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Trump's cultural overhaul throttles local arts, humanities programs nationwide

Trump's cultural overhaul throttles local arts, humanities programs nationwide

Yahoo22-05-2025

For 60 years, Boston's Museum of African American History has transported people to the past, letting visitors to a 200-year-old meeting house see where abolitionists like Frederick Douglass spoke and walk through halls where young Black soldiers once rallied to fight in the Civil War.
But recently, the museum's history programs for schoolchildren were put at risk after the Trump administration canceled its federal grant, saying in a letter that the funding 'no longer serves the interest of the United States.'
'I will forever remember that line,' the museum's director, Dr. Noelle Trent, told CNN.'We were very much embedded into key moments of this country's history. How is that not of interest to the United States and the American people?'
The museum had won a $500,000 grant from the Institute of Museum and Library Services, one of the agencies at the center of President Donald Trump's cultural overhaul, to build its capacity to support school trips and educational programs. Now, the museum is planning for a future without the funds, Trent said.
In Washington, Trump has forged ahead with efforts to exert control over which cultural pursuits the government backs, from taking the reins of the Kennedy Center to targeting 'improper ideology' at the Smithsonian.
But his administration's push to align federal support with his cultural agenda – and combat what he sees as 'woke' ideology and 'anti-American propaganda'– has extended beyond the nation's capital.
It has left museums like the Museum of African American History in Boston as well as libraries, archival projects, arts programs, and film festivals reeling after the IMLS and the National Endowments for the Arts and the Humanities canceled tens of millions of dollars in federal grants.
Trump, who has promised to scale back the size of the federal government, has asked Congress to eliminate the agencies. If Congress grants his request, it will amount to an unprecedented gutting of federal support for arts and humanities.
The National Endowment for the Arts helps fund everything from free music and theater programs to film festivals and literary magazines. The National Endowment for the Humanities supports research, historic sites, book programs, and museum exhibits.
And the IMLS, which Trump deemed 'unnecessary' bureaucracy in March and ordered 'eliminated to the maximum extent consistent with applicable law,' pays for job training programs, interlibrary loans, and free e-book and audiobook services for libraries in rural areas.
Several lawsuits across the country are challenging how the Trump administration is gutting or overhauling the grant programs at IMLS, NEA and NEH. The challengers have prevailed in some of the cases, but the administration is seeking to reverse the rulings against it.
The African American history museum in Boston received a letter from IMLS on Wednesday indicating that the agency will adhere to a court order earlier this month from a federal judge in Rhode Island requiring it to reinstate grants. However, the reinstatement of the grant is contingent on an appeal, which is pending, the letter said.
Elon Musk's Department of Government Efficiency has touted some of the cuts on social media, declaring that NEH grants will be 'merit-based and awarded to non-DEI, pro-America causes' going forward. A lawsuit filed by the American Historical Association and other groups alleges that two DOGE employees 'demanded lists of open NEH grants and then indiscriminately terminated the vast majority of the grants.'
Conservative groups like the Heritage Foundation have long argued that arts and humanities programs shouldn't receive taxpayer money because they have enough financial support from private sources.
The Trump administration has already started to redirect federal funding towards cultural initiatives the president backs.
A portion of canceled NEH funds will help pay for The National Garden of Heroes, a sculpture garden Trump first floated in 2020. Slated to be completed in time for the nation's 250th anniversary next year, it will feature '250 great individuals from America's past,' according to a release.
'We're going to be honoring our heroes, honoring the greatest people from our country. We're not going to be tearing down. We're going to be building up,' Trump said in February.
The IMLS, NEA and NEH did not respond to a request for comment on this story.
As the Trump administration shifts its priorities, arts advocates say programming for children is at risk.
In Nebraska, String Sprouts, a 'no-to-low-cost' music education program hosted by the Omaha Conservatory of Music, had received an NEA grant for a decade. Now, the group may be forced to scale back the number of classes it offers, according to Neidy Hess, the conservatory communication's manager.
In New York, Opera on Tap's Playground Opera program, which immerses students in low-income communities in production and performance, will also have to be dialed back without federal support, co-founder and general director Anne Hiatt told CNN.
Meanwhile, the South Dakota Humanities Council lost $950,000, or 73% of its total budget. While it will be able to continue some programming, it may have to stop its Young Reader Program, which provides free books to third-graders, said the council's executive director, Christina Oey.
Oey's group is one of the 56 councils across the country that saw their general operating and support grants slashed in April. She said the National Garden of Heroes project won't have the same kind of reach as the programs and events councils put on, particularly in rural communities.
'Yes, a monument is educational. It can provide learning opportunities, but you have to travel to that. I mean, I can attest to that in South Dakota: Mount Rushmore is five and a half hours away from me, right?' she said. 'If you fund the humanities, you also fund programming that can change, that can travel, that can be in your community.'
While South Dakota Humanities Council has received some emergency funding from the Mellon Foundation, a private foundation for the arts and humanities, some councils that are more reliant on federal funds say they could close if Congress grants Trump's proposal to gut the NEH.
National History Day, a nonprofit that hosts a nationwide competition for students in grades 6-12 to present their own historical research projects, may not have as many participants without federal support, executive director Cathy Gorn said.
'Kids, when they study history effectively, they learn empathy, and we really need a whole lot more of that in this country, in this world,' Gorn said. 'And so, losing this opportunity is a real crisis for American education.
For Trent, the museum director in Boston, the impact of the Trump administration is more than federal funding cuts. She said corporate support started drying up after the president took office, a trend she blames partly on his efforts to quash diversity, equity and inclusion programs.
When asked why taxpayer dollars should go to museums like the one she leads, Trent said they make communities unique and leave a positive impact on visitors.
'There are places all across this great country, that have really great programs, that have qualitatively changed to peoples lives,' she explained.
On a recent trip to the museum, seventh grader Excel Alabi found herself moved by the stories about young people around her age fighting to end slavery in the Civil War.
'They were fighting for us. I think that's really beautiful,' she told CNN. 'When I was starting school, it was just like 'People are going to war to fight for rights.' I didn't know that it was teenagers trying to fight for their families too.'
'It's important for kids to learn history because it's just such a big impact on what we've been through,' she added. 'I think we should face those tough subjects because those tough subjects are the reason why we're here.'
CNN's Tierney Sneed and Emily Condon contributed to this report.

