Main

Image

Khawar Latif Khan | Credit: Kiarra Ruff

By Taylor Pedersen, CLA Student Writer - May 21, 2026

Khawar Latif Khan used to sit in engineering lectures and write stories no one was meant to read. In the margins of dense notes on circuits and systems, he doodled with fragments of fiction, strange and unstructured, written quickly before attention snapped back to the front of the room. “The word that I use to describe my creative writing is weird,” Khan said. “It did not make any sense… it was just free writing.”

At the time, he saw writing as just a habit, maybe even a distraction. Growing up in Pakistan, Khan’s academic trajectory was largely decided for him long before he stepped into a university classroom. Students who performed well were funneled into a few options: medicine or engineering. Humanities and creative fields existed, but were much less visible, less stable, and lacked support.

“If you’re good in academics, you kind of have these three or four different areas to choose from,” Khan said. “No one was really thinking about the humanities and social sciences.”

He chose engineering simply because it was presented to him. At his college, Pakistan Institute of Engineering and Applied Science, the options narrowed even further to choosing between electrical and mechanical engineering. He enrolled in electrical engineering and stayed for four years. By the time he realized it wasn’t what he wanted to do, it felt too late to leave. There were no alternative programs to pivot toward and no visible models of what a different path could look like. He finished, but between lectures and exams, Khan made himself a private promise: If he couldn’t change direction now, he would later. He didn’t know exactly what it would be, only that it had to be different.

That promise carried him further than he expected. After graduating, Khan applied to graduate school and received a Fulbright Master's Scholarship, one of the most competitive academic awards in the world. It was, by any measure, a turning point. But it came with a condition: the funding applied only to engineering. Khan accepted.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling good about it,” he said. “I was really happy.” 

The scholarship brought him to North Carolina State University, where he enrolled in a electrical engineering program. For the first time, he was in a new country, surrounded by new possibilities. And for the first time, the promise he had made to himself began to feel urgent. Within three weeks, he knew he couldn’t stay in engineering.

“I wasn’t feeling good in the classes,” Khan said. “It’s not that I wasn’t getting good grades. It was more about not feeling that I belonged in that particular space.”

Changing direction wasn’t close to simple. His scholarship, his visa status, and his academic standing were all tied to engineering. Walking away from the program meant sorting through layers of bureaucracy, uncertainty, and risk. But the alternative, staying, felt worse. A conversation with a friend, Hammad Abbasi, helped clarify the stakes. 

“People die to get an opportunity to come to the U.S.,” Khan recalled him saying. “If you don’t make the most of it, that will be a disservice to yourself.”

So Khan started looking. He searched through course catalogs and program descriptions, looking for something that felt even slightly aligned with the interests he had carried privately for years. That’s when he found it: a master’s program in technical communication. He had never heard of the field before.

“I was like, the name seems interesting,” he said. “Then I started looking into it.” 

Technical communication, as Khan described it, is the practice of translating complexity into clarity; explaining scientific or technical processes in language that everyday people can understand. It was, in many ways, exactly the bridge he had been searching for: a space where his engineering background could coexist with his instinct for writing. More importantly, it showed him that the divide he had experienced growing up, the separation between STEM fields and the humanities, wasn’t as fixed as it had seemed.

“I saw people with backgrounds in engineering and computer science coming here to learn writing and communication,” Khan said. “That helped me understand this is not a path that is unheard of.”

With support from faculty and approval from the Fulbright program, Khan made the switch. He went on to complete his master’s degree and later earned a Ph.D. in communication, rhetoric, and digital media, building a career at the intersection of technical expertise and human understanding. Now, as an assistant professor of teaching in the School of Writing, Literature, and Film, he brings that same intersection into the classroom.

Khan often teaches engineering students. People who, not long ago, were sitting where he once sat. He recognizes the mindset, the problem-solving approaches, and oftentimes black-and-white thinking. Because of that, he’s able to meet them in a way that feels relatable. 

“When I tell them that I have a background in engineering, they feel like they are learning from someone who knows what it feels like,” he said. 

His teaching pushes beyond familiarity. He asks students not just to explain what they’ve built, but why it matters, who it affects, and what its consequences might be. In an age defined by rapid technological development, Khan sees technical communication as more necessary than ever.

“There are a lot of things that are in a black box,” he said. “People may not know what’s going on inside, but they need to understand the impact.” 

That belief shapes not only how he teaches but how he thinks about the future of his field. He’s particularly interested in closing the gap he once felt so strongly; the distance between technical disciplines and the humanities.

Today, it’s a gap he’s actively working to close, making that path more visible and accessible for others.

Image

Matt Derhalli with former OSU basketball player and NBA Champion Gary Payton II,'23

By Hoku Tiwanak, CLA Student Writer - May 19, 2026

Matt Derhalli, ‘15, grew up in Tualatin, Oregon, where the Portland Trail Blazers were the “connective tissue” between family, friends, and just about everything else. Little did he know that his fandom and  love for the game would unexpectedly translate into a future career.

Some of his earliest memories are tied to the electric atmosphere of the Rose Garden, now called the Moda Center. Sitting among thousands of Blazers fans, he felt drawn to the environment. “It’s rare to walk into a room with 20,000 people who all share the same passion,” he said. “That sense of community stood out to me very early on.”

Wanting to work in the professional sports world in some capacity, Derhalli had the foresight to get involved early. In high school, he job-shadowed longtime Blazers play-by-play broadcaster, Mike Barrett, ‘91. That connection would later lead to a student assistant role in communications for the Oregon State athletics department. Attending OSU was always in the cards, given his family had always been Beaver fans, but the opportunity to start gaining professional experience in sports right away really solidified his decision.  

Derhalli started as a business major, but after spending time in his communications role, he realized he wanted his coursework to better reflect the work he was doing with Beaver athletics. Switching majors, he said, allowed him to “push in one direction” and fully invest in the skills he wanted to build.

“Communication is everything,” he said. “To communicate well, you also have to know how to write well.” He ultimately pursued a degree in new media communications (NMC), now called digital communication arts, with a minor in writing. 

Supporting Derhalli in his decision to switch majors and through the rest of the NMC program was former liberal arts advisor Louie Bottaro. 

“I can count on one hand the teachers and professors who changed my life, and Louie was certainly one of them,” remembered Derhalli. “He pushed me to make that leap and go all in on this career.”

Derhalli described being in the NMC in the early 2010s,  when the media landscape felt like it was changing daily, as being “at the right place at the right time.” 

“Work and school were running alongside one another,” recalled Derhalli. “I would be learning about a new platform or technology in my classes, then using it in my job.”

Through a connection with former OSU basketball player and College of Liberal Arts alumnus Lamar Hurd, ‘06, Derhalli’s first major step into professional sports media came during the summer of his junior year, when he interned with ROOT Sports Rocky Mountain, the former television partner of the Colorado Rockies. It was his first true immersion into daily broadcast production, and it affirmed to him that he was on the right path.

Just a few months later in early 2015, he landed a marketing and communications role with the New York Mets while still finishing his final term at OSU. The transition from college student to full-time professional wasn’t easy. Moving across the country, never having been to New York City, while still finishing his classes, was a steep learning curve and a major culture shift. The Mets went on to make the World Series that season, for the first time since 2000.

“You get to the thing you’ve been working toward, and suddenly you’re all in,” he said. “You have to grow up quickly.” 

