School of Language, Culture and Society

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Jennifer Linares-Espinoza

By Ellie Webb-Bowen, CLA Student Writer - June 19, 2025

Emigrating from Mexico to Oregon, Jennnifer Linares-Espinoza’s parents always emphasized the importance of getting a quality education. Now a first-generation student at OSU’s College of Liberal Arts, Linares-Espinoza is earning a degree that will help her support college students during their own academic journeys. 

After Growing up in SE Portland, Linares-Espinoza enrolled in the University of Oregon (UO), but, like many first generation students, she struggled with the financial commitment of paying tuition, housing, books, etc. With support from UO’s Pathway Scholarship and a job as a residential advisor, Linares-Epinoza was able to completely cover her costs.

“My family never quite knew how they would pay for my education,” explained Linares-Espinoza. “But I was privileged enough to have their moral support and dedication to find the means to pay for my education.” 

Though, being a first generation student still came with culture shock. “Living and learning on a college campus was a completely new experience for not only me, but also for my family.” explained Linares-Espinoza. “This was a space that we all had no familiarity with, and as a child of immigrants who grew up in a strong Latin community, it was especially jarring.” 

Linares-Espinoza chose to double major in Spanish and political science, but also take on four minors, including topics that piqued her own interest: Latinx studies, legal studies, media studies, and nonprofit administration. “It was quite a bit to handle,” said Linares-Espinoza, but she attributed her success at UO to the support she received from student affairs professionals.

Linares-Espinoza found a commonality among student affairs professionals: many of whom were unaware of student services as a career path when they began their collegiate careers. Linares-Espinoza recognized the support she received from her advisors, mentors, and peers while at UO and decided she was interested in going down the same path.

 "When I worked as a resident advisor, peer mentor, peer advisor, and student orientation leader at UO, all of these experiences taught me to appreciate the different resources available at higher education institutions, as well as those who work tirelessly to serve students like me," said Linares-Espinoza. 

When looking at student affairs graduate school programs in Oregon, Linares-Espinoza found the School of Language, Culture, and Society’s College Student Services Administration (CSSA) program. What attracted her to the program was the course’s cohort-based model, where students build strong connections with a small group of peers throughout their studies. 

Also attracting Linares-Espinoza to the program was the curriculum centered around diversity, equity, and inclusion. CSSA supplies students with an intersectional, feminist, anti-racist educational foundation to help them better serve other college students in future higher-education administration capacities.

“This was exactly what I was looking for in a graduate program,” said Linares-Espinoza. “I wanted to learn more about how to support diverse students like the people who had supported me so well in undergrad.”

As an M.Ed. student, not only is Linares-Espinoza receiving her Graduate Certificate in College and University Teaching (GCCUT) and Leading and Creating Change graduate certificate, but she’s also applying what she’s learning in CSSA directly to students as a graduate teaching assistant for the University Exploratory Studies Program, an academic department for undeclared undergraduate students where she focuses on providing academic advising and teaching sections of Academic Learning Services (ALS 114/191)

Additionally, now in her second and final year, Linares-Espinoza is completing her M.Ed. final project, which is focused on threads of community and identity. After she graduates, Linares-Espinoza is looking to enter a student affairs role, applying directly what she learned in class and from her peers in the CSSA program.

“Something I really love about the cohort model is that I’ve grown close with peers and learned so much from them,” said Linares-Espinoza. “Being able to share experiences, build a learning environment, and co-create knowledge together has been an experience I won’t forget.” 

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Tihani Mitchell

By Katie Livermore, CLA Student Writer - May 28, 2025

Tihani Mitchell remembers sitting in her political science class freshman year, analyzing countless statistics of different groups. None of them included Pacific Islander and Hawaiian demographics–instead, they were included in the “other” category. Even more so, she discovered many students and faculty at OSU were unfamiliar with Hawaiian history and culture.

She returned to her dorm that day in tears. Instead of giving up, Mitchell leaned into her deep connection to her Hawaiian homeland and decided to make her own change. 

That’s exactly what she did. 

Now, Mitchell is the founder of Ka ʻIkena Hawaiʻi, an Oregon State University club that focuses on preserving and practicing the Hawaiian language. She is a third-year, first-generation student double majoring in political science and ethnic studies with a minor in Indigenous studies. 

Mitchell is from Puʻuanahulu, Hawaiʻi, raised in a multigenerational household with six other siblings, her parents, her grandparents, and great grandmother. In addition to her family were her hānai siblings, a kind of adopted family she grew up with. 

“My parents raised all of me and my siblings up to be very outspoken individuals,” Mitchell said. “They always taught us to challenge authority.”

With her outspokenness, Mitchell was exposed to activism at an early age. Her uncle was dedicated to the Land Back Movement, which focuses on advocating for returning ancestral lands in Hawaiʻi. Growing up, she would tag along with her uncle as he led workshops across the island. She recalls one workshop where they performed Kui Kalo, the action of using a rock to mash up taro to make poi. 

“We would go around the island, having classes and teaching other people of our community how to reconnect with their culture and their roots,” Mitchell said. “I was always super involved.”