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Stories about the end of the world feel like a relief to me. Here's why
Stories about the end of the world feel like a relief to me. Here's why

Hamilton Spectator

time26 minutes ago

  • Hamilton Spectator

Stories about the end of the world feel like a relief to me. Here's why

Spiking confrontation in the Middle East is leading some spectators to contemplate the end of the world. In one chapter of his new book 'In Crisis, On Crisis,' writer and Wilfrid Laurier University professor explores the apocalypse's cultural appeal. We go to end-of-the-world fiction for two obvious reasons. First, we want distraction. Explosions onscreen can block out explosions in our lives. I'd rather worry about storms in the movie 'The Day After Tomorrow' than the tasks I said I'd finish before actual tomorrow. Second, perhaps incongruously, we want to feel hopeful. In Octavia Butler's 'Parable of the Sower,' civilization is collapsing, yet Lauren Olamina never wavers from her commitment to survival and rebirth. At the end of Waubgeshig Rice's 'Moon of the Crusted Snow,' the Anishinaabe community leaves its apocalypse-ravaged reservation for a new beginning in the woods. Even Cormac McCarthy's 'emotionally shattering' 'The Road' ends with the adoption of the newly orphaned boy in the wake of his dead father's command to go on. The moral of the stories: We, humanity, shall overcome. Rumaan Alam's apocalyptic novel 'Leave the World Behind' enchants for a different reason. By painting a picture of total human annihilation — no plucky survivors, no one spared by design or by chance — the book offers the relief of surrender. Alam's novel begins with a white, middle-class family arriving at a bucolic vacation home east of New York City. The family splashes in the pool and fantasizes about owning marble countertops , solid oak floors, ample space. The mom, Amanda, can't resist checking her work email. Clay, the dad, sneaks cigarettes in the driveway. The kids — Rose, 10, and Archie, 13 — look at their phones. The centrality of technology is true to life and crucial to the plot. Cell signals, the internet and cable television stop working shortly after the family lands in the countryside. Probably, they think, their remote vacation spot is beyond reach of satellite networks. That night, though, when the owners of the house, the Washingtons , a kind, elderly Black couple, show up and ask to stay, Clay and Amanda learn that the loss of service is widespread. Drama unfolds on two tracks. There is tension between the families. Clay and Amanda are suspicious of the Washingtons , which has as much to do with the white couple's latent racism as with the unexpected appearance of the homeowners. Who has the right to call the shots: the white renters or the Black deed-holders? At what point does valid speculation about the crisis slide into harmful paranoia? On a second narrative track, the world is ending. The reader understands this early in the book more clearly than the characters ever do. There's plenty of evidence on Long Island that something is wrong. The blackout, communication breakdown, a deafening noise overhead, terrified neighbours, flamingos in the pool. A few days after the vacation begins, Archie's teeth fall out. The families know there is trouble, they are in trouble, but they never understand the extent of it. Not knowing is part of their terror. Around the novel's midpoint, a horrifying noise erupts from the sky. The noise divides the families' lives in two: 'the period before they'd heard the noise and the period after.' Inside the novel, no one discovers the source of the sound. However, readers learn from the Voice of God narrator ( VOG ) that top-secret fighter jets are scrambling toward a new era of battle over the eastern seaboard. If there were no VOG interruptions, no recurring omniscient assurances anchoring the contingencies of the interpersonal plot to the certainty of global apocalypse, 'Leave the World Behind' would be an anxiety novel. Is Armageddon nigh or not? Some of my favourite books are anxiety novels. Arguably, the end-of-the-world anxiety novel is scarier than speculative end-of-the-world fiction. Anxiety is