there is the wonderfully named Yo-He-Ho Theory, which suggested language emerged from rhythmic chants used during collective labour, like sailors chanting “yo-heave-ho” while hauling ropes, or workers singing together to coordinate physical effort.

The theory may sound quaint, but modern researchers do think rhythm, cooperation and social bonding played important roles in human evolution. Language is, after all, deeply social.

Another proposal, the La-La Theory, linked language to music. Charles Darwin entertained the possibility that speech evolved from musical calls used in courtship and emotional expression. Before humans spoke, perhaps we sang?

Some modern theories echo this idea. One hypothesis suggests that, as early humans began walking upright, parents increasingly needed to soothe babies from a distance. Sing-song vocalisations, cooing and proto “baby talk” may have helped strengthen emotional bonds and eventually paved the way for speech.

Gestures, symbols and brains

Today, most scientists think no single theory fully explains language origins. Instead, language probably emerged gradually through a combination of gestures, vocalisations, facial expressions, social cooperation and increasing cognitive complexity.

Charles Darwin speculated that speech evolved from musical expression. (Photo: Julia Margaret Cameron/Wikimedia Commons)

Some researchers argue that language began with gestures before shifting to speech. Others believe language evolved as a tool for social bonding, allowing larger groups of humans to cooperate and share information. Still others see language as tied to the evolution of symbolic thought itself: our ability to imagine, plan, remember and communicate abstract ideas.

Biology is also a factor. Humans have developed unusually precise control over the tongue, lips and vocal tract. We have evolved specialised brain regions linked to language processing.

But anatomy alone cannot explain language. Parrots can mimic speech sounds. Many animals communicate. None, however, appear to possess grammar and symbolism on the human scale. And, frustratingly, early language leaves no evidence behind. Spoken words don’t fossilise.

That lack of evidence is one reason the topic became so controversial that, in 1866, the Société de Linguistique de Paris banned discussions about language origins altogether, dismissing the field as hopelessly speculative.

Of course, theories about language origins also appear in religion and mythology. In Greek mythology, the messenger god Hermes was associated with language and communication. In the Hindu tradition, the goddess of knowledge and speech Saraswati bestowed Sanskrit upon humanity. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, language was a gift from God, who enabled Adam to name the animals in the Garden of Eden.

These stories reflect something deeply human: our urge to explain where language came from, because language itself feels almost magical. Every theory of language origins captures a small piece of the puzzle. Imitation, emotion, rhythm, music, gesture, cooperation and symbolic thought probably all played some role.

But none can provide a complete answer. The truth is that language evolved so long ago, and likely so gradually, that we will never pinpoint a single moment when it began, unless someone invents a time machine.

The birth of language will probably remain one of humanity’s greatest unsolved mysteries. Still, the theories themselves tell us something important. Humans are always trying to explain what makes us human. And language may be the most human thing of all.

Karen Stollznow is a visiting scholar in the CU �鶹ӰԺ Department of Linguistics specializing in the political and social history of modern Latin America.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Nobody really knows, but the theories are fascinating.

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Do elections affect political anger?

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 22 Jul 2026 18:11:31 +0000

Do elections affect political anger? Rachel Sauer Wed, 07/22/2026 - 12:11

A Freedom Party of Austria (FOP) campaign van bearing the image of Herbert Kickl, who has led the party since 2021. The slogan "Dein herz sagt ja" translates to "Your heart says yes." (Photo: Asurnipal/Wikimedia Commons)

Bradley Worrell

CU �鶹ӰԺ political scientists find that far-right voters in Austria were less angry after electoral success while many mainstream voters correspondingly became more angry

Much of the current research on right-wing populist parties focuses on what motivates their supporters before elections—particularly anger, anxiety and discontent.

But a recent study from �鶹ӰԺ Department of Political Science Professor Jennifer Fitzgerald and graduate students Mateusz Leszczynski and Sinan Nadarevic takes a different approach. Instead of examining what drives voters to support far-right parties—typically hardline attitudes on immigration, strong Euroskepticism and deep distrust of domestic political leaders—the researchers sought to understand what happens to those voters after their party achieves electoral success.

“What we’re doing is turning that question around,” explains Fitzgerald, whose research focuses on comparative political behavior. “Instead of asking what leads someone to support a far-right party, we’re asking what happens afterwards. Once someone has cast that vote, how do they feel?”

CU �鶹ӰԺ political scientists Jennifer Fitzgerald (left), Mateusz Leszczynski (center) and Sinan Nadarevic (right) asked once someone has cast a vote, how do they feel?

The researchers found their answers in studying the 2017 election in Austria, in which the far-right Freedom Party (FPO) finished strongly in third place, allowing it to become a junior partner in a coalition government headed by the center-right Austrian People’s Party (OVP). As the results were counted, FPO voters became less angry and anxious—and more hopeful and confident, the researchers found.

The study’s findings challenge the widely held assumption that populist parties rely on a constant state of anger, says Leszczynski, who studies comparative politics and public policy. Those findings suggest that election outcomes can significantly alter political emotions—at least in the short term, he adds.

Fitzgerald says the research offers a new perspective on how voters experience democratic politics and may help researchers better understand emotional dynamics across modern democracies.

Looking for answers in Austria

One reason the three researchers looked at Austria is because the Freedom Party is one of Western Europe’s longest-running far-right parties and has enjoyed some measure of electoral success, even prior to the 2017 elections, Fitzgerald says.

“(FPO) has a very established electorate and a very well-known brand,” she says.

Austria also had another factor in its favor in terms of studying electoral behavior. Specifically, researchers had access to a rare Austrian survey that tracked political emotions before and after the country’s 2017 national elections. That’s significant because one challenge in studying political emotions is separating them from broader feelings about life, says Nadarevic, who studies comparative politics and American politics.

“It didn’t ask how they felt in general, how they felt about the economy or how they felt about society. It was explicitly focused on the political situation at that moment in time,” he says. He says that distinction helped the researchers isolate political emotions more effectively than many previous studies conducted in other countries with far-right parties.

“We also looked at data from countries such as Britain, Switzerland, the United States and Finland,” he says. “Austria was unique in asking specifically about political emotions rather than simply asking respondents how they were feeling overall.”

Leszczynski says that specificity allowed the researchers “to get much closer to the underlying mechanism.”

At the same time, as with any survey-based study, this research depends on self-reported responses, which always carry built-in limitations, Fitzgerald acknowledges.

“That’s always a challenge with survey data,” she says. “No survey instrument is perfect, and no survey question perfectly captures the phenomenon you’re trying to measure.”

Rather than treating survey responses as definitive proof of emotional states, Fitzgerald says the researchers interpret them in light of existing political psychology research.

“This is where the existing literature becomes so important,” she says. “Prior research gives us a set of theoretical expectations—sometimes competing expectations—which help guide our interpretation of the results.”

Fitzgerald emphasizes that research is an ongoing process of comparing data, theory and previous findings.

“We recognize that surveys don’t provide absolute truth about how people feel,” she says. “However, when interpreted in the context of broader scholarly literature, they can still provide meaningful insights.”

Electoral winners feel better

The study’s central finding is straightforward: Electoral success appears to improve how FPO supporters feel about politics—at least in the short term. Notably, those emotional changes were strongest among voters with deep attachments to the party, Leszczynski says.

