Friends:
What is happening to Women’s, Gender and Sexuality Studies at UT Austin is no longer easy to describe as ordinary curricular housekeeping. As Lily Kepner reports below, every course in the field has been removed from the university’s core curriculum, even as related majors have already been eliminated and dozens of courses addressing race, gender, inequality, and social difference have been rejected from the core. Taken together, these decisions raise a larger question about what kinds of knowledge UT now considers central to an undergraduate education—and which forms of knowledge are being steadily pushed to the margins.
The pattern is especially troubling because exclusion from the core is not merely symbolic. Core status helps determine enrollment, visibility, faculty workload, and ultimately the institutional viability of programs. When this occurs alongside policies that make low enrollment a potential justification for eliminating programs or faculty positions, the danger is obvious: first narrow access to the curriculum, then point to declining enrollment as evidence that the field no longer warrants support. As Lisa Moore puts it in Kepner’s reporting, it can look very much like an “intentional starvation” of the work.
Dr. Maria Cotera's commentary to this piece is most cutting: “(We’re) essentially digging our own graves before we’re pushed into them,."
What concerns me most is the larger intellectual project taking shape. A public university should be expanding students’ capacity to understand the complexity of the world they are entering—not narrowing that world by deciding that the study of gender, sexuality, race, migration, inequality, and historically marginalized communities is somehow too “specialized” to belong in a common curriculum. These are views and decisions by non-specialists, by the way.
The question before us is therefore larger than the fate of particular courses. It is about who gets to define legitimate knowledge at a public university, whose histories remain visible, and whether curricular reform is becoming a vehicle for something much closer to institutional capture—as discussed on Monday's October 5th blog.
Starting next semester, no Women’s, Gender and Sexuality courses will count toward core curriculum requirements at the University of Texas.
On Tuesday, department chair Danielle Clealand told faculty in the Social and Cultural Analysis Department that the provost’s office rejected all women’s and gender studies courses from counting toward UT’s core, according to an email reviewed by the Statesman. The provost’s office also eliminated dozens of courses on race from counting toward the core.
All undergraduate students must pick from a menu of courses to fulfill their core requirements before graduating.
The provost’s decision affects courses including Mexican American Women from 1940 — present; Women and the Holocaust; Intro to African American Women’s History; LGBTQ Literature and Culture; and Native American Women’s History.
Women’s, Gender and Sexuality Studies was the only field within the newly consolidated Social and Cultural Analysis Department that had all of its courses cut from the core, said professor Jo Hsu, who specializes in gender studies and rhetoric. All classes in that field will now be elective for future students.
“The pattern is pretty clear,” Hsu said. “Even within the other (department) units, all courses that referenced women were rejected.”
Asked about the changes, UT spokesperson Mike Rosen referred to the university’s core curriculum report, which was drafted by 22 faculty members. It states a core curriculum should provide students with a broad education that can “complement and guide their more specialized studies.”
“Rather than a genuine core curriculum that provides a coherent general education, the current system is a vast distribution requirement that includes more than 600 courses, many of which are on topics that are quite narrow,” the faculty members wrote. “Highly specialized courses have an important place in UT Austin’s curriculum, but not as parts of its core.”
In total, the social analysis department asked the provost to review 49 courses so they could count toward core curriculum requirements — of those, 16 were approved. Some courses focusing on race and urban studies including Slavery and its Legacies, Urban Unrest, Statistical Analysis of Social Disparities and Building Sustainable Societies were also rejected.
The announcement follows the provost’s decision to eliminate majors in Women’s, Gender and Sexuality Studies; African and African Diaspora Studies; and Mexican American and Latina/o Studies, against the recommendation of the College of Liberal Arts.
Lisa Moore, the former chair of the women and gender studies department, which was combined with three other departments into the new social analysis department this fall, condemned the cuts as “blatant” viewpoint discrimination and a “singling out” of her field.
The classes won’t be cut from the course catalog, but their exclusion from the core — and the elimination of related major offerings — will diminish enrollment, Moore said. That’s especially concerning after UT regents recently changed policy to allow programs and professors with low enrollment to be cut, she said.
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Director of Women’s Gender and Sexuality Studies at the University of Texas, Lisa Moore in her office in Burdine Hall, Feb. 18, 2026. No classes from Moore's former department will count toward core curriculum requirements. Sara Diggins/Austin American-Statesman |
“It just seems like a very intentional starvation of our work,” Moore said. “We’re being set up to fail.”
