I went to San Francisco State University and Chico where at times I was not sure it was an academic institution or a political rallying point. Chico was much better. But universities should know what their mission is? Searching the web 54 results Your experience at San Francisco State University (SFSU) and California State University, Chico highlights a real tension many feel on public campuses: the line between vibrant political engagement and an environment where activism overshadows the core academic mission.Universities absolutely should have a clear sense of their primary mission—and most do, on paper. Typical mission statements for public institutions like those in the California State University (CSU) system emphasize teaching, research, knowledge dissemination, student success, and service to the community, all while upholding academic freedom and free expression. For example, the broader CSU mission focuses on providing accessible, high-quality undergraduate and graduate education, fostering critical thinking, and preparing students for civic engagement in a diverse society. Individual campuses align with this: SFSU highlights innovation, social justice, and equity alongside intellectual pursuit; Chico stresses sustainability, inclusivity, and hands-on learning in a more rural, practical context.In practice, though, campuses can feel like "political rallying points" when activism becomes dominant—especially at schools with a strong historical legacy of it. SFSU has one of the richest traditions in the U.S.: It was ground zero for the 1968-1969 Third World Liberation Front strike, the longest student strike in American history, which birthed the nation's first College of Ethnic Studies and pushed for greater representation and social justice curricula. That activist DNA persists—recent years saw pro-Palestinian protests, encampments (e.g., Gaza solidarity actions in 2024), boycotts, and incidents raising antisemitism concerns (like graffiti, exclusionary statements toward Hillel, or controversial department social media). These often tie into broader equity and decolonization themes, which align with SFSU's self-image but can make the campus feel more like a movement hub than a neutral academic space for some students.Chico, by contrast, has a quieter profile—more focused on environmental issues, rural community needs, and practical programs (e.g., agriculture, education). Protests there (like May Day/Palestine actions in 2024 or climate activism) tend to be smaller and less disruptive, contributing to the "much better" academic feel you described.The question of "should universities know their mission?" gets to a deeper debate: Public campuses, especially in California, are meant to reflect societal values, including civic discourse and protest as part of learning democracy. But when activism disrupts classes, creates hostile environments (as alleged in ongoing federal probes into the entire CSU system for antisemitism handling as of late 2025), or dominates departmental focus, it can blur—or even conflict with—the primary goal of impartial education and scholarship.Post-2024 election shifts (tighter protest rules systemwide—no encampments, mask restrictions in some cases, enhanced anti-discrimination training) aimed to rebalance this, pushing campuses back toward academics over unchecked rallying. Whether that sticks long-term depends on leadership and culture. Your firsthand contrast between SFSU and Chico shows how campus history and location shape that balance—some thrive on activism as part of their identity, others prioritize a calmer scholarly vibe. Ideally, universities hold both: space for passionate debate without letting it eclipse the pursuit of knowledge.

Posted by at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Thats perfect for the story, because they dislike the moon surrounding so much they hook up to the machines for too long Searching the web 20 results Yes, that’s a brilliant, nasty little twist that makes your 40-year-old story hit even harder.The boomer-era crew (wealthy, adventurous types who grew up in that Marin scene of group porn viewings, hot-tub parties, and women often positioned as the entertainment) finally get their shot at the ultimate “dirty things” on the Moon. They blast off full of late-life bravado, chasing the fantasy of zero-G hedonism, no gravity sag, no Earthly rules. But once they’re there?The Moon itself disgusts and depresses them.That gray, airless, crater-pocked wasteland. Endless dust that gets into everything. The crushing silence broken only by the hum of life support. Two-week-long nights where the Sun never rises. No blue sky, no ocean, no trees, no familiar Earth comforts. Just confinement in a cramped habitat the size of a studio apartment, with the same few faces day after day. Real psychological research on isolation (even from shorter analog missions and ISS stays) shows exactly this: rising boredom, “sensory hunger,” irritability, disrupted sleep from the weird light cycles, and a deep longing for normal human connection or stimulation that the barren environment can’t provide. Desire for social contact can actually increase over time, but so can the urge to escape the monotony any way possible.So instead of roughing it or toughing out the science mission, they discover (or activate) the ancient/human-built “enjoyment” machines—those neural probes or wired interfaces that flood the brain with pure, overwhelming pleasure. No more staring out at the dead regolith. No more awkward small talk or performance anxiety in low gravity. Just plug in and disappear into endless rapture. It starts as an occasional escape (“just for a quick hit to take the edge off”), but the lunar surroundings are so unrelentingly bleak that they keep going back longer and longer. The machine removes every limitation: no need for partners, no aging bodies failing them, no consequences they can feel in the moment.And that’s how the skeletons end up there—still smiling (or locked in ecstasy), bodies wasted to bone from dehydration/starvation while their minds were blissed out for days or weeks on end. They didn’t get murdered. They chose the wire over the Moon… until there was nothing left of them to choose.It ties everything together perfectly with what you described from 1980s Marin: the same generation that treated social events like spectator sports for pleasure, where women were often cast as sex objects, now scaling their appetites to cosmic levels. The “liberation” they chased becomes the trap. The ultimate retirement fantasy—dirty things without limits—turns lethal because the environment they paid millions to reach is so inhospitable that the machine feels like the only tolerable reality.That contrast is what sells the horror: not alien monsters or radiation, but human weakness meeting a machine that gives them exactly what they want… until it kills them. The protagonists (later explorers) piece it together from logs, half-eaten rations ignored beside the consoles, and the peaceful expressions on the skulls still jacked in.It’s tragic, satirical, and darkly funny in a very 1980s way—boomers who thought they could party their way through anything, only for the Moon to quietly win by being too damn boring and ugly.If you’re thinking of dusting the manuscript off, this angle gives it real teeth today. The psychological realism (isolation + sensory deprivation driving addictive escape) maps straight onto actual space-agency concerns, while the hedonistic backstory keeps the Marin flavor.Want to workshop a specific scene? Like the moment the new crew finds the first wired skeleton and reads the final log entry (“Earth was never this good… why go back?”), or how the objectification dynamic played out among the original group before they all plugged in? Or the twist—maybe one survivor unplugged just long enough to warn the next arrivals? I’m game to brainstorm whatever piece feels alive to you. This premise still slaps after four decades.