With all of his professional experience in the baseball world, Derhalli believed that working in basketball seemed unlikely, but then, an entry-level role at the National Basketball Association opened, and Derhalli went all in. He had applied to and didn’t get a summer internship at the NBA years prior, even getting former Trail Blazers legend and NBA Hall of Famer Bill Walton to write him a letter of recommendation. He was not going to let this opportunity pass. He called all of his contacts, trying to find out more information and look for an “in.” After a series of challenging interviews, he got it. 

His first role was working in the broadcasting department for the NBA’s minor league, called the G League. Now in his 11th season, Derhalli serves at the intersection of storytelling and strategy for the entire NBA. As Director of Broadcasting Partnerships, Derhalli works closely with broadcasters like ESPN, NBC, and Amazon to manage day-to-day production and coordinate access to players, coaches, and behind-the-scenes moments.

His role is about balance; he helps maximize compelling broadcast content while ensuring teams and players feel respected and comfortable. He describes himself as a bridge between the league, the networks, and the stories fans see on screen. Derhalli is heavily involved in the day-to-day execution of broadcasts — coordinating microphones, cameras, interviews, and other production elements — while also driving strategy focused on innovation, maximizing team and player participation, and advocating for broadcast partners to continue elevating and growing the NBA’s overall television product. Much of Derhalli’s focus is also on managing the day-to-day relationship with ESPN, across game and studio coverage, broadcast access, planning, and collaboration around marquee events, such as All-Star Weekend, the NBA Finals, the NBA Draft and Summer League, among others.

One of his many career highlights is the 2020 NBA Bubble during the COVID-19 Pandemic. Derhalli spent 107 days inside the controlled environment, helping build and operate one of the most unprecedented setups in sports history.

“We built this unique community, almost like an NBA utopia,” he said. The experience gave him rare, close-up access to players and teams, deepening relationships and a perspective few people get to have.

Even after a decade in the league, Derhalli remains excited and driven. Each season brings new challenges, new lessons, and opportunities for growth. “At the same time that I am growing professionally, I’m still growing personally,” he said. 

The NBA isn’t just a job; it’s been a lifelong passion. He credits the networking and relationships he built for opening doors and guiding his early career. “I feel a responsibility to represent where I’m from and everyone who helped me get here,” he says.

“Oregon State means a lot to me,” Derhalli finished. “It has been and always will be a huge part of my life. I still carry with me what it taught me and everything I learned through NMC.”

Image

Terry Horstman

By Taylor Pedersen, CLA Student Writer - May 20, 2026

Long before he was in press boxes and pursuing book deals, Terry Horstman, ‘11, was in his driveway, shooting baskets. The way he described his days as a child was playing basketball until dark, getting called inside, and then retreating upstairs, not to do homework, but to write.

“I would just write about basketball,” Horstman said. “It wasn’t like, ‘I love writing, I’m a writer now.’ It was just a way to spend more time with the game.”

Horstman grew up in Minneapolis, fully invested in the highs and lows of Minnesota sports, dreaming of going pro. By high school, he let go of this dream and realized that writing didn’t take him away from sports, but rather deepened his connection to them.

“It really became this tool to do anything,” he said. “It opened up other worlds.”

His path to Oregon State University was, by his own admission, accidental.

“I don’t really know how I ended up there,” he said, laughing. “But I loved it from the moment I arrived.”

He arrived undeclared, then eventually ended up in the then-emerging new media communications (NMC) program, now called digital communication arts. He described it as a “startup major” in the late 2000s. Platforms like YouTube and Twitter were just beginning to change how stories were told and consumed, and Horstman was right at the start of it.

“There was so much optimism,” he said. “We were studying these things as they were being rolled out. You almost felt a part of it.”

The program offered a diverse catalog of courses in animation, A/V production, 3D modeling, media theory, entrepreneurship, and more, many of which were taught by Horstman’s favorite faculty members, including the late-Bill Lodges, as well as former professors Ron Seymour and Pam Cytrynbaum. 

But Horstman kept circling back to writing.

“If you want to be a writer,” he said, “you pretty much already are.”

He tested that philosophy at The Daily Barometer, where Horstman became a reliable reporter covering Oregon State basketball.

“I walked in, and they were like, ‘What do you want to do?’ And I said, ‘sports.’ And they said, ‘Great, go do it.’ Looking back, at any other university with a more traditional journalism program there would be students lining up and waiting for years to cover that beat.”

Horstman described the men’s basketball team at that time as “dreadful,” but that didn’t matter. It was a trial by fire: press conferences next to veteran reporters, stressful and unfamiliar deadlines, and early mistakes, including a misquote in his first story that he still remembers.

“I’ve never misquoted someone since,” he said.

More importantly, it gave him something harder to teach: confidence.

“You realize pretty quickly you have as much of a right to be there as anyone,” he said.

Horstman would go on to cover the basketball team’s 2009 championship run in the College Basketball Invitational (CBI) under first-year head coach Craig Robinson, beating the University of Texas at El Paso in a best of three series. He would also step in to help with covering other OSU athletic events, like men’s soccer and football, including the team's upset win against the No. 1 ranked University of Southern California in 2008. During the week, Horstman also co-hosted a weekly sports talk show on KBVR-FM with his sports editor at The Daily Barometer, Kye Johnson, ‘10.

After graduation, Horstman found himself bouncing between marketing and media relations internships and in several new cities like Portland, Chicago, and New York. He worked with the Portland Timbers in their inaugural MLS season, then the Trail Blazers, then U.S. Soccer, then Major League Soccer. The 2011 season Horstman interned with the Trail Blazers was especially hectic; the season began playing on Christmas Day because of an ongoing labor dispute known as a “lockout,” then, in the middle of the season, the Trail Blazers moved on from long-time prospect Greg Oden and ended up firing the head coach, Nate McMillan. A “masterclass of working in media relations,” Horstman put it. 

“It made me pretty adaptable,” he said. “But it also helped me realize what I didn’t want.”

What he didn’t want, it turned out, was to be in public relations.

“I didn’t want to be the person putting the policies together,” he said. “I wanted to be the one telling the story. There was a point where being the guy granting media credential requests just didn’t seem like a good use of my NMC degree.”

That realization brought him back to Minneapolis and back to school. He decided to take the jump and commit fully to writing, by pursuing an M.F.A. in creative writing at Hamline University in 2016, while also working simultaneously in the university’s administration. During that time, he co-founded a sports literary magazine called the Under Review with colleague Meghan Maloney-Vinz, while receiving valuable web-design guidance from former classmate JP Bertram, ‘11.

“The look and feel, as well as the content, was truly inspired by my time at OSU,” said Horstman. “While in NMC, I remember my peers were making movies and creating video games and, truthfully, I thought that there was nothing original that I could create. Launching a creative magazine with a sports slant was not something I thought about then, but it’s been so fulfilling to be the editor for the Under Review.”

Today, Horstman teaches creative writing in the Twin Cities and at the University of Wisconsin-River Falls and covers the Minnesota Lynx, Minneapolis’ WNBA team, for the women’s sports publication The IX Sports. He’s also under contract with the University of Minnesota Press to write a book chronicling this season of Lynx basketball , inspired by many of the titles he read while falling in love with books years ago, but especially Pulitzer Prize winning reporter David Halberstam’s 1981 book The Breaks of the Game about the Trail Blazers 1979 - 1980 season. For the Lynx, this season is going to be a special one; it’s the 30th anniversary of the WNBA, and the first under a new collective bargaining agreement, and the Lynx’s coach, Cheryl Reeve, is on the doorstep of breaking the all-time wins record.

