Amplify Utah supports and facilitates dynamic journalistic storytelling to celebrate diverse points of view. By partnering with traditional media, we cultivate an environment that encourages stories be shared widely and made easily accessible for our communities to read, hear, watch and engage.
At a Utah debate tournament, teen refugees find their voices and build their confidence
12-15-2025 By Elle Crossley
Developing the skills to argue intelligently allows refugee students to ‘leave the label to the side,’ an organizer said.
11-05-2025 By Vanessa Hudson
From photojournalist to public servant: Bruin alum Jesse Valdez aims for mayoral seat
10-21-2025 By Pearl Ashton
'I think we deserve to start telling our own narrative rather than let others do it for us.'
Your voices matter. Let us help you get your stories out to our media partners.
Amplify Utah helps facilitate the connection between student work and traditional media outlets to encourage more diversity of voices.
For those interested in replicating, adapting or building upon the Amplify project in your own community, we've put together a comprehensive playbook. We are also happy to share with you a branding toolkit to get you started.
A steady rain drove a “teach in” on censorship at Weber State University indoors on Friday, but the speakers and attendees were as persistent as the turbulent weather.
“The rain hit us hard, but people were still willing to stay for it,” said Barrett Bonella, a professor of social work at Weber State. “People really wanted to hear and be a part of this.”
Bonella is chief steward of The Wildcat Collective, a branch of the American Federation of Teachers’ Utah College Council — the union that represents university faculty and staff. The union organized the “teach in” as an alternate conference to Weber State’s annual Unity Conference.
Organizers canceled the Unity Conference this week, after being told by university officials that speakers would have to censor some of their talks. The topic of the conference was censorship.
Among those attending Friday’s campus event was Ogden School Board member Stacy Bernal, a Weber State alumna who was, according to her biography, the first manager of diversity, equity and inclusion for the Utah Jazz.
“It’s wild to me to be living out this censorship in real-time,” Bernal said. “To be just someone watching it as it was coming up in the news and on social media, I just truly couldn’t believe it.”
The alternative “teach in” was scheduled to be held Friday on the front steps of Stewart Library. When the rain started to pour around 11 a.m., and kept going through the two-hour event, The Wildcat Collective worked with campus police to move the event into a temporary indoor space.
Once inside Lindquist Hall, though, attendees were told discussions would have to adhere to the limits placed by the Utah Legislature under HB261. At that point, the event shifted to small-group discussions.
The “teach in,” which organizers called “Unity Conference: Uncensored Version,” included open-mic opportunities and speeches, featuring presenters from the canceled conference. About 50 people attended the event, as speakers discussed book banning, the limitations of censorship on scientific research and other topics.
HB261, passed by lawmakers and signed by Gov. Spencer Cox, restricts how certain topics — such as anti-racism, bias, critical race theory, oppression, intersectionality, discriminatory practices, systemic bias or personal identity characteristics — can be addressed in some higher education settings.
In an email sent to faculty and staff Friday, the president’s office at Weber State addressed the cancellation of the Unity Conference. The office cited poor communication and unclear definitions of HB261.
In the email, the administration wrote that “we recognize that this has been difficult to navigate and that there have been times when communication could have been clearer.
“We apologize for the frustration this has caused. We are truly working to move forward, through what has sometimes been shifting guidance, together.”
The administration stressed that faculty are exempt from HB261 when they teach, conduct research, join scholarly events and discuss complex or controversial issues in their field. However, other campus events — like those under the umbrella of the university’s Student Access & Success department, such as the Unity Conference — are not exempt, and must follow the content limits of HB261.
“Because of this difference, some proposed Unity Conference sessions were better suited for academic venues, while others raised compliance concerns because this was a conference hosted by Student Access & Success,” the administration wrote.
Richard Price, a political science professor at Weber State, was one of the original panelists scheduled to discuss censorship at the canceled Unity Conference. When university officials said speakers would have to restrict their language, Price wrote to the university’s president, Brad Mortensen, saying they “could no longer ethically participate.”
Price told The Signpost on Friday that while, in theory, HB261 shouldn’t affect their teaching, in reality there is no way the law won’t change how professors in Utah educate students.
