Why I'm Still Glad I Went to College

I started college at Northeastern University in Boston in 1964. I was the first girl in my family to ever attend, and I wanted to do well. Unfortunately for me (I was always a bit of a non-conformist), the early 1960s were still a very conservative time. Yes, society was gradually changing, but girls were still expected to wear dresses to class, and many of the boys wore jackets and ties. (I much preferred wearing jeans, but that wouldn't be acceptable till later in the decade.) As I recall, most of my professors were older, and very serious. They did not expect to be questioned or challenged. We all sat in class and took notes, we memorized what the professor said, and we tried our best to get good grades. I was a commuter student, as were most of the working-class kids who attended; living at home cost much less than living on campus.

When we had some free time, many of us participated in extra-curricular activities. I immediately gravitated towards the college newspaper: I wanted to be a sportswriter, but that didn't seem to be something girls were allowed to do. I tried the radio station too, because I wanted to be a deejay, but I was told girls couldn't do that either. It was an era when I not only encountered sexism, but some folks would also make antisemitic remarks. (I applied for a loan to pay for school and was told I didn't need one because I was Jewish... Evidently, people still believed the myth that all the Jews were rich. I explained that most of us were not, but the folks in the financial aid office didn't seem persuaded...)

On the other hand, going to college opened up my world. I met students from many other countries, and I encountered ideas and beliefs I hadn't learned about before. In addition, the university often brought in guest speakers, some of whom were in the news. Not all of my classes were interesting, but a few really stood out: I especially loved my World Religions class, where I had a young professor who was different from most of the others-- he encouraged debate, he wanted us to think, and he didn't even mind if students called him by his first name.

I finally did get on the radio in 1968, as many of you know; in fact, I was the first female deejay in the campus station's history. By that time, protests against the Vietnam war were breaking out on campuses all across the country. I recall playing a lot of anti-war songs. It was personal for many of us: we all knew former students who had been drafted and sent to Vietnam, and who never made it home alive. To be honest, we didn't understand why our country was fighting in Vietnam, and we wanted the war to end. We made our feelings known through the music we played, as well as through peaceful protest. (And yes, I know: on some campuses, the protests were not so peaceful. But on ours, as I recall, they were.)  

Fast forward to today. The current president has a well-known vendetta against "elite" colleges, and against courses he deems "woke." (I still don't know what that word means, and it seems to mainly be applied to anything he doesn't agree with.) He has cancelled funds for life-saving medical and scientific research, and canceled various grants for working-class students. Meanwhile, governors who are his acolytes have demanded that entire majors and courses be eliminated. And as we all know, this president wants the Department of Education to be dismantled (which is not good news for students with disabilities, but that's a story for another day). 

These days, I'm told that college campuses are just hotbeds of "woke ideology" and "indoctrination." I've also been told that college campuses are hotbeds of antisemitism. And I'm told that professors are biased and they're teaching their students the wrong things. As someone who has been a professor for nearly 40 years, the conservative discourses about college make me sad (and frustrated) because I know they are demonstrably false-- yet I also know they're widely believed. I've taught in many cities, and yes, I've certainly met professors who were liberal ideologues, just like I've met professors who were conservative ideologues. I've met some who were biased, and some who were opinionated. But contrary to the stereotypes, the vast majority of educators are not extremists, and they're not biased. Most educators that I know care deeply about teaching, and they're trying to share their expertise with the next generation. 

I understand that college isn't for everyone. And I'm well aware that some campuses have been in the news for angry protests about Gaza, the way some were in the news for angry protests about Vietnam. I'm not trying to minimize what these students feel, or ignore the way some have acted. But let's also not minimize the fact that all over the country, millions of students (of all ages) are taking college courses, in hopes of bettering themselves. The president seems to find it politically useful to demonize college: perhaps he believes that some ideas are dangerous, and only he should decide what's fit to be studied. I disagree. As a society, we need more opportunities to learn something new, even if a course or a professor don't align with our own views. It breaks my heart to hear politicians saying college isn't necessary, or claiming certain colleges ought to be shut down. Even years later, I still believe the best thing I did was go to college. And I hope that today's young people will still have that opportunity. It could turn out to be life-changing, just like it was for me. 