The currently untitled Lynx book will be Horstman’s second book-length publication. His essay collection, This is Where the Fantasy Begins: an ode to Michael Jordan’s Playground was published in 2025 by Lion Bridge Publishing. 

“I love sports because they’re a perfect container for stories,” he said. “They explain the human condition in a lot of ways.”

He’s less interested in wins and losses than in what surrounds them: the history of the Lynx organization, its ties to the Minneapolis community, and the evolution of women’s sports.

“There’s been a lot of progress,” he said. “And still a lot more to go.”

To Horstman, the worlds of teaching, journalism, and creative writing naturally overlap.

“Nothing makes you better at writing than having to explain it to a room full of students,” he said.

There’s a running joke among writers, he added: at some point, you realize you’ve assigned yourself homework for the rest of your life.

“It never goes away,” he said. “But if you love it, that’s the point.”

Alongside his reporting about Minneapolis sports, Horstman is still closely connected with OSU athletics. In 2021, Horstman started Belligerent Beavs, a podcast all about OSU athletics, with Bertram and another former classmate Benny Wehage, '11.  

Ask Horstman how he defines success now, and the answer is not sales numbers, not awards, but instead, looking at something and knowing you gave it everything you had. In an industry increasingly driven by profit, for Horstman, the work still matters most: showing up to the page, day after day, with energy and intent.

“You can’t control who reads it,” he said. “You can only control how you write it.”

Back in that Minneapolis driveway, the goal was to keep playing for as long as possible. These days, the medium has changed, but the instinct and the passion remain the same.

Image

Sierra Lever

By Hoku Tiwanak, CLA Student Writer - May 11, 2026

College of Liberal Arts alumna Sierra Lever, ‘12, recently launched Category 1 Entertainment, a company that helps artists shape the marketing rollouts for their albums and tours while thinking beyond traditional promotion. Her goal is to get artists to expand their influence not just as musicians, but as cultural voices. “What other gifts can they share with the world?” Lever said.

In today’s music industry, where thousands of songs are released every day, breaking through the noise takes more than a radio feature or tour dates. Lever believes artists need a strategy that spans social media, livestreams, in-real-life experiential moments, partnerships, and storytelling across platforms.

Her entrepreneurial move came after nearly five years at Amazon Music, where she was the Head of Hip-Hop and R&B. She worked directly with artists and their teams to develop partnerships, livestream events, and promotional campaigns designed to attract and retain listeners on the platform.

Lever’s career in bringing artists and audiences together started years earlier. At just 17, Lever described herself as a “party promoter.” She wasn’t a musician herself, but many of her friends were. Instead of performing, she found a different role in the music ecosystem, bringing people together and creating spaces where artists could shine.

“Commonality over music tastes is what built my community of friends,” said Lever. “Even though I didn’t sing or play an instrument, I loved showing off their talents and supporting them.”

She started booking nightclubs in Portland with local and regional musicians, often pooling money with friends to secure venues. Lever quickly learned that credibility mattered. She would arrive prepared with a DJ set and a detailed plan for the night, negotiating with venue managers about ticket prices and profit splits.

“The biggest challenge was figuring out pricing,” she recalled. Booking venues was expensive, so she often scheduled events on weekdays when costs were lower.

Portland’s creative culture helped shape her vision. While the arts scene in the city was diverse and thriving, Lever saw an opportunity within hip-hop since its presence was much lower at the time. “There were so many talented musicians,” she said. “I wanted to help bring them to the rest of the world.”

One of her early mentors was OG One, a Portland DJ closely connected to the city’s music community. Lever also credits Self Enhancement Inc. with helping her see broader possibilities for her future. The Portland-based program supports youth from underserved communities through young adulthood, including organizing college visits. 

Through the program, Lever visited Oregon State University for the first time. The campus in Corvallis felt like the right distance from home; close enough to stay connected to Portland but far enough to push herself into new opportunities.

At OSU, Lever majored in new media communications (NMC), now called digital communication arts, because she was drawn to varied aspects of storytelling, media production, and television. The NMC program provided all the foundational knowledge she was looking for to enter into the entertainment and events industry. Skills from hands-on courses on proper lighting placement and sound design could be applied to create better events, while classes on technical writing and media law gave her a leg up on the business side.

She continued to put on local events while being an active member of the Black Student Union and working at the Lonnie B. Harris Black Cultural Center on campus, as well as the ticketing office for OSU Athletics. 

During her senior year, Lever served as festival coordinator for the Memorial Union Program Council, where she helped organize large campus events. One of the biggest challenges she faced was advocating for hip-hop artists to perform on campus. “It wasn’t always easy to get hip-hop on the lineup,” she said. “But I kept fighting for it because I knew what students like myself would want to hear.”

After months of planning, Lever successfully booked Macklemore and Ryan Lewis to perform for OSU’s Flat Tail Festival (Dam Jam) in 2012 on the Memorial Union Quad, drawing a crowd of more than 10,000 people. The lineup she booked was also inclusive to the wide variety of music tastes students held, including artists from folk rock, R&B, pop, and rap. 

She also partnered with another OSU student, Matt Dagger, on campus to organize a concert featuring Bay Area hip-hop legend Too $hort at the Benton County Fairgrounds. The event was hosted to honor a friend and OSU student-athlete, Fred Thompson of Richmond, California, who passed away earlier that year. Lever was the event’s co-organizer and lead for talent relations, which also included driving Too $hort and Thompson’s parents to and from the airport, as well as organizing hotel accommodations and much more. 

While at OSU, another critical mentor entered Lever’s life, concert promoter Ibeth Hernandez. Hernandez booked artists at major Portland venues like the Roseland Theater and McMenamins Crystal Ballroom. Hernandez allowed Lever to attend events, interview artists, and troubleshoot problems during concerts. “Shadowing her work showed me what was possible; I got the backstage experience and opportunity to talk to artists and others within the industry,” Lever said.

After graduating from OSU, Lever stayed in Portland and took a job at an events agency before transitioning to Nike as a contractor working in event coordination. The job market of the early-2010s continued to be tough to navigate and Lever wasn’t breaking into the industry as quickly she felt she could. 

“I was looking more in TV production jobs at the time and they just weren’t appearing,” shared Lever. “At the same time, I felt that there was so much more to learn about the entertainment and sports industries.” 

She ended up pursuing a master’s degree in sport venue and event management at Syracuse University in upstate New York. The program allowed her to explore both sports and entertainment production in detail. From managing event budgets to camera positioning, Lever learned more about operational strategies that are extremely important in her role today.

While in graduate school, Lever applied for an internship at the National Academy of Recording Arts & Sciences, Inc. (Recording Academy), the organization behind the Grammy Awards. An avid music listener growing up, she always watched and wanted to work for the Grammys. She had applied to the internship before as an undergraduate without success, but decided to try again, this time with a master’s degree under her belt.

After submitting her application, Lever started searching for any possible way to connect with someone at the Recording Academy. One day, while digging through the internet for contacts, she came across an employee’s email address on an old Tumblr post, not really expecting a reply. She decided to send a message anyway and eventually landed an interview a week before the Grammy Awards.

Her story really impressed one of the Recording Academy’s representatives. She secured an internship with the Los Angeles chapter, which was an experience Lever describes as “unforgettable,” the internship required her to rotate through the Recording Academy’s many departments. During awards season specifically, she handled submissions from record companies representing artists like Adele and Sam Smith, then organized listening sessions with voting members of the academy. 

