Latest news with #GoogleDoc
Yahoo
08-06-2025
- Yahoo
An Appeal to My Alma Mater
The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. When Maggie Li Zhang enrolled in a college class where students were told to take notes and read on paper rather than on a screen, she felt anxious and alienated. Zhang and her peers had spent part of high school distance learning during the pandemic. During her first year at Pomona College, in Southern California, she had felt most engaged in a philosophy course where the professor treated a shared Google Doc as the focus of every class, transcribing discussions in real time on-screen and enabling students to post comments. So the 'tech-free' class that she took the following semester disoriented her. 'When someone writes something you think: Should I be taking notes too?' she told me in an email. But gradually, she realized that exercising her own judgments about what to write down, and annotating course readings with ink, helped her think more deeply and connect with the most difficult material. 'I like to get my finger oil on the pages,' she told me. Only then does a text 'become ripe enough for me to enter.' Now, she said, she feels 'far more alienated' in classes that allow screens. Zhang, who will be a senior in the fall, is among a growing cohort of students at Pomona College who are trying to alter how technology affects campus life. I attended Pomona from 1998 to 2002; I wanted to learn more about these efforts and the students' outlook on technology, so I recently emailed or spoke with 10 of them. One student wrote an op-ed in the student newspaper calling for more classes where electronic devices are banned. Another co-founded a 'Luddite Club' that holds a weekly tech-free hangout. Another now carries a flip phone rather than a smartphone on campus. Some Pomona professors with similar concerns are limiting or banning electronic devices in their classes and trying to curtail student use of ChatGPT. It all adds up to more concern over technology than I have ever seen at the college. These Pomona students and professors are hardly unique in reacting to a new reality. A generation ago, the prevailing assumption among college-bound teenagers was that their undergraduate education would only benefit from cutting-edge technology. Campus tour guides touted high-speed internet in every dorm as a selling point. Now that cheap laptops, smartphones, Wi-Fi, and ChatGPT are all ubiquitous—and now that more people have come to see technology as detrimental to students' academic and social life—countermeasures are emerging on various campuses. The Wall Street Journal reported last month that sales of old-fashioned blue books for written exams had increased over the past year by more than 30 percent at Texas A&M University and nearly 50 percent at the University of Florida, while rising 80 percent at UC Berkeley over the past two years. And professors at schools such as the University of Virginia and the University of Maryland are banning laptops in class. The pervasiveness of technology on campuses poses a distinct threat to small residential liberal-arts colleges. Pomona, like its closest peer institutions, spends lots of time, money, and effort to house nearly 95 percent of 1,600 students on campus, feed them in dining halls, and teach them in tiny groups, with a student-to-faculty ratio of 8 to 1. That costly model is worth it, boosters insist, because young people are best educated in a closely knit community where everyone learns from one another in and outside the classroom. Such a model ceases to work if many of the people physically present in common spaces absent their minds to cyberspace (a topic that the psychologist Jonathan Haidt has explored in the high-school context). At the same time, Pomona is better suited than most institutions to scale back technology's place in campus life. With a $3 billion endowment, a small campus, and lots of administrators paid to shape campus culture, it has ample resources and a natural setting to formalize experiments as varied as, say, nudging students during orientation to get flip phones, forging a tech-free culture at one of its dining halls, creating tech-free dorms akin to its substance-free options––something that tiny St. John's College in Maryland is attempting––and publicizing and studying the tech-free classes of faculty members who choose that approach. Doing so would differentiate Pomona from competitors. Aside from outliers such as Deep Springs College and some small religious institutions—Wyoming Catholic College has banned phones since 2007, and Franciscan University of Steubenville in Ohio launched a scholarship for students who give up smartphones until they earn their degree—vanishingly few colleges have committed to thoughtful limits on technology. [Jonathan Haidt: Get phones out of schools now] My hope is that Pomona or another liberal-arts college recasts itself from a place that brags about how much tech its incoming students will be able to access––'there are over 160 technology enhanced learning spaces at Pomona,' the school website states––to a place that also brags about spaces that it has created as tech refuges. 'In a time of fierce competition for students, this might be something for a daring and visionary college president to propose,' Susan McWilliams Barndt, a Pomona politics professor, told me. McWilliams has never allowed laptops or other devices in her classes; she has also won Pomona's most prestigious teaching prize every time she's been eligible. 