What pressing matters cleared the desk of the House Oversight Subcommittee on National Security, the Border and Foreign Affairs for a day-long hearing complete with a string of emphatic witnesses?

Aliens, of course.

Former Air Force Major-turned-whistleblower David Grusch delivered on July 26 a tin-foil-clad testimony under oath, accusing the United States government of conducting a multi-decade cover-up of extraterrestrial activity on Earth. He also alleged agents had recovered “non-human biologicals” from crash sights. 

Two other retired veterans joined Grusch and echoed his experience — mostly evidenced by their personal perspectives. The Pentagon denies their claims.

I know as much as anyone else about the possibility of life on other planets. And for the record, I’d be fascinated to find out aliens are real. My singular credential in this field includes the completion of an Astronomy 1001 class over the summer which, you might imagine, was fairly basic.

I learned a lot of new vocabulary, though, and perhaps most importantly gained insight into how scientists think about such things. The vastness of the universe lends itself to a lot of guesswork, and the way academics discuss these concepts is coated in a healthy wash of ambiguity. This is not a nefarious habit, but one that allows the unknowable to be discussed as accurately as possible. A healthy dose of skepticism is required to disentangle facts from phenomena.

“Extraordinary claims need extraordinary evidence,” said Nico Adams. According to Adams, Grusch’s story lacks the latter.

Adams is a PhD candidate in astrophysics at the University of Minnesota. He also works on the citizen science project called Galaxy Zoo, where he helps broad swaths of volunteers with varying levels of scientific knowledge to navigate complex topics. 

The hearing centered on “Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena” (UAPs), an umbrella term used by the government to refer to objects in the air, sea or space that do not have an immediate explanation. These are more popularly known as Unidentified Flying Objects (UFOs). 

Usually, UAP sightings turn out to be weather balloons, drones or even birds.

The imprecision of these terms clashes with science fiction, translating to the general public as confirmation of the existence of little green humanoids. By definition, UFOs are real. But who knows what that really means? 

In an unsurprising turn of events, it seems the legitimacy of these allegations now falls along party lines.

“I’m a Christian and I believe the Bible,” said Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-Georgia). “I think that to me, honestly — I’ve looked into it. And I think we have to question if it’s more of the spiritual realm. Angels or fallen angels. And that’s my honest opinion.”

Rep. Byron Donalds (R-Florida) shared his concerns the UAPs were extraterrestrial engineering, stating, “God made a phenomenal planet with phenomenal people, even though we disagree, we have our own issues. I don’t think we’re the only ones in the universe.”

Democrats were not totally on the defense but broached the topic from a curious position more related to national security. 

“With climate change and extreme fanaticism running loose on Earth, other planets are seeming more and more attractive to people,” Rep. Jamie Raskin (D-Maryland) said. “So, I don’t blame them for wanting to have this hearing.”

A call for government transparency underpinned the conversation. 

Institutional secrecy is a common feature of all semi-functioning governments. UAPs are something that people should understand, as identifying them can provide insight into potentially compromising surveillance techniques from foreign adversaries. But it is obvious to me that the legitimacy of these claims is being leveraged to undermine the current administration. 

Like all conspiracy theories, there is likely some truth woven into outlandish claims, but not enough truth to be considered, well, factual.

“It feels like this debate is more about politics than science,” Adams said. “Science is about everyone looking at the same dataset and coming to conclusions using reasoning. And this data isn’t public yet.”

Yes, the government is lying to us in some form or fashion, and yes, there may very well be other forms of life out there besides ours. But are those two things converging right before our eyes?

I highly doubt it. 

I urge you to beware of the sneaky conspiracy theories being granted authority in the subtext of these hearings. We live in interesting times, and, to quote the X-Files, “The truth is out there, but so are lies.”

I tend to be wary of people who say they enjoy writing. To me, writing is more compulsive than recreational. It’s the only thing I think I know how to do. And even that belief wavers on a daily basis.