“I really enjoyed my time there and amongst serious music lovers like myself,” Lever said. “But it was a grueling internship. I think I rotated through a handful of departments over the course of a year. I got exposed to teams handling aspects of the music business that I was attracted to and others that I wasn’t interested in.”

“This is a tough industry to break into and I began to really think, ‘how am I going to survive here and make a living?’ I was only there for a year, but there were other interns and temps who had been rotating for years. That year, I think I discovered more about myself than ever before.”

Securing that first full-time gig in the entertainment industry proved challenging, but Lever would go on to work with major players in the music industry, including the Los Angeles Philharmonic, Capitol Records, Motown Records, and Columbia Records. Eventually, she joined Amazon Music, where she served as a key liaison between hip-hop artists and the music side of the tech giant.

She moved up to working with artists and teams of Kendrick Lamar, Beyonce, and Erykah Badu’s of the world. Lever built partnerships with artists and their teams while developing strategies to grow Amazon Music’s audience. The goal was to attract new listeners and retain existing subscribers through exclusive performances, livestreams, and promotional campaigns.

One of her projects included negotiating a livestream deal with Lil Wayne and his group, the Hot Boys, who had not performed together in over 15 years. She also worked on partnerships tied to major cultural moments, including a livestream connected to Kendrick Lamar’s “Pop Out” concert.

After nearly five years with the company, she wanted to create something she could truly call her own. Her new venture, Category 1 Entertainment, focuses on helping artists plan and execute marketing strategies for album releases and tours. Lever says the music landscape today is more competitive than ever, especially how social media has also transformed the industry.

“Ten years ago, it was more about radio and TV appearances,” she said. “Now it’s about a full 360-degree strategy across platforms.” Through Category 1 Entertainment, Lever hopes to help artists think beyond traditional promotion.

“I’m so grateful for all of the experiences I’ve had, including in NMC. I’m constantly inspired by other people who hustle and go after it. It was the right time for me to expand and execute on all of the ideas I’ve been holding onto.”

Lever continues to be a mover and shaker in Los Angeles in the wider-music industry, landing her recently on Billboard’s 40 Under 40 list and on Rolling Stone’s Voices of Influence.

For students hoping to break into the entertainment industry, her advice is to take the leap and be resourceful. “Create things on campus or in your community and always put your best foot forward,” she said. “Seek opportunities in entertainment hubs like Los Angeles and New York, even if it means leaving your comfort zone.”

“Home is always there,” Lever said. “But you have to push yourself to go find people in new places.” Above all, she tells young creatives to hold onto their ambitions. “Protect your dreams.”

Image

Makayla Flannagan | Credit: Ahmed Rashid

By Taylor Pedersen, CLA Student Writer - May 11, 2025

Makayla Flannagan remembers the first night she slept in her freshman dorm room. Her roommates had gone out, the building was loud: doors opening, voices down the hall, but her room was quiet. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.

“All I could think was, wow,” she said. “I did it.”

It was the first time in her life she could remember enjoying taking a deep breath. Born in Portland’s Alberta District, Flannagan spent much of her childhood moving between Oregon and Alabama, navigating two very different worlds while taking on responsibilities that most teenagers never face. By the time she was in high school, she was the primary provider for her family.

Her father lives with an autoimmune disease. Her younger sister, nearly a decade behind her in age, would eventually come to depend on her daily. Her mother, who often lived in a different state, passed away when Flannagan was 17, just as college applications were due. In between, there was school, work, and survival.

“I think it taught me a different type of work ethic from a young age,” Flannagan said. “And a sense of independence that’s affected every facet of my life.”

There was no baseline to compare it to, she added. It was simply the life she knew. In Portland, she was surrounded by extended family; her father’s side, all close-knit and deeply involved in raising her. In Alabama, that network disappeared. She moved between apartments, schools, and relatives she barely knew, at one point attending four different schools in four years. Making friends, for Flannagan, became both a necessity and a skill.

“I’ve always been outgoing,” she said. “But I think moving around made me that way. I was always trying to find where I fit in.”

Alabama also introduced to her a different cultural and political environment. Church functioned as a social hub, but her family didn’t attend, placing her on the margins of community life. It was isolating, but instructive.

“It taught me a lot of tolerance,” she said. “I value being able to talk to anybody, regardless of their beliefs.”

By 17, Flannagan was working full-time as a line cook while finishing high school through a dual-enrollment program. In the kitchen, she was often the youngest person in the room, and at one job, the only woman.

“I had to fight for respect,” she said. “And I didn’t always get it.” 

The work was grueling, but it gave her something she needed: structure, independence, and distance from home. It also improved her ability to manage time, navigate conflict, and advocate for herself, all skills she would carry into college.

Additionally, Flannagan was born with spina bifida, a spinal condition typically treated at birth. But her family couldn’t afford the medical care needed, and the diagnosis came late. For years, she struggled to walk without fully understanding why and couldn’t fully walk properly until she was 15.

When she finally received surgery, the change was profound.

“The world opened up,” she remembered.“If I hadn’t gotten that treatment, I might have partial paralysis in my legs,” she said. “Healthcare is a human right. I don’t think that should be an opinion.”

The day her mother passed had an incredible impact on her as well.

"That was the worst day of my life,” Flannagan recalled. 

Following that day, she saw only two paths in front of her: one was to stay “in a bad place forever” or better herself and push through. She chose the latter, by knowing that she was going to be the only person to get herself out of those circumstances. 

She graduated early, worked, and kept moving. When she arrived at Oregon State University, stability felt almost surreal. She’d been emancipated for years and was prepared to live alone; but, for the first time, food was consistent, healthcare was accessible, and her living space was maintained. 

“I wasn’t hungry,” Flannagan said. “The bathroom gets cleaned every weekday. That was crazy to me.”

The absence of constant stress allowed something new to emerge: possibility. She didn’t have to work her first two years. She could focus on school, on friendships, on imagining a future that wasn’t defined by scarcity.

Flannagan arrived intending to study horticulture, drawn in part by her experience using cannabis-based products to manage chronic pain. Hemp, she believed, held potential as a sustainable material for textiles, construction, and medicine. Over time, she pivoted to political science instead, hoping to engage with cannabis policy from a legal and regulatory perspective. She later added minors in history and anthropology. Then, a freshman-year Holocaust history course became a turning point and sparked a greater interest in history.

“I just loved it,” she said. “I liked sitting there and taking notes. I hadn’t felt that way in other classes.”

Now, her capstone project focuses on something far removed from hemp: the criminalization of pregnancy within Alabama’s carceral system. The topic grew out of earlier conversations on medical ethics, about who is protected under the law, and about how systems define harm. She points to Alabama’s “chemical endangerment” law, which was originally intended to protect children from exposure to ingredients used to make methamphetamine, but is now increasingly applied to jailing pregnant women.

“It’s a legal loophole,” she said. “You can be charged because you’re pregnant.” 

The research is ongoing, complex, and overwhelming, but it connects so many things that have shaped her thinking: health, inequality, and the consequences of policy. 

As an ambassador for the College of Liberal Arts, Flannagan now speaks to prospective students, many of whom share aspects of her background. Her approach is direct. 

“I tell the truth,” she said. 