'There may not be a million college-bound teens across this country who want to attend such a school,' she said, 'but I bet there are enough to sustain a vibrant campus or two.' So far, Pomona's leadership has not aligned itself with the professors and students who see the status quo as worse than what came before it. 'I have done a little asking around today and I was not able to find any initiative around limiting technology,' the college's new chief communications officer, Katharine Laidlaw, wrote to me. 'But let's keep in touch. I could absolutely see how this could become a values-based experiment at Pomona.' Pomona would face a number of obstacles in trying to make itself less tech-dependent. The Americans With Disabilities Act requires allowing eligible students to use tools such as note-taking software, closed captioning, and other apps that live on devices. But Oona Eisenstadt, a religious-studies professor at Pomona who has taught tech-free classes for 21 years, told me that, although she is eager to follow the law (and even go beyond it) to accommodate her students, students who require devices in class are rare. If a student really needed a laptop to take notes, she added, she would consider banning the entire class from taking notes, rather than allowing the computer. 'That would feel tough at the beginning,' she said, but it 'might force us into even more presence.' Ensuring access to course materials is another concern. Amanda Hollis-Brusky, a professor of politics and law, told me that she is thinking of returning to in-class exams because of 'a distinct change' in the essays her students submit. 'It depressed me to see how often students went first to AI just to see what it spit out, and how so much of its logic and claims still made their way into their essays,' she said. She wants to ban laptops in class too––but her students use digital course materials, which she provides to spare them from spending money on pricey physical texts. 'I don't know how to balance equity and access with the benefits of a tech-free classroom,' she lamented. Subsidies for professors struggling with that trade-off is the sort of experiment the college could fund. Students will, of course, need to be conversant in recent technological advances to excel in many fields, and some courses will always require tech in the classroom. But just as my generation has made good use of technology, including the iPhone and ChatGPT, without having been exposed to it in college, today's students, if taught to think critically for four years, can surely teach themselves how to use chatbots and more on their own time. In fact, I expect that in the very near future, if not this coming fall, most students will arrive at Pomona already adept at using AI; they will benefit even more from the college teaching them how to think deeply without it. Perhaps the biggest challenge of all is that so many students who don't need tech in a given course want to use it. 'In any given class I can look around and see LinkedIn pages, emails, chess games,' Kaitlyn Ulalisa, a sophomore who grew up near Milwaukee, wrote to me. In high school, Ulalisa herself used to spend hours every day scrolling on Instagram, Snapchat, and TikTok. Without them, she felt that she 'had no idea what was going on' with her peers. At Pomona, a place small enough to walk around campus and see what's going on, she deleted the apps from her phone again. Inspired by a New York Times article about a Luddite Club started by a group of teens in Brooklyn, she and a friend created a campus chapter. They meet every Friday to socialize without technology. Still, she said, for many college students, going off TikTok and Instagram seems like social death, because their main source of social capital is online. [From the September 2017 issue: Have smartphones destroyed a generation?] Accounts like hers suggest that students might benefit from being forced off of their devices, at least in particular campus spaces. But Michael Steinberger, a Pomona economics professor, told me he worries that an overly heavy-handed approach might deprive students of the chance to learn for themselves. 'What I hope that we can teach our students is why they should choose not to open their phone in the dining hall,' he said. 'Why they might choose to forgo technology and write notes by hand. Why they should practice cutting off technology and lean in to in-person networking to support their own mental health, and why they should practice the discipline of choosing this for themselves. If we limit the tech, but don't teach the why, then we don't prepare our students as robustly as we might.' Philosophically, I usually prefer the sort of hands-off approach that Steinberger is advocating. But I wonder if, having never experienced what it's like to, say, break bread in a dining hall where no one is looking at a device, students possess enough data to make informed decisions. Perhaps heavy-handed limits on tech, at least early in college, would leave them better informed about trade-offs and better equipped to make their own choices in the future. What else would it mean for a college-wide experiment in limited tech to succeed? Administrators would ideally measure academic outcomes, effects on social