It takes discipline to stare down a blank page and externalize your mind in print. Most of those who are similarly plagued by this incurable malady will tell you writing is a fairly lonely exercise. It is also one of the most precise ways to be understood.

To me, this is what feels most essential about writing and why literature is a lifeline for many marginalized factions of our society.

Their works provide a looking glass for others to understand the way they navigate a world that often leaves them behind. Free from the constraints of the status quo, the page becomes a platform on which they build their worlds and help the reader to see things differently.

For people experiencing incarceration this is especially true. 

“Prison can be such a dehumanizing environment,” said Mike Alberti, Executive Director of the Minnesota Prison Writing Workshop (MPWW). “Because art is all about being human, writing is a kind of antidote to that.”

MPWW fosters literary communities inside Minnesota correctional facilities through creative programming. It was founded as  creative writing class at Lino Lakes Prison in 2011 and has since grown into an organization of over 25 instructors who have taught more than 3,000 people in every adult state prison in Minnesota. 

“These communities are mostly led by people on the inside,” Alberti said. “MPWW exists to follow their lead and support their natural gifts.”

The projects span all genres and styles of literature. Participants work with mentors who edit drafts of their pieces and provide feedback on how to improve their talents.

Autonomy is hard to come by in correctional facilities. Studies have shown studying the arts and humanities can provide therapeutic, rehabilitative and behavioral benefits for incarcerated people. Recidivism also declines rapidly among those who participate in these programs.

“There are lots of people who are yearning and searching for a positive community. They want to be a part of something that is life-affirming, that allows them to explore themselves in a way that is not punitive in any sense,” Alberti said. 

Co-creative styles of learning are beneficial for all those involved. University of Minnesota Professor Dennis Donovan is turning his personal connection to a group of men serving time in Stillwater Correctional Facility into an opportunity for students to learn about their experiences firsthand. 

“It blew my mind how insightful these guys were,” Donovan said. “I started to wonder how my students could learn from them too.” 

He established the Our Narratives Evolving (ONE) Project as a way for those taking his course on community organizing to put their new skills into practice. The independent study asks students to organize meetings between different groups throughout the Twin Cities and incarcerated people who share their stories and participate in a question and answer session.

“People on the outside begin to see people on the inside as human beings who are navigating significant systemic barriers that keep them from moving forward,” Donovan said. 

He centers this work around the concept of public narrative: a practice that uncovers not only where a person finds themselves, but how they got there, too. Their stories reveal nuances of the carceral system that are often omitted from public perception. 

“Often, people realize that incarcerated people are being provided nothing but prison,” Donovan said. In such a traumatic environment, it can be difficult to muster the willpower to want to improve. 

The age of mass incarceration has desensitized us to the violence of prison as an institution and its harm to our collective good. Singular storytelling is one way to demystify the lived experience behind those walls. They help us to see a person instead of a “prisoner” and to find the gaps in an unjust system that profits off of their captivity. 

Programs like the ONE Project and MPWW are making rehabilitation a more plausible outcome. 

“Connecting to the people inside is a powerful, real-life learning experience,” Donovan said. “You just don’t get many of those.”

“These guys have shown me ways that art can bring people together and instigate positive social change. Their sense of community is so valuable. That’s true in prison, but it’s also true in the world,” Alberti said. 

Writing from the inside feels extremely emblematic of the process as a whole — an attempt to make sense of our stories while wondering if others can possibly see things the way we do, too.

Telling stories that transcend physical and social boundaries is necessary for the survival of compassion in our society. The exposed nature of these appeals does not beg for sympathy, but a unique sense of empathy that reflects the universal desire to be known by a community that cares. 

May we all be so lucky to have such a safe place to land with our art.

The Towards Recognition and University-Tribal Healing (TRUTH) project published a 500-page report in April that catalogs the University of Minnesota’s history of violence toward the state’s Native people.