UT is refining its academic offerings as part of a transition to a new core curriculum that will launch as soon as fall 2028, pending approval. That model will require all students to take classes in Western civilizations, humanities and artificial intelligence, and narrow which courses can qualify.
UT is refining its academic offerings as part of a transition to a new core curriculum that will launch as soon as fall 2028, pending approval. That model will require all students to take classes in Western civilizations, humanities and artificial intelligence, and narrow which courses can qualify.
“(We’re) essentially digging our own graves before we’re pushed into them,” Cotera said.
UT did not respond to questions about the fast timeline, but President Jim Davis previously told regents that preparing for the new core will take two years and require a significant university-wide lift. The UT system must certify compliance with SB 37’s core curriculum review by January 2027.
In another batch of cuts to the College of Liberal Arts, the provost cut dozens of signature, or “topics,” courses from the core curriculum — courses that counted for UT’s prior core, but were subject to review for being too narrowly focused. Those cuts include Climate Change History; Ethics of Artificial Intelligence; God and AI; Race, Ethnicity and Health; and U.S. Immigration Enforcement.
The provost approved introductory classes on Mexican American and Latina/o Studies; Black Studies and American Studies to remain in the core, as well as dozens of signature courses including Jewish Women’s Life Writings and Visionary Women.
However, the classes approved at UT were not immune to changes: Cotera said political pressure on UT prompted her to alter her Introduction to Mexican American/Latina Studies course to increase the chances of it being approved.
She excluded a week on border violence and a week on women’s and gender studies from the syllabus, fearing those aspects would cause the whole course to be cut. The course was ultimately approved.
“I understood and informed others that I was self-censoring because I wanted to be documented. I want people to know what I (felt I) had to take out,” Cotera said.
Faculty fear the university’s sidelining of diverse fields will mar the university’s reputation.
“Lately, the calls that I have with prospective students begin with them asking whether they would be welcome or even safe at UT,” Hsu said.
Cotera believes recent changes will impact how students are prepared for the workforce. Though she believes aspects of the university’s new core curriculum, such as the required study of great thinkers, will offer students valuable lessons, cutting ethnic and gender studies courses when the state’s Latino population is rapidly growing is “irrational” and “embarrassing,”
“It looks like an intentional form of exclusion,” Cotera said. “I’m not sure how they’re going to use their class in Western civilization in the workforce, but I can promise you, they’ll use their class on understanding Latino cultures.”
UT’s course catalog for next semester is expected to be published Oct. 1. The provost and president have not informed the wider university community about the major or core curriculum cuts.
Lily Kepner started at the American-Statesman in October 2023. She has appeared on BBC, NPR and Texas Standard to talk about her coverage, which has spanned the impact of state laws and politics on the University of Texas, pro-Palestinian protests, free speech, the anti-DEI ban, LGBTQ student belonging and more. Kepner graduated with honors from Boston University's College of Communication in 2023, where she received the college's highest awards for writing and journalism leadership and led the award-winning student newspaper as Editor-in-Chief. In her time with the American-Statesman, she contributed to reporting that won an Edward R Murrow Award for breaking news, won the School Bell Award for Outstanding Feature from Texas State Teachers Association, and Critics Choice for Best of Austin in the Austin Chronicle. Previously, she has been published in USA Today, The Boston Globe, The National Catholic Reporter and GBH. Kepner is passionate about accountability and service journalism and encourages anyone to reach out to her to tell their story or share a tip.
Friends:
The piece suggests that what we are witnessing in Texas higher education is no longer simply faculty dissatisfaction with a single law or university administration, but the emergence of a broader climate of uncertainty about whether professors can continue to do their work with professional independence.
SB 37 gives governing boards substantially greater authority over curriculum and institutional governance, while recent system-level policies have intensified scrutiny of particular areas of teaching and scholarship. At the same time, faculty are increasingly reluctant to recommend Texas as a place to build an academic career.
My own students have expressed discouragement about the current state of affairs, and I understand why. Without a doubt, this is a difficult moment to be a student or a faculty member, and we should not sugarcoat what is happening.
I hope the broader public is paying close attention and remains civically engaged, because the consequences will extend well beyond university campuses. When talented faculty conclude that they can teach, research, and build their careers more freely elsewhere, Texas universities risk losing not only individual scholars but also the intellectual vitality, mentorship, research capacity, and institutional reputation that take decades to build—and are not easily recovered.