She talks about resources, but also about the difficulty of finding them. She shares her own experiences navigating financial insecurity and institutional barriers. She hands out materials specifically for first-generation students. For a long time, she said, she felt out of place, surrounded by peers whose families had histories with higher education. But that has changed. 

“I woke up one day and was like, what am I doing?” she said. “This is my life. I’m here just like everybody else.”

Now, she sees her background as a point of pride.

“I worked really hard to be here,” she said.

After graduation, Flannagan is considering the Peace Corps. Whatever comes next, her goals are less about a single career path and more about impact. 

She knows she won’t change systems overnight. But she believes in incremental change: in conversations, in representation, in making resources visible.

“I just want to make things less scary,” she said. “More inviting. And change how we think about ourselves.”

Image

Mary Follo | Credit: Natalia Bueno

By Jessica Krueger, CLA Student Writer - May 15, 2026

Interested in learning about how the government works? Want to make a real difference in your community? Consider taking a class with Mary Follo, a new instructor in the School of Public Policy, who teaches American political science and public policy. 

“It’s important to me that students leave with actionable knowledge,” Follo said. In her classes, students learn how to write policy memos and to present their ideas in a clear and composed way, often through debates. “At the end of the day, I want my students to be comfortable and confident speaking to others about politics,” Follo said. 

“Students should major in public policy and political science because they are the foundations of everything we do,” continued Follo . “Government regulation impacts us on a daily basis. It's important to understand that, and to understand laws and voting. If you go into policy, there are so many amazing opportunities to make lasting changes for yourself and the general public.”

Follo teaches Public Administration (PPOL 372), State and Local Politics (PS 331), Congressional Politics (PS 311), United States Government and Politics (PS 201), as well as electives on housing policy and public policy research methods. Her favorite part of teaching, Follo said, has been to witness students as they have light bulb moments, as they make interesting connections or come to understand complex concepts. 

Follo joined the School of Public Policy as an instructor in the fall of 2025 after completing her Ph.D. in political science at the University of Oregon. As a doctoral student, Follo held graduate research and teaching positions while contributing to ongoing academic and public conversations about housing policy.

Her dissertation, titled “The Politics of Placement: State Preemption of Housing Policy,” looks at how cities’ implementation (or lack there-of) of state-mandated zoning laws varies depending on a city’s size and location. Focusing her study on four cities in Oregon: Eugene, Lebanon, Baker City, and Portland, Follo explained that, when scholars try to make sense of housing policy and different perceptions of it, they often point to the urban-rural divide. In her study, however, it was actually the size of a city that mattered most, rather than its location. 

Follo hopes that her research will lead to more nuanced outcomes in housing policy. “We need to increase resources or have some kind of steps so that smaller and medium size cities aren't just forced into zoning changes that they don't have the infrastructure for,” Follo said.

When preemption occurs (that is, when the state overrides local-level policy) housing prices can increase, which negatively impacts people’s ability to rent or purchase an apartment or home. 

Prior to studying political science and housing policy at UO, Follo completed a Master of Public Policy at University of California , Irvine. After enjoying a class on land-use policy, Follo decided to focus her research on that. It helped that, having grown up in southern California where there are a lot of issues regarding land use, she was relatively familiar with the subject already. Follo completed her undergraduate degree at UC Irvine as well, graduating in 2014 with a double major in criminology and psychology. 

Follo decided she wanted to pursue public policy research after interning for Orange County’s Board of Supervisors. During this experience, Follo realized she enjoyed studying politics more than she wanted to become an actual politician. “Ideally, policy is always improved, but that is not always how it works out,” Follo said. “I noticed during my internship that by the time a policy would make it through the policy cycle, it often had undergone drastic changes. I am interested in how we can overcome changes to policies—how we can take great policies and get them all the way through the policy cycle.”

In her spare time, Follo enjoys baking, beading, running, and reading. Her favorite book is Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. “It’s always relevant,” Follo said. “People are always dealing with the same problems.” Follo also recommends The Running Ground: A Father, a Son, and the Simplest of Sports, a memoir by Nicholas Thompson that reflects on the author’s relationship with his father and the joys of running.

Follo, who has been running since she was in high school, appreciates the sport’s capacities to relieve stress and build community. Like many in the Corvallis area, she enjoys hiking and trail running in the McDonald-Dunn Research forest and in the Alsea Falls and Marys Peak wilderness areas.

By Colin Bowyer, Communications Manager

Marine studies, marine biology, aquatic biology, fisheries, oceanography, and environmental sciences: What are the differences among them? With nearly ten marine-related majors on campus, it can be overwhelming for ocean-lovers when it comes time to choose a major. 

Marine studies looks at the ocean from a big-picture, humanistic perspective, blending social science with conservation, and education; marine biology focuses specifically on living plants and animals in the ocean, like fish, whales and coral; aquatic biology is similar to marine biology but includes all water environments, both saltwater and freshwater; fisheries is about managing fish and other harvestable species for food and sustainability; oceanography studies the ocean itself, its currents, chemistry, climate effects, and seafloor; and environmental sciences is broader than all of these, focusing on how air, water, land, plants, animals and humans interact, often addressing pollution, climate change and environmental protection across many ecosystems, not just the ocean.

To help you find the right pathway to a major that suits your specific interests, here are a handful of testimonials from students studying in the College of Liberal Arts (CLA), College of Earth, Ocean, and Atmospheric Sciences (CEOAS), College of Science (CoS), and College of Agricultural Sciences (AgSci).

Image

Sydney Mijo

By Halle Sheppard, CLA Student Writer - May 4, 2026

Rooted in the land and waters of Kāneʻohe, Oʻahu, Sydney Mijo’s academic and personal journey is guided by a deep sense of responsibility to community, culture, and environment. Shaped by an upbringing immersed in the ocean and local Hawaiian culture, Mijo has long understood the connection between environmental stewardship and Indigenous knowledge. 

At Oregon State University, she sought an education that honored this intersection, one that allowed her to explore environmental conservation, law, and Indigenous studies not as separate paths, but as an intertwined academic pursuit. 

From an early age, Mijo’s parents instilled within her the importance of community and rootedness in the local and Hawaiian culture. Her father, who works at Kamehameha Schools, introduced Mijo to a plethora of ocean-related hobbies such as surfing, fishing, and diving. Her mom owns and operates Koʻolau Farmers, a local plant store, and Waimānalo Feed Supply, a local agricultural and aquaponics store.

When considering where to go for college, Mijo hoped to find a program that contained an interdisciplinary blend of law, policy, and environmental conservation. To Mijo, the universities in Hawaiʻi tended to draw a strict divide between programs such as pre-law and marine biology, so she began to expand her search to the mainland to seek a broader and potentially more inclusive approach.

As recommended by a college counselor, discovering OSU College of Liberal Arts’ interdisciplinary marine studies program revealed a new possibility: one where environmentalism, Indigenous knowledge, and law could exist together. That moment reshaped her vision, marked by a willingness to leave home in order to one day return equipped to serve and uplift her community in Hawaiʻi.

“I could study law, I could do environmental work, I could do Indigenous studies. It was everything I was looking for,” shared Mijo. There was no other school where I could just create my own pathway and explore this intersectionality.”

She soon dove head first into the marine studies program with the goal of attending law school after graduating.

Driven by her desire to protect the environment, she began taking law and policy-related classes. Mijo came to the realization that public policy was not exactly what she wanted.

“I realized from my time here that the policymaking side can be such a long and enduring process. You might spend your entire life lobbying and researching and writing up one bill that may or might not get passed.” Preferring a more hands on and community-oriented approach, Mijo began to reevaluate her career trajectory and found herself inspired by her mom’s businesses.