torturous, paralyzing. It's a truism of the horror genre that anticipating the arrival of the monster can be more terrifying than the beast's appearance. But the uncertainty driving the anxiety novel, the book's ultimate source of terror, can't help but leave open the possibility that things might not be as bad as they seem. Nothing left to do but camp: Prince Amponsah, left, and Mackenzie Davis in the HBO Max television adaptation of the post-apocalyptic novel 'Station Eleven.' In 'Leave the World Behind,' there is no uncertainty. Because if the bombs are already in the air, the electrical grid is already down for the final time, the life-destroying echoes of the noise are already in your body, there is no future that isn't mass slaughter. As if to put a fine point on the guarantee of imminent death, the futility of resistance, Alam bores an unnoticed tick into Archie's ankle long before the boy is dying from noise-sickness. Why does Alam's crushing story captivate me? Why am I thrilled by the promise that we're on the edge of extinction? I think the book delights by allowing us to revel in the pleasures of giving up. Quit your job, break dinner plans, stop exercising, leave the relationship. What joy there is in not having to do the thing we thought we had to do. The world is ending and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it . In his essay 'On Giving Up,' the psychoanalyst Adam Phillips writes: 'We tend to think of giving up, in the ordinary way, as a lack of courage, as an improper or embarrassing orientation toward what is shameful and fearful.' However, Phillips argues, there is such a thing as 'a tyranny of completion, of finishing things, which can narrow our minds unduly.' The refusal to give up can be harmful, murderous. Phillips interprets 'Macbeth,' 'Lear,' and 'Othello' as tragic dramatizations of the tyranny of completion. My earliest memory of the desire to give up ends with my mother rejecting it. I was nine or 10 years old and wanted to quit the school choir. Mom and I stood in the kitchen before breakfast. I don't remember why it felt so important to quit, but I was crying, shaking, desperate for the relief of not having to sing that afternoon. Mom's response was sympathetic but stern: No. We don't quit things partway through. No negotiation. I felt like puking. I have quit things, though. And I've loved it. Oh, the joy of leaving that troubled 10-year relationship! I imagine it's what Scrooge felt waking on Christmas morning, learning that he has another chance. I instantly recall the butterflies, the excitement of quitting what seemed like a life destined for permanent frustration. The breakup was terrible. I hated hurting her. The logistics of moving were complicated, and she trashed the house when she left the final time. But I don't feel the pain of those hurtful memories as intensely as I feel the pleasure of the memory of giving up. Essayist, author and Wilfrid Laurier University professor James Cairns. The incredible thing is that most of the time, people don't give up. They struggle, they overcome, they get by, they make do. Why don't people kill themselves, asks Camus at the start of 'The Myth of Sisyphus.' Life is absurd; what's the point of living? Notwithstanding its obviousness, Camus's conclusion is profound: the nature of the human condition is to keep going, to not give up. That doesn't mean we don't fantasize about quitting, maybe even about leaving the world behind. It's the pleasure in the dream of quitting, not the politics of mass death, that I desire. In imagining the end of the world, I experience the release of countless other pressures. My own anxieties get transferred to the novel, where they disappear, if only for a fraction of a moment, in the blackout, the sound, the carnage of the plot. Research shows that watching horror movies can relieve psychological tension. There are better apocalyptic novels than 'Leave the World Behind.' For portraying social collapse as gradual and incomplete, Butler's 'Parable of the Sower' and Emily St. John Mandel's 'Station Eleven' are doubtless more realistic depictions of how modern society falls apart. The spirit of those books reminds me of Andreas Malm's admonition to fight climate change no matter the chances of victory. In 'How to Blow Up a Pipeline,' Malm argues that even if we know for certain that the climate crisis cannot be stopped there remains a moral imperative — a species-defining need — to fight until our last breath. 