Ten Years After-- Or Some Thoughts About Blogging

I guess you could call me a "life-long learner": even though I have two master's degrees and a PhD, I always enjoy learning new things. So, in early 2015, I was taking an online course about political communication via New York University, and the professor wanted us to start a blog about politics. I had read a few blogs, about various topics, but I'd never had one myself. And although I like to write, I had never thought of becoming a blogger. Still, I wanted to get credit for the course, and so it was that I began blogging. But I never planned to continue it once the course was over. 

And yet, ten years later, I'm still blogging. Once the course ended, I was able to expand into topics other than politics-- in fact, in the decade that I've been writing my blog posts, the topics have been very wide-ranging. I've written about the history of broadcasting, my favorite TV shows, baseball, classic rock, interesting aspects of my career, current events (some controversial, some not), some politics, and of course, at times, I write about a certain Canadian rock band named Rush. 

I have never expected to be widely read. In fact, a typical post of mine tends to get somewhere between 100-150 views. That's fine with me; I mainly write as a form of catharsis, and if something I wrote ever resonates with someone, that makes me happy. Now and then, people will reach out to me on social media and praise one of my posts. Sometimes, I'll get a few comments. But usually, I'm content to write something new every couple of weeks, and leave it at that. 

Blogging regularly for ten years has given me new admiration for the columnists who do it for a living. It takes self-discipline (and good research) to write on a regular basis. Sometimes, there's just nothing much I feel like saying, and at other times, there's so much to say that I don't know where to begin. Sometimes, I wonder if I should keep on doing it-- maybe I've become boring, maybe ten years is more than enough. But then, something I wrote strikes a chord and I find that I'm being quoted by Bob Cesca or Stephanie Miller; or someone messages me to thank me for what I wrote that week.

And on more than a few occasions, I've been very glad to have this blog-- especially when I could write about special occasions, like being in Cleveland for Geddy Lee's book tour, or seeing Rush's R40 concert in Boston. (My Rush-related posts, as I would expect, have been the most popular. My tribute to Neil after his passing received more than 17,600 views, for example.) And thanks to my blog, I could commemorate what I learned from my parents, or pay tribute to some unsung heroes and heroines from history who deserve to be remembered, or talk about what has (and has not) changed in politics since I was growing up. Speaking of politics, these days, I often find it best to avoid certain topics: I hate to generalize, but as a society, people seem angrier and less willing to accept perspectives that differ from their own. It didn't used to be that way. 

But for the most part, the folks who have read my blog have been courteous, and I appreciate that. I don't know how long I'll keep on blogging. I don't know if my blog is making a difference, or if anyone really cares what I think (except, perhaps, about Rush). But for now, it's my ten year anniversary as a blogger, and I may as well keep going, for as long as I still have opinions I want to express. Thanks for reading!

 

In A World of Alternative Facts

I was thinking about Twitter earlier tonight. I know, we're all supposed to call it X, but it will always be Twitter to me (I usually write it Twitter/X these days). I joined it in 2008, at the behest of some of my students. Everybody said it was really influential: a lot of well-known reporters, politicians, broadcasters, and celebrities posted there. And while I didn't spend a lot of time on social media, I agreed that I should probably have a presence there, even just to read the Tweets of people whose work I cared about.

Back then, Twitter was a fascinating place. Yes, it had its share of trolls, but it also had a wide range of folks who just wanted to keep up with what was going on. I met a lot of wonderful people on Twitter: many were Rush fans, many knew me from radio, some had read my books or articles, and some were colleagues (past and present). Now and then, I had to block someone who wanted to argue over politics and decided that calling me names was the way to do it; but 95% of my interactions, even with folks whose political views differed from mine, tended to be friendly and courteous. 