life, even the standing of the college and its ability to attract excellent students. Improvements along all metrics would be ideal. But failures needn't mean wasted effort if the college publicly shares what works and what doesn't. A successful college-wide initiative should also take care to avoid undermining the academic freedom of professors, who must retain all the flexibility they currently enjoy to make their own decisions about how to teach their classes. Some will no doubt continue with tech-heavy teaching methods. Others will keep trying alternatives. Elijah Quetin, a visiting instructor in physics and astronomy at Pomona, told me about a creative low-tech experiment that he already has planned. Over the summer, Quetin and six students (three of them from the Luddite Club) will spend a few weeks on a ranch near the American River; during the day, they will perform physical labor—repairing fencing, laying irrigation pipes, tending to sheep and goats—and in the evening, they'll undertake an advanced course in applied mathematics inside a barn. 'We're trying to see if we can do a whole-semester course in just two weeks with no infrastructure,' he said. He called the trip 'an answer to a growing demand I'm hearing directly from students' to spend more time in the real world. It is also, he said, part of a larger challenge to 'the mass-production model of higher ed,' managed by digital tools 'instead of human labor and care.' Even in a best-case scenario, where administrators and professors discover new ways to offer students a better education, Pomona is just one tiny college. It could easily succeed as academia writ large keeps struggling. 'My fear,' Gary Smith, an economics professor, wrote to me, 'is that education will become even more skewed with some students at elite schools with small classes learning critical thinking and communication skills, while most students at schools with large classes will cheat themselves by using LLMs'—large language models—'to cheat their way through school.' But successful experiments at prominent liberal-arts colleges are better, for everyone, than nothing. While I, too, would lament a growing gap among college graduates, I fear a worse outcome: that all colleges will fail to teach critical thinking and communication as well as they once did, and that a decline in those skills will degrade society as a whole. If any school provides proof of concept for a better way, it might scale. Peer institutions might follow; the rest of academia might slowly adopt better practices. Some early beneficiaries of the better approach would meanwhile fulfill the charge long etched in Pomona's concrete gates: to bear their added riches in trust for mankind. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
08-06-2025
- Atlantic
An Ideal Campus to Tame Technology
When Maggie Li Zhang enrolled in a college class where students were told to take notes and read on paper rather than on a screen, she felt anxious and alienated. Zhang and her peers had spent part of high school distance learning during the pandemic. During her first year at Pomona College, in Southern California, she had felt most engaged in a philosophy course where the professor treated a shared Google Doc as the focus of every class, transcribing discussions in real time on-screen and enabling students to post comments. So the 'tech-free' class that she took the following semester disoriented her. 'When someone writes something you think: Should I be taking notes too? ' she told me in an email. But gradually, she realized that exercising her own judgments about what to write down, and annotating course readings with ink, helped her think more deeply and connect with the most difficult material. 'I like to get my finger oil on the pages,' she told me. Only then does a text 'become ripe enough for me to enter.' Now, she said, she feels 'far more alienated' in classes that allow screens. Zhang, who will be a senior in the fall, is among a growing cohort of students at Pomona College who are trying to alter how technology affects campus life. I attended Pomona from 1998 to 2002; I wanted to learn more about these efforts and the students' outlook on technology, so I recently emailed or spoke with 10 of them. One student wrote an op-ed in the student newspaper calling for more classes where electronic devices are banned. Another co-founded a 'Luddite Club' that holds a weekly tech-free hangout. Another now carries a flip phone rather than a smartphone on campus. Some Pomona professors with similar concerns are limiting or banning electronic devices in their classes and trying to curtail student use of ChatGPT. It all adds up to more concern over technology than I have ever seen at the college. These Pomona students and professors are hardly unique in reacting to a new reality. A generation ago, the prevailing assumption among college-bound teenagers was that their undergraduate education would only benefit from cutting-edge technology. Campus tour guides touted high-speed internet in every dorm as a selling point. Now that cheap laptops, smartphones, Wi-Fi, and ChatGPT are all ubiquitous—and now that more people have come to see technology as detrimental to students' academic and social life—countermeasures are emerging on various campuses. The Wall Street Journal reported last month that sales of old-fashioned blue books for written exams had