According to the executive summary, the report “highlights the ongoing struggle for recognition of Indigenous rights and sovereignty, focusing on persistent, systemic mistreatment of Indigenous peoples by the University of Minnesota,” to include genocide, land expropriation and exploitation of Indigenous knowledge to accumulate wealth. 

The report concludes with a list of recommendations for University leadership and the Board of Regents to take concrete steps that would materially improve the lives of Indigenous people. 

Later, the Department of American Indian Studies (AIS) published an explicit set of demands that could set these recommendations into motion.

News of its publishing made national headlines, becoming the first time a major American university’s history with Native people was critically examined. 

The University issued the following response: 

“First and foremost, we recognize that the countless hours of work reflected in this report and the truth-telling that will benefit us all going forward is built upon the time, effort and emotional labor of every individual involved. We want to reiterate our appreciation for each of you.

“In recent years, the University has committed to acknowledging the past and doing the necessary work to begin rebuilding and strengthening relationships with tribal nations and Native people. Openly receiving this report is another step toward honoring that commitment. While documenting the past, the TRUTH report also provides guidance as to how the University can solidify lasting relationships with tribes and Indigenous peoples built on respect, open communication and action. As we engage in the important discussions that will now follow, that guidance will be invaluable.”

Nearly four months later, those discussions have yet to occur. 

“There’s been no conversations with the Red Lake Nation since the report has come out,” said Audrianna Goodwin, a core researcher for the TRUTH project and the Tribal Research Fellow for Red Lake. “We really haven’t been in communication with the University of Minnesota for well over a year.”

“There’s been no official communication with my nation, Bois Forte, or with the Minnesota Indian Affairs Council that I know of,” An Garagiola said. 

Garagiola is the University Coordinator for the project and is one of the lead researchers who investigated archival materials to uncover how the founding regents transferred wealth from Indigenous peoples to the institution. 

The same institution that extorted Native wealth essentially refused to fund the research that would help make things right. The University provided a small honorarium to establish the faculty task force and covered a semester of research assistantships through the Office of Equity and Inclusion. 

Administrators, however, showed very little support. The team requested funding from other outside sources who expressed interest in the project, but they were unable to invest in structural change for an institution that was unwilling to invest in itself. 

The project was ultimately hosted through Minnesota Transform, a higher education initiative funded by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation that focuses on anti-colonial and racial justice work. 

“We don’t want accolades. The statement from the Regents is very corporate, it acknowledges the work that a few people did, but it doesn’t apologize for the harm that’s been done against our people for centuries,” Garagiola said. “It’s still a centering of the institution and keeps the institution safe from a legal aspect. But none of this stuff is alleged. These are all facts that [the University] keeps in their basement.”

Garagiola knows several slow-growing initiatives are evolving, such as free tuition granted at the state level or the hiring of Indigenous tenure-track faculty members, which was also asked for in the report. 

Still, a lack of transparency and accountability to Indigenous leadership precludes any of the incremental progress being made. 

“I understand that the Regents may be holding their meetings and discussing where to go from here, but if the tribes aren’t at the table, they’re just reproducing that same harm,” Garagiola said. 

At the heart of their frustration is a deeply held desire for repair. The origins of the generational trauma and grief that Indigenous people continue to experience are threaded throughout the report in excruciating detail and are exacerbated by institutional silence. 

“We still see the impacts of this in real-time in our community,” Goodwin said. “The overdoses, the suicides, children being taken away. People don’t have healthcare. They don’t have access to educational systems. To even make it [as an Indigenous student] to the University of Minnesota is a huge feat against all statistical odds.”

As non-native members of the University and beneficiaries of these atrocities, we are absolutely required to answer for the histories we inherit. Though we did not create these conditions our inaction will preserve their harm. 

“It took seven generations to get to this point,” Garagiola said. “We’re not under the illusion that it’s going to happen overnight. But it’s going to take everybody — native and non-native — to work together and begin to heal.”

The TRUTH report generously, perhaps undeservedly, opens the door for non-native people to properly engage with their struggle. The least we can do is walk through. 

