Category: Academic Reportage

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Seth Warner, Assistant Professor of Political Science, University of Connecticut

Protests are becoming a routine part of public life in the United States. Since 2017, the number of nonviolent demonstrations has almost tripled, according to researchers with the nonprofit Crowd Counting Consortium.

And more people are joining than ever. The Black Lives Matter marches in 2020, after George Floyd was killed by police in Minneapolis, have been described as the largest nonviolent mobilization in U.S. history. The No Kings protests against Trump administration policies on June 14, 2025, were not far behind, with between 2 million and 4.8 million Americans protesting nationwide

What explains this surge of protest activity?

My research shows that polarization – the extent to which people dislike members of the opposing party – is a key driver. Today political polarization, as reflected by the ratings Americans give to the political parties, continues to be at its highest level since political scientists began using the measure in 1964.

I am an expert on political behavior, and my work analyzes how polarization shapes public life. In a recent article published in the journal Social Forces, I analyzed surveys conducted between 2014 and 2021 that asked Americans whether they had joined protests connected to Black Lives Matter, the climate movement or the tea party, the small-government movement that was active in the early 2010s.

These surveys, which include over 14,000 respondents, make it possible to see what separates people who protest from those who stay home.

The data points to a clear pattern: Anger at the other side motivates protest. People who rated the opposing party more negatively at one point in time were much more likely to take part in demonstrations in the years that followed.

Dislike for the other side spurs action

Importantly, I found that partisan animosity was a strong motivator for taking part in protests, even after taking people’s feelings about the issues into account. In the surveys, respondents were asked detailed questions about their views on the movements’ topics: for example, whether white Americans enjoyed advantages that Black Americans did not, or how serious a problem they thought climate change was and whether it was caused by human activity.

This allowed me to calculate how much protest activity was due to partisan anger and how much was simply a result of policy concerns. The results surprised me.

For the two higher-profile movements – Black Lives Matter and the tea party – partisan animosity mattered for protest a little more than half as much as people’s feelings about racial inequality or government spending, respectively. For climate protests, the effect of partisan anger was even greater. How people felt toward the “other side” mattered 2½ times more for their decision to protest than did concern about climate change.

This finding matters because it shows that polarization is not just about what people think. It also changes how they participate in politics.

What’s known as “affective polarization,” or the tendency for partisans to dislike and distrust each other, has already been shown to affect how people view U.S. political parties and their willingness to be friends across party lines. My study showed that this kind of division also increases people’s real-world engagement with politics.

When partisans feel threatened or angry at the opposing side, they don’t just complain about it. They organize, hit the streets and march.

More division, more marches

The polarized nature of protest also helps explain why some of today’s protests address multiple issues. The No Kings protests in June 2025, for instance, challenged a number of actions, including funding cuts to social programs, ICE deportations and the deployment of troops in Los Angeles.

But the “King” in question was always clear: President Donald Trump. Protesters may not have shared identical or extreme views on every issue, but they were united by their opposition to Trump.

Protest has long been an infrequent activity, but that’s changing. In the 2020 American National Election Study, nearly 1 in 10 Americans said they had joined a protest in the past year, the highest figure recorded on that survey since the question was first asked in 1976.

That level of participation makes protest one of the most visible ways Americans now engage in politics. As polarization remains high, there is every reason to expect it will continue – starting with another nationwide No Kings protest planned for Oct. 18, 2025.

The author has attended public events for social movements mentioned in this article. These experiences did not involve any funding, employment, or formal affiliation, and the analysis presented here is guided by academic standards of objectivity and evidence-based research.

– ref. Why are there so many protests? The US public is highly polarized, and that drives people to act – https://theconversation.com/why-are-there-so-many-protests-the-us-public-is-highly-polarized-and-that-drives-people-to-act-263021

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Nilakshi Veerabathina, Professor of Physics Instruction, University of Texas at Arlington

Curious Kids is a series for children of all ages. If you have a question you’d like an expert to answer, send it to CuriousKidsUS@theconversation.com.

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Why can’t we feel the Earth moving? – Dave H., age 12, Atlanta

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Right now, you’re zooming through space at incredible speeds. As just one of all the living creatures on Earth, you’re along for the ride as our planet constantly moves in two major ways.