increased over the past year by more than 30 percent at Texas A&M University and nearly 50 percent at the University of Florida, while rising 80 percent at UC Berkeley over the past two years. And professors at schools such as the University of Virginia and the University of Maryland are banning laptops in class. The pervasiveness of technology on campuses poses a distinct threat to small residential liberal-arts colleges. Pomona, like its closest peer institutions, spends lots of time, money, and effort to house nearly 95 percent of 1,600 students on campus, feed them in dining halls, and teach them in tiny groups, with a student-to-faculty ratio of 8 to 1. That costly model is worth it, boosters insist, because young people are best educated in a closely knit community where everyone learns from one another in and outside the classroom. Such a model ceases to work if many of the people physically present in common spaces absent their minds to cyberspace (a topic that the psychologist Jonathan Haidt has explored in the high-school context). At the same time, Pomona is better suited than most institutions to scale back technology's place in campus life. With a $3 billion endowment, a small campus, and lots of administrators paid to shape campus culture, it has ample resources and a natural setting to formalize experiments as varied as, say, nudging students during orientation to get flip phones, forging a tech-free culture at one of its dining halls, creating tech-free dorms akin to its substance-free options––something that tiny St. John's College in Maryland is attempting ––and publicizing and studying the tech-free classes of faculty members who choose that approach. Doing so would differentiate Pomona from competitors. Aside from outliers such as Deep Springs College and some small religious institutions—Wyoming Catholic College has banned phones since 2007, and Franciscan University of Steubenville in Ohio launched a scholarship for students who give up smartphones until they earn their degree—vanishingly few colleges have committed to thoughtful limits on technology. Jonathan Haidt: Get phones out of schools now My hope is that Pomona or another liberal-arts college recasts itself from a place that brags about how much tech its incoming students will be able to access––'there are over 160 technology enhanced learning spaces at Pomona,' the school website states––to a place that also brags about spaces that it has created as tech refuges. 'In a time of fierce competition for students, this might be something for a daring and visionary college president to propose,' Susan McWilliams Barndt, a Pomona politics professor, told me. McWilliams has never allowed laptops or other devices in her classes; she has also won Pomona's most prestigious teaching prize every time she's been eligible. 'There may not be a million college-bound teens across this country who want to attend such a school,' she said, 'but I bet there are enough to sustain a vibrant campus or two.' So far, Pomona's leadership has not aligned itself with the professors and students who see the status quo as worse than what came before it. 'I have done a little asking around today and I was not able to find any initiative around limiting technology,' the college's new chief communications officer, Katharine Laidlaw, wrote to me. 'But let's keep in touch. I could absolutely see how this could become a values-based experiment at Pomona.' Pomona would face a number of obstacles in trying to make itself less tech-dependent. The Americans With Disabilities Act requires allowing eligible students to use tools such as note-taking software, closed captioning, and other apps that live on devices. But Oona Eisenstadt, a religious-studies professor at Pomona who has taught tech-free classes for 21 years, told me that, although she is eager to follow the law (and even go beyond it) to accommodate her students, students who require devices in class are rare. If a student really needed a laptop to take notes, she added, she would consider banning the entire class from taking notes, rather than allowing the computer. 'That would feel tough at the beginning,' she said, but it 'might force us into even more presence.' Ensuring access to course materials is another concern. Amanda Hollis-Brusky, a professor of politics and law, told me that she is thinking of returning to in-class exams because of 'a distinct change' in the essays her students submit. 'It depressed me to see how often students went first to AI just to see what it spit out, and how so much of its logic and claims still made their way into their essays,' she said. She wants to ban laptops in class too––but her students use digital course materials, which she provides to spare them from spending money on pricey physical texts. 'I don't know how to balance equity and access with the benefits of a tech-free classroom,' she lamented. Subsidies for professors struggling with that trade-off is the sort of experiment the college could fund. Students will, of course, need to be conversant in recent technological advances to excel in many fields, and some courses will always require tech in the classroom. But just as my generation has made good use of technology, including the iPhone and ChatGPT, without having been exposed to it in college, today's students, if taught to think critically for four years, can surely teach themselves how to use chatbots and more on their own time. In fact, I expect that in the very near future, if not this coming fall, most students will arrive at Pomona already adept at using AI; they will benefit even more from the college teaching them how to think deeply without it. Perhaps the biggest challenge of all is that so many students who don't need tech in a given course want to use it. 