The classes she was taking showed that her mother’s role as a local business owner created the community impact she wanted to make, but in a more personal way. “Learning about law and Indigenous studies at OSU, I would talk to her and realize that everything she's doing as a local business owner is pretty much what all these policies we're trying to create and push for are doing, but in a very local and direct way.”

Her mom’s business, Koʻolau Farmers, is more than a plant store, it’s a living classroom rooted in care for the land and community. Her mom bought the business a little over a year ago and changed the company’s business and community goals to represent their family’s community and cultural values. The space now centers endemic and native Hawaiian plants, including seedlings and medicinal plants, to better reflect a commitment to lāʻau lapaʻau. Through workshops and hands-on educational classes, Koʻolau Farmers hopes to raise awareness around traditional Hawaiian healing practices and ensure they’re more accessible to the wider public. 

Drawn to her mom’s intentional steps to revitalize Hawaiian practices, Mijo decided she wanted to use the skills she developed at OSU to still pursue law, but away from focusing on public policy and more towards business. “Pivoting my law career to support small businesses that promote and empower native Hawaiian culture, native Hawaiian plants, and local agriculture felt like a natural shift.”

Ethnic studies professor Patricia Fifita’s mentorship played a central role in shaping Sydney Mijo’s OSU experience, offering both guidance and a deeply supportive space grounded in Indigenous studies. Fifita encouraged Mijo to explore her history and interests, reinforcing her plan to return to Hawaiʻi. Through the MAST capstone, Mijo centered her project on her mom’s new plant business, approaching it as a form of legal aid by developing a business strategy, identifying potential legal challenges, and researching areas such as plant procurement and food handling. The project became both academic and personal, resulting in concrete recommendations that could strengthen and expand the business while honoring its cultural and community-based mission.

Mijo's time at OSU also helped her retain and showcase Hawaiian culture. A key member of the student group Hui O Hawaiʻi, as well as a Hula instructor and dancer, she took her involvement and leadership even further by organizing the 71st Annual Hōʻike, “From Mauka to Makai: Ka Moʻolelo O Naupaka” as the Hōʻike Show Coordinator. The Lūʻau and Hōʻike at OSU is an annual celebration of Hawaiian culture with over 200 dancers participating in the performance.

While initially finding it difficult to leave home, Mijo knows that OSU was the right choice and where she needs to be in order to go home to serve and uplift her community in the best way that she can. “I need to be here first,” she stated. “I needed to leave my home to be able to come back and better protect and serve my community.”

Her mother’s businesses offered a pathway home, and she now hopes to eventually take over the family business. This is not something that she can merely inherit though; she must be equipped to take on the family legacy. Her mother recognizes the importance of pursuing education and encourages Mijo to attend law school, to learn more about the relevant policies and issues she will need to be aware of in running and expanding a business. Mijo will be attending University of Hawaiʻi William S. Richardson School of Law in the fall.

Throughout her time at OSU, Mijo explains how much stronger her experience has made her. “One of the big words that has stuck with me throughout my time at Oregon State has been resiliency. I think that's something I've learned not only from my professors, but also my mentors.” Throughout her time at OSU, Mijo is grateful to have been supported by many people, including Barry Evans, her supervisor at Dixon Recreational Center.

Balancing her capstone, job as a student worker at Dixon Recreational Center, and classes, along with her leadership roles within Hui O Hawaiʻi, Mijo has found resiliency to be a key trait in ensuring her success. She plans to take these lessons from OSU into an ever modernizing world, and bring change to the local community of Hawaiʻi.

Image

Brenda Olvera participating in a masterclass at the Northwest American Choral Directors Association in March 2026

By Hoku Tiwanak, CLA Student Writer - April 29, 2026

Brenda Olvera, a senior in music education specializing in choral instruction, has built her college career around voice, community, and leadership. As a first-generation student with roots in El Salvador and Mexico, singing has guided her through new spaces and opportunities. “I look back and think, if my high school self could see me now, she would not believe it,” said Olvera.

Growing up, music was deeply tied to faith and family. Her mother, raised in a devout Christian environment, grew up singing constantly. Olvera remembers nights when her family would sing psalms before bed. 

“All musical instruction was taught orally,” Olvera explained. “My family never learned to read music or went to formal lessons.” 

Her first real exposure came in middle school, when she stepped into a choir room during a high school campus visit. “It was the last stop on the tour, but it changed everything for me,” she said. “Once I stepped into that choir room, I knew that's where I needed to be.”

Olvera leaned into choral music specifically because of its intimacy. The human voice, she believes, is unlike any other instrument. “Your own breath and tone associated with your voice is so special.” Singing in a choir isn’t just about harmony; it’s about unity. “You’re making art together,” she said. “Music explains things and makes you feel things that can’t be described in any other way.” 

Now a senior in the School of Visual, Performing, and Design Arts, Olvera had the opportunity to apply for a masterclass with the Northwest American Choral Directors Association (NWACDA). This regional honor award entails conducting a choral group in front of an audience, then, receiving live feedback from a guest clinician, typically a nationally-known top conductor. She remembers submitting her application at the last minute. To her surprise, she was accepted and performed at NWACDA’s conference in Tacoma, Washington, this past March. 

“That moment really made me realize how far I have come and affirmed to me I really do know what I am doing,” she said. 

Receiving her acceptance email “felt like I won the lottery,” said Olvera. The recognition wasn’t just about accomplishment. It was validation of years spent finding her rhythm in a world that felt unfamiliar. 

At the ACDA conference, Olvera conducted two pieces, guiding a choir of singers she had never met before. “It was cool how everyone clicked,” she said.

Her approach to conducting is fluid and expressive, focused on letting the music connect the group. One of her pieces, by Eric Whitacre, based on a Robert Frost poem, was quite magical on stage. “I wanted to let the music flow through me,” she said. “I’ve never experienced that sort of connection before; it's a feeling that is still unmatched.”

As a student teacher at a middle school in Salem, she works with young singers navigating both music and identity. “Classroom management can be hard,” she admitted. “I love their humor and liveliness, so I have to practice ways to control the environment without taking away their personality and fun.”

Through mentorship and training, especially in nonverbal communication techniques, she’s learning how to balance structure with empathy. “Kids want to know they are cared for,” she said, especially in a Title 1 school setting. “They want to be heard.”

Olvera builds students' confidence by getting to know them, joking with them, and creating a space where they feel safe to express themselves. She understands that middle school is a time of change vocally, emotionally, and socially. Instead of focusing solely on perfection, she emphasizes growth, effort, and self-expression. “I just ask that they try their best and put in good effort. I am not worried about perfection,” she says.

In her classroom, she’s exploring ways to connect music to broader cultural and historical themes by helping students use their voices not just to sing, but to tell stories and raise awareness.

Singing boosts serotonin and dopamine, chemicals linked to happiness and well-being. Olvera shared that scientific research indicates that when choir members sing together, their heart rates synchronize, speeding up and slowing down in unison. Music brings people together; it’s about connection, finding your voice, and helping others find theirs.