These memories led her to grow her Hawaiian roots for future advocacy.

She began her education at Kealakehe, a public school in her area for elementary and middle school. When she hit seventh grade, Mitchell left the Big Island to attend the Kamehameha boarding school in Oahu–with a full-ride scholarship. 

At Kamehameha, Mitchell lived in a dorm with young women from different islands and states. 

“The school I attended was founded with the goal of providing Hawaiian students with access to higher education and the support needed to succeed,” Mitchell said. “There was a lot more access to learning things about Hawaiian language, culture, history, than like a traditional school managed by the U.S. Department of Education.”

Mitchell cheered, danced Hula and Tahitian, played rugby, basketball, and ran track throughout her school career. She continued her activism journey with friends, even camping out on Mauna Kea for 10 days during the Thirty Meter Telescope Protests of July 2019. 

“I remember that was the first and probably the most intense protest that I've been to,” said Mitchell. “I was 14, and they had the National Guard and, like, the army come because there’s an army base at the base of the mountain. They lined up in front of us with guns and stuff, and they were threatening us with sound bombs, pepper spray, and Child Protective Services.”

When it came to attending college, Mitchell initially refused to go to the mainland. She felt lucky enough to be educated about Hawaiian history and its oppression, and didn’t want to be part of communities that contributed.

“I wanted to major in Hawaiian language and Hawaiian history,” Mitchell said. “My thoughts were always, ‘Okay, I'm going to the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa. America wasn't even in my head.” 

Instead, her parents encouraged her to pursue experiences outside of Hawaiʻi for higher education. With reluctance, she agreed, and was accepted into all the schools she applied to scattered across the United States. 

OSU was the closest to home, as well as most affordable with the most to offer. Though Mitchell planned different majors for her undergraduate degree, eventually becoming a lawyer was always the goal. She landed on political science, and though many studies are Western European centric, Mitchell tailors her work on Pacific Island and Hawaiian studies. 

“When I was focusing on those things that I was most passionate about, that's when I thrived the most, and got the most support from my professors,” Mitchell said. “Having that idea that I was always able to bring it back to having to do with my identity and my experiences as a person, especially like moving from Hawaiʻi to Oregon and experiencing a completely, totally different lens of how life can be, just made it so much easier.”

Mitchell has been on the board of the People of Color (POC) in Law and Politics Club, which her friend Summer Wong founded for marginalized groups pursuing careers in law. 

On top of this, Mitchell founded her own club called Ka ʻIkena Hawaiʻi, or the “Hawaiian Experience,” focused on educating and participating in cultural practices in the States. 

“The club was meant to encapsulate the different lived experiences of Hawaiian people, both from Hawaiʻi, living in Hawaiʻi, or those that grew up in the diaspora,” Mitchell said.

The turning point of the statistics class and being “othered” led her to create spaces of discussion. Mitchell felt this hopelessness and nearly transferred to a university in Hawaiʻi. Instead, she met Dr. Patricia Fifita, assistant professor of ethnic studies in the School of Language, Culture, and Society. Dr. Fifita helped Mitchell start the club by being her adviser.  

“I know I'm not the first person to have realized this. I'm not the only person to feel like this, either,” Mitchell said. “We did find our community, and we were able to make that community for other folks that were lacking that support. So that was super awesome.”

The club is supported by other nonprofit organizations from Hawaiʻi and the Ka ʻAha Lāhui O ʻOlekona Hawaiian Civic Club of Oregon & SW Washington (KALO). KALO helped fund their first year of club events, such as a lei making workshop, or t-shirt printing, where materials were shipped to Oregon from Hawaiʻi. All club events are free to attend, whether or not attendees are Hawaiian. 

“Our responsibility is to offer space for Hawaiian and non-Hawaiian folks to learn about Hawaiian culture,” Mitchell said. “We've been doing a lot of ‘No one is illegal on stolen land’ for the recent political movements.”

With the club in full force, Mitchell found another opportunity to work with Dr. Fifita in an ethnography research project on the island of Kauaʻi. 

The project focuses on recording oral histories through interviewing members of the community in Anahola, Kauaʻi. Originally managed by the Department of Hawaiian Homelands (DHHL), the agency turned over 432 acres of pristine coastline to a local nonprofit that’s developing a restoration plan centered on Kānaka ʻŌiwi self-determination, histories, ecological health, and healing. The goal is to re-envision what the island used to be prior to colonial impact, natural disasters, and overall devastation. 

Mitchell spent last summer on Kauaʻi interviewing community members, which she now considers her favorite summer yet. 

“The whole re-envisioning process is talking to elders to see how the community used to look back in the day,” Mitchell said. “We found there was a lot of reconstructing of waterways. So folks would come in, buy, and privatize the land, which is illegal because it's DHHL–it's supposed to be for Hawaiian people.”

Those who privatized DHHL lands disturbed the natural flow of water for personal quarries and ponds on their properties. Since they lived in the mountains, this blocked water flow from reaching communities residing below them. The lack of water access led to many worries, a main one being how to extinguish brush fires if they occurred. 

Mitchell found it interesting to discover Kauaʻi through a different lens. Though she has visited plenty, she was able to put herself in a more analytical position to view into the island’s past. 