“What we looked at was the strength of an individual’s connection to the party,” he says. The researchers compared highly committed supporters with voters who back the FPO but did not strongly identify with it.

“We found that voters who were more strongly connected to the party—what people might call ‘core’ or ‘hardcore’ supporters—experienced much stronger emotional shifts,” Nadarevic says. That finding resembles patterns seen in many democracies, where strong partisans tend to invest more emotionally in election outcomes than voters who simply choose a party in a particular election, he adds.

Fitzgerald says the results suggest that many far-right voters behave much like traditional party loyalists when it comes to how they feel about their preferred party’s electoral performance.

“Our findings suggest that at least some of these voters behave much like traditional partisans,” she explains. “The strongest emotional shifts occurred among those with the strongest partisan attachment.”

Still, the researchers offer a caveat with their findings: Their research makes no claims that election results permanently reduce anger. Campaign cycles may repeatedly increase and decrease emotions; thus, political emotions may be cyclical rather than fixed.

“We can’t say that reduced anger and reduced anxiety persist long term,” Fitzgerald notes.

Elections create winners and losers

Another key finding of the research report: Elections affect more than just the victorious party’s supporters. In the 2017 Austrian election, while FPO voters experienced an emotional uplift, supporters of the center-left Social Democratic Party of Austria (SPO) reacted in the opposite direction.

An FPO campaign booth in Wein, Austria. CU �鶹ӰԺ researchers found that in the 2017 Austrian election, while FPO voters experienced an emotional uplift, supporters of the center-left Social Democratic Party of Austria (SPO) reacted in the opposite direction. (Photo: Janos Korom/Wikimedia Commons)

“What we observed was that center-left voters became more politically angry and anxious after the election,” Leszczynski says. In effect, elections produce emotional winners and losers as well as political ones, he adds.

Fitzgerald says she believes that broader perspective is essential for understanding modern democracy.

“If we looked only at far-right voters, we’d learn something useful from this analysis,” she says. “But by examining other parties as well, we see broader patterns.”

Nadarevic says the result is a kind of emotional trade-off, where gains among one group are accompanied by losses among another.

“To us, that’s a fascinating way to think about elections,” Fitzgerald says. “It highlights just how emotionally consequential modern democratic politics have become.”

Although there are no immediate plans for a follow-up paper, the researchers say a variety of avenues could be pursued, such as designing longitudinal studies in Austria that could better measure emotional changes over time, examining far-right parties and electoral outcomes in other countries, making comparisons across parties and ideologies and putting an even greater focus on the emotional consequences of political participation.

Implications beyond Austria

Although the researchers focused on Austria, they believe its findings could have relevance elsewhere.

Fitzgerald notes that scholars frequently identify similar characteristics among far-right voters in countries such as Germany, the Netherlands, France and Sweden.

“We think there’s a reasonable possibility that our findings could generalize beyond Austria,” she says.

At the same time, the researchers are careful not to overstate their conclusions.

“We view this as a case study with broader theoretical relevance—rather than proof that the same pattern exists everywhere,” Fitzgerald says.

Perhaps the most difficult question raised by the study concerns democratic legitimacy. For instance, if electoral success reduces anger and anxiety among populist voters, does that represent a healthy outcome for democracy? The researchers are cautious about drawing simplistic conclusions.

“It’s certainly something worth thinking about,” Fitzgerald says. However, the answer becomes more complicated when considering the emotional reactions of other voters, she acknowledges.

“If anger and anxiety decline among far-right voters while increasing among center-left voters, it’s hard to conclude that there is an overall gain in democratic legitimacy,” she says.

For the researchers, they say the most important lesson may be that emotions deserve a more central place in discussions about voting and democracy.

“What we can say is that public confidence in democratic politics matters greatly,” Fitzgerald says, “and understanding these emotional dynamics helps us ask better questions about democracies and their citizens.”

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CU �鶹ӰԺ political scientists find that far-right voters in Austria were less angry after electoral success while many mainstream voters correspondingly became more angry.

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Top image: A seemingly defaced FPO candidate billboard in Innsbruck, Austria. (Photo: Jolly Janner/Wikimedia Commons)

CU alumna fights to educate girls in the world’s youngest country

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 08 Jul 2026 15:36:07 +0000

CU alumna fights to educate girls in the world’s youngest country Rachel Sauer Wed, 07/08/2026 - 09:36

Cody DeBos

In South Sudan, change happens when girls pick up books, says Micklina Kenyi

Before a girl opens her eyes in South Sudan or in a refugee camp across the border, her day is likely already spoken for.

There is water to fetch, meals to cook and siblings to care for. In families stretched thin by poverty and regional instability, she may be sent to work in a neighbor’s household, her wages handed directly to her parents until it’s time to marry.

School, if an option at all, belongs to her brothers.

CU �鶹ӰԺ alumna Micklina Kenyi fled the now-South Sudan as a child and built the nonprofit Girls With Books! to support girls there in attaining education.

This is simply the way of life in South Sudan, a fledgling country celebrating 15 years of independence July 9.

Micklina Kenyi grew up in this world and knows it well. Now the �鶹ӰԺ alumna is working to change the outlook on education in South Sudan one girl at a time.

From refugee to advocate

Kenyi fled what is now South Sudan as a young child, spending years crossing borders and running between villages, orphanages and refugee camps before arriving in the United States in 2003 as part of the Lost Girls of Sudan program.

She eventually made her way to Colorado and CU �鶹ӰԺ, where she earned dual bachelor’s degrees in political science and women and gender studies.

“I felt these majors would help me understand the politics going on the in U.S. and in South Sudan. I wanted to understand the question: ‘Why are people using women and ignoring women?’” Kenyi says.

She also wanted to research why harmful cultural practices are consistently forced on women and whether women in South Sudan were alone in facing them. Unsurprisingly, they aren’t.

After learning of similar experiences lived out by women across India, China, Eastern Europe, Africa and indigenous communities in America, a conviction took shape.

“It is only going to be women who can liberate themselves, and only women to be advocates for themselves and come up with programs that will elevate the situation of all women. Why? Because we understand what it’s like and what it takes to change things,” Kenyi says.

With this perspective, Kenyi leaned on her education to start building what would eventually become the �鶹ӰԺ-based nonprofit Girls With Books!, where she serves as executive director.

Building Girls With Books!

The organization’s roots trace back along the very pathways through which Kenyi found herself arriving in the United States.

“It was once possible to bring girls to the U.S. the same way that I came, through legal process, so I thought maybe I could do something like that,” she says.

Unfortunately, that pathway closed as the political landscape in Sudan and South Sudan shifted. But rather than giving up, Kenyi and Girls With Books! has developed an approach that brings education to the girls in their own hometowns.

“The mission of Girls With Books! is to educate South Sudanese girls to become peacebuilders and positive change-makers in South Sudan,” says Micklina Kenyi. (Photo: Micklina Kenyi)

“We provide education for South Sudanese girls in Juba and Bor cities, as well as in northern Ugandan refugee camps. Our program covers primary and secondary education, including post-graduation courses like computer skills and entrepreneurship,” Kenyi says.

The program funds tuition and room and board at private schools to address the limitations of government-run public schools. It also provides girls with uniforms, school supplies, toiletries and feminine hygiene products.

“The mission of Girls With Books! is to educate South Sudanese girls to become peacebuilders and positive change-makers in South Sudan,” Kenyi says.