First, consider that the Earth spins around like a top. It’s rotating around the imaginary line that runs from the North Pole to the South Pole through the center of our planet. Earth completes one full rotation every 24 hours, with a speed of about 1,000 miles per hour at the equator (1,670 km/h).

While Earth is spinning on its axis, it’s also traveling around the Sun. It takes a year to finish the journey – that is, to make one full revolution and wind up back where we started. Earth hurtles along its path with a whopping average speed of 67,000 miles per hour (107,000 kmh).

These speeds are way faster than any vehicle you’ve ever traveled in. So why aren’t you dizzy or flying off into space? Why don’t you even feel the Earth moving?

It’s this kind of question that lit a desire in me as a child to understand the universe and our place in it. Now I have a Ph.D. in astronomy and teach college students some of the same physics principles that explain why you can’t feel Earth’s motion as it zips through space.

No jerks or bumps

Think about a time when you do feel motion, such as on a carousel ride at an amusement park. When it speeds up, slows down or turns quickly, your body notices because the motion isn’t smooth.

In contrast, the Earth’s motion is remarkably steady. It has been spinning on its axis and orbiting the Sun at nearly the same speeds for billions of years, with no sudden jolts or stops. As Earth travels its slightly oval-shaped path around the Sun, its speed does change to be a bit faster when it’s closer to the Sun and a bit slower when it’s farther away. But the changes happen so gradually and smoothly that you don’t feel them at all.

Imagine you’re flying on an airplane that has reached cruising altitude. The engines are humming, you’re soaring through the sky at hundreds of miles per hour – but everything inside feels calm and still. You can walk around, relax and forget you’re traveling at all. That’s because the plane, you and everything else inside it are moving at the same speed, in the same direction.

Just as passengers don’t feel the plane’s speed while smoothly cruising, we don’t feel Earth’s movement because we’re traveling at the same speed as our planet. You, your chair, the trees, buildings, oceans – everything is moving together with the Earth.

There’s no difference in motion for your body to detect unless Earth were to suddenly speed up, slow down or change direction – and, thankfully, that doesn’t happen.

Very small ants on a very big ball

Imagine holding a huge beach ball in your hands. Picture a tiny ant crawling on the surface of that ball.

Now, think about us on Earth. We are like that ant, but the ball we’re crawling on is almost 8,000 miles (almost 13,000 kilometers) wide at the equator. That’s about the distance you’d travel driving from New York to Los Angeles and back to New York.

Because the Earth is so humongous, any movement feels very slow and gentle to our comparatively minuscule bodies as we stand on its surface.

Another reason you don’t notice Earth’s motion is that there are no nearby “landmarks” in space to act as reference points. When you’re in a car on the highway, you see trees, signs or telephone poles rushing by. Those fixed points help your brain register motion. But in space, the stars are so far away that they appear completely still, even though we’re moving relative to them at thousands of miles per hour.

Luckily, these high speeds don’t fling us off into space thanks to gravity. Gravity is an invisible force of attraction. It pulls everything on the surface of the planet toward the Earth’s center. It’s like the Earth is giving us a giant, constant hug, keeping us safely grounded.

How do we know the Earth is actually moving?

Even though we don’t feel the Earth moving, people long ago figured out that it really is by watching the sky carefully.

Start with day and night. The Sun appears to rise and set because Earth makes one full rotation on its axis every 24 hours. If Earth weren’t spinning, one side would always face the Sun, and the other would be in darkness.

Then there are the seasons. Earth is tilted on the axis it spins around. Over the course of its orbit of the Sun, Earth’s tilt causes different parts of the planet to get more or less sunlight. That’s why we have summer, winter and everything in between.

At night, stars and constellations seem to move across the sky as Earth rotates. And their positions in the sky change with the seasons. Our view of the stars changes as we move along our yearly path around the Sun. If everything stayed still, the night sky would never change.

By seeing Earth spinning and orbiting, satellites and space telescopes have confirmed what astronomers have long deduced. We may not feel it, and we can’t see any obvious landmarks rushing by, but the clues are everywhere. Earth is on the move.

And it’s not just Earth – the Sun itself rotates and moves around the center of our Milky Way galaxy at hundreds of thousands of miles per hour. Nothing in the universe is truly standing still. Everything is in motion, from planets and stars to galaxies themselves.