“We've done all the research, we've done all of the interviews and ethnographies and oral histories that we can do,” Mitchell said. “Now, we’re looking at how we can take all of these notes and stories from these community members and re-envision what this place can look like in the future.”

After she graduates, Mitchell plans to apply to Richardson Law School at the University of Hawaiʻi, Mānoa, to study law with a focus on land conservation and real estate. 

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Tihani would like to dedicate this piece to her parents, Regina and Coogan, for their hard work and commitment to their family. Thank you for your sacrifices, I hope to do you justice. Hoʻi hou I ka ʻiwikuamoʻo

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Katie Minich

By Taylor Pedersen, CLA Student Writer - May 28, 2025

As a doula, trainer, and researcher, Katie Minich has significantly impacted her field, most notably through the launch of what is considered the most comprehensive state-approved doula training program in Oregon. But her work extends far beyond just training doulas; it’s about reshaping the systems that support them and ensuring sustainable, community-based care.

Minich’s journey into the world of doulas began when she had three children of her own at a young age (one birthed in hospital and two out of hospital with doulas and midwifery care). After a few years of working in Southern Oregon as a doula, and later a traditional health worker (THW), she began to feel that the existing doula training programs were falling short when newly-trained doulas would come to her for advice. Most doula training programs are weekend workshops, covering just the basics of birth support, but Minich and her co-founders Jess Daggett and Martha Rivera wanted something more. They wanted to create a training program that would be thorough, inclusive and prepared doulas for the full spectrum of challenges they might face in their practice.

“We didn’t just want doulas who knew how to support natural birth; we needed them to know how to support families navigating Medicaid, houselessness, postpartum depression, pregnancy loss and teen parenting, as well as provide a comprehensive history of birth and current issues around equitable birthing in Oregon.”

In developing the program, Minich and her team drew from their diverse expertise of over ten years individually. Daggett, with her background in childbirth education and experience raising six children, brought hands-on knowledge. Rivera, with her systems integration background, provided the logistical and organizational skills needed to create a scalable training structure. Minich herself brought her academic background in anthropology and sociology to the table, crafting a curriculum that emphasizes self-care, health systems analysis, and the importance of community-based care.

Their program is designed to eliminate many of the barriers that doulas, especially those working with marginalized populations, face. While training organizations often require separate certifications, hidden fees, and confusing processes, the Doula Training Center offers everything a doula needs in one transparent package. Graduates can immediately begin attending births and start their certification process to become a THW Doula in Oregon if they wish.

Minich’s work caught the attention of Dr. Melissa Cheyney, a well-respected midwife and researcher at Oregon State University. Minich first learned about Cheyney through documentaries and academic publications, and when they eventually connected, Minich was thrilled. Cheyney’s work on maternal mortality, home birth, and midwifery practice aligned with Minich’s own interests.

“I remember being a little star-struck when I first met her,” Minich shared with a laugh. “But Missy is incredibly down to earth. She’s a total badass, doing research that truly impacts women and families. I feel so lucky to be part of her research team at OSU.”

Minich is currently working under Cheyney’s guidance as part of the Uplift Lab, a group focused on improving birth outcomes and presenting her research alongside Cheyney at conferences. But it’s not just Cheyney’s academic rigor that Minich values. The support system in the lab is something she cherishes deeply.

“We’re more like a family. It’s rare to find that kind of collaborative and supportive environment in academia. It’s what makes me feel like I’m in the right place.”

Minich’s research has always focused on understanding the motivations and value of doulas. In one study, she explored why people become doulas and found that many come from backgrounds of trauma, which, while not surprising, shed light on why they feel driven to provide care for others. She also researched to understand what doulas perceive as their value in the healthcare system. While there’s a growing body of research on how doulas can improve health outcomes and reduce healthcare costs, Minich’s work looks deeper into the personal perspectives of doulas, asking them what they feel is their unique contribution.

Minich’s passion for maternal healthcare and doula work is clear, but she’s also thinking about the bigger picture: how to ensure the sustainability of the work doulas do, especially in underserved communities.

“There’s a lot that still needs to be done to create a sustainable model for doulas,” she said. “We need infrastructure—billing systems, better communication with healthcare providers, and policies that support doulas. But we also need to continue building a community-based approach where doulas can thrive, and where we’re not just serving clients but supporting one another as well.”

Her work and research have opened doors for doulas in Oregon and beyond, making the profession more accessible and sustainable. But Minich is quick to point out that this work is not hers alone. It’s a collective effort, one that involves collaboration, mentorship, and a commitment to addressing the real challenges that exist in the healthcare system.

As Minich reflected on her path and the community she has helped build, she remained grateful for the opportunity to contribute to such an important field.

“I’m just really lucky to be part of this,” she said. “It’s been such a journey, but seeing the positive impact on families and on doulas makes it all worth it.”