That’s an uphill battle in a country where fewer than 5% of girls graduate high school. However, Kenyi says most girls jump at the chance to go to school when an opportunity becomes available and thrive once there.

For a girl whose day was once consumed by labor and household chores, graduating from school opens new doors. Some go on to university, others start businesses, and even those who marry soon after graduating carry their education forward.

“They carry with them the knowledge and skills learned in school and become moms who are better equipped to raise children who usually have better health and education outcomes than most,” Kenyi says.

For those who want to pursue a future outside the home, jobs are scarce, Kenyi says, which is why Girls With Books! seeks to equip graduates with practical skills in addition to a good education.

“The program includes post-graduate work in computer training and job-readiness skills like interviewing, networking and resume writing. Armed with some of these practical skills, graduates have a greater potential to be hired,” she explains.

In 2025, Girls With Books! supported 116 South Sudanese schoolgirls, a number expected to grow to 150 this year. (Photo: Micklina Kenyi)

Fifteen years and building

This July marks 15 years since South Sudan declared independence. Building a new country from the ground up is arduous work, and there is still much to be done.

“South Sudan has not yet realized its potential as a new independent country,” Kenyi says.

She calls out the endemic corruption that has diverted oil revenue—the country’s main source of income—away from roads, hospitals, schools and civil servants a young nation desperately needs.

Meanwhile, ongoing fighting disrupts students’ routines and complicates operations on the ground for organizations like Kenyi’s.

“Some of the biggest challenges to the work of Girls With Books! are the lack of focus, by the government, on building the country’s infrastructure and investing in the educational system and in civil society,” Kenyi notes.

Yet the girls keep showing up.

“There is, however, surprising resilience among the young students we work with, and their sense of hope often reminds us how important our presence is for their futures,” she adds.

Pitching in

Over time, Kenyi and Girls With Books! have identified a formula that works. In 2025, the organization supported 116 South Sudanese girls, and Kenyi expects to raise that number to 150 this year.

The next challenge is scaling their impact even further.

“Our hope is that we can find enough funding to implement these programs on a national basis, so that young women can begin to impact the directions of the country and to cement the commitment to a peaceful society,” Kenyi says.

Of course, finances aren’t everything. For those interested in contributing beyond a donation, Kenyi says Girls With Books! welcomes volunteers to help with communications, program design and fundraising efforts.

“Also reaching out to students in U.S. schools so students here can better understand the realities of life in countries like South Sudan,” she adds.

Much like its future as a country, the story of South Sudan’s next generation is still being written. Thanks to the work of Kenyi and Girls With Books!, girls in Juba, Bor and the surrounding areas are in class, ensuring they have a fair chance to be the ones who write it.

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In South Sudan, change happens when girls pick up books, says Micklina Kenyi.

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Top image: Girls at school in South Sudan (Photo: Micklina Kenyi)

GOALLLLL! What makes soccer fans different?

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 01 Jul 2026 19:22:41 +0000

GOALLLLL! What makes soccer fans different? Rachel Sauer Wed, 07/01/2026 - 13:22

A fan watches the June 23 Uzbekistan v. Colombia match at the 2026 FIFA Fan Fest in Mexico City. (Photo: ProtoplasmaKid/Wikimedia Commons)

Kaio Kish

As the ongoing FIFA World Cup is showing, says CU �鶹ӰԺ sports scholar Jared Bahir Browsh, nationalism and longtime loyalties set soccer fans apart

Every four years, the world comes together for one sport: soccer—“football” to the rest of the world—as teams compete for national glory in the FIFA World Cup. Fans of powerhouse national teams like Argentina, Brazil and Spain have long shown immense passion for their teams and the sport.

Recently, though, the U.S. men’s national team has started to gain some traction, especially after its exciting victories over Paraguay and Australia in this year's FIFA World Cup, which is scheduled through July 19.

Even as the U.S. men’s national team gains popularity among fans, though, there still seems to be a distinct separation between the fans of this country and the fanatics of others. Jarad Bahir Browsh, director of the Critical Sports Studies program in the �鶹ӰԺ Department of Ethnic Studies, explains that while U.S. soccer fandom may lack the passion and devotion seen in many other parts of the world, there are signs it’s catching up.

Jared Bahir Browsh is the Critical Sports Studies program director in the CU �鶹ӰԺ Department of Ethnic Studies.

Just tape and some rubber bands

Browsh points to the United Kingdom as an example of this national difference: “So many small towns (in the U.K.) have soccer teams, and so you have this kind of passionate connection (to the local team). Wrexham is a perfect example.”

Wrexham Association Football Club is a Welsh club soccer team founded in 1864 that started out just below the professional divisions of the English Football League (EFL). In 2020, actors Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney took over the team, beginning a success streak that saw the Wrexham team move into the EFL, just below the top tier, the Premier League.

The number of leagues and teams in U.K. divisions makes moving up incredibly challenging for smaller teams, so when it happens, it brings a great sense of community to each fan base. Wrexham is a post-industrial Welsh town that had little pop culture notoriety until Reynolds and McElhenney took over. Since the new ownership and the club’s fairy tale success, it’s meant a great deal to the community and is a prominent unifying factor in the small town of Wrexham.

Smaller-town clubs also highlight the accessibility of soccer—not just watching it as a fan, but playing it, Browsh notes.

“It just takes a ball, but even then people are creating balls out of tape and rubber bands. So, people figure out a way to play the sport,” he says. “Our comparable sport (in the United States) is basketball, and basketball is the second most popular sport globally, but it doesn’t have that kind of system (of global leagues and divisions that soccer does).”

One U.S. sports community that comes close to the fervor of global soccer fandom is NCAA Southeastern Conference football. Fans of college teams like Alabama, Auburn, Georgia and Kentucky are known nationwide for their passion for their teams. But, Browsh adds, football has a short season while “soccer is year-long when you factor in these cup tournaments and the international club tournaments. Soccer is constant in many places.”

Catching up

U.S. soccer is gradually moving toward the year-round schedule seen in a lot of the world, Browsh says. For example, North American Major League Soccer and the NCAA are adapting their schedules to align with European schedules.

"We're trying to tap into that fandom, which is over a century in the making,” Browsh says. Even the United States’ oldest sports—specifically baseball—don’t “have that same community connection as some of the smaller teams in Europe and other countries have.”

And when it comes to the World Cup, Browsh says, “You get the combination of fandom along with the national connection that leads to this fanaticism we see at all the celebrations.” In some ways, it just means more for these nations than it does for the United States because of this immense build up and passion for the sport, he explains. Also, the World Cup only happens every four years, which means there’s just that much more on the line.

Plus, many Americans whose families emigrated from other countries don’t tend to root for the United States, either, Browsh says. “I have friends who are Italian, Irish or Scottish, and so they root for those national teams partly because the U.S. has not been as good on the men’s side in (soccer), and some of that is because of the cultural connections and it’s passed down from other family members,” he says.

Soccer and politics

Despite the United States trailing the rest of the world in soccer participation and fandom, hosting the World Cup is still significant for the nation, Browsh says.