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Hello, curious kids! Do you have a question you’d like an expert to answer? Ask an adult to send your question to CuriousKidsUS@theconversation.com. Please tell us your name, age and the city where you live.

And since curiosity has no age limit – adults, let us know what you’re wondering, too. We won’t be able to answer every question, but we will do our best.

Nilakshi Veerabathina does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Why can’t we feel the Earth moving? – https://theconversation.com/why-cant-we-feel-the-earth-moving-256964

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Kelley Cotter, Assistant Professor of Information Sciences and Technology, Penn State

President Donald Trump announced on Sept. 19, 2025, a preliminary agreement for the sale of a majority stake in TikTok from Chinese tech giant ByteDance to a group of U.S. investors following Trump’s negotiation with Chinese leader Xi Jinping.

The deal would create a new U.S.-only version of the app, bringing it into compliance with a law signed by former President Joe Biden on April 23, 2024, and upheld by the Supreme Court on Jan. 17, 2025. Specifics of the deal remain to be hammered out, and left unresolved is the fate of the video sharing app’s core algorithm – and what that means for TikTok’s millions of U.S. users.

The Chinese government has indicated it will not permit ByteDance to sell the algorithm, because it is classified as a controlled technology export, per Chinese law. Meanwhile, U.S. tech industry executives and some lawmakers say compliance with the law requires the algorithm to be under American control. The deal as proposed includes licensing the algorithm so that it remains Chinese intellectual property while the U.S. version of the app continues to use the technology.

TikTok’s For You Page algorithm is widely considered the most important part of the app. As one analyst put it: “Buying TikTok without the algorithm would be like buying a Ferrari without the engine.”

The algorithm’s value lies in its uncanny capacity to anticipate users’ content preferences. Many users claim it knows them better than they know themselves — a sentiment that has evolved into a curious mix of spiritual belief and conspiracy theorizing, as my colleagues and I have documented. Other scholars have similarly noted that users feel more intimately seen and known by TikTok’s algorithm than those powering other popular platforms.

I have studied social media algorithms for nearly a decade, exploring how our relationships with them have evolved as they become increasingly entwined with daily life. As both a social media scholar and TikTok devotee, I want to shed some light on how the algorithm works and how the app might change in the wake of its sale.

How the TikTok algorithm works

In some ways, the TikTok algorithm does not differ significantly from other social media algorithms. At their core, algorithms are merely a series of steps used to accomplish a specific goal. They perform mathematical computations to optimize output in service of that goal.

There are two layers to the TikTok algorithm. First, there is the abstract layer that defines the outcome developers wish to accomplish. An internal document shared with The New York Times specified that TikTok’s algorithm optimizes for four goals: “user value,” “long-term user value,” “creator value” and “platform value.”

But how do you turn these goals into math? What does an abstract concept like “user value” even mean? It’s not practical to ask users whether they value their experience every time they visit the site. Instead, TikTok relies on proxy signals that translate abstract outcomes into quantifiable measures — specifically, likes, comments, shares, follows, time spent on a given video and other user behavior data. These signals then become part of an equation to predict two key concrete outcomes: “retention,” or the likelihood that a user will return to the site, and “time spent” on the app.

The TikTok For You Page algorithm relies on machine learning for predicting retention and time spent. Machine learning is a computational process in which an algorithm learns patterns in a dataset, with little or no human guidance, to produce the best equation to predict an outcome. Through learning patterns, the algorithm determines how much individual data signals matter for coming up with a precise prediction.

A Wall Street Journal investigation found that the amount of time users spend watching each video plays a large role in how the algorithm chooses videos it suggests to users. Using the equation it has generated to predict retention and time spent, the algorithm assigns a score to each video and ranks possible videos that could be shown to the user by this score. The higher the score for an individual user, the more likely the video will appear in their feed.

Of course, content characteristics and other users additionally inform recommendations, and there are other subprocesses folded into the equation. This step is where algorithmic moderation usually comes in. If a video looks like engagement bait or has excessive gore, for example, the content’s score will be penalized.

What’s likely to change for US users

The sale has not been finalized, and what happens to the algorithm is unresolved. However, it’s fairly certain that TikTok will change. I see two key reasons for change.