I miss those days. Since the ownership changed in 2022 and Elon changed the name to X, the number of trolls has increased, and the courteous conversations have decreased. I still maintain a presence there, for the same reason that I joined in 2008. Yes, most of the journalists and many other folks I respected, have left, frustrated by how the platform became more open to angry and hateful messaging; but there are still some nice folks there, and I stay to maintain my communication with them. I also think it's important to hear viewpoints that aren't just the ones I agree with.

But staying there isn't always easy, especially when I find myself verbally attacked for having the "wrong" political views. Twitter/X has become the home for folks who are pro-Trump. I am the same center-leftie I always was, and that never used to be a problem; I had some conservative followers and we chatted about the news all the time. We saw things differently sometimes, but we never felt the need to insult each other. These days, however, if I say anything even mildly critical about the president, there are folks who are quick to tell me what a horrible person I am. 

Of course, I'm not the only person to notice that when it comes to social media, we've self-selected into two parallel universes, especially about politics. There are the pro-Trump spaces (like Twitter/X), and the anti-Trump spaces (like Bluesky). And that means two very different realities. For example, in the pro-Trump space, President Trump gave Zelenskyy what was coming to him, since the Ukrainian leader is just an ungrateful moocher and Vladimir Putin is the one who should be admired. But in the anti-Trump space, Mr Trump put on an embarrassing display of rudeness and pettiness, insulted a heroic ally, and made us look bad on the world stage. 

I admit I don't understand why folks on Twitter/X seem convinced that Putin is wonderful, and I'm sure some folks there can't understand why I'm no fan of Donald Trump. But at least the prior version of Twitter/X wasn't so hostile to debate, and fact-checkers weighed in if something was demonstrably false. These days, "alternative facts" are drowning out what's actually true, and this president's relentless (and often undeserved) attacks on journalists have diminished the public trust in actual reporting. And what keeps worrying me is that some folks are fine with that. They no longer seem to care about respecting "the other side"; they don't value dialogue, and they see basic courtesy as weakness. Some folks are fine if we have an autocratic leader who loves to insult his perceived enemies, and who constantly spreads alternative facts. And for those who like that sort of thing, Twitter/X is the sort of thing they like.

I Will Choose Freewill

As many of you know, Valentine's Day was my birthday. I turned 78, and to my surprise, more than 1,100 folks reached out to me on social media to send happy birthday wishes. Some were Rush fans, some were baseball fans, some were former colleagues, some were former students, some were folks I play Wordle with online, and of course, some were friends of mine. But I sincerely didn't expect such a large number, and I tried my best to get back to as many of them as I could to express my gratitude.

Over the past few days, I was thinking about what it means to be 78. By some standards, it's considered "old": in the 1950s, when I was a kid, I remember that people in their 70s were called "elderly," rather than the more euphemistic "senior citizens." If they weren't living with their adult children, many elderly usually lived in "old age homes," and it was highly unusual for someone of that advanced age to still be working. In fact, even reaching the age of 78 was seen as quite an achievement back then. 

I was raised in that time before the internet, but I also grew up in the era when cable TV was new. There was no expectation of instant information, and news anchors were generally admired (as were policemen, firemen, and doctors). Inflammatory talk shows were unheard of; if you were angry about something that happened in your community, you wrote a letter to the editor of your local newspaper. I guess I grew up in a more courteous era, when politicians and celebrities would never say anything vulgar in public. It was also a time when people felt a duty to their communities, and believed in trying to make society better; lots of folks either belonged to civic organizations or they did volunteer work. And there were few public discussions of politics or any potentially divisive topics. 

But let's be honest: it wasn't a paradise, even if some folks today want to remember it that way. It was a time when conformity was valued and people perceived as non-conformists were made to feel unwelcome. I lived through an era of anti-war protests, civil rights marches, and frequent disagreements between the generations: in fact, when we young people questioned authority, the older people said we were wrong to do that. And while many things gradually changed, not everything did: well into the 1970s and 1980s, traditional gender roles were still being enforced-- even the idea that a woman should be paid the same as a man for doing the same job was controversial.   