A fan watches the June 23 Uzbekistan v. Colombia match at the 2026 FIFA Fan Fest in Mexico City. (Photo: ProtoplasmaKid/Wikimedia Commons)

“It means a lot right now. The tough thing is it’s hard to ignore that the political climate is impacting it,” he says. He cites a lot of negative news about certain players or referees in the lead up to the World Cup—including a Somalian referee who was forced to return to Somalia after being denied entry to the United States—which made international headlines.

Browsh also mentions that the Iranian national team had to immediately return to Mexico, where members were based, after playing in the United States. “It was even a question if Iran was going to show up,” he says.

Geopolitical realities like these can make it hard for fans of these teams to experience the joy that soccer brings them. And beyond the politics, Browsh cites another wedge that has hindered the U.S. World Cup hospitality: FIFA-set ticket prices.

In particular, Browsh cites FIFA President Gianni Infantino’s seemingly dismissive comments about the visa issues, with Infantino “saying, ‘Chill out’ and ‘relax.’ There’s a growing divide between the leadership of FIFA and the fans, and we’re coming head to head with it this World Cup.”

Browsh says the 2030 World Cup, which will be hosted in Spain, Portugal and Morocco with a special game in Uruguay—in what will be the 100th anniversary of the first World Cup—may be a litmus test. “It will be interesting to see if they can take care of (ticket pricing and alientation with fans),” he explains.

And while FIFA decided ticket pricing, the U.S. ticket market—dominated as it is by Live Nation and its subsidiary Ticketmaster, which a Manhattan jury declared a monopoly earlier this year along with the resale market—aren’t helping, Browsh says.

Do up-and-comers have a chance?

Despite the issues, though, the 2026 World Cup has still delivered many of the things fans hope for, including underdog stories. Cabo Verde’s June 15 draw against Spain—an international soccer powerhouse and a favorite to win the World Cup—as well as Ghana’s recent tie against England, demonstrate how teams from the African Federation are taking on heavily funded teams from Europe and Latin America.

“I think we underestimated the African Federation,” Browsh says, “and they have grown leaps and bounds. It keeps their players coming back to the national team after getting high-level training from European clubs.”

Part of African Federation teams’ ascendancy, Browsh adds, may be due in part to FIFA increasing the number of teams in World Cup competition from 32 to 48.

“Some of these bigger teams were not quite prepared for how good these up-and-coming federations are,” he says. “It’s interesting, too, because in a way the United States is actually an up-and-coming federation on the men’s side.”

Finally, a U.S. soccer star

As something of an up-and-coming soccer federation, the U.S. men’s team is working to catch up with its international colleagues in one area that global teams have long excelled: producing stars. Christian Pulisic, a multi-position player, is being broadly credited with bringing a certain stardom to the U.S. men’s team and being a player that even non-fans know by name.

Browsh does, however, advise caution in the process of star-making: “I think we should also be promoting other players. Nothing against Pulisic, but it’s always a danger, especially with some of his injury history, to be like, ‘This is the player you should focus on,’” he says, adding that it makes Pulisic a target.

Maybe because the United States is one of three World Cup host nations this year, U.S. soccer fandom does seem stronger this year, Browsh says. “We’re actually at least going to be competitive this year; we’re in a winnable group.”

The U.S. team’s winning potential is a departure from 2018, when the team didn’t even qualify for the World Cup, to 2022, when its run for the cup ended in a tie against England. But as for whether the United States will ever be a nation of soccer fanatics on the level of European, Latin American or African fans, Browsh says, time and this World Cup will tell.

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As the ongoing FIFA World Cup is showing, says CU �鶹ӰԺ sports scholar Jared Bahir Browsh, nationalism and longtime loyalties set soccer fans apart.

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Top photo: Ecuador fans during Côte d'Ivoire v Ecuador match on June 14 at the 2026 FIFA World Cup. (Photo: Bryan Belrin/Wikimedia Commons)

Ten years after Brexit, the consequences are clear…and complicated

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 22 Jun 2026 22:28:02 +0000

Ten years after Brexit, the consequences are clear…and complicated Rachel Sauer Mon, 06/22/2026 - 16:28

Bradley Worrell

CU �鶹ӰԺ political scientist Joseph Jupille says reverberations from the United Kingdom’s vote to exit the European Union are still being felt a decade later

Ten years ago this week, British voters narrowly chose to leave the European Union, with about 52% voting in favor of leaving and 48% against. The result stunned many observers around the world, including Joseph Jupille, a �鶹ӰԺ political science professor who teaches courses on European politics and who is writing a book on the European Union.

“I woke up the next morning and saw the results, and it was shocking,” he says, recalling first hearing the results of the June 23, 2016, vote.

Still, Jupille is quick to point out that the shock was not the result of a sudden shift, noting that Britain’s uneasy relationship with the European continent had been building for decades.

Joseph Jupille is a CU �鶹ӰԺ political science professor who teaches courses on European politics and who is writing a book on the European Union.

“In a historical sense, it wasn’t surprising at all,” he says. “If some country was going to leave the European Union, it was always going to be Britain.”

The decision to hold the voter referendum on exiting the European Union—popularly termed “Brexit”—was initiated by then-Prime Minister David Cameron, who hoped it would settle longstanding divisions within his own Conservative Party. Cameron expected voters would ultimately choose to remain in the European Union, strengthening his political position.

Instead, the gamble reshaped the country—and Europe—almost immediately, Jupille says.

Why the British voted to leave the EU

To understand Brexit, Jupille says it’s important to understand that the motives behind the vote were never purely economic. At the core, he says, was a powerful, emotional appeal centered on control, sovereignty and identity.

“The main slogan was ‘taking back control,’” he explains. For many British voters, the European Union represented a remote and intrusive authority—one that regulated economic life in ways they felt diminished national sovereignty. Jupille says leaving the EU was framed as a way to restore Britain’s independence.

Closely tied to that message were concerns about immigration. As part of EU membership, Britain accepted free movement of labor—one of Europe’s “four freedoms,” along with the movement of goods, services and capital. While this openness created economic opportunities, Jupille says it also brought large numbers of migrants to Britain, particularly after the EU expanded into Central and Eastern Europe.

For many voters, that influx raised concerns about the country’s cultural change.

“There was a vision of what Britain is and about what it means to be British,” Jupille says. “Some people felt that was under threat.”

Another popular argument focused on the country’s National Health Service. During the campaign, Brexit proponents claimed that the money Britain sent to Brussels (home of the European Union) could instead be invested in the NHS—a symbol of national pride. That promise resonated widely, even though it would later prove difficult to fulfill, Jupille says.

Taken together, Jupille says, the three pillar arguments for leaving the European Union (popularly known as the “Leave” campaign) formed a compelling narrative: Britain could reclaim control, protect its identity and redirect resources toward its own citizens by leaving the EU.

Why the case for ‘Remain’ fell short

British supporters for remaining in the EU (popularly known as the “Remain” campaign) primarily focused on economic arguments. Membership, Remain supporters argued, gave Britain access to a vast single market, with lowered costs and boosted prosperity.

Those arguments were accurate, Jupille says, but he argues that they were difficult to communicate.

A pro-Brexit banner and demonstrator outside the House of Commons in London. (Photo: ChiralJon/Wikimedia Commons)

“Economic arguments can be hard to sell,” he explains. “People don’t always understand the benefits of open markets.”

In contrast, the cultural and identity-based arguments of the Leave campaign were more immediate and tangible. While Remain supporters promoted the idea of a “Global Britain” that thrived through international engagement, that vision struggled to compete with concerns about sovereignty and national identity, Jupille says.