Image

Razan Ghazzawi | Credit: Blake Brown

By Selene Lawrence, CLA Student Writer - May 4, 2026

As a young community organizer and activist, Razan Ghazzawi launched a blog documenting their daily life and commentary on human rights movements in Syria and its surrounding countries. Their work would span over a decade, during which time they would return to school to switch fields, make international news, and witness the start of a revolution. Now, long retired from blogging, Ghazzawi has made a name for themself as an international, interdisciplinary scholar-practitioner. From working in Syria, Lebanon, the United Kingdom, and the United States, Ghazzawi has shown that no matter where life takes them, their voice will never be silenced.

Ghazzawi grew up in Damascus. Having been an introverted child, they discovered early on their great love for writing. It seemed natural that they would go on to study English literature for their undergraduate degree. However, the class sizes and digital grading system made it difficult for Ghazzawi to explore their potential as a scholar. “It was very computerized. The idea of the class was not really applicable; we’d have lectures, and in each lecture, there would be thousands of students. I did not learn how to write an essay, how to write a critique—all of the things you usually learn as a first year in college,” said Ghazzawi. “My parents really pushed me towards my graduate studies. I owe it to them that I’m here today.” Shortly after finishing their bachelor’s degree at the University of Damascus, Ghazzawi began to pursue what would be their first master’s degree.

Traveling frequently between Lebanon and Syria, they studied part-time at the University of Balamand. Ghazzawi’s master’s degree in comparative literature centered on Arab-Jewish Iraqi literature in Israel and the work of author Shimon Ballas. Their studies drew upon their involvement in activism, as well as their personal history and place in society as a Syrian-Palestinian. “Being Syrian-Palestinian, I was particularly interested at that time in connecting to my Palestinian heritage,” Ghazzawi said. “My mom is Syrian, and my dad is kind of assimilated into Syrian culture, but my grandfather is someone who has always talked to me about being Palestinian. I lived with him for a few months when I did my first year of college. It was something that shaped that part of my identity.”

In the summer of 2006, while Ghazzawi was in grad school, war broke out in Lebanon between the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) and Hezbollah, a Shi’a political party and militia formed in response to Israeli invasion during the Lebanese Civil War. In an attempt to bargain for the release of Lebanese citizens imprisoned during Israel’s long-term occupation of South Lebanon, Hezbollah staged an armed abduction of two IDF soldiers, killing eight Israeli soldiers in the process. The IDF then initiated a large-scale artillery and airstrike attack, marking the start of what would become a 34-day war between the two parties. 55 Israeli and 1,109 Lebanese citizens were killed in the conflict, with most Lebanese deaths being civilian noncombatants. Most attacks were concentrated on Lebanese civilian infrastructure, including homes, water, facilities, and hospitals. Some of the greatest destruction occurred in Dahieh, a Beirut suburb just an hour’s drive down the coast from the University of Balamand.

It was at this time that Ghazzawi started blogging. “Blogging started to become the new big thing; today it would be like TikTok or Instagram,” Ghazzawi explained. “I saw that there was an opportunity to talk about settler colonialism and the war against South Lebanon. At that time, a lot of us looked up to bloggers in the region, so I started blogging as part of that community.” As time passed, Ghazzawi’s blogging became an important component of their existing work as a queer feminist activist and Syrian Palestinian in Lebanon. But back home in Syria, pressures were brewing, and a cataclysmic change was hurtling toward the life Ghazzawi was building.

In March 2011, an escalating violent crackdown on protesters invoked the start of the Syrian Revolution. Over the preceding months, a number of demonstrations had been held calling for an end to the country’s state of emergency and operation under emergency laws, which had been established nearly 50 years prior with the coup that allowed the Ba’ath Party to take control of the government and dissolve other political parties. In 1970, Minister of Defense Hafez al-Assad seized power and became Syria’s President, marking the start of the Assad Regime. The period was marked by mass human rights violations, including widespread arrests and detentions, physical, sexual, and psychological torture of detainees; abductions and forced disappearances, violence against protesters with denial of medical assistance, and a ban on public gatherings.

With the start of the revolution, activists became disproportionately targeted victims of state violence and arbitrary arrests. During this time, Ghazzawi joined the Syrian Center for Media and Freedom of Expression (SCM) as a media officer. “I documented the detention and imprisonment of media workers, and if there were any murders targeting journalists, photographers, or filmmakers. I coordinated with a lot of those contacts as well,” they said. “I was so lucky to work in that position in Syria and be paid for it; it was like a dream. At the time, it was new territory for us. We had never lived through a revolution before. There was a lot of trial and error. I don't think it was safe for us to do that job, but we tried our best to be secure. Our manager, Mazen Darwish, did his best to think about these issues.” Ghazzawi’s blogging platform and work as a media officer led them to later publish journalistic articles on human rights in Syria with prominent news sources, including openDemocracy and Al Jazeera.

In November 2011, Ghazzawi was arrested on the Jordan-Syria border on their way to attend a workshop on media freedom organized by human rights organizations in Jordan. They were imprisoned for nearly a month. Shortly after their release, Ghazzawi was detained again, along with several of their colleagues, in a raid on SCM. “The first detention was because of my blogging and organizing on the ground. The second detention was with the center because it had been targeted,” they explained. The experience of detainment was a significant interruption to Ghazzawi’s life, but there was still another storm they would have to contend with after their release: the international media’s coverage of their arrests.

“I struggled with it, and it took me a long time to understand how to deal with it. I think I've only managed to deal with it very recently, specifically at OSU, to be honest,” Ghazzawi said. “I felt like a lot of the attention was focused on the individual me rather than the collective movement. It was very personifying—I think that’s how mainstream media works, trying to make icons so people can relate to the revolution rather than actually focus on the revolution as being something that was very decentralized but still collective and collaborative across classes and religions. That was a beauty that was not represented, and I think that created some tension in the revolutionary community itself. With my portrayal and how the international media represented me, there was a lot of emphasis on me having been born in the U.S. and being queer. They outed me. When I was in prison, I didn’t know what was happening; it was very disturbing to see when I was released.”

After being released from their second detention, Ghazzawi moved north to Kafr Nabl. The town had been liberated by the local community and the Free Syrian Army in late 2012, and would remain liberated until Al-Qaeda seized control of the area in 2014. There, they organized a support program for displaced children. In December 2013, Syria’s activist community suffered a devastating blow with the abduction of four prominent human rights defenders—later referred to as the Douma Four—by unidentified masked gunmen: Samira al-Khalil, Razan Zaitouneh, Wael Hammadeh, and Nazem Hammadi. All four activists were members of the SCM. Razan Zaitouneh, founder of the Violations Documentation Center in Syria, was a mentor and essential inspiration to Ghazzawi’s activist work. The fate of the Douma Four is still unknown today. 

As time went on, it was all Ghazzawi could do to pick themself up and try to move in a meaningful direction, even if that meant letting go of their online presence. “I did not blog much during the revolution,” they confessed. “Staying alive and staying safe was taking a lot of energy, and then when I was exiled, there was also the labor of surviving exile. I was burnt out. I stopped blogging after that.” Exiled from Syria, Ghazzawi lived for a period in Lebanon, and then in Turkey, before moving to Europe, where they eventually began to build an academic home for themself in the United Kingdom. “I did not want to be part of the NGO-ization of the revolution,” they explained. “That term was used by the Palestinian anthropologist Islah Jad, who talked about the individualization of the Palestinian movement after the Oslo Accords. We’ve seen that kind of thing happen after a social movement where a hierarchy of those who are experts or organizers is created. I did not want to be a part of that. That’s why I shifted to academic work.” In 2016, Ghazzawi earned a second master’s degree from the University of Leeds, where their focus on gender studies allowed them to research queerness in the social context of revolutions. Soon after, they began their Ph.D. in gender studies at the University of Sussex.