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Charlotte Scott

By Jessica Florescu, CLA Student Writer - May 21, 2025

Charlotte Scott, M.Ed. ‘21, grew up on college campuses; her parents were part of the faculty and academic advising team at Washington State University and the University of Washington. Because of her familiarity with universities at a young age, Scott knew she not only wanted to attend college, but also pursue a career at one. After graduating from the College of Liberal Arts’ College Student Services Administration (CSSA) program, Scott now helps college students navigate their own personal and academic challenges as a case manager at Whitman College in Walla Walla, Washington. Starting summer 2025, Scott will be moving to Bend to become a student care case manager at OSU-Cascades.

“I knew that college would be my next step for education, and I attended a high school that specifically prepared students for college,” said Scott. “My parents both went to Oregon State and encouraged higher education, but they didn’t view it as the only way to achieve success in life.” 

After considering Oregon State, the University of Washington, and other Pacific Northwest universities, Scott pursued her undergraduate education in Spanish at Whitman.  

“Looking back,” Scott explained, “some of my favorite memories were just the traditions that took place on campus. Every year, Whitman hosts a scavenger hunt for rubber ducks around campus, outdoor movies throughout the school year, and more. They were silly events, but it was such a fun way to connect with other students.” 

Despite going to a college preparatory high school, Scott still struggled with her transition to college, because she no longer had the same structured environment as before. 

She explained, “the change from attending five to six classes per day alongside extracurriculars, to having hours of unstructured time to fill was challenging for me. Although I was in good academic standing, I struggled to build a support system for myself at first, but by sophomore year, I was able to figure out how I learned best personally.”

In addition to academics, Scott played tennis for Whitman and traveled across the country for matches; however, playing for an NCAA team was very different from high school sports. 

“College was more competitive and required a greater time commitment,” Scott explained. “During the spring season, we practiced two to three hours everyday. On top of that, we also gave up entire weekends for matches and traveling, but it was a great opportunity overall, and taught me more about leadership within communities.”

Scott’s major in Spanish led her to study abroad in Spain and then, after graduating from Whitman, she moved back to Mazarrón for two years, working as an English language assistant at a public elementary school. Scott loved her time working with students in Spain, which pushed her more towards exploring higher education. 

“In Spain, I was the international visitor that had to adjust to a new educational system. The enriching personal experience that I gained through that opportunity guided me towards my current career.”

Scott spent five years working in residential life at a boarding school in the Seattle area before deciding to become a student again herself. Choosing the CSSA program at the School of Language, Culture, and Society, Scott joined a small cohort of multidisciplinary graduate students looking to learn new approaches to student development, success, and leadership. 

Scott also received a graduate assistantship and the opportunity to apply her student services skills as an advisor for World Languages and Cultures and the Outdoor School’s Juntos program, which is a college readiness program for Latinx families and students.

“Working as an advisor during the initial months and years of the pandemic were definitely challenging,” said Scott. “But to have that experience prior to re-entering the professional student services world was so crucial for me.”

Currently, Scott returned to Whitman as a non-clinical case manager. Scott’s duties include responding to student concerns and connecting them to the appropriate resources on or off campus. Many of the issues presented to Scott are related to mental health prompted by the stress of living costs, food insecurity, or other external pressures. 

“We have seen an increase in serious mental health concerns partially attributed to student stress regarding their future plans, which has also led to bouts of severe depression.” explained Scott. “However, this has come with a positive shift towards a greater utilization of mental health support resources at the same time.”

Scott also highlighted that she does interact with students that need more help than the resources offered, and it can be difficult to navigate the best approach for them. 

“One of the most difficult aspects of my current position is how to help students build a strong support network when there is a shortage of mental health resources on a national level. Sometimes it can also be hard because I wish that I could make some of their lives easier considering the difficult circumstances that they are dealing with.”

Scott highlighted her strong interest to continue serving in a type of student support role and her passion for improving student belonging through collaborative efforts. She has worked with the Summer Fly-In program at Whitman that prioritizes community building for first generation students and Pell Grant recipients, which helps to make new students feel more welcomed in an unfamiliar environment.

Scott commented, “Seeing the growth of new students that start out a little lost and find their footing by the end of the year is really special,” said Scott “I greatly appreciated having the ability to jump into Whitman, while already having that behind the curtain look at higher education from the CSSA program.”

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Nichole Blum

By Taylor Pedersen, CLA Student Writer - May 14, 2025

Nichole Blum has spent her career at the intersection of education, equity, and advocacy. With nearly two decades of experience in early childhood education—including time as a director, program leader, and educator—she has seen firsthand the challenges facing both young children and the professionals who care for them. Now, as a graduate student in the College of Liberal Arts’ OSU’s applied anthropology program studying alongside Dr. Melissa Cheyney, Blum is diving deeper into the structural issues she observed in the field, using innovative research methods to explore childhood stress, communication, and the wellbeing of the workforce.

Blum knew from an early age that she wanted to work with children and families, but she was also certain she did not want to teach in a traditional school system. A guidance counselor placed her in a preschool classroom during her senior year of high school, and she was hooked. She pursued a Child Development Associate credential immediately after graduation, launching her into the world of early childhood education.