What was happening in European and global markets leading up to the 2016 Brexit vote didn’t help the Remain cause, Jupille says. The global financial crisis starting in 2008 and the Eurozone crisis in 2009 cast doubt on the stability of European institutions.

“Media coverage often highlighted struggling economies in Southern Europe, which reinforced skepticism,” he says.

Jupille says it’s also important to understand the Brexit vote in the context of Britain’s long history of ambivalence toward European integration.

In the late 1950s, when the foundations were being laid for the European Economic Community, the precursor of the EU, Britain initially declined to participate, choosing instead to focus on its Commonwealth partners. The country eventually joined in 1973, but only after recognizing that its economic future lay more with Europe rather than distant partners, Jupille says.

Even then, he says, Britain opted out of certain agreements, including the Euro currency, and it repeatedly sought to renegotiate the terms of its participation.

“The British were always ‘awkward partners,’” he says, referring to a phrase coined by British political scientist Stephen George. “They were always sort of one foot out.”

Brexit vote lingers 10 years later

A decade later, Jupille says the consequences of Britain’s decision to leave the European Union have become both clearer—and more complicated.

From an economic standpoint, evidence suggests that Brexit has come at a cost. While estimates vary, Jupille says a widely circulated figure place Britain’s gross domestic product about 4% lower than it might have been had the country remained in the EU.

Meanwhile, the promises of Brexit have proved elusive. Immigration, for example, has not decreased overall. Instead, its composition has changed, with migrants primarily coming from India, Africa and China rather than EU countries, Jupille says.

Similarly, the much-anticipated windfall for the National Health Service has not materialized, as the NHS continues to face funding pressures and long wait times, he says.

At the same time, public opinion regarding Brexit has changed.

An anti-Brexit demonstrator at Westminster Green in London. (Photo: ChiralJon/Wikimedia Commons)

“It looks like about 60% of respondents in recent polls suggest that Brexit was a mistake and would lean toward rejoining, if that were an option,” Jupille says. While views remain divided, the needle has moved significantly since 2016, he adds.

“It (Brexit) hasn’t turned out the way it was promised. That underpins a lot of people’s regret.”

Another Brexit in the offing?

Could another European Union nation follow in the steps of Britain and stage its own Brexit?

For now, Jupille says he believes that risk is limited. Currently, no EU country is seriously discussing leaving—in part because of how the EU handled negotiations with Britain upon its departure. A revised trade agreement between the UK and the EU in 2025 has lowered some trade barriers but does not carry all of the advantages of EU membership, Jupille says.

“The EU has played hardball,” he says. “It wants Brexit to serve as an object lesson to other countries.”

By making the process of leaving complex and costly, EU leaders hope to discourage other member countries from following suit, Jupille says.

Meanwhile, the greater risk, he suggests, is not outright departures but attempts by major countries to renegotiate their terms of membership. Movements within France and Germany that push for more national control could create significant challenges for the EU’s future stability, he says.

At its heart, Jupille says Brexit illustrates a fundamental friction that is not limited to any one country.

“Our economic interests push us toward cooperation,” he says. In a globalized world, trade, investment and meeting worldwide challenges are best addressed at a broader, transnational level, he adds.

At the same time, political identity remains strongly rooted in the nation-state, as people feel a stronger attachment to their country than to larger entities like the EU, Jupille says. That attachment creates a powerful pull toward sovereignty and independence.

The result is a trade-off.

“You can have control over a smaller set of options,” Jupille explains, “or you can give up some control and have better options.”

In a sense, he says, Brexit is a case study in what happens when a country chooses the former.

Why Brexit still matters today

Ten years on, Jupille says Brexit continues to offer lessons not only for the United Kingdom but also for other countries grappling with similar questions related to sovereignty and the realities of an interconnected world.

“This is a central dilemma of the 21st century,” he says. “Brexit embodies the tension between rational economic cooperation and emotional attachments to national identity.”

Brexit also is instructive regarding the benefits of economic cooperation, Jupille says. For all of its flaws, the EU represents a remarkable transformation on the European continent, he says, noting that within the span of a century, Europe moved from two world wars that ravaged much of Europe to a time of relative peace and prosperity. He specifically credits institutions like the EU for playing a crucial role in that shift, helping to bind former rivals together, stating, “It remains the greatest example of countries that used to kill each other learning to live together.”

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CU �鶹ӰԺ political scientist Joseph Jupille says reverberations from the United Kingdom’s vote to exit the European Union are still being felt a decade later.

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Are Colorado moose invasive? New research says no

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 18 Jun 2026 13:32:33 +0000

Are Colorado moose invasive? New research says no Rachel Sauer Thu, 06/18/2026 - 07:32

A moose affectionately dubbed "Frank the Tank" in the Colorado mountains.

Rachel Sauer

CU �鶹ӰԺ archaeologist William Taylor and research colleagues find evidence that far from being non-native, moose have been in the southern Rockies for centuries, likely longer

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The modern Colorado moose is often considered just that: modern—brought to the state by wildlife officials in the late 1970s, preceded by very occasional reports of moose sightings in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

Since being translocated to Colorado, these charismatic megafauna have been a source of both fascination and concern. In Rocky Mountain National Park, where moose populations have thrived, ecosystems have been changing, and moose-associated impacts have sparked renewed conversations about managing an animal labeled “non-native.”

However, newly published research by an interdisciplinary team of scientists, archivists and Tribal cultural heritage leaders shows that the “non-native” label is inaccurate. They present evidence demonstrating that moose have been in Colorado for at least centuries and likely longer.

CU �鶹ӰԺ scholar William Taylor and his research colleagues found evidence that moose have lived in the southern Rockies for centuries.

The researchers analyzed newspaper archives, archaeological site reports, scientific journals, museum collections and photo archives to understand where and when moose were present in Colorado prior to the mid-1900s. Perhaps most importantly, notes lead author William Taylor, a �鶹ӰԺ associate professor of anthropology and CU Museum curator of archaeology, the scholars sought Indigenous histories, and in doing so found evidence of moose being well known and deeply integrated into traditional knowledge of Native people in the southern Rockies.

Crystal C’Bearing, a study co-author and Northern Arapaho Tribal Historic Preservation Officer, notes that among the Northern Arapaho, "the moose is considered a valued commodity among the Tribe.” She adds that societies within the Northern Arapaho "utilize many animals, including moose, in their clothing, society items and regalia. This tradition continues today."

The scholarly approach of joining Indigenous knowledge with historical accounts, archaeology and paleontology, "shows the power of multiple independent lines of evidence converging on the conclusion that moose were part of southern Rocky Mountain ecosystems long before modern reintroductions," says study co-author Jonathan Dombrosky of Crow Canyon Archaeological Center and the University of Alabama. "More broadly, the study demonstrates how historical sciences can help us better understand the origins of modern ecosystems and make more informed decisions about their future."

Delving into the archaeological record

The seeds for this research and the approach to it grew from Taylor’s deep dive into the CU Museum’s collections when he arrived in 2019.

“One of the things I’ve done with my time here is try to familiarize myself with and understand our own collections, which are among the more significant archaeological collections in the whole region,” Taylor says. “In the process of curating our collections, I became more and more familiar with what’s in those and the publications that are out there in the world that pertain to them.