“We still hold very tightly to each other and those values that Anishnaabe and Dakota people have of love, humility, kindness, respect, wisdom, courage and bravery,” Goodwin said. “But we are stronger together. And it’s really important that all people in these systems reckon with this truth and that we come together to address it.” 

Contact the Board of Regents and stay engaged with this research until its demands are met.

The density of Dinkytown is increasing by the day. As someone who cares very much about the growing housing crisis, this is hardly something to complain about. But not all apartment buildings are created equally. 

The majority of this new construction was recently covered by city reporter Kate Prom. The Standard and Identity Dinkytown are two of the newest additions joining the ranks of “luxury” student housing that is abundant near the University of Minnesota, such as The Bridges, The Hub, WaHu or The Marshall.

When you sign a lease at any of these structural behemoths, you’re buying into a certain lifestyle. Each one boasts a variety of amenities from community clubhouses to rooftop pools. Not to mention a price tag that reflects these lavish promises. 

“Our base rent is $1,250 each,” said Eleanor Wirtz, a student at the University. She lives in a two-bedroom corner apartment on the tenth floor of The Bridges with her best friend. They moved in at the beginning of the 2022 school year and plan to leave next month.

“After we’ve paid our utilities and expenses, it’s $1,538 each,” Wirtz said.That brings the total cost of the apartment to roughly $2,900, plus a monthly charge of $165 that Wirtz pays to park her car in the attached garage. 

For a price that steep, surely the facilities are top-notch, right? 

“We had to basically beg for an A/C unit and the apartment is all windows. The second the sun starts to shine, it’s like 95 degrees in here,” Wirtz said. “Our washing machine is full of mold, but they have to replace the entire barrel in order to fix it, and I guess they can’t afford that because a lot of other residents are having the same problem.” 

Most of the features that would justify the monthly amenity fees are closed and the limited rooms that are available can only be accessed with the help of a front desk staff member. Much of the equipment in the advertised fitness center is broken or unplugged. And the building allows pets, evidenced by the urine-stained carpet that reeks throughout the halls, Wirtz said. 

Maintenance requests only go so far. 

Even if the building staff is aware of ongoing issues with appliances, they don’t have the authority to actually order the necessary equipment. Management companies are merely the middlemen for their corporate overlords who are pulling the strings in the shadows.

The onus of responsibility for these conditions is typically placed on the hygienically bankrupt lifestyle of college students, who, I think we can all agree, are not always the most ideal tenants. 

These operations bank on the high turnover rates of incoming students and the naivety of a vulnerable demographic to shirk responsibility for reported subpar living conditions. It’s no coincidence they each have different branding and offer nearly identical experiences.

To understand the underpinnings of this dynamic, we need a brief recap of how the mega-landlord came to be.

Private equity firms became interested in student housing during the Great Recession in 2008. When the Obama administration bailed out the banks, it gave them the purchasing power to scoop up homes en masse. The Trump administration worsened that effect by bailing them out again at the peak of the financial devastation caused by the COVID-19 pandemic.

These two events changed the landscape of the American rental market forever.

Wall Street landlords often come to us in the form of Real-Estate Investment Trusts (REITs). REITs are companies that own or finance income-producing real estate across a range of property sectors. A more common trend, and the one that is more relevant to the rental market in Dinkytown, includes their much larger, much more powerful counterparts, Private Equity Real-Estate firms (PEREs).  

College towns became cash cows for the wealthy, who shoved billions into the student housing industry at the peak of rental shortages. 

And before the finance bros come for my head about the miracles of capitalism, private equity firms pledge their allegiance to one thing only: their shareholders. This becomes especially diabolical in the context of housing.

Through a deadly combination of excessive fees, unresponsive management offices and predatory leasing tactics, the experience of the renter quickly becomes collateral damage for the ultimate goal of turning a profit.

One of the largest of these firms, Blackstone, purchased the American Campus Communities REIT portfolio for $12.8 billion in 2022. University Commons was included in that deal. 