“I could teach what I want in theory within the confines of my academic discipline, which is what I do,” Price said. “But I can’t talk to a general audience on campus about it, because they start to worry that it looks like the university is endorsing what I’m saying.”
Last fall, Price said they gave a talk on LGBTQ history, and administrators pushed back — even though, they said, the administrators only had access to the title of Price’s talk: “LGBTQ Education and Higher Ed.”
“The perspective that administrators are taking essentially is that anything that references groups of people — whether it’s queer people, Black History Month, whatever — can’t be done because it might piss off a legislator,” Price said.
The administration in its email closed by saying it plans to discuss the situation further with Weber State’s faculty senate and staff advisory council meetings.
Alfonso Rubio, Jared Mitchell, James Gordon and Kyle Greenawalt reported this story as student journalists at Weber State University’s The Signpost. It is published as part of an ongoing collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
Weber State University’s annual Unity Conference was set to take on a big topic — censorship — with workshops, panel discussions and the screening of a documentary about book banning.
Organizers announced Wednesday that they canceled the event, originally scheduled for Thursday and Friday, because university officials wanted speakers to remove some of what they were going to present.
Professor Richard Price, one of the scheduled speakers, wrote in an email to the university’s president, Brad Mortensen, ”Little did I expect that the university would censor the content of the conference to the point at which I could no longer ethically participate.”
On Thursday, Weber State’s chapter of the American Federation of Teachers’ Utah College Council — a union that represents faculty and staff in higher education — told The Signpost via email that it would host a “teach-in,” titled “Unity Conference: Uncensored Version.”
That event, unaffiliated with the university, was scheduled to take place at the same time and place as the original conference: Friday, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m., in front of Stewart Library on the Ogden campus.
The decision to cancel the conference came after organizers received an email from Jessica Oyler, Weber State’s vice president of Student Access and Success (SAS), in which she sought “to provide clarity” about whether the conference’s programming conformed to state law.
Oyler cited HB261, passed by Utah Legislature and signed by Gov. Spencer Cox, which requires Utah’s higher-education institutions eliminate diversity, equity and inclusion programs, commonly referred to as DEI.
“The intent here is not to suggest that operating this way is ideal, as I know there are strong feelings about the legislation itself, but rather to be transparent about how we are operationalizing the law,” Oyler wrote in her email to organizers.
Oyler told The Signpost on Thursday that her department — which funded the conference — does not enjoy the academic freedom that faculty do, and so is not exempt from the restrictions of HB261.
“That distinction in funding and coordination matters under HB261 because SAS staff and other non-faculty employees fall outside the academic freedom protections specifically carved out in the law,” she said.
HB261, Oyler said, doesn’t allow university programs to talk about what the Legislature called “discriminatory practices.” Those include anything that suggests any people, based on characteristics of personal identity, are inherently privileged, oppressed, racist, sexist or victims. The same goes for political systems or conflicts over power.
Price, a political science professor at Weber State, wrote in a blog post Thursday that administrators wanted to block information that suggested censorship is the result of a partisan strategy.
“I, a political scientist, was told not to talk about politics,” Price said. “In other words I was ordered to lie to my colleagues, students and the general public.”
The 27th annual Unity Conference, which was free to the public, was scheduled to take place Thursday and Friday at two locations: Stewart Library in Ogden and the D2 building at the school’s Davis campus in Layton.
Roughly 120 people were registered for the event, half of them conference organizers and people scheduled to present, Bryan Magaña, public relations director for the conference organizers, said in an email.
The committee in charge of the Unity Conference — whose title was “Redacted: Navigating the Complexities of Censorship” — sent an email to the conference’s collaborators Wednesday, “to share the difficult news that we have made the decision to cancel” the event. The notice also was posted on the school’s website.
An email signed by the conference’s co-chairs read: “After careful consideration of concerns raised by conference planners and participants, we have determined we cannot in good conscience deliver the high-quality, meaningful experience that our community expects and deserves.” At the bottom of the email, the sign-off, “Co-Chairs of the 27th Annual Unity Conference,” was crossed out.