-Angela Valenzuela
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The University of North Texas campus in Denton. A greater percentage of Texas professors want to leave the state this year than last year, citing its political climate and concerns about censorship, according to a recent survey conducted by the American Association of University Professors. |
Friends:
I want to call readers’ attention to this provocative and important two-part essay by UT-Austin Professor Joshua Gunn in The Higher Ed Advocate, both posted below. Densely documented with links to primary documents, investigative reporting, scholarship, and the institutions’ own materials, Gunn raises questions about the transformation of Texas higher education that deserve serious public scrutiny.
In Part One, he examines changes in the language and governance of Texas public universities, drawing particular attention to terms appearing in official UT and UT System documents—academic “integrity,” “stewardship,” “solemn covenant,” “sacred space,” “spirit of grace,” and related formulations—and argues that their cumulative significance looks different when situated within the broader political ascendancy of Christian nationalism. The language itself is not in dispute: UT Austin’s Texas Statement on Academic Integrity describes the classroom as a “sacred space” and invokes a “spirit of grace,” while the UT System’s 2026 teaching policy describes teaching as a “solemn covenant” between faculty and students.
In Part Two, Gunn moves from rhetoric to institutional development, examining the Civitas Institute and School of Civic Leadership and the political and financial forces surrounding their emergence. That history is significant: Civitas was initially established with $12 million in state and UT System funding following documented involvement by political leaders and conservative donors, the Regents created the School of Civic Leadership in 2023, and in 2025 committed another $100 million for its permanent home.
The public should be concerned not because conservative scholars, religious scholars, or people of faith have no place in public universities—they unquestionably do. Pluralism requires their presence, too.
The concern arises when governmental power, university governance, major private wealth, and particular ideological or religious projects begin converging in ways that can determine which fields flourish, which departments disappear, which subjects become “controversial,” which forms of knowledge receive extraordinary institutional investment, and which become administratively vulnerable. That is a fundamentally different question from whether conservative ideas deserve a hearing. They do.
The question is whether a public university remains a genuinely pluralistic institution when the state itself increasingly participates in deciding which ideas, histories, and intellectual traditions merit institutional protection and amplification.
Read together, Gunn’s essays therefore raise a larger and more consequential question of institutional capture: Who gets to determine what counts as legitimate knowledge, which histories universities teach, which questions professors may safely ask, and ultimately what kind of citizen public education is intended to produce? I encourage readers to read Part One and Part Two for themselves, follow Gunn’s many links, examine the underlying documents, and reach their own conclusions about what these developments mean for academic freedom, church-state boundaries, shared governance, and the democratic purposes of public education.
And there is one final connection we should not miss. The University of Texas System is governed by nine regents who are appointed by the governor and confirmed by the Texas Senate, serving staggered six-year terms. University governance can therefore seem distant from electoral politics, but it is not. Who Texans elect determines who appoints the people who govern our public universities—and who confirms those appointments.
Gubernatorial and state Senate elections are higher-education elections, too. Elections matter, my friends.
-Angela Valenzuela
by
Can you imagine what it was like to stand up for what you believed was right? To be taught that your people were important enough to be taught? Can you imagine men with badges and guns and tear gas ready to hurt you? To be beaten with batons, to starve yourself so that maybe the university will sit down and listen to you? Can you imagine that you fought so hard to be seen in the history of these United States only to have your children and grandchildren stripped of that knowledge?
You are lucky enough to be in this college, don’t rock the boat. Just keep your head down, go to class, and get your degree. It doesn’t matter that your people are being shot down in the streets, too poor to buy new shoes, or too scared to walk on the same sidewalk as a white man.
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Mexican American Studies and Ethnic Studies programs are unique in American higher education in one undeniable way: they are the only academic disciplines whose very existence was extracted through sacrifice. These programs were not invited into the academy. They were demanded into it, and the demanding came at a cost measured in arrests, hunger strikes, and blood.
It is long past time for universities and policymakers to reckon with that history, and with the continuing failure to fund what communities bled to build.
Born of Struggle, Not Invitation
The founding of Centers for Mexican American Studies across the nation is not a footnote in higher education history. It is a chronicle of sustained resistance against institutions that consistently refused to recognize the legitimacy of the discipline until students and communities forced their hand.