Her career took a pivotal turn when she began working at the YWCA in Kalamazoo, Michigan. This was her first experience not only in nonprofit work but also in addressing domestic violence, sexual assault, and human trafficking through early childhood programming. “That changed everything for me,” Blum recalled. “I started to see early childhood education as a vehicle for change. It’s not just about childcare or learning—it’s a safety net for families, a way to connect them with resources and become a trusted part of their lives. That’s when I started approaching my work differently.”

While building her career, Blum was also slowly working toward her bachelor’s degree at Central Michigan University—one class at a time. She became a mother at 21, and with the need to provide for her son while continuing her education, she made strategic career moves. Her Child Development Associate credential allowed her to advance into leadership positions, doubling her income while she chipped away at her degree. When the COVID-19 Pandemic began, Blum saw an opportunity. She   continued to finish her degree online at her own pace  while also working full-time. But the real challenge came when she moved across the country to attend OSU in person for graduate school.

“I was hit in the face with the reality of being a first-generation college student,” she said. “It was my first time in an on-campus academic setting like that, and I didn’t know anyone here. But I had this inner knowing—I needed to go and I saw anthropology as a way to bring a kind, human-focused science into the early childhood space.”

At the School of Language, Culture, and Society, Blum’s research focuses on non-language childhood communication, particularly how young children express emotional stress. Her ethnographic study employs a technique called “body mapping,” an art-based method traditionally used with adults in trauma-exposed populations, such as HIV patients or survivors of violence. Now, Blum is adapting it for young children. Her study asks children to draw on outlines of their own bodies, marking where they feel stress and how they experience emotions physically. Through this process, she is uncovering new insights into how young children process stress—insights that could have broad applications for early childhood education and mental health support.

“Three- and four-year-olds don’t always have the words to describe their experiences,” she explained. “We’ve been socialized out of some of the ways we naturally communicate. Body mapping gives them a different way to express their emotions—it allows their voices to be heard in a way that isn’t restricted by language.”

Blum’s work also extends beyond theory. She uses a community-based participatory research model, meaning she doesn’t just study early childhood professionals—she works alongside them. Over the past year and a half, she has volunteered in an early childhood program, trained staff in body mapping, and involved them in every stage of the research process. “I didn’t want to be the researcher who just comes in, collects data, and leaves,” she said. “I wanted to ensure that the workforce itself saw the value in the research—that they saw themselves as researchers, too.”

By integrating educators into the research process, Blum hopes to shift the perceptions of early childhood professionals. Too often, she argues, they are undervalued, underpaid, and left out of policy conversations despite their critical role in child development. She hopes to bridge the gap between policy and practice, making systemic issues more tangible and actionable for educators, parents, and advocates. “There’s been so much focus on children and families, which is obviously important,” she said. “But early childhood professionals spend eight hours a day with these kids. Sometimes they see them more than their own families do. If we really want to support children and families, we need at minimum an equal focus and effort on supporting the workforce.”

Her long-term goal is to improve working conditions for early childhood educators, particularly the 98 percent of the workforce who are women—many of whom are women of color. “This is domestic work, and we have a social bias against that,” she noted. “These professionals are being asked to create environments where children feel safe, trusted, and free to explore, yet they themselves are working under stressful, unsupportive conditions. That has to change.”

As she continues her graduate studies, Blum remains committed to that mission— working to reframe early childhood education not just as a stage of learning, but as a powerful force for equity, well-being, and systemic change.

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Rebecca Wheaton

By Ellie Webb-Bowen, CLA Student Writer - May 7, 2025

Rebecca Wheaton, a second-year anthropology Ph.D. student, is studying the relationship between local ecological knowledge and socioeconomic development. Wheaton is a member of the socio-cultural team of Water Quality, Ecology, & Knowledge Co-Production in the Klamath with Professor of Anthropology Bryan Tilt. The team is partnering with the Yurok Tribe in Northern California, as well as agricultural producers, fishing communities, and local residents in the Klamath Basin to understand how the dam removal and river restoration will affect their livelihoods. 

“It’s a massive, ongoing ethnographic project,” explained Wheaton. “Our goal is not only to contribute to the academic literature, but also to support informed, community-based decision-making around resource management and environmental governance. We hope our findings will be useful to agencies, educators, and local nonprofits working to make decisions that are both culturally grounded and ecologically sound."

Before attending the School of Language, Culture, and Society, Wheaton grew up in eastern North Carolina. After attending the University of North Carolina Wilmington, she was able to independently explore what anthropology meant to her by moving west. Wheaton worked as a ranch hand in  Colorado for many years, where she became interested in sustainable agriculture. Working at a 224-acre working ranch in Carbondale, Wheaton was immersed in hands-on research, including soil building, landscape design, water systems management, as well as livestock and dairy operations. 

“I was constantly making notes or inquiring about how things functioned on the farm from the perspective of an anthropologist.” explained Wheaton. 

That kickstarted her interest in the human dimensions of food systems work. In 2017, Wheaton moved to the Snoqualmie Valley in Washington to work at a farm & conservation non-profit as an environmental educator program coordinator. Then during the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic and maternity leave, she commuted regularly over Snoqualmie Pass to work towards receiving her master’s in cultural and environmental resource management from Central Washington University (CWU). 