'Better to die blowing up a pipeline than to burn impassively,' writes Malm . The words could've come from Lauren Olamina's mouth. In Rice's 'Moon of the Crusted Snow,' once it's clear that widespread disaster has struck in 'the south' (the heartland of Canada, and, presumably, the world), Aileen, a community elder, says to her neighbour, Evan: 'In Crisis, on Crisis: Essays in Troubled Times' James Cairns 226 pages Wolsak and Wynn $22.00 ' What a silly word (apocalypse). I can tell you there's no word like that in Ojibwe. Well, I never heard a word like that from my elders anyway ... Our world isn't ending. It already ended. It ended when the Zhaagnaash (white man) came into our original home down south on that bay and took it from us. That was our world. When the Zhaagnaash cut down all the trees and fished all the fish and forced us out of there, that's when our world ended. They made us come all the way up here. This is not our homeland! But we had to adapt and luckily we already knew how to hunt and live on the land. We learned to live here ... But then they followed us up here and started taking our children away from us! That's when our world ended again. And that wasn't the last time.' Aileen is very likely right in assuming that the world will not end all at once. In 'Station Eleven,' 20 years after the pandemic killed 99.99 per cent of the human species, characters refer to themselves as living in the world after the end of the world. In the final pages of 'Prophet Song,' Paul Lynch writes that 'the world is always ending over and over again in one place but not another and that the end of the world is always a local event.' Viewed in one light, the world will not end even if it does. Of course, in a different light, one capable of simultaneously illuminating past, present, and future, the world will end, is ending . It's just a matter of time. In an essay about art's ability to alter experiences of time, Karl Ove Knausgård writes: 'We see the changes in the clouds but not the changes in the mountains,' because the 'now' of human perception excludes geologic time. In reality, mountains are moving, just more slowly than rivers and rabbits. It's anyone's guess how life on Earth is eventually snuffed out for good. Fire? Ice? Alien invasion? In any case, the party won't last forever. Butler and Mandel's realistic depictions of the gradual, uneven nature of collapse can make Alam's Big Bang version of the final crisis look foolish by comparison. But Alam is not wrong that one day it will all end in the passage of one second to the next. The light will be on, as it has been for millennia, and then, the light will go out. Alam's innovation is drawing that uniquely decisive moment from the (hopefully far-off) future and placing it in the now. Lights out tomorrow or next week. Whereas Butler, Mandel and Rice's main characters brim with insights about societal change and social justice, Alam's self-absorbed middle-class cast lusts over money and searches for Coca-Cola. Yet while stories of reproducing lives and communities in the aftermath of civilizational collapse are inspiring, admirable and satisfying, they're also exhausting, and not only because there are fires to build, continents to trudge across and gangs of murderous thieves to avoid. There's also the intense, inescapable fear on every page that survival won't work out. Nothing is guaranteed. By contrast, Alam's book guarantees the sudden and utter end of it all. There's catharsis in the swiftness and totality of such destruction. Amid today's overlapping political, economic and ecological crises, art's cathartic power is needed more urgently than ever. Show us the world vanishing on the page, and we may more clearly see sustainable paths ahead. Release in us the pleasure of giving up, and we may find new strength to struggle on. From 'In Crisis, On Crisis: Essays in Troubled Times' by James Cairns. ©2025. Reproduced with the permission of Wolsak & Wynn, 2025.