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It began in 1968. Throughout the country, racial justice and student activism were front and center, leading to a cascade of activism for ethnic studies programs, including Chicano studies, Black studies, Asian American studies, and American Indian studies. Building from this work, Chicana/o/x activists came together at the University of California, Santa Barbara and published El Plan de Santa Barbara, a document that united diverse activists from around the state and laid out a roadmap for Chicana/Chicano studies (Chicano Coordinating Council on Higher Education, 1969). In response, UCSB created the first Chicano Studies Department in the UC system in 1970. California State University, Los Angeles had established a Mexican American studies program two years earlier, in 1968.
At California State University, Northridge, the price was higher. From 1967 to 1971, Los Angeles police arrested 400 students and faculty members across six major demonstrations. Eventually chaos ensued, fights erupted, and arrests were made, yet this didn’t stop students from being heard. The following morning, 2,000 students gathered in front of the Administration Building, causing the university president to declare a state of emergency. The activism ultimately established the creation of both the Afro-American and Chicano Studies departments (Acuña, 2011).
Perhaps the most dramatic confrontation came at UCLA. UCLA first established an interdisciplinary Chicano studies program in 1973. But the retrenchment in California’s social and budget policies during the 1980s and the recession of the early 1990s took a toll. By 1989, funding had dwindled significantly, and UCLA suspended new admissions to the program. On April 28, 1993, the chancellor announced the program would not receive departmental status. What followed was a sit-in, mass arrests, and ultimately a hunger strike.
On May 25, a small group declared a water-only fast. A village of tents sprang up outside Murphy Hall. Four days in, one protestor collapsed requiring medical attention. The group persevered, and on June 7, more than 400 students, faculty, and community supporters celebrated the creation of the César E. Chávez Center for Interdisciplinary Instruction in Chicana and Chicano Studies. The strike drew the support of state senators, state representatives, city officials, and the Mothers of East L.A., resulting in one of the largest student and community mobilizations in UCLA’s history. Even then, full departmental status was not granted until 2005 (UCLA Chicano Studies Research Center, 1993; UCLA Newsroom, 2021).
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| source: UCLA Magazine |
In Arizona, a thriving program was simply legislated out of existence. The Tucson school district’s Mexican American studies program grew to 48 course offerings and became the largest ethnic studies program in any school district in the nation, directly increasing graduation rates and grades across all classes (Cabrera et al., 2014). In 2010, state lawmakers passed a law that dismantled the program and banned a range of related books from classes statewide.
The pattern is consistent across decades and geography: communities bleed to establish these programs, and institutions continuously find ways to cut, consolidate, or erase them.
Community Anchors Running on Empty
These Centers are not simply academic units; they are community infrastructure, and they function as such every single day. The Center for Mexican American Studies at UT Austin was intended toconnect students to the Austin community through outreach and public events, building on its legacy of collective action. At UT Arlington, CMAS was established by the Texas Legislature as the university's focal point for interdisciplinary education, research, publication, and public outreach relating to Mexican Americans, and serves as a bridge between UTA and the Latino community in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex.
Before it was shut down, Our Lady of the Lake University in San Antonio, CMAS collaborated with faculty, student affiliates, and community organizations to produce events, training, and programs that promote a deeper understanding of Mexican American culture and supported the K-12 to higher education pipeline and first-generation college student success. The University of Arizona's MAS department works collaboratively with community organizations to address issues and produce knowledge benefiting historically marginalized communities, and engages public policy on criminal justice, immigration, and systemic inequity.
These Centers do more community work per dollar than nearly any other academic unit on campus. Yet they have operated for decades on the edge of survival.
A UT Austin graduate described his undergraduate experience as "frustrating," noting that there "seemed to be such battles for funding for the Center for Mexican American Studies, and that was disillusioning." That battle never ended. In early 2026, UT Austin announced the consolidation of Mexican American and Latina/o Studies, along with African and African Diaspora Studies, Women's Gender and Sexuality Studies, and American Studies, into a single new department. "It's important to realize that in joining these communities together, especially by force, you're creating a system in which they have to fight, sometimes with each other, for funding, and that is ridiculous and unfair," said one scholar at the national rally held in protest on UT's own campus. At the University of North Texas, facing a $45 million budget shortfall, the university cut its Mexican American Studies minor, along with Africana Studies, LGBTQ Studies, Asian Studies, and Women's and Gender Studies.
The fallback position of college and university administrations has always been the same: Chicano/a Studies simply isn't needed, and there is simply no funding. It has been a struggle and a test of wills for Chicano/a Studies to survive.