'In any given class I can look around and see LinkedIn pages, emails, chess games,' Kaitlyn Ulalisa, a sophomore who grew up near Milwaukee, wrote to me. In high school, Ulalisa herself used to spend hours every day scrolling on Instagram, Snapchat, and TikTok. Without them, she felt that she 'had no idea what was going on' with her peers. At Pomona, a place small enough to walk around campus and see what's going on, she deleted the apps from her phone again. Inspired by a New York Times article about a Luddite Club started by a group of teens in Brooklyn, she and a friend created a campus chapter. They meet every Friday to socialize without technology. Still, she said, for many college students, going off TikTok and Instagram seems like social death, because their main source of social capital is online. From the September 2017 issue: Have smartphones destroyed a generation? Accounts like hers suggest that students might benefit from being forced off of their devices, at least in particular campus spaces. But Michael Steinberger, a Pomona economics professor, told me he worries that an overly heavy-handed approach might deprive students of the chance to learn for themselves. 'What I hope that we can teach our students is why they should choose not to open their phone in the dining hall,' he said. 'Why they might choose to forgo technology and write notes by hand. Why they should practice cutting off technology and lean in to in-person networking to support their own mental health, and why they should practice the discipline of choosing this for themselves. If we limit the tech, but don't teach the why, then we don't prepare our students as robustly as we might.' Philosophically, I usually prefer the sort of hands-off approach that Steinberger is advocating. But I wonder if, having never experienced what it's like to, say, break bread in a dining hall where no one is looking at a device, students possess enough data to make informed decisions. Perhaps heavy-handed limits on tech, at least early in college, would leave them better informed about trade-offs and better equipped to make their own choices in the future. What else would it mean for a college-wide experiment in limited tech to succeed? Administrators would ideally measure academic outcomes, effects on social life, even the standing of the college and its ability to attract excellent students. Improvements along all metrics would be ideal. But failures needn't mean wasted effort if the college publicly shares what works and what doesn't. A successful college-wide initiative should also take care to avoid undermining the academic freedom of professors, who must retain all the flexibility they currently enjoy to make their own decisions about how to teach their classes. Some will no doubt continue with tech-heavy teaching methods. Others will keep trying alternatives. Elijah Quetin, a visiting instructor in physics and astronomy at Pomona, told me about a creative low-tech experiment that he already has planned. Over the summer, Quetin and six students (three of them from the Luddite Club) will spend a few weeks on a ranch near the American River; during the day, they will perform physical labor—repairing fencing, laying irrigation pipes, tending to sheep and goats—and in the evening, they'll undertake an advanced course in applied mathematics inside a barn. 'We're trying to see if we can do a whole-semester course in just two weeks with no infrastructure,' he said. He called the trip 'an answer to a growing demand I'm hearing directly from students' to spend more time in the real world. It is also, he said, part of a larger challenge to 'the mass-production model of higher ed,' managed by digital tools 'instead of human labor and care.' Even in a best-case scenario, where administrators and professors discover new ways to offer students a better education, Pomona is just one tiny college. It could easily succeed as academia writ large keeps struggling. 'My fear,' Gary Smith, an economics professor, wrote to me, 'is that education will become even more skewed with some students at elite schools with small classes learning critical thinking and communication skills, while most students at schools with large classes will cheat themselves by using LLMs'—large language models—'to cheat their way through school.' But successful experiments at prominent liberal-arts colleges are better, for everyone, than nothing. While I, too, would lament a growing gap among college graduates, I fear a worse outcome: that all colleges will fail to teach critical thinking and communication as well as they once did, and that a decline in those skills will degrade society as a whole. If any school provides proof of concept for a better way, it might scale. Peer institutions might follow; the rest of academia might slowly adopt better practices. Some early beneficiaries of the better approach would meanwhile fulfill the charge long etched in Pomona's concrete gates: to bear their added riches in trust for mankind.