But this isn't just a trip down memory lane. I've always been able to adapt to whatever the trends, and I still keep up with what's going on (I'm still an avid reader). As the technology changed, I learned to use a VCR, then I learned to go online, and then I joined social media. Today, folks can find me on a variety of platforms, where I love to talk music, or baseball, or politics, or broadcasting, and of course, I enjoy talking about a certain Canadian rock band with whom I have a 50-year history. 

And that leads me to the lyrics of the song "Freewill," which has been on my mind recently. It's often misinterpreted as a song that opposes organized religion. That is certainly one possible interpretation, but to me, it's a song about the importance of making choices, rather than just going along with whatever others are doing. I've never heard any of the guys in Rush tell people what to believe. They simply asked you to make a choice based on reason: in other words, if you believe in a Deity, do so because it makes your life better, rather than out of a fear of hell. Similarly, if you are (like me) in your late 70s, and people say you are "too old" to do something, think about your options and then make your own decision.

I've always found it interesting that Neil's lyrics ask us to "choose" freewill (or free will, if you prefer). If we already have it, as most religions and philosophies say we do, why do we need to choose it? Because there have always been societal forces that want us to conform, to give up our choice, to do as we are told. But if we get discouraged, if we feel overwhelmed, if we give up our ability to choose, then we make it easier for those who want to hold us back, those who don't want us to succeed. So, even though sometimes, things don't look very hopeful, even though I may not always be able to accomplish everything I want, I shouldn't use that as an excuse not to try... or worse yet, as an excuse to let others make the decisions while I sit on the sidelines. And so, that's why, for as long as I'm able, I will continue to think for myself, I will continue to stand for ethics, and as much as possible, I will continue to try to make this world a better place. I may be 78, but that doesn't mean I'm done yet. And so, today and every day, I will choose freewill. What about you?         

Please Do Not Erase

February is Black History Month. We've been observing a celebration of Black History for nearly 100 years: ever since early February 1926. Back then, educator and author Carter G. Woodson called it "Negro History Week," and by the late 1960s, inspired by the Civil Rights Movement, it evolved into Black History Month. But the goal back in 1926 was the same as it is today: to shine a light on some voices that have often been marginalized, ignored, or even written out of the history they were a part of. 

Woodson's goal was not tokenism, nor was he trying to "promote diversity." He was simply trying to tell the truth. That's what historians and educators are supposed to do, and Woodson took that obligation very seriously. He was a Harvard-trained historian who had received his PhD in 1912, and he was also the editor of an educational journal. He believed that Americans of all races and backgrounds needed to know a more complete and more accurate version of history, one that did not arbitrarily exclude minorities and arbitrarily elevate those in the majority. He had seen firsthand the many positive contributions that Black Americans had made, and yet, these contributions weren't studied in school, nor widely known outside the Black community. And he believed it was important for these accomplishments to be known-- especially in a society that was still segregated, where negative stereotypes of Black people were pervasive in the press and in the popular culture.

Over the years, I became fascinated by Black history, as well as with "restorative narratives"-- writing those whose achievements had been unfairly overlooked back into history, telling their stories so that future generations would know what they did. For example, much of my work for SABR (the Society for American Baseball Research) involves researching the Negro Leagues-- the players, the teams, and the sportswriters who covered them. In fact, I just found out that one of my SABR essays was just nominated for an award. As a media historian, I believe it's important for people to know about the talented athletes whose color prevented them from being more famous; and it's equally important to tell the stories of courageous sportswriters who played an important role in bringing about civil rights. Black History Month provided a good reason for me to share their stories with my students, and I have no regrets about doing so.     

But evidently, Black History Month may not be observed for much longer, according to new executive orders from the Trump Administration that forbid anything that (allegedly) promotes DEI-- diversity, equity, and inclusion-- or focuses on "special observances." Some government agencies have already paused their observance of Black History Month, as well as pausing other observances, including Holocaust Remembrance Day and Juneteenth. Supposedly, such observances are divisive, because they "put one group ahead of another."

But is that what's really happening? Does teaching students to remember the Holocaust or to observe Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday really divide us? Does it really teach kids that some groups are special and others are not? Frankly, having been an educator for 4 decades, I see nothing wrong with students learning about the many groups that make up American society. I think it's useful information, plus it's factual. And if setting aside a Day or a Month to encourage that information to be taught is what's needed, then why not keep on doing it?