First, the proposed app’s U.S.-only user population will alter the makeup of the underlying dataset informing algorithmic recommendations on an ongoing basis. As the kinds of content and users come to reflect American cultural preferences, values and behaviors, the algorithm may be slightly different as it “learns” new patterns.

Moreover, not all users will choose to join the new app, especially if it is seen as under the control of Trump’s allies. The current deal reportedly would give an 80% share to U.S. investors, including 50% to new investors Oracle, Silver Lake and Andreessen Horowitz. These investors’ have connections to Trump, and an apparent provision of the deal allows the U.S. government to select one board member. This may result in a user population – and data – reflective of a narrower realm of interests and ideologies.

Second, it’s possible that the majority share owners of the new app will decide to adjust the algorithm, particularly when it comes to content moderation. The new owners may wish to modify TikTok’s Community Guidelines according to their view of acceptable and unacceptable speech.

For example, TikTok’s current Community Guidelines prohibit misinformation and work with independent fact-checkers to assess the accuracy of content. While Meta used to follow a similar approach for Instagram and Facebook, in January 2025 announced that it would end Meta’s relationships with independent fact-checkers and loosen content restrictions. YouTube has similarly relaxed its content moderation this year.

The bottom line is algorithms are highly sensitive to context. They reflect the interest, values and worldviews of the people who build them, the preferences and behaviors of people whose data informs their models and the legal and economic contexts they operate within.

This means that while it’s difficult to predict exactly what a U.S.-only TikTok will be like, it’s safe to assume it will not be a perfect mirror image of the current app.

Kelley Cotter has received funding from the National Science Foundation.

– ref. TikTok sale puts app’s algorithm in the spotlight – a social media expert explains how the For You Page works and what changes are in store – https://theconversation.com/tiktok-sale-puts-apps-algorithm-in-the-spotlight-a-social-media-expert-explains-how-the-for-you-page-works-and-what-changes-are-in-store-265658

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Mike Shriberg, Professor of Practice & Engagement, School for Environment & Sustainability; Director of the University of Michigan Water Center, University of Michigan

For more than a decade, controversy over an oil pipeline that passes directly through a Native American reservation and then across a sensitive waterway that is also a key shipping lane has brewed in Wisconsin and Michigan.

Since taking office in January 2025, the Trump administration has joined an already complex fray, with policy decisions and legal filings as well as administrative and judicial appointments that have shifted the strategies and potential outcomes of the situation. The changes affect not just pipeline operator Enbridge but also the environmental, Indigenous and political leaders working to shut down the pipeline, known as Line 5.

Part of the dispute is slated to come before the U.S. Supreme Court in the coming months, but that will not deliver the final resolution of the situation.

I am a water policy and politics analyst and a former gubernatorial appointee to Michigan’s Pipeline Safety Advisory Board. I see these controversies raising critical questions about the environmental and economic future of the Great Lakes region and serving as a proxy for wider national battles over water policy, Indigenous rights and the role of fossil fuels in the nation’s future.

Scrutiny of the pipeline

Built in 1953, Enbridge’s Line 5 oil pipeline carries petroleum products mostly from western Canada’s tar sands to refineries in eastern Canada, using the Great Lakes as a shortcut. It traverses 645 miles (1,040 km) through Wisconsin and Michigan and transports approximately 23 million gallons of oil and natural gas liquids per day from Superior, Wisconsin, to Marysville, Michigan, and then across the Saint Clair River to Sarnia, Ontario.

The pipeline has been the subject of intense scrutiny since soon after a 2010 oil spill into the Kalamazoo River in Michigan from another Enbridge pipeline with a similar start and endpoint. The 2012 publication of Sunken Hazard, a report from the National Wildlife Federation about the potential for a spill from Line 5, fomented public concern and launched an advocacy movement that began with questions about Line 5’s safety and has led to calls for its complete shutdown.

While the entire pipeline is being scrutinized, there are two primary areas of concern. In Wisconsin, the pipeline runs for 12 miles (19 km) across the reservation of the Bad River Band of Lake Superior Chippewa. And when it crosses from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula to its Lower Peninsula, the line splits into two parallel pipes that run along the bottom of the Straits of Mackinac, which connect Lake Michigan and Lake Huron.