Sarah Herrmann, who organized one of the conference’s panels, posted on a private faculty Facebook group, obtained by The Signpost, that presenters were directed to remove any mention of diversity, equity and inclusion by the end of the day Monday.
Herrmann wrote that she was concerned “about the precedent this sets for academic freedom, student scholarly development and the integrity of conferences and events hosted on campus.”
James Gordon, Alfonso Rubio, Jared Mitchell and Kyle Greenawalt reported this story as student journalists at Weber State University’s The Signpost. It is published as part of an ongoing collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
Eleven days later after right-wing political activist Charlie Kirk was shot and killed at Utah Valley University, the campus — now adorned with flowers, mementos and sidewalk chalk messages — stands silent, only disquieted by a steady flow of mourners in quiet conversation.
Utahns of all ages were gathered at the university; some to pay respects, some to find peace after witnessing Kirk’s death.
Kyle Pastor, a Brigham Young University (BYU) student who was in attendance when Kirk died, said that returning to the scene was “healing.”
At first, Pastor and his friends weren’t aware of what was going on. They then saw Kirk fall and everyone started running, he said.
“We all hid behind this wall for like, 10 to 15 seconds, and then we all just ran,” Pastor said. “Honestly, it kind of puts you in shock.” The impact of the shooting and his proximity to the event didn’t settle until later that day, Pastor told The Chronicle.
Payton VanSteenkiste, a student at BYU, described the scene’s environment as “heavy” yet uplifting.
“It is kind of awesome to see everyone just gathering in unity,” VanSteenkiste said. “It’s so horrific what happened, but people are able to kind of just gather together and find some sort of peace.”
Lewis Bever, a senior at UVU, said that the campus has always been a commuter school with a “disconnected” student body, but that the atmosphere changed after the shooting.
“[Students] just come here to get a degree and move on,” Bever said. “Now, I feel like there’s a lot more people that are taking pride in being a UVU student and being together.”
A corner on the UVU campus where Pastor hid after Kirk was shot, Sept. 21, 2025. (Photo by Addy Cowley | The Daily Utah Chronicle)
Directly following the shooting, both UVU and BYU offered mental health resources to students who needed help processing the event.
“[BYU] made sure everyone knew that therapists were readily available,” Pastor said. “I feel like they handled [the situation] pretty well.”
Other Utah schools, such as Weber State University, Utah State University and the University of Utah offer mental health resources for students, as well.
Recently graduated UVU student Austin Bauer said during his time at the school, campus police and security were always on campus. However, he never thought much of it.
“I never really felt like there was a huge need for a lot of security,” Bauer said.
Police are stationed at UVU 24/7 and will most likely be for the next few months, a UVU police officer told The Chronicle. The site of the shooting will be blocked off until next spring. BYU, located 11 minutes away from UVU, has now increased security measures on campus, according to Pastor.
A memorial for Charlie Kirk at the UVU campus in Orem, Utah on Sunday, Sept. 21, 2025. (Photo by Addy Cowley | The Daily Utah Chronicle)
Given the varied reactions to the nature of Kirk’s death, Pastor said the public must be able to disagree and still be able to have honest conversations.
“I think kind of what Charlie thought, [which was that] we should all stand up for our beliefs,” he said. “I don’t think you should stop anyone from sharing their opinions and their beliefs.”
VanSteenkiste discussed the importance of open dialogue.
“The biggest source of strength in person is being able to understand two different values of where people might stand, still have different opinions and still be able to respect each other,” VanSteenkiste said.
Given the shared experience, Bauer said that students must put their political views aside and “lean on each other.”
“We’re all family, we’re all humans,” Bauer said. “I hope this brings people together.”
Kelly Ryskamp, an Orem local who works 6 miles from campus, said the tragedy’s proximity makes unity not just a campus concern, but a statewide one. “How could it have happened in Utah?” Ryskamp said. “It feels like an extra layer of grief.
This story was written for The Daily Utah Chronicle at the University of Utah by news editor Addy Cowley and news editor/writer Teanna Sorensen.
This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through student journalism.
High above the barren landscape of Delta, Utah, a drone’s camera scans the footprint of the barracks that once held more than 10,000 Japanese Americans at the Topaz incarceration camp during World War II. One square mile, 42 blocks, 504 barracks—reduced to nothing more than the remnants of barbed wire and gridlines fused into the dirt.