Business Insider
06-06-2025
- Business
- Business Insider
Granola is yummy. This AI version is pretty good, too.
Each week in Business Insider's Tech Memo newsletter, I try an AI tool. What do you think of this one? What should I do, or use, next week? Let me know. This week, I tested Granola, an AI notetaking assistant. I fired it up for an interview with Raj Sharma, a bigwig at consulting giant EY. Coincidentally, he said his wife uses Granola to transcribe her interactions with patients. Installing it on my MacBook was easy. It synced with my Google work calendar, launched a Microsoft Teams video call, and prompted me to start recording — all smooth and fast. My prepared questions were saved in the app, but I couldn't easily access them during the call. I defaulted to a Google Doc, wishing the notes had appeared more intuitively as the interview began. Granola's post-interview features impressed me. It provided a thematic summary with expandable sections and action items, based partly on my prepared questions and any notes I jotted down while Raj was speaking. I asked it to find a quote from Raj about AI being a "welcome relief," and it delivered. I made sure to go back and check the exact phrasing. For that, I needed the full transcript. This was pretty good, although Raj's comments and my questions were sometimes misattributed to the wrong speaker. What shocked me: Granola doesn't record audio of meetings. This is a dealbreaker for journalists who need to verify quotes precisely. I used Apple's Voice Memos app alongside Granola for the essential raw audio backup. Granola is sleek, smart, and promising. But for now, it's missing one essential thing for me: the truth in someone's own voice. Postscript After sending out the Tech Memo newsletter this morning, I tracked down emails from Vicky Firth, who leads customer experience at Granola. She kindly answered my annoying questions! Here's what she said on the lack of I asked why Granola doesn't provide audio recordings. "We never store the audio recordings and that's a deliberate decision for a few reasons. Firstly, we're aware that whatever platform you're on for your call already does this, and we don't feel the need to duplicate this functionality — we've optimised Granola to be able to make great summaries of meetings, so that's what we're laser-focused on, and the transcripts are enough to allow it to do that well. We want to make sure Granola can stay simple and great at what it does best." "Another set of reasons is around data security: we want to make sure we're only capturing what's necessary to make those great notes, such that we're not holding on to more sensitive information than is necessary. We hear feedback on both sides — some users would love us to store the recordings, but others email us wanting to make sure we don't! The transcripts again feel like enough here." I suggested that this is kind of a dealkiller for those who need to verify exactly what people say. I also asked why Granola doesn't just offer this as a default feature but add a clear button to switch audio recording off when users want that? Firth's reply makes good sense, and it's a real window into how startups operate and the hard product decisions they must make while building efficiently. "It's probably not the best solution if you're someone who needs very specific quotes on a regular basis, and another product is probably more suited if that's what you're after as your primary output. We do get requests for it, but at the moment (especially while we're such a small team and have to be ruthless with prioritising!) we're trying to focus on functionality that helps make great summarised notes, helps you share those notes with your team, and help you all get insights to do your work better on a higher level. It means we sadly have a long, long list of things that we have to park for now!"