Shutting down Line 5 in Michigan

In 2021, Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer revoked Enbridge’s easement to operate the pipeline across the Straits of Mackinac. The governor asserted that Enbridge “repeatedly violated the 1953 easement and that the continued operation of the dual pipelines violates the state’s solemn duty to protect the Great Lakes.”

Some of her concerns exist because the pipeline sits in the open water of the Great Lakes and has been damaged multiple times by ship’s anchors, is subject to corrosion, and has been found to be bent and deformed by the extremely powerful currents in the Straits of Mackinac.

Enbridge refused to comply with the shutdown order and has taken the battle into the courts while continuing to send petroleum products through the pipeline across the straits. The Trump administration – through a Sept. 19, 2025, court filing – is supporting Enbridge’s claim that the pipeline is not subject to state regulation and oversight.

There has been a long back-and-forth about whether state courts have jurisdiction, as state officials argued, or whether federal courts should handle it, as Enbridge claimed. In June 2025 the trial was set for a state court when the U.S. Supreme Court unexpectedly stepped in at Enbridge’s request. The case has not yet been scheduled for oral arguments before the court, but they – and a potential ruling – are expected sometime between October 2025 and June 2026.

The state court has said it will continue its proceedings without waiting for a Supreme Court decision. But the ground is set for the continuation of an extended and complicated legal battle.

The Great Lakes tunnel

While Enbridge is fighting the shutdown of its existing pipeline, the company is seeking state and federal permission to build a replacement, by digging a new tunnel below the Straits of Mackinac.

The company needs both federal and state permits before construction can begin. The federal permits are expected to come quickly as a result of a Trump administration policy.

On the first day of his second term, Trump declared a “national energy emergency.” In general, the policy is being used to try to slow the transition away from fossil fuels and toward clean energy sources, and to remove climate change as a factor in environmental reviews and permitting.

For Line 5, the most consequential provisions of the order are those that call for “emergency approvals” and “expediting the Delivery of Energy Infrastructure.” The tunnel is on the Army Corps of Engineers’ list of projects eligible for fast-track approval.

However, Enbridge still needs state permits, which many groups are opposing based on potential environmental damage to the shoreline, the safety of the tunnel and the need to address climate change by slowing down oil extraction.

In addition, all of the federally recognized tribal governments in Michigan oppose Line 5’s continued existence, contending that Indigenous fishing rights in the Straits of Mackinac are at risk from the pipeline both ecologically and culturally. Their position, expressed in a state-court challenge to the tunnel, could end up testing the power of their rights under treaties with the U.S. government.

Bad River Band’s effort

In addition to both of those disputes, a Native American tribe in Wisconsin undertook its own efforts to reduce the risk of environmental damage from the pipeline on its land and the surrounding watershed.

In 2013, the Bad River Band declined to renew Enbridge’s pipeline easement through its territory, which is sometimes referred to as the “Everglades of the Great Lakes” because of its extensive and pristine wetlands. In 2017 the tribe voted to require Enbridge to remove the line from its land.

Enbridge refused to comply and has contested the validity of the Bad River Band’s decision, inherently challenging the tribe’s sovereignty. At the same time, the company is attempting to reroute the pipeline around the reservation – though still within the Bad River watershed.

In 2019 the tribe sued Enbridge to force the removal and ultimately won a federal judge’s ruling that the company must remove the pipeline by June 2026 and pay US$5.15 million for ongoing trespassing. Enbridge has appealed, and many observers expect that case to also come to the Supreme Court.

As that process unfolds, Enbridge is seeking expedited state and federal permits for the reroute. Environmental advocates, tribe members and others have asked a court to decide whether state permits that were granted in late 2024 were given without following the proper procedure. Hearings on that question continue.

Pipeline opponents are also asking the Army Corps of Engineers, which must issue its own permits, to reject the application for the new route, effectively cutting off the pipeline. However, this federal permit is also subject to Trump’s “national energy emergency,” and so it is unlikely to be stopped by federal agencies and is expected by the end of 2025.

A convoluted puzzle

On all three parallel fronts, the Trump administration’s shaping of policy and the judiciary has put advocates on the defensive.

The state of Michigan is concerned that its autonomy over its portion of the Great Lakes is at risk if the federal government and courts can overrule its revocation of Enbridge’s easement to operate.

Native American governments are concerned that their treaty-guaranteed fishing and land rights will be sacrificed in service of an energy company’s interests.