Another heavy hitter, Greystar, owns The Hub and The Marshall. 

The Charleston, South Carolina-based PERE firm brags a record of approximately $32 billion in global development assets and is one of the largest property management companies in the U.S., with over 700,000 managed units in 2022.

The Preiss Company owns The Bridges and The Knoll and is based in Raleigh, North Carolina. The Singapore-based group Mapletree Investments acquired WaHu as part of a $1.6 billion dollar deal. 

This is not a complete list. 

Many of them are named in the same pending lawsuit and all of them run in the same circle of ultra-wealthy investment tycoons.

Rents are rising while the quality of life deteriorates. Left unchecked, these conglomerates will continue to encroach on the limited housing that is available and the ability to choose an alternative will all but disappear. 

If you’ve ever felt like your corporate landlord is detached or vampiric, it’s because they probably are. These complexes are selling luxury lifestyles in name only. 

It’s time to wake up and reject Wall Street before it’s too late. 

Contact HOME Line for more information on how to hold them to account. 

Thom Sandberg survived one-and-a-half semesters of undergrad before he dropped out of the University of Minnesota 50 years ago. 

“Back when I was there the first time, y’know, I was more interested in hanging out and going to keg parties,” Sandberg said. “I’m not looking for keg parties anymore.”

He re-enrolled in 2019 after retiring from a long career in creative production. At 71 years old, he’s not your typical undergraduate student. 

This educational odyssey is the culmination of his career — an inverse experience to many of our classmates. Sandberg first caught my attention when he raised his hand in a lecture about protests of the Vietnam War at the University, saying, “Oh, yeah. I remember that.”

You may have seen Sandberg strolling around campus in his custom University of Minnesota sport coat and color-coordinated hat. He’s part of the growing population of nontraditional students who are coming back to the classroom on their own time.

The Department of Education identifies age as one of the defining factors for those students who are considered “nontraditional” — more specifically, anyone who is enrolled in a degree-seeking undergraduate program over the age of 24.

At the University of Minnesota, approximately 30% of the undergraduate population is over the age of 24 — about 14,906 students.

More specifically, nontraditional students tend to have complex circumstances outside the usual volume of assignments, such as balancing family and work responsibilities or other obstacles that can impact performance at school.

Sandberg has taken the responsibility that accompanies a full-time education in stride. 

“If you factor out my grades from 50 years ago, my GPA is 3.89,” Sandberg said.

It hasn’t come easy for him, though. He’s currently getting his butt kicked in a summer-session statistics course.

Sandberg is on a roll. He graduated with the class of 2023 with a double major in history and urban studies, and in the fall he’ll matriculate into the masters of urban and regional planning program at the Humprehy School of Public Affairs.

City planning is a sharp left turn from his lifelong career as a creative director in advertising. Then again, everything about Sandberg is charmingly unconventional. 

“Doing well was really always the question,” Sandberg said. “I felt too unprepared at the time. I mean, I think I’m a smart guy, but you never know how things will go with other people too.”

His self-deprecating reflections are shared by many nontraditional students who wonder if they are cut out for college life. 

Nontraditional students are often excluded from campus events. 

The critical connections that are made in the grimy freshman-year dorms or at cheesy orientation events are often the foundation of a student’s social network. To combat this quandary, Sandberg insists active participation is the way to go.

“I’m trying to immerse myself in both the learning and the students. I want to be a real part of it,” Sandberg said. “You have to have skin in the game. You have to worry about the midterm. Do the readings for class. I feel inspired when I get to say ‘Yeah, man, I got murdered on that quiz,’ because it makes me feel like I’m a part of it.”

Plus, he said, “Nothing is cooler than walking across campus and having somebody go ‘Hey Thom!”

While Sandberg’s degree is somewhat decorative, his story has changed the way I view my own education. He’s revisiting this environment free from the stress of the unknowable future that looms over so many students’ heads. 

“For me, going back to school is a race between graduation and Alzheimer’s,” Sandberg said.

