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.
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AntisemitismCanada In 2026, Tulsa And Panama Are Courting Canadian Jews As Antisemitism Redefines The Cost Of Staying As antisemitism reaches unprecedented levels across Canada, Jewish families and professionals are quietly reassessing their futures, and some are being actively courted elsewhere. Ron East By: Ron East December 31, 2025 SHARE A growing number of Canadian Jews are exploring relocation options A growing number of Canadian Jews are exploring relocation options as antisemitism intensifies and confidence in public protection erodes. (Image: Illustration.) TORONTO — For generations, Canada sold itself as a country where Jews could thrive without constantly looking over their shoulders. That assumption no longer holds for a growing number of Canadian Jews, particularly in the aftermath of October 7 and the months that followed. What has changed is not only the number of antisemitic incidents. It is the atmosphere. Public hostility has been normalized. Jewish schools, synagogues, and community centres operate under permanent security protocols. Anti-Jewish intimidation is increasingly framed as political expression. Enforcement is inconsistent. Accountability is rare. When Jewish life requires constant risk assessment, mobility stops being a luxury. It becomes a rational act of self-preservation. That reality helps explain why, in 2026, two very different destinations, Tulsa, Oklahoma, and Panama, are appearing with growing frequency in serious conversations among Canadian Jews who have the means and flexibility to move. This is not a panic migration. It is a strategic recalculation. Canada’s new warning lights Jewish Canadians represent a small fraction of the population, yet account for a vastly disproportionate share of reported hate crimes. This is not a perception problem. It is a documented pattern. More troubling than the statistics themselves is the message many Jews hear in response: concern, sympathy, and context, but little deterrence. Protests that spill into harassment are tolerated. Jewish institutions are targeted repeatedly. Antisemitism disguised as antizionism is parsed endlessly rather than confronted directly. The result is a slow erosion of confidence in the state’s willingness or ability to enforce equal protection. When a community moves from assuming it belongs to hoping nothing happens today, the social contract has already been fractured. It is within this context that Tulsa and Panama are not merely attracting attention but actively courting. Lech Le’Tulsa and intentional Jewish welcome Tulsa is not presenting itself as a refuge city. It is presenting itself as a place that wants Jewish life to grow. In 2026, that effort has taken concrete form through Lech Le’Tulsa, a Jewish-focused relocation initiative designed to attract Jewish families, professionals, and entrepreneurs to the Tulsa area. The program combines relocation assistance with intentional community building and access to Jewish infrastructure. The name is deliberate. Lech Lecha, the biblical call to go forth and build a future, is not branding by accident. It speaks directly to a Jewish historical instinct that understands movement not as retreat, but as agency. Lech Le’Tulsa offers what many Canadian Jews increasingly feel is missing at home: A clear signal that Jewish presence is welcomed, not merely accommodated Immediate access to synagogues, schools, and Jewish communal life A civic environment where Jewish identity is not treated as a liability The financial incentives matter, but the social architecture matters more. Tulsa is offering a landing ramp. It is saying, we are prepared for you to arrive. That clarity stands in stark contrast to the ambiguity Canadian Jews experience when their safety concerns are acknowledged but endlessly deferred. Panama and the appeal of optionality Panama represents a different but equally rational response to insecurity. For Canadian Jews with international mobility, Panama offers residency pathways tied to investment, business activity, or long-term economic contribution. It also offers something increasingly valuable: optionality. Panama has an established Jewish community, a comparatively lower cost of living, and an immigration framework that openly courts skilled and capital-carrying residents. For some, it is a permanent relocation. For others, it is a second base, a contingency plan, or a future passport pathway. What matters is not the destination itself, but the logic behind the choice. When Jews seek second options, they are not rejecting diaspora life. They are applying historical lessons. Jewish continuity has always depended on redundancy, resilience, and the ability to move before crisis becomes catastrophe. The Zionist lens Canadians prefer to ignore Zionism does not deny the legitimacy of diaspora life. It insists that Jews must never be dependent on the goodwill of others for safety or equality. That lesson was written in blood long before the modern State of Israel existed. Israel institutionalized it at a national level. Individual Jews apply it on a personal level. When Canadian Jews explore Tulsa or Panama, they are not abandoning Canada in anger. They are responding rationally to warning signs. They are building leverage. They are ensuring their children have options. This is what Zionist consciousness looks like outside Israel. It is quiet, pragmatic, and unsentimental. An indictment Canada should take seriously Tulsa and Panama are not superior societies. They are intentional ones. Tulsa is saying, we want contributors, and we are prepared to integrate them. Panama is saying, we want residents and investment, and we have clear legal pathways. Canada, too often, is saying something else entirely: we are sorry you feel unsafe, but the politics are complicated. A serious country does not treat antisemitism as a public relations challenge. It treats it as a threat to civic order. That requires enforcement, deterrence, and moral clarity, including the willingness to name antisemitism even when it hides behind fashionable political language. Until that happens, Canada should not be surprised when Jews quietly explore exit ramps. The bottom line In 2026, the fact that Tulsa and Panama can plausibly court Canadian Jews is not an oddity. It is a warning. When antisemitism reaches levels that fundamentally alter how Jews calculate their futures, movement becomes strategy. History teaches Jews to act before apologies arrive too late. Canada still has time to reverse this trajectory. But time matters. And Jews, having learned this lesson repeatedly, are no longer inclined to wait.
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