And, of course, Line 5 has major implications for Great Lakes protection and mitigating climate change, where the Trump administration has tilted the playing field in favor of fossil fuels and away from clean energy and environmental protection.

Yet the outcomes are not at all clear, and Enbridge would likely have to win on all fronts to avoid the pipeline being shut down, since it cannot operate the pipeline if any segment is inoperable. I expect the implications of Line 5’s ultimate fate to reverberate across the country for years to come.

Mike Shriberg previously served as a gubernatorial appointee to the Michigan Pipeline Safety Advisory Board and as the Great Lakes Regional Executive Director for the National Wildlife Federation, which is referenced in this article and has taken positions on Line 5. He currently has no formal affiliation with this organization.

– ref. A Great Lakes oil pipeline faces 3 controversies with no speedy resolutions – https://theconversation.com/a-great-lakes-oil-pipeline-faces-3-controversies-with-no-speedy-resolutions-264105

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Danielle Hass, Ph.D. Candidate, Department of Marketing, West Virginia University

I was one of the millions of people who lost someone to the COVID-19 pandemic. Despite the nonstop news about the “new normal,” my grief felt invisible. I took shallow solace in my phone and turned to social media to numb me from the reality that I now lived in: a world without my dad.

One day, while mindlessly scrolling, I came across the r/Squishmallow subreddit, where a girl had posted her collection of more than 100 round plush toys. They were called Squishmallows – round stuffed animals invented in 2017 that have become one of the most popular toy lines in the world, with more than 100 million sold each year.

I was hypnotized. I expected that my dive into the Squishmallow phenomenon would be the usual two-hour rabbit hole, but spending time in that community was the first joy I’d felt in months.

After scrolling through endless photos of Squishmallow hauls, I worked up the courage to post. I asked if there was a cardinal Squishmallow, since that bird was my dad’s symbol for his own father. I was bombarded with compassion; even though cardinal Squishmallows were rare at the time, someone sent me theirs for free. That single act of generosity started my collection.

Stumbling into the Squishmallow world

But alongside kindness and joy, I encountered a darker side of the community: resellers. Finding the most coveted Squishmallows could turn into a fierce competition.

This wasn’t just my personal frustration. As a doctoral candidate in marketing, I wanted to understand how communities like this function when outsiders exploit their passion for profit. That became the focus of my dissertation — the first study to examine resellers’ psychological and emotional impact on brand communities.

That research – which my colleagues and I published in one of the field’s top journals – echoed what I had lived through as a collector: Resellers are one of the most consistent sources of pain for members of brand communities.

For example, when I heard that my local Hot Topic would be selling two Reshmas, the coveted strawberry cow Squishmallow, I, like any rational adult, found myself outside of a mall at 6:30 in the morning. When the doors finally opened at 11 a.m., I sprinted to the storefront – only to find that I had been beaten by some people who had dressed as mall employees to sneak in early. I left devastated and cowless.

Later that day, I saw the same people gloating in local Squishmallow Facebook groups, trying to resell the cow for more than 10 times the retail price. I was heartbroken and angry; I swore I’d never collect again. And I wasn’t the only one to feel that way: Across social media, you’ll find countless collectors venting about resellers.

What is a brand community?

I didn’t know it then, but I had joined my first brand community: a group of consumers who form strong, meaningful connections through their shared admiration of a product. Brand communities range from giant online hubs with more than 100,000 members to tiny local groups that host trading parties in empty lots.

You might be in a brand community without realizing it. These communities can be created by a company – like Harley-Davidson, Lego and Hot Wheels – or emerge organically from fans, like the Facebook group “Walt Disney World Tips and Tricks.”

And they aren’t just about buying and selling. They’re creative ecosystems, full of posts showing collections, inventive displays and even goodbye messages when someone “rehomes” an item to another loving collector. Community members help each other solve problems, share leads on hard-to-find items and sometimes even mail strangers a plush toy because they know it will make them smile.

But while collectors use these communities to exchange information, so do resellers.

The reseller paradox: A shared enemy can unite a community

Resellers are outsiders who buy the most sought-after items and flip them online for a profit. They scout inventory tips, track hot products and plan their shelf-clearing strategies accordingly. And they infuriate collectors like me. Nothing sours the thrill of the hunt faster than seeing a shelf cleared by someone who only wants to use your sacred collectibles for profit.