“One of the oldest and most significant is the Jurgens collection, which is from a site in Colorado and related to a really early, deep chapter of Colorado’s pre-history, and that collection was analyzed by (one of) my predecessor(s), Dr. Joe Ben Wheat. He analyzed this collection decades ago and identified several specimens of moose in northwest Colorado dating back thousands of years, to the early Holocene.”

Arapaho objects, symbols and designs linked to moose. 1) Moose hide drum; 2-4) Track designs; 5) Ear design; 6-8) Leg and hoof designs; 9) Animal design (Moose, wolf, or elk). Images modified from Kroeber (1983). (Image courtesy Journey LeBeau)

That fact was on Taylor’s mind a few years ago when Rocky Mountain National Park officials began broadly publicizing moose management issues and the discussions that were happening about them. In many of those discussions, Taylor recalls, the messaging frequently labeled moose as “invasive,” “non-native” or “outsiders,” which doesn’t align with the archaeological record and “some of the basic facts I know from my role here working as curator,” he says.

“I also started to see some media narratives, based on secondhand accounts, suggesting that Native people in the Rockies didn’t know about moose. Things like that just started to rub me the wrong way and raised my spidey senses—I decided that there needs to be serious engagement with the archaeological record. We needed to take a closer look at these things that are trickling into the discourse—particularly characterizations of Indigenous perspectives and the historic record, because that’s going to shape what happens to moose in the future.”

Taylor contacted Tribal partners and colleagues at other universities and institutions and asked, “What’s your sense of the story of moose in the southern Rockies?” From those conversations, he proposed a rigorous analysis of the history of the moose in this area.

The work began in the archives of the CU Museum, and drew on the expertise of other museum staff. They delved into Colorado’s approximately 160 years of digitized newspapers—“an extraordinary resource,” Taylor says—mapping each documented sighting of a moose, every record of an interaction with a moose they encountered for the past 160 years. The story that emerged was a rich record showing that moose have been in this area from its earliest colonial settlement days.

Seeking Indigenous histories

The more challenging task was crawling through Colorado’s sprawling archaeological record. “Like many western states and many parts of the world, the archaeological record isn’t a neatly organized database,” Taylor explains. "It's often a chaotic compilation of dusty old books, partially published white papers, just a lot of resources kind of floating around out there, so you have to turn over a lot of rocks to find what you need.”

This meant sending rafts of emails, requesting interlibrary loans of undigitized manuscripts and working professional and personal networks to better understand the archaeological record. They dug into municipal photo archives along the Front Range and museum databases for vertebrate zoology collections. From this research, they wove a rich tapestry of findings showing that “even though it’s very, very hard to get a comprehensive picture of when an animal was or wasn’t in a given place at a given time in the ancient world, when you take this multi-methodological approach and really get curious rather than starting from assumptions, you uncover a really fascinating picture,” Taylor says.

A moose affectionately dubbed "Frank the Tank" in the Colorado mountains.

One of the most exciting aspects of the research, Taylor adds, was pairing this work with Indigenous histories, including oral traditions about moose from across the region. One of Taylor’s colleagues shared a 19th-century record from the Jicarilla Apache of northern New Mexico discussing the fact that moose were present in—and had recently disappeared from—even the southernmost ranges of the southern Rocky Mountains.

Ultimately, the research coalesced into a reframing of moose in the southern Rockies, supported by evidence: Moose are not, in fact, newcomers, but longtime residents.

Supporting future management

So, what does this mean for human-wildlife co-existence and for populations and ecosystems increasingly stressed by climate change? The findings don’t mean that changes to mountain ecosystems should be ignored, Taylor and his colleagues emphasize. Instead, they argue that moose impacts should be understood through a deeper ecological and historical view, especially in national parks where many processes that once shaped large herbivore populations have been altered.

Moose calves in the Colorado mountains.

“Rocky Mountain National Park is dealing with ecological impacts from moose, but treating moose as a non-native species changes which management responses seem justified," says study co-author John Wendt of New Mexico State University, noting that large mammals and the landscapes they inhabit have never been static, and large herbivores like moose have historically been controlled by things like predators, habitat change and human hunting.

"When modern park systems operate without these regulating processes, high impacts don't necessarily mean that an animal is ecologically out of place,” Wendt adds, Instead, "they may be a sign that our management frameworks themselves should be reconsidered."

The study’s results may change how wildlife managers think about managing modern ecosystems, which have been destabilized by major changes in the last two centuries, including the removal of natural predators, the researchers note. C'Bearing says that Tribes may be willing partners in solving this issue: "Tribal people were part of the natural ecosystem in terms of hunting and wildlife management. It would be beneficial not only to the Tribes to utilize the moose again for cultural practices, but to assist in the co-management of moose in Colorado and the Southern Rockies."

Further, the multidisciplinary approach that the researchers used can be applied to other species, Taylor says. Better understanding where animals lived in the past, and for how long they lived there, can offer important clues to supporting their futures.

"The veil of time is often our biggest obstacle in understanding wildlife," said Joshua Miller, a study co-author from the University of Cincinnati. "Compared to the thousands of years that a species can live in a particular place, data from wildlife surveys might only extend a few decades into the past. We can learn a lot from those data, but some questions require more expansive time horizons. Weaving together different threads of historical evidence can fill important knowledge gaps, and help us develop strategies for managing and conserving plants and animals from around the world."

Study authors are William T. T. Taylor, John A. F. Wendt, Jonathan Dombrosky, Crystal C'Bearing, Mikayla Costales, Isaac A. Hart, Journey LeBeau, Adrian Johnson, Elena Lompe, Russell W. Graham, Chance Ward, Emily Lena Jones and Joshua H. Miller.

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CU �鶹ӰԺ archaeologist William Taylor and research colleagues find evidence that far from being non-native, moose have been in the southern Rockies for centuries, likely longer

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Top photo: A moose pair interacting in Sprague Lake (All moose photos courtesy Deena Sveinsson)

Freedom deferred, freedom declared, freedom demanded: a Juneteenth playlist

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 17 Jun 2026 21:30:59 +0000

Freedom deferred, freedom declared, freedom demanded: a Juneteenth playlist Rachel Sauer Wed, 06/17/2026 - 15:30

Reiland Rabaka

On a day of commemoration, African American music is a living record of struggle and survival

Reiland Rabaka is the founder and director of the Center for African and African American Studies and a professor of ethnic studies.

Juneteenth is not only a historical commemoration; it is also a musical archive. Long before freedom was legally recognized, it was imagined, sung, prayed, whispered, shouted and remembered in song.

Across the centuries, African American music has served as a living record of struggle and survival, preserving histories that official narratives often ignored or distorted. Spirituals carried coded messages of hope and liberation. The blues transformed sorrow into testimony. Jazz improvised new possibilities for freedom. Gospel joined personal faith to collective struggle. Soul and funk voiced demands for dignity and self-determination. Reggae internationalized the language of liberation, while rap chronicled the unfinished journey toward justice and democracy.

This playlist traces a long freedom tradition from enslavement and emancipation through Reconstruction, Jim Crow segregation, the Civil Rights and Black Power Movements, and contemporary struggles for racial justice. Together, these songs remind us that music is more than entertainment. It is memory. It is protest. It is prophecy. It is a democratic practice through which ordinary people narrate their lives and imagine more just futures.