Wheaton’s master’s thesis tracked food as it moved through different social contexts, as plants in the wildcat farm, as commodities in the campus stores, and as charitable donations to the student-run food pantry. Drawing from over 200 hours of ethnographic fieldwork, Wheaton showed how food became a way to establish relationships between people at CWU. She examined the student-food landscape to understand where and how students at CWU were getting their food.  

“I was attempting to shed light on how resources were being distributed to either promote or hinder the success of student food access initiatives and their community impact,” said Wheaton. “Comparing student community needs and perspectives with administrative decision making, there was still a discrepancy between availability and accessibility.” 

During her nearly two years as a Research and Evaluation Manager at Cardea, Wheaton co-led equity-focused social impact evaluations that supported local food systems, including King Conservation District’s Regional Food System program. Alongside her colleagues, she worked with farmers, food nonprofits, and local leaders in King County to design culturally responsive evaluation tools, collect and analyze data, and present findings through clear visual reports, helping guide community-based decisions that improved food access and strengthened local agriculture.

Now in the College of Liberal Arts’ Applied Anthropology Ph.D. program with over a decade of experience in cultural and environmental resource management,  Wheaton is interested in coastal communities in southern Oregon and northern California and the impacts due to the Klamath River dam removals upstream in Oregon. Wheaton’s socio-cultural subteam is looking to answer: how can diverse views of Klamath Basin communities inform resource management decisions?

Wheaton continued, “The more I’m in these interdisciplinary spaces, the more I see social science playing a really interesting and important role. As an anthropologist, you are continuously navigating an insider-outsider perspective, reflecting on your identity in relation to your research,  and always engaged in relationship-building work. In these larger research projects, the time spent building these relationships and working relationally is invaluable.”

With summer research funding through Oregon Sea Grant’s Malouf Marine Studies Scholarship, Wheaton’s part of the larger project, focuses on ocean commercial & recreational salmon fishing in a region long dependent on Klamath River fish stocks. Once a thriving habitat for Chinook salmon migration, the dams upstream prevented Salmon from migrating to their spawning locations. With the removal of the dams, Chinook are now returning to the river and its tributaries.   Wheaton’s mixed methods ethnographic study, still in its early stages, will document how fishing communities understand and perceive fisheries management strategies in the wake of the dam removal. She’s also collaborating with Yurok Tribe researchers who are doing similar work with Yurok tribal members.

Though Wheaton’s fieldwork is just ramping up, funding disruptions have put the project’s continuity at risk. As a student and mother, her ability to stay engaged in environmental research depends on the kinds of support programs Sea Grant provides. Without them, the opportunity to document this ecological and cultural transition may be lost, leaving a gap in understanding that can’t easily be filled later.

"Cultural ecology is the study of how people shape–and get shaped by–the environments in which they live,” said Wheaton. “Dam removal and large-scale river restoration projects are bringing changes to the Klamath Basin and these changes are coming in the midst of ongoing environmental, social and economic challenges and opportunities. As I move into fieldwork, my research seeks to surface the deeply influential ways communities understand, respond to, and imagine change. In doing so, I aim to contribute to environmental research that values not only what we can measure, but how we know, relate, and create visions for the future.”

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Sam Stone

By Taylor Pedersen, CLA Student Writer - April 23, 2025

Sam Stone’s fascination with the past runs deep—both literally and figuratively. Raised in Southern California, but spending her high school years in Portland, Stone’s upbringing was steeped in a love of history. Her father, a history major who briefly pursued a master’s in archaeology, nurtured this interest by taking her and her siblings to museums and excavation sites. Although she didn’t initially realize it, this early exposure paved a path for her into the world of archaeology.

“I didn’t have the intention of pursuing archaeology until I got to college,” Stone, ‘21, admitted. “But that love for the past was already there.”

A key turning point came when Stone enrolled in an anthropology class as an undergraduate. It was at that moment she found her academic home. She dove into anthropology and soon found herself as a field school student in Professor Loren Davis' field school at Cooper’s Ferry, a site in Idaho that boasts the oldest stone tools in North America.

“That field school was incredible. Cooper’s Ferry is one of the most important archaeological sites in North America,” said Stone, who spent her summer between sophomore and junior year digging at the site. “The year I was there, we worked in the oldest cultural deposits, about 16,000 years old. Handling artifacts that hadn’t seen the light of day in thousands of years…that was something truly special.”

Stone's fieldwork was formative, and as she neared the end of her undergraduate career, she realized that if she wanted to continue working in the field, she would need a master’s degree. She found herself in the School of Language, Culture, and Society’s (SLCS) archaeology program, where she could continue to work under the guidance of Professor Davis, a mentor who had shaped her academic journey.

Continuing in SLCS at the College of Liberal Arts  was an easy choice for Stone, especially given the research opportunities the program offered. She had already worked on Cedros Island off the Baja California coast, and she was eager to return. At OSU, she was able to combine her interest in archaeology with her fascination for climate science, embarking on research in paleoclimate reconstruction.

“Cedros Island is so significant,” Stone explained. “It has some of the oldest deep-sea fishing technology in the Western Hemisphere, with evidence of nearly 13,000 years of continuous occupation. The preservation of archaeological materials is amazing because the island is so dry. It’s like a window into the past.”