After feeling emotional pain myself, I wanted to understand why resellers bothered me so much, and what they meant for the communities that had become my lifeline. That frustration became the spark for my research. What I found surprised me.

As a collector, nothing frustrates me more than to say: According to my research, resellers paradoxically strengthen brand communities. Yes, you read that right. Resellers help communities, but not because they try to help members acquire their desired items. In fact, my findings indicate that resellers inflict heartbreak on community members – which was in line with what I saw and experienced.

Resellers help brand communities because they create a common enemy that the community can rally against. When resellers grab all the stock from a store shelf, collectors turn to each other. They vent. They strategize. They share tips on where to find certain items, offer to pick up extras for strangers and organize trades to help each other avoid inflated resale prices. Ironically, the people causing the most frustration also increase community engagement.

Brand communities are real communities

These communities reminded me that you are never truly alone in your darkest moments. Joining a niche community, whether for sneakers, trading cards, cars or even Squishmallows, can enrich your life far beyond the products themselves. It wasn’t the Squishmallows that helped me heal from loss; it was the connection that lived in threads, comments and group chats.

I even came to appreciate the “villains” of the community – resellers – for their role in bringing people together. Although I still think I deserve that strawberry cow more than they did.

Danielle Hass does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. How Squishmallow collecting helped me cope with grief, make new enemies and find ‘villains’ worth studying – https://theconversation.com/how-squishmallow-collecting-helped-me-cope-with-grief-make-new-enemies-and-find-villains-worth-studying-264569

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Edward Avery-Natale, Professor of Sociology, Mercer County Community College

While New York City is commonly considered the birthplace of American punk rock, just 100 miles south of the famous CBGB club where the Ramones and other early punk bands got their start is Philadelphia, which has had its own vibrant punk rock scene since at least 1974 – and it has persisted through the present day.

I am a professor of sociology at Mercer County Community College in New Jersey, lead editor of a forthcoming edited volume titled “Being and Punk,” and author of the 2016 book “Ethics, Politics, and Anarcho-Punk Identifications: Punk and Anarchy in Philadelphia.”

I’ve been a fan of punk rock music since I was 15 years old and have been an active member of punk scenes in Philadelphia and Fargo, North Dakota. I still attend punk shows and participate in the scene whenever I can.

Though the “birth” of punk is always a contentious subject, it is fair to say that, with the Ramones forming in 1974 and releasing the “Blitzkrieg Bop” single in February 1976 in the U.S., and the Sex Pistols performing their first show in November 1975 in the U.K., punk is at least 50 years old.

Given this milestone, I believe it’s worth looking back at the heyday of the anarchist-inflected punk scene in Philly in the 1990s and 2000s, and how the political ideology and activism – encouraging opposition to capitalism, government, hierarchy and more – is still influential today.

‘Not your typical rebellion’

In Philadelphia, and especially in West Philly, a number of collectively organized squats, houses and venues hosted shows, political events and parties, along with serving as housing for punks, in the 1990s and 2000s. In some cases, the housing itself was a form of protest – squatting in abandoned buildings and living cooperatively was often seen as a political action.

There was the Cabbage Collective booking shows at the Calvary Church at 48th and Baltimore Avenue. Stalag 13 near 39th and Lancaster Avenue is where the famous Refused played one of their final shows, and The Killtime right next door is where Saves the Day played in 1999 before becoming famous. The First Unitarian Church, an actual church in Center City, still regularly puts on shows in its basement.

These largely underground venues became central to the Philadelphia punk scene, which had previously lacked midsized spaces for lesser known bands.

Many Philly punks during this era mixed music subculture with social activism. As one anarcho-punk – a subgenre of punk rock that emphasizes leftist, anarchist and socialist ideals – I interviewed for my book told me:

“My mom … said, ‘I thought you were going to grow out of it. I didn’t understand it, and your dad and I were like, ‘What are we doing? She’s going out to these shows! She’s drinking beer!’ But then we’d be like, ‘She’s waking up the next morning to help deliver groceries to old people and organize feminist film screenings!’ We don’t know what to do, we don’t know how to deal with this; it’s not your typical rebellion.’”