Yahoo
30-05-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Spelling bee champ wins by visualizing words typed on keyboard
(NewsNation) — Faizan Zaki, a seventh-grader from Allen, Texas, won the 2025 Scripps National Spelling Bee. He shared that he visualizes typing words on a keyboard to help him spell them. Zaki said his dream of becoming a spelling bee champion began back in first grade. He ousted eight other accomplished spellers to win the title on Thursday night, including two whom he let back into the competition after his own careless flub. Parents need to be at the table for children's education: Writer Told to take a deep breath before his final word, 'éclaircissement,' he didn't ask a single question before spelling it correctly. He pumped his fists and collapsed to the stage after saying the final letter. Zaki told 'Morning in America' Friday that he visualizes typing words on a keyboard to help him spell them. 'When I'm up there and I'm spelling the word, those hand movements that I'm doing … I'm pretending to type out the word on a keyboard,' he explained. 'For éclaircissement, you were able to see me typing out each letter as I said them.' The 13-year-old from Allen, Texas, was runner-up last year after he lost in a lightning-round tiebreaker. While he was frustrated, he didn't give up and underwent an extensive routine to train for the spelling bee. 'Every day when I get home from school, I open a dictionary and I open a Google Doc and I just write down words that I haven't seen before or words that I don't recognize,' he said. 'I do this for five to six hours on weekdays and seven to eight hours on weekends.' Teachers bring back blue books to curb AI cheating in classrooms Zaki said his dream of becoming a spelling bee champion began back in first grade after he saw Karthik Nemmani win the spelling bee in 2018. 'I got really interested. So the next year, when I was in first grade, I participated in the spelling bee and I instantly got hooked,' he said. 'I knew it was something that I could pursue and now I'm here, I won.' The Associated Press contributed to this report. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Yahoo
29-05-2025
- General
- Yahoo
The Video of Rumeysa Ozturk Being Detained by ICE Was Publicized By a Community Defense Network
Anadolu/Getty Images Stay up-to-date with the politics team. Sign up for the Teen Vogue Take On March 25, masked Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents arrested Rumeysa Ozturk as she walked down the street in the Boston suburb of Somerville. Ozturk is in the United States legally on a student visa and is by most accounts model citizen — a Fulbright scholar, PhD student at Tufts University, and, as argued by her lawyers, guilty of nothing. Her crime, according to the Trump administration, seems to be supporting Palestine. Ozturk's arrest is sensational in the literal sense, and the video is in many ways traumatic to watch. The masked agents appear out of nowhere, encircle the academic, and put her in handcuffs as she asks what's happening. Although it echoes the tactics we're seeing and hearing about ICE arrests all over the country, these stories are usually shared by word of mouth in rumors or whispers among neighbors. But Ozturk's situation stands out because we can watch it. That's because, as her detention was happening, another student called a community watch hotline that had started operating that week. 'He said, 'Someone's being kidnapped, someone's being kidnapped,'' recalled Danny Timpona, the LUCE Hotline operator who took the call. The hotline team dispatched 'verifiers' in Somerville — people trained to verify hotline calls and social media rumors of ICE's presence in a given area — who arrived within five minutes. They met with the caller, who was unsure who had taken Ozturk. The volunteers began knocking on doors and talking to neighbors, trying to find out if anyone might have information on what had happened, and also to calm any panic by giving out information about the hotline. A neighbor turned over the video, reportedly captured by a home security camera, that has now been seen by millions. Those volunteers are some of the more than 750 who have been trained in the last six weeks at 'community hubs' in over a dozen cities across the state, where 50 hotline operators with member groups of the LUCE Immigrant Justice Network of Massachusetts are now answering calls in five languages. ('LUCE' connotes 'shining a light,' in Latin, a language familiar to the region's large Catholic immigrant population.) And they're providing other resources as well. Later in the week, the group gave know-your-rights training to more than 100 Tufts students and community members. Timpona credits a 40-page Google Doc that was published just Donald Trump was inaugurated. LUCE is connecting immigrant community groups, prison abolition organizations, legal services, parent groups, and faith-based organizations. 'Our coalition is rooted in the idea that we refuse to leave anyone behind because of their marginalized identity,' shares Jaya Savita, director of the Asian Pacific Islanders Civic Action Network and a member of the LUCE Network. 