Stone’s current research is helping to unlock the climate mysteries of the past. She’s working with marine shell fossils found on Cedros Island to reconstruct sea surface temperatures from the Pleistocene to Holocene (approximately 11,700 years ago—a task that involves stable isotope analysis. “We use oxygen-18, a heavier isotope, to reconstruct  past sea surface temperatures,” Stone explained. “As oxygen-16 evaporates, seawater becomes enriched in oxygen-18. Marine shells record this ratio, which reflects past ocean temperatures and ice volume.” Her work also includes examining the carbon isotope carbon-13, which relates to upwelling—when cold, nutrient-dense water rises to the surface, feeding coastal food webs. These findings offer insights not only into the local environment of ancient populations but also into the broader dynamics of climate change and coastal ecosystems.

“I’m not a climate scientist,” Stone laughed, “but as an archaeologist, I need to understand enough about interdisciplinary methods like this to apply them to my field. It’s amazing how much knowledge you can gain from collaborating with experts in other areas.”

Collaboration is key in archaeology, where interdisciplinary teamwork is critical to understanding the past. “There are so many ways of knowing about the past,” she said. “If you’re a good archaeologist, you either need to be a jack of all trades or  work with others who can fill in the gaps.”

Stone’s research holds great significance not only for understanding ancient environments but also for understanding early human migration patterns. She points to Cedros Island as a crucial site for exploring the northern Pacific coastal route migration model. This hypothesis suggests that early humans may have migrated to the Americas using watercraft along the Pacific coastline, a possibility strengthened by Cedros' evidence of advanced maritime skills and fishing technology.

Looking ahead, Stone plans to continue her work in field archaeology, excited by the potential to further explore the complex relationships between ancient humans and their environments. However, she also notes the challenges and realities of the field. 

For students aspiring to follow in her footsteps, Stone has one key piece of advice: “Take a field school as early as possible. You’ll learn so much about whether this is the right path for you. If you’re not into fieldwork, then archaeology might not be the career for you. It’s essential to know that early on.”

As for Stone, she’s eager to continue her journey, bridging the worlds of archaeology and climate science to better understand the past—and the lessons it holds for the future.

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Emanuel Magaña

By Taylor Pedersen, CLA Student Writer - April 2, 2025

Emanuel Magaña, ‘10, M.S. ‘12, never planned on working in higher education. Growing up in Woodburn, Oregon, a predominantly Latino community, he was surrounded by people who looked like him, shared similar backgrounds, and lived under similar economic circumstances. It wasn’t until he arrived at Oregon State University that he realized just how unique his upbringing had been—and how much work remained to ensure equitable access to education for students from communities like his. Now, as the Assistant Director of Multicultural Retention Services at Portland State University (PSU), Magaña is dedicated to increasing access and retention for underrepresented students.

Magaña’s parents immigrated to Oregon from Mexico, working in the fields picking berries and fruit throughout the year. His family instilled in him the importance of education—his mother had never gone to college, and they wanted a different path for their children. Magaña’s older brothers attended OSU, paving the way for Emanuel to follow.

Growing up in Woodburn, Magaña experienced a unique privilege in a low-income setting. “Because so many of us qualified for free and reduced lunch, the whole school had free meals. Even sports were free—there were no participation fees,” Magaña recalled. “It wasn’t until I got to OSU that I realized that wasn’t the norm.”

The transition to college was a culture shock. Corvallis, a predominantly white town, felt vastly different from his hometown. “It was very odd to experience that on a daily basis. Walking across campus, I’d sometimes feel like I didn’t belong,” he said. This feeling of isolation pushed him toward spaces that reflected his identity, like the Centro Cultural de César Chávez, where he found a sense of home and belonging.

Extracurricular activities played a crucial role in Magaña’s success. He joined ASOSU, became involved with Omega Delta Phi—a multicultural service fraternity—and worked at the Centro Cultural de César Chávez. After earning his bachelor’s degree, he was hired as a graduate assistant at the cultural center while completing his master’s in College Student Services Administration (CSSA). While at the center, Magaña contributed to the development of the center’s now permanent home on campus across from Reser Stadium. In addition to working at the center, it was the CSSA program that solidified his passion for working in student affairs. “I realized I wanted to be that mentor for someone else—the same way my mentors had guided me.”

Magaña’s transition to PSU marked the beginning of a new chapter. When the university opened La Casa Latina, a cultural center dedicated to serving Latinx students, he jumped at the opportunity to build something from the ground up as program coordinator. Then, after a few years, Magaña transitioned into a role at Latine Student Services, advising Latino students and managing a scholarship program for first-generation students. “It was one of the most fulfilling things I’ve done,” he said."

Now, as Assistant Director of Multicultural Retention Services, Magaña is focused on expanding PSU’s outreach to multicultural communities and ensuring that underrepresented students not only access higher education but thrive in it. He is also pursuing an Ed.D. in education leadership policy, aiming to create systemic change on an even larger scale.