But his accomplishments are no laughing matter. 

Sandberg’s continual pursuit of education is a reminder nontraditional approaches are beautiful in their own right. And, most importantly, it’s never too late or too early to pursue a dream.

“Do the best you can and party on,” Sandberg said, offering some sage advice.

Thanks, Thom. I think I will.

Minnesota’s DFL leadership has been widely lauded for their victories during the 2023 legislative session. 

In one fell swoop, they’ve managed to achieve a historic slew of progressive bills that the Senate viewed as far-fetched ideas for decades. A slim majority operated in lock-step to push through the ambitious docket. 

It’s been a long time since the words “productive” and “government” were used in the same sentence. Whether you see this recent session as a win for Minnesotans, or as GOP leaders would call it bonkers, the subtext of these events reminds us of what is possible when representatives actually accomplish what they set out to do. Turns out, it’s a pretty popular approach.

It got me thinking: What can the University of Minnesota’s Board of Regents learn from this shining example of community-responsive policymaking as they prepare to select the next president?

Minnesota’s Legislature showed us that the only way to turn things around is to, well, turn them around. Following a sluggish first term, DFLers took the trust of their constituents seriously. 

“We were elected to move forward and move Minnesota forward,” Senate Majority Leader Kari Dziedzic said in an interview with CBS News. “Voters told us they don’t want gridlock. They gave us the trifecta.” A trifecta is when one political party holds the governorship, a senate majority and a majority in the state house. 

But being granted that power is not what made this session so remarkable. The follow-through on promises to voters is what truly put Minnesota on the map. 

Two-term Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz kicked off the year with an impassioned speech that cited a refreshing sense of optimism for the future of the state. During his first term, which was characterized by unprecedented challenges, like the COVID-19 pandemic and the murder of George Floyd, Walz put his leadership skills through the wringer. 

The constraints of these circumstances were echoed in his narrow victory. While the temperament of the statehouse is far from harmonious, Walz’s successes prove the significance of advocating for an agenda with clarity and precision. 

Many of the obstacles that were presented during Walz’s first term were identical to those faced by former University President Joan Gabel. 

Her administration, born from a wellspring of optimism as the University’s first female president, set out to strengthen the research arms of the institution while creating a more inclusive environment for incoming students around the world. 

In some ways, those goals were accomplished. Gabel’s most ambitious initiative, MPact 2025, has achieved more than $1 billion in research expenditures in addition to securing record-setting graduation rates and a spot as one of the nation’s top 25 public universities. 

And yet, Gabel’s abrupt resignation from the University in early April (and the scandals that preceded it) has left a complicated cloud of controversy hanging over the Office of the President, leaving many to question the role that a president should play in campus culture. For all of Gabel’s successes, she failed to connect with the student body, as evidenced by a non-scientific questionnaire conducted by the Minnesota Daily in the wake of her departure. 

Gabel is merely a symptom of the larger culture of dysfunction brewing within higher education.

The corporatization of these institutions has disincentivized leadership from prioritizing student experience over the bottom line. Gabel’s legacy proves leadership tied solely to a salary is hollow. Somewhere along the way, we lost sight of just how important invested administrators truly are — a quality money can’t buy. 

Universities can and should be understood through the same analytical framework as political institutions. Their powers converge at the intersection of the same social, cultural and economic forces that challenge our current political climate. We ought to start treating these positions of authority as though they wield such influence. 

“I think that there are a lot of great opportunities for the university to listen more to their students … as the regents search for the next president, finding someone that the students can trust is important,” said Maren Viker, a recent graduate.

Keyword: opportunity. It is imperative that the regents see this time of tumult as such. A chance to make things right, to make the university as great as it claims to be.

The good news is that it’s not rocket science. And it starts by returning to the basics. The simple act of being responsive to the students and faculty who contribute to the institution’s success can go a long way. 

Walz’s administration has laid a clear path for reinstating good governance. The Board should follow suit.