These selections illuminate the enduring significance of Juneteenth by revealing how artists across generations transformed suffering into creativity, resistance into rhythm and hope into collective action. They invite us to hear freedom not as a destination already reached, but as an ongoing journey carried forward in song.

“Go Down, Moses” – traditional spiritual

One of the most powerful spirituals to emerge from the era of enslavement, this song links the biblical Exodus story to Black aspirations for liberation. Enslaved Africans transformed sacred narrative into a coded language of resistance, making freedom both a spiritual promise and a political dream.

“Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” – traditional spiritual

This beloved spiritual expresses both sorrow and hope, reflecting the emotional complexity of life under slavery. Its imagery of movement and deliverance resonates deeply with the long struggle that Juneteenth commemorates.

“Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child” – traditional spiritual

A haunting meditation on separation, displacement and longing, the song reflects the devastating family disruptions produced by slavery. It reminds listeners that emancipation was also about restoring humanity, kinship and belonging.

“Lift Every Voice and Sing” – James Weldon Johnson and J. Rosamond Johnson (1900)

Often called the Black National Anthem, this enduring hymn links emancipation to citizenship, perseverance, faith and democratic aspiration. Its themes of remembrance and hope make it one of the most important musical expressions of African American historical memory.

“Strange Fruit” – Billie Holiday (1939)

This landmark recording confronts the racial terror that followed Reconstruction. By exposing the brutality of lynching, Holiday reminds us that emancipation did not immediately secure justice, equality or safety for African Americans.

“Come Sunday” – Duke Ellington (1943)

Part of Ellington’s monumental Black, Brown and Beige suite, this composition honors African American spiritual traditions and their role in sustaining dignity, faith and cultural survival through centuries of oppression and resistance.

“Move On Up a Little Higher” – Mahalia Jackson (1947)

A gospel masterpiece rooted in the Black sacred tradition, Jackson’s recording captures the spiritual determination that sustained generations from slavery through the modern freedom struggle. It expresses both earthly perseverance and transcendent hope.

“Oh, Freedom” – Odetta (1956)

Rooted in the experiences of formerly enslaved African Americans after emancipation, this freedom song bridges Juneteenth and the Civil Rights Movement. Odetta’s powerful interpretation preserves the moral courage and democratic aspirations of those who struggled to transform freedom declared into freedom lived.

“A Change Is Gonna Come” – Sam Cooke (1964)

One of the defining freedom songs of modern America, Cooke’s masterpiece captures both suffering and hope. Its emotional depth echoes the aspirations of generations who struggled to transform emancipation into full citizenship and democratic inclusion.

“Mississippi Goddam” – Nina Simone (1964)

Simone’s searing protest song reminds listeners that legal freedom alone does not guarantee justice. Her music links the long history of Black resistance to the continuing demand for democratic transformation and human dignity.

“Freedom Highway” – The Staple Singers (1965)

Written during the Civil Rights Movement, this song connects 19th-century emancipation struggles to 20th-century movements for voting rights and equality. It celebrates collective action, courage and democratic participation.

“Say It Loud—I’m Black and I’m Proud” – James Brown (1968)

This anthem of Black self-determination and cultural affirmation reflects the legacy of emancipation in a later era. Brown’s declaration of dignity, self-respect and collective pride helped redefine freedom for a new generation.

“Freedom” – Richie Havens (1969)

Made famous through Havens’s unforgettable Woodstock performance, this song transforms a spiritual refrain into a universal anthem of liberation. It stands at the crossroads of the Civil Rights Movement, the Black Power Movement, antiwar activism and global freedom struggles.

“What’s Going On?” – Marvin Gaye (1971)

Marvin Gaye expands the meaning of freedom beyond emancipation alone, addressing war, poverty, racial inequality and social fragmentation. The song asks what democratic responsibility requires in a nation still struggling to fulfill its ideals.

“Living for the City” – Stevie Wonder (1973)

One of the most powerful musical narratives of post-Civil Rights Black America, Wonder’s song traces the effects of structural racism, economic inequality and urban hardship. It reminds listeners that emancipation was the beginning—not the end—of the struggle for justice.

“Redemption Song” – Bob Marley and the Wailers (1980)

Marley’s meditation on liberation connects African diasporic struggles across national boundaries. The song underscores the global significance of freedom movements and the continuing work of emancipation throughout the African world.

“Fight the Power” – Public Enemy (1989)

A defining statement of rap political consciousness, this track challenges dominant narratives and demands historical accountability. It extends the democratic critiques voiced by Frederick Douglass into the late 20th century.

“Keep Ya Head Up” – Tupac Shakur (1993)

This song broadens discussions of freedom by emphasizing dignity, resilience, care and community responsibility. It reflects the continuing struggle to realize justice not only in institutions but also in everyday life.

“Glory” – Common and John Legend (2014)

Created for the film Selma, this song bridges historical and contemporary freedom movements. It demonstrates how the memory of emancipation and the Civil Rights Movement continues to inspire new generations of activists and artists.

“Alright” – Kendrick Lamar (2015)

Widely embraced as a contemporary anthem of resilience and hope, the song speaks to the persistence of racial inequality while affirming collective endurance. It echoes Juneteenth’s central lesson that hope survives even amid hardship and struggle.

“Freedom” – Beyoncé featuring Kendrick Lamar (2016)

Drawing upon spiritual, blues, gospel and contemporary Black musical traditions, this powerful anthem embodies the continuing quest for freedom, self-determination and collective empowerment. It links historical memory to present-day movements for justice.

“Letter to the Free” – Common (2016)

Written for the documentary 13th, the song explores the relationship between slavery, incarceration and contemporary systems of inequality. It encourages listeners to think critically about freedom’s unfinished work in the twenty-first century.

“This Is America” – Childish Gambino (2018)

A provocative reflection on race, violence, spectacle and national identity, this song challenges listeners to confront contradictions within American democracy. It underscores why historical memory remains essential to civic life and democratic renewal.

“Not Like Us” – Kendrick Lamar (2024)

More than a rap battle anthem, “Not Like Us” became a cultural event that sparked conversations about authenticity, accountability, community and cultural ownership. Within the broader tradition of African American public critique, the song can be understood as a contemporary expression of self-definition and communal responsibility, themes that have long animated Black democratic thought.

Taken together, these songs tell a story that parallels the history of Juneteenth itself. They begin in the fields, cabins, churches and hidden gathering places of enslaved Africans. They move through emancipation, Reconstruction, the Jim Crow segregation era, the Civil Rights Movement, the Black Power Movement and contemporary movements for racial justice.

They remind us that freedom has never been merely a legal proclamation. Freedom is a practice of memory. Freedom is a culture of resistance. Freedom is a song passed from generation to generation.

To listen to this playlist is to hear the soundtrack of a people who transformed suffering into art, exclusion into creativity and deferred dreams into democratic possibilities. It is to hear the long, unfinished journey from freedom declared to freedom realized.

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On a day of commemoration, African American music is a living record of struggle and survival.

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CU �鶹ӰԺ scholar tracks Hindu nationalism’s global disguise

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 11 Jun 2026 22:15:45 +0000

CU �鶹ӰԺ scholar tracks Hindu nationalism’s global disguise Rachel Sauer Thu, 06/11/2026 - 16:15

Some traditional Hindu iconography and sacred symbols, including the Omkar, have been adopted by the Hindu right wing. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

Cody DeBos

Ethnic studies Professor Nishant Upadhyay delves into the gap between image and reality in Hinduism

Hinduism, like most religions, has a reputation.