Despite his professional success, Magaña remains deeply connected to OSU. “I’m always talking about my time at Oregon State and how much it still impacts me today,” he said. His journey—from an 18-year-old feeling out of place in Corvallis to a leader shaping the future of higher education—serves as an inspiration to the very students he now mentors. Through his work, Magaña is proving that access to education is not just about getting students into college—it’s about ensuring they have the support, community, and opportunities to succeed once they get there.

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Dr. Traben Pleasant

By Taylor Pedersen, CLA Student Writer - April 9, 2025

Dr. Traben Pleasant’s path to anthropology was somewhat unconventional. Born in Los Angeles and raised in Long Beach, California, Dr. Pleasant, Ph.D. '20, wasn’t an exceptional student in high school and was a bit of a hyper kid. While local gangs and drug dealing was a normal part of his “beautiful neighborhood” in his words, there were also alternatives, and so he spent much of his time playing sports, enjoying the ocean, and, in his own words, “twiddling my thumbs” at times before graduating at 17 years old. College didn’t seem like a viable option immediately after high school, so he enlisted in the U.S. Army Reserve for a brief period before transitioning to active duty with the U.S. Marines. In the military, he graduated at the top of his class as the “Company Honor Man” (the best Marine out of 400) during Marine Corps boot camp in 2002. By 2003, Dr. Pleasant was waiting at the border in Kuwait, preparing for an invasion, for what would become three tours in the Iraq War over the next two years.

While military service instilled discipline and resilience in Dr. Pleasant, it also awakened a curiosity that would later define his academic career. After his contract ended in 2006, Dr. Pleasant chose not to re-enlist, opting instead to pursue higher education through the GI Bill. He enrolled at Humboldt State University, in Northern California, where a single anthropology class altered the trajectory of his life.

“I always had an insatiable appetite for culture and travel,” Pleasant recalled. Initially drawn to primatology, his first major field experience took him to Costa Rica. But while studying primates in the wild at a research center (“La Selva”) in the mountains of Costa Rica, he found himself increasingly captivated by the region’s Afro-Caribbean communities he’d come across in the towns. “I started wondering, ‘Who are these people speaking Spanish? How did this happen?’” he said. That intrigue led him away from primatology and toward cultural anthropology.

After earning his bachelor's degree, Dr. Pleasant deepened his research while studying in the UK at University College London (one of the best schools in the world at the time), where he focused on Afro-Latin populations in Central America, particularly in Bocas Del Toro, Panama. One of his mentors, recognizing his interest in Caribbean cultures and warm coastal environments (and surfing), encouraged him to conduct research there. What began as a month-long research trip evolved into a long-term academic focus that still exists today.

When Dr. Pleasant later pursued a Ph.D. in anthropology at Oregon State University, his work in Panama became the foundation for his dissertation. He secured a prestigious Fulbright Fellowship to return to Bocas del Toro and study the impact of the country’s national digitization initiative. Panama was installing “InfoPlazas” (computer centers) across the country and in rural villages, aiming to bridge the digital divide and improve educational opportunities for its citizens. Dr. Pleasant's research explored whether these efforts led to meaningful upward mobility and the potential to enhance education, particularly for Afro-Caribbean and Indigenous communities in the islands. At the time, “the impacts of the Infoplazas were just beginning,” he admitted, “but the potential was there.” However, the NGO that Dr. Pleasant worked with, called “Give & Surf,” was, and still are, making amazing, longstanding impacts in the local Afro-Caribbean and Indigenous communities of Bocas del Toro while partnering with the Infoplaza initiative and using their facility. Today, many of those initial potentials are being realized and the lives of many locals, youths and adults, have been changed for the better thanks to Give & Surf and the Infoplazas. 

Now, Dr. Pleasant has brought his anthropological expertise to an entirely new arena: veterans’ healthcare. As a qualitative researcher at the VA office in Portland, he applies qualitative research methods to study aging, dementia, PTSD, and cannabis usage among veterans. “I wasn’t initially thinking of aging when I came in,” he explained. “But I found that neurology, aging, and dementia research were open spaces that were welcoming to qualitative and cultural research. The VA has a surprising number of anthropologists today.”

While Dr. Pleasant’s primary research is on aging, dementia, and rural veterans’ healthcare, one of his current projects examines how veterans use cannabis as a therapeutic, which is a particularly relevant topic in Oregon, where cannabis is legal and dispensaries are widespread. “Veterans use cannabis—it’s just known,” Pleasant said. “But the federal government hasn’t legalized it, and there’s little guidance on exactly how VA clinicians should discuss its potential harms or benefits to their patients, the veterans.” His research aims to highlight and inform evolving policies on cannabis, and the prevalence of use among veterans within the VA Healthcare System.

Dr. Pleasant’s successful journey—from a Los Angeles born kid and rambunctious high school youth in Long Beach, California, to a decorated Marine Corps Iraq War Veteran, to an anthropologist studying digital access in Panama, and now to a researcher at the VA—has been defined by relentless curiosity and adaptability, often when the odds were not in his favor. Whether studying Afro-Caribbean communities or the healthcare needs of aging veterans, his work underscores the power of anthropology to shed light on human experiences, and life experiences just as complex and interesting as his own.