This quote captures the complex and ambiguous rebellion at the heart of anarcho-punk. On the one hand, it is a form of rebellion, often beginning in one’s teenage years, that contains the familiar trappings of youth subcultures: drug and alcohol consumption, loud music and unusual clothing, hairstyles, tattoos and piercings.

However, unlike other forms of teenage rebellion, anarcho-punks also seek to change the world through both personal and political activities. On the personal level, and as I showed in my book, many become vegan or vegetarian and seek to avoid corporate consumerism.

“I do pride myself on trying to not buy from sweatshops, trying to keep my support of corporations to a minimum, though I’ve loosened up over the years,” another interviewee, who was also vegan, said. “You’ll drive yourself crazy if you try to avoid it entirely, unless you … go live with [British punk band] Crass on an anarcho-commune.”

Love and rage in the war against war

Philly’s punk activists of that era spread their anarchist ideals through word and deed.

Bands like R.A.M.B.O., Mischief Brew, Flag of Democracy, Dissucks, Kill the Man Who Questions, Limp Wrist, Paint it Black, Ink and Dagger, Kid Dynamite, Affirmative Action Jackson and The Great Clearing Off, The Sound of Failure, and countless others, sang about war, capitalism, racism and police violence.

For example, on its 2006 single “War-Coma,” Witch Hunt reflected on the ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, laying blame on voters, government and religion:

24 years old went away to war / High expectations of what the future holds / Wore the uniform with pride a rifle at hand / Bringing democracy to a far away land / Pregnant wife at home awaiting his return / Dependent on faith, will she ever learn? / Ignore the consequences have faith in the Lord / Ignorance is bliss until reality sets in / Never wake up again

During live performances, bands would commonly discuss what the songs were about. And at merchandise tables, they sold T-shirts and records along with zines, books, patches and pins, all of which commonly contained political images or slogans.

Some bands became meta-critics of the punk scene itself, encouraging listeners to recognize that punk is about more than music.

In “Preaching to the Converted,” Kill The Man Who Questions critiqued the complaints bands would receive for becoming too preachy at shows:

“Unity” the battle cry / Youth enraged but don’t ask why / They just want it fast and loud, with nothing real to talk about / 18 hours in a dying van / Proud to be your background band.

In West Philadelphia, punks also staffed the local food cooperative and organized activist spaces – like the former A-Space on Baltimore Avenue and LAVA Zone on Lancaster Avenue where groups such as Food Not Bombs and Books Through Bars, among others, would operate. I personally organized a weekend gathering of the Northeastern Anarchist Network at LAVA in 2010.

Punks raised money for charities and showed up to local protests against capitalist globalization and countless other causes. At the Republican National Convention in Philadelphia in the summer of 2000, black-clad punks whose faces were hidden behind masks marched in the streets along with an enormous cadre of local community organizations.

Punk not dead in Philly

Since punk’s earliest days, people have bemoaned that “punk is dead.”

In Philadelphia, I’ve seen how the anarcho-punk scene of the 1990s and 2000s has changed, but also how it continues to influence local bands and the values of punk rock broadly.

Many former and current members of the Philly anarcho-punk scene are still activists in various personal and professional ways. Among those I interviewed between 2006 and 2012 were social workers, labor organizers, teachers and professors, and school and drug counselors. For many, their professional lives were influenced by the anarchist ethics they had developed within the punk rock scene.

And many local punks showed up at the Occupy Philly camp and protests outside City Hall in 2011, and later marched in the streets during Black Lives Matter protests following the murder of George Floyd and killing of Breonna Taylor in 2020. They also participated in the homeless encampment on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, also in 2020. And local punks I know continue to participate in grassroots campaigns like Decarcerate PA.

Anarchism and punk rock open up avenues for disaffected youth – in Philadelphia or anywhere else – to dream of a world without capitalism, coercive authorities, police and all forms of injustice.

In the words of R.A.M.B.O., one of the better known hardcore punk bands of the era and who released their latest Defy Extinction album in 2022: “If I can dream it, then why should I try for anything else?”

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Edward Avery-Natale does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. How Philly anarcho-punks blended music, noise and social justice in the 1990s and 2000s – https://theconversation.com/how-philly-anarcho-punks-blended-music-noise-and-social-justice-in-the-1990s-and-2000s-264178