 “The first year was hard. During my master’s, I was really struggling with being homesick, and feeling like, ‘what am I doing here?’ But with my Ph.D., it was very supportive, I didn’t feel alone,” they said. “My cohort and the working groups I met during conferences were all part of creating this community that would offer a lot of mentorship and support, especially my supervisors, Malcolm James and Cynthia Weber. They really appreciated my experience and my reflection about my activism in Syria, which I wrote about for my Ph.D.” Ghazzawi is currently in the process of reworking their Ph.D. research into a monograph that unites queer theory and ethnography. At the heart of the book are Ghazzawi’s interviews with fellow queer Syrian-Palestinians on their individual relationships with their identity while navigating checkpoints, prison, and queer exile in Syria and Lebanon. Their research also served as the subject of their article “Popular Sovereignty and Trans Mothering of Antiwar Syrian Soldiers,” published earlier this year. Other recent works include chapters in “I Will Always Be Looking For You – A Queer Anthology on Arab Art” and in OSU’s openly accessible textbook, “Resisting Gender Violence.”

“I’m hoping to make an intervention in Syrian curricula in the future,” said Ghazzawi. “I'm definitely interested in challenging mainstream ideas about citizenry, like who gets to be a citizen? What is it to be a revolutionary? Does it have to be against the government alone, or can we protest in other ways against the regime and social violence? I’m trying to shift the cisnormative or heteronormative way of thinking about revolutionaries by highlighting different kinds of dissent stories. In my book, I hold that the sex workers who I have met in prison, who were protesting the prison management, are also revolutionary and they should be considered revolutionaries. The trans women I have interviewed who were misgendered and taken in the army and asked to carry a gun and go fight on the front lines, who did not want to be a part of the war and escaped, they should not be considered today as the remnants of the regime. People like that who protest the war, who protest army officers, people who are not necessarily revolutionaries or activists the way that I was, but are still challenging everyday structures, they are also anti-military and anti-authoritarian in their own ways.” 

After graduating from the University of Sussex and completing a postdoctoral fellowship in Berlin, Ghazzawi sought out tenure-track positions so that they could continue their research while teaching. In 2023, they moved to the United States and began working as an assistant professor in Oregon State’s women, gender, and sexuality studies (WGSS) program. After spending nearly a decade in British academia, Ghazzawi has embraced the differences in OSU’s curriculum. “In WGSS, we encourage merging critical responses with reflections on personal experience,” they said. “There’s more of a conversational style in assignments, so I really enjoy that I get to know the students more. I’m also bringing bits and pieces of my work and interests to my teaching. The curriculum is more focused on American scholarship, but I discuss how it applies globally as well as in transnational contexts.” 

The past three years have marked the start of a welcome new chapter in Ghazzawi’s life and research, but, living in America, the landscape of authoritarianism and political upheaval that defined Ghazzawi’s young adulthood is far from fading into memory. Over the course of the past year, the start of the second Trump presidency has swept fear and uncertainty across much of the population, especially given wavering democratic structures, increases in state-sanctioned violence, and widespread attacks on LGBTQ rights. For Ghazzawi, the pursuit of knowledge and justice go hand in hand. “I feel like I have a lot to offer because I've already been through authoritarianism; they definitely have different contexts and circumstances, but there's a lot to learn from Global South cultures and movements,” they said. “I think that it's okay to have that shift of the hierarchy, because the U.S. has always been the center of knowledge. Now, maybe it's time to collaborate more and to hear from other perspectives.” Ghazzawi describes their scholarship as building on a cross-cultural knowledge base of revolutionary theory and action. Even outside of the classroom, activism remains a meaningful outlet in their life. 

“I love being a part of organizing,” Ghazzawi said, “and I'm feeling I want to be part of it, but it’s only my third year here, so I'm still kind of new at the same time. I'm starting to build my community and my networks. I'm trying to continue my political activism in a different way, but of course, that's going to take time, and it's going to look different from before. I'm very inspired by the anti-ICE movement and activism, and by the student organizing and Palestinian encampments. I feel like there needs to be more opportunities and space created on campus for those students to be visible in their movement and to bring back this kind of energy and mobilization.”

In December 2024, Bashar al-Assad fled Syria and was granted asylum in Russia, marking the fall of the Assad regime. Ahmed al-Sharaa became Syria’s new president in January 2025 and implemented a transitional government two months later. In the summer of 2025, Ghazzawi finally returned to their home country for the first time in 12 years. “I've seen people I haven't seen in a long time,” they shared. “I spent time with my family there; that was beautiful. I wanted to go to my friend's funeral, but I couldn't. I just felt it was too much for me. I think next summer is going to be different, but for now, I’m focused on seeing friends and trying to reestablish and repair the connections that we've lost because of geography and time differences.” However, the end of the Assad regime has not ended sociopolitical turmoil in Syria. The new government has brought about new worries for the Syrian people as they continue the fight for justice and freedom. While al-Sharaa presents himself as a moderate technocrat, his past affiliation with Al-Qaeda has brought criticism to his leadership, as have concerns about the ongoing sectarian and gender-based violence crisis.

“It's very worrying that Trump and al-Sharaa are close. People kind of see the success of al-Sharaa as a success of Trump,” Ghazzawi shared. “The talk has already started about Syria's economy being privatized. Education in Syria is public; a lot of other social services are public and state-owned. Now there's a lot of talk about privatization, of investing in Syria and the new Syrian economy and the new state. Our issue with Assad was not just authoritarianism in the political, disciplinary, and punitive form, but also as a neoliberal kind of authoritarian capitalism. This is all coming together; it's becoming an upper-class, political elite, and that has not changed. I think this is what's becoming the expense of minorities today, which we have seen with the massacres, with the kidnapping of women, and the crackdown against trans women and the LGBTQ community. This interim government has committed two massacres so far, the first in the coastal areas and the second in Sweida, two weeks after I’d been staying there. I had visited a friend, her husband, and her kids; she was my colleague and my classmate, so it was beautiful to see her again. Then the massacre happened, and she had to leave the village. We’re trying to see how she can apply for asylum. I don't have any hope whatsoever for the new government. I'm very much feeling that the revolution is not over yet.”

Sources:

Abouzeid, Rania. "Is Syria About to Jettison Its Emergency Law?” Israeli attacks on civilian infrastructure." TIME, 27 Mar. 2011, time.com/archive/6956986/is-syria-about-to-jettison-its-emergency-law/.

Amnesty International. "Israel/Lebanon: Deliberate destruction or “collateral damage”? Israeli attacks on civilian infrastructure." Amnesty International, 22 Aug. 2006, www.amnesty.org/en/documents/mde18/007/2006/en/.

Amnesty International. "Israel/Lebanon: Out of all proportion – civilians bear the brunt of the war." Amnesty International, 21 Nov. 2006, www.amnesty.org/en/documents/mde02/033/2006/en/.

Human Rights Watch. "No Room to Breathe: State Repression of Human Rights Activism in Syria." Human Rights Watch, 16 Oct. 2007, www.hrw.org/reports/2007/syria1007/3.htm.

Human Rights Watch. "Why They Died: Civilian Casualties in Lebanon during the 2006 War." Human Rights Watch, 5 Sept. 2007, www.hrw.org/report/2007/09/05/why-they-died/civilian-casualties-lebanon….