I'm sorry this president thinks diversity is a bad thing, and I'm sorry he feels the need to make studying Black History (and women's history, and Jewish history, and various other kinds of history) something to be avoided. I am not interested in avoiding facts, however. And I don't want to just remain silent while ways of showing respect for "the other" are erased. I understand that history is often written by the winners. But if we promote a lie, then there are no winners. So, I hope you will join me in preserving the facts about our history and not erasing whatever certain folks find inconvenient. In other words, this is about more than banning Black History Month. It's about allowing bigotry to become the norm once again. And if Carter G. Woodson were still alive, he would beg us to defend the facts. And that is what all of us ought to do.  

Just the Facts, Ma'am

As a professor, I can't count the number of times that students of mine found a quote online and inserted it into their papers. Often, it was a very good quote and it perfectly illustrated the point the student was trying to make. But just as often, the quote was fake-- yes, it was widely accepted and widely posted on sites like Brainy Quotes, but the person never said it. For example, Mahatma Gandhi's famous quote, "Be the change you want to see in the world"-- it's an inspiring quote, but there's no evidence Gandhi said it. Researchers, including my friends at Quote Investigator, have looked for it many times; but the closest they came is this quote from a 1913 essay: "If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him." The shorter, more concise quote seems to have been written by someone else entirely, many years later, and then retroactively attributed to Gandhi.

There are numerous other examples-- and being fooled can happen to anyone: in early January, as the new congress was sworn in, Speaker of the House Mike Johnson offered a prayer that he attributed to Thomas Jefferson. It was a lovely prayer, but there's no evidence the words belonged to Jefferson; in fact, the Thomas Jefferson Foundation, which has access to his writings, notes that the prayer doesn't resemble anything Jefferson ever wrote, nor does it even reflect his beliefs-- he regarded religion as a private matter and it is doubtful he would have composed a public prayer. And yet, many people still attribute the words to Jefferson, including the Speaker. 

What brought this to mind is the decision of social media mogul Mark Zuckerberg to stop doing fact-checking on his platforms because, allegedly, fact-checking is biased. That seems to be an article of faith on the right, and I've heard numerous conservatives accuse the major fact-checking sites of being "liberal," usually after one of Donald Trump's assertions was shown to be untrue. But that doesn't mean fact-checkers are to blame. Politicians from all parties have been known to stretch the truth, exaggerate, lie, and make stuff up. Pointing this out is not proof of bias. And the major fact-checking sites have been quite fair in shining a light on political lies-- whether the person doing the lying is a Republican, a Democrat, or a member of some other political group. 

That's why the Zuckerberg assertion, intended to curry favor with the incoming Trump administration, is so bizarre. Most of the fact-checkers that Meta used were quite non-partisan: some came from the left, some from the center, some from the right, but they all took their work very seriously, and they tried not to impose their views on their fact-checks. Fact-checking is never an easy task, because you are pointing out that someone's favorite politician was dishonest in what he or she said, or someone's favorite motivational quote isn't real. That gets people upset--because folks don't want to accept they've been misinformed about something.

Fact-checking is nothing more than the pursuit of accuracy. It's not always about politics-- many fake quotes are not in any way political. Consider the well-known "Beam Me Up, Scotty," allegedly from the original Star Trek. But while William Shatner's character said something close to it on a couple of occasions, that particular phrase was never said by any character in the series. And that's my point. Facts matter. Why use a quote if the person never actually said it? Why defend "your guy" if what he just said was demonstrably false? And why would anyone think it's okay to spread something that just isn't true?