As bombs and missiles fall in Iran, Isfahan's architectural treasures face an uncertain fate
As bombs and missiles fall in Iran, Isfahan's architectural treasures face an uncertain fate

Los Angeles Times

time34 minutes ago

  • Los Angeles Times

As bombs and missiles fall in Iran, Isfahan's architectural treasures face an uncertain fate

While military strategists scramble to learn the damage done by U.S. bombs and missiles in Iran, many scholars and Iranian Americans are wondering what this means for the people and architectural treasures of Isfahan. The Isfahan area, which includes one of the three Iranian nuclear sites that the U.S. targeted Saturday, is also home to one of the country's most historic cities, full of landmarks from Persia's years as a regional power in the 17th century. 'The Shah Mosque of Isfahan is one of the everlasting masterpieces of architecture In Iran,' wrote archidesiign on Instagram. The city's architecture includes intricately tiled mosques, several stately bridges and a sprawling square that has been named a UNESCO World Heritage Site. American and Israeli military leaders focus on the nuclear complex 14 miles east of Isfahan and the 2.2 million people in the city, but the list of cultural assets there is also long. A UNESCO report recently noted that the region's 17th-century leaders 'established colourful tiling as the most salient characteristic of Iranian architecture, and this decorative style reached its zenith in Isfahan.' Among the landmarks: Naqsh-e Jahan Square, also known as Shah Square and Imam Square, was laid out between 1598 and 1629, its broad central area surrounded by mosques, palaces and the Isfahan Bazaar. The open space is about 1,800 feet long and about 520 feet wide, which appears to make it the second-largest public square in the world, surpassed only by Tiananmen Square in Beijing. The Masjed-e Jāmé, also known as the Jāmé Mosque or Great Mosque of Isfahan, was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2012. It goes back to the year 841, its grounds showing how Islamic architecture has evolved over 12 centuries. It is the oldest Friday (congregational) mosque in Iran. The Si-o-Se Pol Bridge, also known as the Bridge of 33 Arches, was begun in 1599 and completed in 1602. Illuminated by night, it harbors tea houses on its lower deck and has served as a gathering spot for generations. At 977 feet long, it is the largest of 11 historic bridges spanning the Zayandeh River. Khaju Bridge is younger and shorter than the Si-o-Se Pol Bridge but is often billed as the most beautiful bridge in Isfahan. It was built around 1650 and made of stone and bricks with tile work above its arches. It is about 449 feet long. As the U.S. stepped into the war between Israel and Iran, U.S. military authorities told the New York Times they targeted Iranian sites in Fordo and Natanz with 'bunker-buster' bombs and Isfahan with missiles from a submarine. As of noon Sunday, CNN reported 18 destroyed or damaged structures at the Isfahan nuclear complex outside the city, which was built in 1984 and is thought to employ 3,000 scientists, making it Iran's largest nuclear research complex. There were no reports of damage or casualties in central Isfahan. Much of the city goes back to the Safavid dynasty, which lasted unbroken from 1501 to 1722. During the dynasty's peak years, the Safavids held power over what is now Iran, Azerbaijan, Bahrain and Armenia, along with parts of Georgia, Russia, Iraq, Kuwait, Afghanistan, Türkiye and other countries. The leader during many of those peak years was King Abbas I, also known as Abbas the Great, who assumed power at age 16, ruled from 1587 to 1629, chose Isfahan as his empire's capital and effectively rerouted the Silk Road to include the city. While Shakespeare was writing plays in England and Caravaggio was painting in Italy, Isfahan's landmarks were taking shape and, thanks to the Silk Road trade, Persian rugs began showing up in the homes of wealthy Europeans. Toward the end of his tenure, nervous about succession, Abbas I had one of his sons killed and two blinded. Still, the family dynasty continued for another century. Once the dynasty fell, Isfahan lost its status as Persia's capital but retained its reputation for beauty.

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