The Students Are There. The Resources Are Not.
What makes this institutional abandonment most indefensible is that student demand is not in question. The data are unambiguous.
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Research shows that Ethnic Studies coursework benefits students through better school attendance, higher standardized test scores, higher GPAs, higher graduation rates, and even a reduction in interpersonal prejudice. A peer-reviewed study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences found that assignment to Ethnic Studies substantially increased high school graduation, attendance, and the probability of enrolling in college (Dee & Penner, 2017). A longitudinal University of Michigan study involving 459 ninth-grade students, the majority Mexican or Mexican American, attending high-poverty schools, found that students enrolled in Ethnic Studies experience significant growth in critical reflection, which is linked to academic success, civic engagement, improved well-being, and support for equity-promoting policies (Cabrera et al., 2014).
In Texas, a 2024 youth-led research project found that students not enrolled in MAS courses wanted to learn more and enroll, but because school districts aren’t required to offer them, students may miss out on all the benefits (Valenzuela, 2023). In El Paso, only five schools across the two largest districts offer MAS, and teachers are sounding alarms that students are being cut off from their own history. Surveys of schools offering the MAS course found that a significant number could not run the class because no teacher could be found to teach it, or because students didn’t enroll due to lack of awareness or scheduling conflicts. Educators piece together curriculum without textbooks, relying on crowdsourced materials and digital resources.
Meanwhile, the majority of Mexican American and Ethnic Studies programs, most established after the student movements of the 1960s and 1970s, are dramatically underfunded and understaffed, with many having one or no core tenure-track faculty. Nationally, only 5% of four-year institutions offer an Ethnic Studies major, figures researchers have called alarming given decades of Latino enrollment growth and demographic change across the Southwest.
A Choice, Not a Coincidence
Centers for Mexican American Studies were built on sacrifice: walkouts, riots, arrests, hunger strikes, and decades of community organizing. They were won fight by fight, campus by campus. Today they serve as the connective tissue between universities and the communities that bled to create them, preserving oral histories, training educators, conducting policy research, mentoring first-generation students, and anchoring cultural identity for millions of Americans.
The question is not whether students want this education. They do, and the research proves it. The question is not whether these Centers serve communities. They do, visibly and measurably. The question is whether the institutions entrusted with public education will finally make the choice to fund what has always been funded last, if at all.
Fifty years of hunger strikes, arrests, and advocacy should be enough to earn more than a footnote in a budget that gets cut the moment the economy tightens. The discipline that required the most sacrifice to establish has received the least institutional investment to sustain.
The Pattern Repeats: What Is Happening at UC Berkeley
The story of Ethnic Studies under siege is not only a Texas story or a historical one. It is unfolding right now on one of the most storied campuses in the country. In September 2025, UC Berkeley Chancellor Rich Lyons disclosed the personal information of roughly 160 students, faculty, and staff to the Trump administration as part of a federal investigation into alleged antisemitism on campus, without notifying those affected until weeks after the disclosure had already occurred. Among those named was renowned Jewish feminist scholar Judith Butler, whose family lost members in the Holocaust. As Dr. César A. Cruz, a Cal alum and parent of a first-year student there, has written: the university that birthed the Free Speech Movement chose federal favor over the safety of its own community (Cruz, 2026).
That same year, Berkeley indefinitely closed the Multicultural Community Center, a student-built, student-run hub of multiracial organizing located in the Martin Luther King Jr. Student Union building, won by students in 1999 after a hunger strike. When the administration eventually announced it would reopen the center, political art reflecting the movements that created it had been stripped from the walls. Administrators justified the erasure by saying they wanted to make the space “more welcoming,” using the same language used to neutralize Ethnic Studies programs across the country. As doctoral student Sarah Halabe noted plainly: “The administration is saying, ‘Oh no, you’re not being inclusive,’ when the Multicultural Community Center was founded to be inclusive of marginalized students” (Cruz, 2026).