In his final speech to the nation last night, President Biden closed by saying, "I still believe in the idea for which this nation stands, a nation where the strengths of our institutions and the character of our people matter and must endure. Now it's your turn to stand guard. May you all be the keeper of the flame. May you keep the faith..." I'd like to amend it just slightly: May you all be the keeper of the truth. May you all be faithful to the facts. Because if we don't have faith in what we are being told, if we don't know what is actually and verifiably true, if facts are turned into partisan weapons, how can our democracy endure? So, in this new year, when someone sends you some inflammatory post-- even if it aligns with your personal beliefs-- please don't just "forward this to everyone you know" without first checking to see if what you are sending around is factual. Gandhi may not have said we should be the change, but it's a good idea. Focus on the facts. Just the facts. And no, Sgt. Joe Friday in the original Dragnet television show never said "Just the facts, ma'am." But even back then, he had the right idea. 

Still Hanging On

In the early 1920s, when radio was new, a local bandleader named Jimmy Gallagher gained a large following. At the end of each radio show, after he and his orchestra had performed, he would invite everyone to listen in next time, and then, close with "This is Jimmy Gallagher, still hanging on." His closing became sort of a catch-phrase in Boston, and even decades after he had retired, people still remembered him-- and repeated it whenever his name came up in conversation.

As we come to the end of 2024, I feel a little bit like that. In fact, I think a lot of us do. For many people I know, it was a year of highs and lows, with the lows outnumbering the highs. For example, in my case, 2024 was the year I officially became unemployed. After fifteen years as a professor of media studies at Lesley University, I was unceremoniously fired, along with 25 of my colleagues. Most of us were award-winners, widely published, and popular with students, but none of that seemed to matter. Suddenly, our presence was no longer needed. And at year's end, many of us still have not found another job. 

In 2024, we lost some important people from radio, TV, and the music business. But I was especially saddened earlier today, when I found out that former CNN news anchor Aaron Brown had passed, at age 76. Aaron was one of the most thorough and objective journalists I knew, and his anchoring and reporting during 9/11/2001 was a master-class in keeping the nation informed during a crisis. Aaron was a role model for many young journalists (when I taught journalism courses at Emerson College in Boston, I often had my students watch him. I've met many celebrities over the years, thanks to my radio career, but when Aaron came to Emerson as a guest speaker, I felt privileged to meet him, and I told him so). I was furious with CNN when, several years later, they forced him out; but like me, he reinvented himself as a professor, and he became a mentor to numerous young students, some of whom are on TV even now.

Having blogged previously about the recent presidential election, I won't belabor the point, but suffice it to say I was in the half of the country that was very disappointed with the results. I was also disappointed that in Afghanistan, the Taliban continued to take away more and more rights from women, to the point now where they not only cannot be educated past grade 6 but they are not even allowed to speak in public-- and yet, world-wide, relatively few people seemed concerned about the situation; it didn't inspire protests or demonstrations from human rights activists, nor much of anything beyond a few posts on social media.

But amid the disappointments and frustrations that 2024 brought, there were also some good moments. I saw people putting aside political differences to help their neighbors after fires or floods or hurricanes. In fact, I saw people reaching out to help someone in need on numerous occasions. Maybe it didn't make the news, and yet, it happened. I'm glad it still does. On a personal note, in mid-December, I reached an important milestone: 10 years cancer-free. Thanks in part to my friend Bob Cesca, who has me on his podcast every few months, I was invited to be a guest on the Stephanie Miller Show-- I've been a fan of her radio program since it debuted nationally in 2004, and I had always wanted to be on her show. Locally, I was also a guest on the Morgan White Jr. radio show on WBZ several times; as someone who still loves radio, I always welcome an opportunity to be on the air.   

I don't tend to make New Year's Resolutions. I just try my best to be an ethical and compassionate person, a day at a time. Sometimes, I succeed, and sometimes I fall short; but I keep trying to do better. In the New Year, my wish for you is good health-- without it, nothing else matters. And even though our current political environment is contentious, I wish that in the new year, we will all learn to see each other as friends, even when we disagree. Overall, I won't be sorry to see 2024 go, and I hope 2025 will be an improvement. A lot of things look uncertain as I write this. But all I can do is follow the example of the late, great Jimmy Gallagher, as I sign off from my last blog post of 2024. So... I wish you only good things in the new year. This is Donna Halper, still hanging on.