'The hotline and ICE Watch resource is one of many ways we are empowering allies and impacted community members. We recognize that in order to build people power, we need to train, empower, and equip our communities and allies.' Most of the group's tactics, from the hotline dispatch system to neighborhood-based rights workshops, are modeled on those our team at Siembra NC used to organize immigrant workers and community members in North Carolina during Trump's first term. And they're not the only ones coming together to create new defense networks. Before his reelection, Trump made clear what he was going to do: demonize Latinos and all immigrants and use the threats of raids and deportation to destroy families and communities, keeping us all scared, demoralized, and hidden. He and his billionaire friends would continue stripping away our rights, gutting public services, and harming working people. We knew the playbook he'd run since 2016, so we wrote our own. Siembra NC's Defend and Recruit playbook outlines the tools we developed during the first Trump presidency and the ways we defended immigrants in our community and built a powerful movement in North Carolina. Since February, over 6,000 people have downloaded it, and hundreds of people around the country have joined in-person and online trainings. Among them were LUCE Hotline's coordination team, who say they spent hours consulting with our organizing coaches before they set up their systems. 'It was harder than we had expected getting people to set a vision and follow through,' Timpona said. 'Even after being trained, volunteers needed a lot of coaching to do things like go up and ask questions of federal agents making arrests.' ICE says they arrested nearly 400 people in Massachusetts in the two weeks the hotline started receiving calls. 'It has been so helpful to get support from other groups just starting.' The Defend & Recruit Network includes groups along the East Coast all the way to Florida, Texas, across Michigan and Wisconsin, and into Washington and California. We're experimenting with new strategies that engage people to defend those targeted, while also building a practice of recruitment into our organizing. We just published a toolkit for students resisting detentions like Ozturk's. Although there are extreme differences in our approaches and risks depending on local factors and our personal and group identities, there's still so much we can strategize about. Building these connections helps the work feel less isolating, less impossible, as some groups in red states like Ohio and Tennessee have shared on peer learning calls. By sharing these resources, we've received dozens more in return. We're collating these community-provided resources alongside our own tools and training. We've also built customizable resources, logos, toolkits, and produced how-to videos and other materials so you can do this work in your community. It is more important than ever: ICE is escalating its raids and targeting more people — immigration activists, Palestine supporters, parents, workers, and students. Many in our communities are looking for ways to defend our rights, even if it feels like those rights are eroding in real time. Defend & Recruit organizers have talked to people all over the country who are leading this work. Some are brand new, wanting to step up and do something in today's political chaos to support neighbors and families, while others have decades of wisdom to share from their lifetime in the fight. When we asked at a recent online training how many new local groups were forming solely because of immigration defense, dozens of people put their hands up. We've created spaces to troubleshoot common problems and share what we've learned, alongside receiving individual support. Groups in St. Louis; Ulster, New York; and Austin, Texas have met together and with our organizing coaches to build their own hotlines and ICE Watch programs. In North Carolina, we're building new ways for allies to join our fight and defend communities. After hearing from employers who wanted to respond to federal agents' warrantless arrests, we're now inviting them to become Fourth Amendment Workplaces that stand up for the Constitution. We know that the far right thrives when we are scared and alone. And we know that none of us are experts in exactly what will work in today's political landscape as Trump continues to shift his tactics. The administration is employing raids at workplaces, enabling abusive employers to exploit their workers further, and targeting immigrants at schools and places of worship. They're going after green card holders and temporary visa holders, and even using an 18th-century law to deport people to an El Salvadoran prison. Their actions are unprecedented, so the way we defend our people must change, too. We have legal rights in these situations and ways we can respond — if we're ready. Originally Appeared on Teen Vogue Want more Teen Vogue immigration coverage? The School Shooting That History Forgot I Was Kidnapped After Coming to the U.S. Seeking Asylum Ronald Reagan Sucked, Actually The White Supremacist 'Great Replacement Theory' Has Deep Roots