Then, in April 2026, Berkeley’s Ethnic Studies department announced it would not renew two lecturer positions for the coming academic year, citing “financial deficits,” eliminating ten percent of courses taught by lecturers in the department. Lecturer Diana NegrÃn discovered her fall course had been dropped when she checked the course catalog herself; neither the department nor the dean’s office had told her. Lecturer Jesus Barraza, who teaches more than 250 students a year, put it starkly: “The University treats Ethnic Studies as an academic ghetto. From the Department’s inception, the University has looked for ways to starve the Department” (Cruz, 2026). Meanwhile, construction workers building a new beach volleyball complex on campus unearthed the skeletal remains of at least one Native American person, on the ancestral land of the Ohlone people, the Confederated Villages of Lisjan. The university had funding for a five-court sand facility, but not for the lecturers who teach the history of the very communities whose bones were found in the ground beneath it.
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| Source: Department of Mexican American and Latino Studies |
Berkeley is not an outlier. It is a mirror. What is happening there: the disclosure of student names to federal investigators, the gutting of a student-won multicultural center, the defunding of Ethnic Studies under cover of budget language. It is the same pattern this op-ed traces across decades of Texas and national history.
The tactics change; the goal does not. Continuing lecturer Pablo Gonzalez, despite 14 years at Berkeley and a Distinguished Teaching Award, says his “suitcase is always packed” (Cruz, 2026). That sentence could have been spoken by a lecturer at UT Austin, Cal State Northridge, or UCLA in any decade since 1968. When the institutions that claim to champion free inquiry are the first to comply with repression, it is community, not administration, that must hold the line.
That is not a coincidence. It is a policy. And it is one we have the power to change.
References
Cruz, César A. “What Cal Is This? A Year of Repression at UC Berkeley, and the Call to Take It Back.” Medium.com, May 1, 2026. Republished by Angela Valenzuela, Educational Equity, Politics & Policy in Texas, May 5, 2026. https://texasedequity.blogspot.com/2026/05/what-cal-is-this-year-of-repression-at.html
Dr. Cruz, a Cal alum and parent of a UC Berkeley first-year student, chronicles a pattern of institutional capitulation at UC Berkeley during the 2025–26 academic year: the university’s disclosure of roughly 160 students, faculty, and staff to federal investigators; the indefinite closure and subsequent depoliticization of the student-built Multicultural Community Center; the nonrenewal of two Ethnic Studies lecturers citing budget deficits; and the discovery of Ohlone ancestral remains beneath a construction site for a new beach volleyball facility. Cruz frames these events as interconnected signs of a university abandoning its legacy of free speech, ethnic studies, public accountability, and resistance to state repression. The essay calls on students, faculty, alumni, and community members to organize collectively in defense of Ethnic Studies and the democratic mission of public higher education. Published on the blog of Dr. Angela Valenzuela, Professor of Education at UT Austin and a leading scholar of Mexican American education and equity policy.
Chicano Coordinating Council on Higher Education. El Plan de Santa Bárbara: A Chicano Plan for Higher Education. La Causa Publications, 1969.
Dee, Thomas S., and Emily K. Penner. "The causal effects of cultural relevance: Evidence from an ethnic studies curriculum." American Educational Research Journal 54.1 (2017): 127-166 [pdf].
Cabrera, Nolan L., Jeffrey F. Milem, Oiyan Pong, and Ronald W. Marx. “Missing the (Student Achievement) Forest for All the (Political) Trees: Empiricism and the Mexican American Studies Controversy in Tucson.” American Educational Research Journal 51, no. 6 (2014): 1084–1118. (University of Michigan longitudinal study referenced in op-ed.)
Valenzuela, Angela. Subtractive Schooling: U.S.-Mexican Youth and the Politics of Caring. State University of New York Press, 1999.
Valenzuela, Angela. “Struggles For/With/Through Ethnic Studies in Texas: Third Spaces as Anchors for Collective Action.” Teachers College Record 125, no. 3 (2023). https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/01614681231181793
Acuña, Rodolfo. The Making of Chicana/o Studies: In the Trenches of Academe. Rutgers University Press, 2011. (Source for CSUN founding history and 1967–1971 campus activism.)
UCLA Chicano Studies Research Center. Hunger Strike for Chicano Studies Department Collection, 1993. UCLA Chicano Studies Research Center, https://oac.cdlib.org/findaid/ark:/13030/kt0b69p9s1
UCLA Newsroom. “Hail to the Hills: Starving for Justice.” UCLA Magazine, March 28, 2021. https://newsroom.ucla.edu/magazine/hunger-strike-chicana-chicano-studies
University of Texas at Austin, Department of Mexican American and Latina/o Studies. “About: History of MALS.” Liberal Arts, UT Austin, 2024. https://liberalarts.utexas.edu/mals/about/