According to Nishant Upadhyay, a �鶹ӰԺ associate professor of ethnic studies, it is tied to a deep and ancient reverence for the natural world and offers a peaceful, colorful alternative to the spiritual traditions many Westerners grew up with.

For Upadhyay (they/them), that reputation poses a problem.

Nishant Upadhyay, a CU �鶹ӰԺ associate professor of ethnic studies, notes that Hinduism, like most religions, has a reputation.

“Hinduism has this reputation, especially in a place like �鶹ӰԺ, where it’s seen as this religion that’s environmentally friendly, animal friendly, cares about women and queer folks, cares about peace and non-violence,” they say.

“But it has always been deeply caste-ist and patriarchal,” Upadhyay adds.

That gap between image and reality is at the heart of Upadhyay’s new paper, published in the Amerasia Journal, which traces a pattern of right-wing Hindu diaspora organizations forging “solidarities” with Indigenous peoples across the U.S., Canada, Australia and New Zealand.

They argue these gestures are not acts of genuine allyship, but more calculated moves in service of Hindu nationalism, a political ideology with a far different agenda than the one being advertised.

“We have to be very careful when Hindu nationalists use this framework of indigeneity because this is deeply fraught and violent. We can’t come here and say Hindus are in solidarity when Hindus are actually oppressing indigenous, caste-oppressed and Muslim communities in India,” Upadhyay says.

Indians on Indian lands

Upadhyay, associate chair of Graduate Studies in CU �鶹ӰԺ’s Department of Ethnic Studies, is also the author of Indians on Indian Lands: Intersections of Race, Caste, and Indigeneity. The book was recently awarded “Outstanding Contribution in Social Sciences” by the Association of Asian American Studies. Their recent work is a continuation of the book that closely examines the proliferation of the Hindu nationalist movement in the diaspora.

To understand Upadhyay’s argument, it helps to understand the landscape in which their work is taking place.

“I’m looking at more recent formations of the diaspora in the last 100 years to North America, which is a very different form of migration than indentured labor migrations of South Asians to the different colonies under the British empire,” Upadhyay says.

“My focus is more on folks who are willingly moving with caste, class and religious privileges, capital and mobility. A lot more ‘skilled’ workers have moved more willingly in the past several decades, mostly to North America, Western Europe and Australia,” they add.

Upadhyay argues that dominant-caste Hindu immigrants in the U.S. and elsewhere aren't simply racialized minorities navigating racism in white settler states. Rather, in the way these communities relate to the lands they now inhabit, Upadhyay likens them to settlers rather than allies of indigenous peoples.

“Because India was able to become independent in 1947, when we move here, we are racialized, but we don’t really understand the realities of violence that indigenous communities continue to face,” they say.

Hindu nationalism further complicates the picture.

“The Hindu nationalist ideology is about a century old. The project claims that India should only belong to Hindus, specifically dominant caste Hindus, and anyone who’s not a Hindu should not be part of it,” Upadhyay explains. “So the violence is targeted primarily at Muslim and Christian communities in India.”

“Saffronwashing is a way to talk about how Hindu nationalists normalize and make invisible the violences perpetuated against caste-oppressed, indigenous and religious-minority communities in India. They portray Hinduism as environmentally friendly, peace-loving, non-violent, yoga-loving, colorful festivals and spicy food,” explains CU �鶹ӰԺ scholar Nishant Upadhyay.

Under Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi, now in his third term, that ideology has become deeply entrenched in Indian political and social life. Upadhyay says it has also traveled with the diaspora.

A familiar playbook

The attempts at allying with indigenous communities Upadhyay examines follow a similar script.

In 2016, during the Standing Rock protests of the Dakota Access Pipeline, Hindu American organizations issued statements claiming kinship with the Standing Rock Sioux.

“Hindu nationalist groups started coming out with these statements saying, ‘We are indigenous to India, and we were colonized by the British. You are indigenous, and you’ve been colonized by the Europeans and the American state. So, we understand your struggles, and we want to be in alliance with you,’” Upadhyay recounts.

The pattern repeated when unmarked graves of Indigenous children were discovered at former residential school sites in Canada, and again when Native Hawaiian protectors rallied against the construction of a massive telescope on the sacred summit of Mauna Kea. In Australia, Hindu organizations point to DNA studies suggesting genetic links between Indian and Aborigine populations as evidence of ancient kinship.

Each gesture, Upadhyay argues, is a form of what they and other scholars call “saffronwashing”—a term borrowed from the similar logics of greenwashing and pinkwashing.

“Caste is very important to think about and name. … This is a longer genealogy of violence that dominant caste Indians have imported with themselves when they’ve come here. So, it’s a conversation we need to be having much more proactively and keep fighting against,” says Nishant Upadhyay. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

“They project these cultural things about Hinduism but erase the violences that hide beneath those cultural practices.”

For Western audiences unfamiliar with caste, the danger in these solidarity gestures may be hard to see. That disguise is the problem.

Caste is among the oldest systems of structural oppression in human history. It predates European colonialism by thousands of years and extends well beyond the borders of India and Hinduism.

For Hindu nationalists in the diaspora, the goal, Upadhyay says, is to normalize and mainstream themselves. Within progressive spaces, interfaith coalitions and anti-racist organizing, Hindu nationalist messaging can be normalized, and any criticism of India’s treatment of its own minorities can be suppressed. In the last decade, there have been cases of diasporic Hindu nationalist groups going after scholars, writers and activists critical of the Hindu nationalist regime in India, caste violence, Islamophobia and the occupation of Kashmir.

Already, Upadhyay points out, Hindu nationalist influence has shaped K-12 textbook battles, hiring cultures in Silicon Valley and the political landscape at the highest levels of American government across both parties.

“This impacts all of us,” they say.

What real solidarity looks like

Upadhyay is careful to distinguish the solidarities they critique from others that they see as genuine and decolonial. Kashmiri, Tamil, Punjabi, Dalit and Tibetan diaspora communities, they argue, have modeled a fundamentally different approach rooted in an honest acknowledgment of their own position, histories and complicities.

“We left our homelands because our people are oppressed and now we are refugees or immigrants here, but we have also become settlers,” they say, describing the framework these communities embrace. “That’s a very different articulation and practice of solidarity.”

At its core, the question is whether a community treats its own suffering as unique and self-contained or accepts its connection to a broader web of struggle and liberation.

For Upadhyay, only one of those orientations can sustain real solidarity.

“We can learn from these decolonial frameworks where interlinking of oppression and liberation is at the forefront,” they say.

That work, Upadhyay says, begins at home. The task they set for themselves, and for others in dominant-caste diaspora communities, is to look inward first.

“We have to examine how caste, race and indigeneity have shaped our own privilege before presuming to stand beside those whose lands and lives remain on the line,” Upadhyay says. “We have to fight together because our liberation is interconnected.”

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Ethnic studies Professor Nishant Upadhyay delves into the gap between image and reality in Hinduism.

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Top photo: Flags of the Party flags of India's conservative Bharatiya Janta Party (BJP) and Shiv Sena. (Photo: Al Jazeera English/Wikimedia Commons)

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