Now, 80 years after the war’s end, students from the University of Utah have come together to produce a documentary film chronicling this chapter of Utah’s past in an effort to prevent repeating history, said Associate Professor Glen Feighery,
(Craig Wirth) Alex Hooper, a University of Utah production student, sets up a camera to film at the Topaz Internment Camp site near Delta, Utah, where some 10,000 Americans of Japanese heritage were incarcerated during World War II. Hooper is part of a class that is making a documentary about Topaz.
The student-led collaborative project, titled “Topaz: A War Within,” aims to preserve the memory of a silenced people and inspire viewers to reflect on the horrors of incarceration said Feighery, who is working alongside veteran documentarian Craig Wirth and 28 students on the film.
“We honor people when we can amplify their stories, so I’m hopeful that that’s going to be one of the takeaways,” Feighery said. “Narrative in any form is critical for that kind of knowledge, preservation and communication.”
The students broke into teams, one half focusing on research and interviews and the other on video production. Over a four-month period, they poured over hundreds of archival photographs, spent more than 40 hours gathering b-roll footage, and conducted interviews with descendants of incarcerees, a Salt Lake City Council member and a curator of Japanese art.
Liliana Anderson, a journalism student and co-writer for the film, said she wasn’t taught about the details of Japanese incarceration until taking this course.
“I never really knew about Topaz, which is crazy because I have lived in Utah my entire life,” she said. “I never even learned about it in school.”
Anderson said she saw the opportunity to tell this story as a huge undertaking that made her hesitant to join the class, but in the end she felt it was something that she could not pass up being a part of.
“It was scary at first, because the story is so big, but having this many people learn about such an important piece of history is really incredible,” she said.
In the course’s first weeks, students faced the challenge of sourcing interview subjects, which proved difficult due to the time that has passed since WWII. Wirth, a long-time documentarian, characterized the project as “one of those 10 years too late documentaries,” emphasizing the arduous task of finding living sources.
“Now that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done, it just means it's going to be more difficult,” Wirth said. “The students have been entrepreneurial in that way.”
Their persistence attracted participation from Jeanette Misaka, a 94-year-old survivor of the Heart Mountain camp in Wyoming, other second and third generation Japanese Americans, and Salt Lake City Councilmember, Darin Mano.
Anderson said she discovered a source for the documentary through a fortuitous conversation with her mother’s friend, revealing a connection to Shauna Nakagama, a Japanese American who witnessed Topaz firsthand during World War II.
Executive Order 9066 authorized military commanders to enforce the relocation of Japanese Americans, primarily on the West Coast, due to fears of espionage and sabotage following Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor. Anderson explained that Nakagama’s family voluntarily moved to Utah before the order was issued, sparing them from incarceration—but not from the trauma of witnessing what occurred behind the barbed wire.
Anderson described the emotional intensity of interviewing Nakagama, who shed tears recalling her first visit to the Topaz camp.
“After I visited Topaz, I was knocked on my butt. It was like somebody just knocked me out,” Nakagama told Anderson. “There is nothing out there, and I was never the same.”
Students also researched the Friends of Topaz Museum in Delta and documented the 2024 pilgrimage to the site. The pilgrimage began with the opening of the University of Utah exhibit, “Pictures of Belonging,” at the Utah Museum of Fine Arts.
The collection, curated by Emily Lawhead, celebrates the work of three Japanese American artists: Hisako Hibi and Mine Okubo, who were incarcerated at Topaz, and Miki Hayakawa.
“It [is] so important to Utah history that we don’t brush this under the rug,” Lawhead said. “The key to that is telling these stories, and if an approachable way to do that is through art, then I think that that is a great tool.”
The students incorporated art from the exhibit and photos of the public’s reaction into the documentary as visual aid, alongside archival photography and videography that provided context for the interviews.
Jack Hollis, a student and co-producer, joined the project after completing a documentary about Little Cottonwood Canyon in the fall of 2024. When Wirth proposed one final documentary before his retirement with Topaz as the subject, Hollis said he eagerly joined. He said he was excited to work on a new film and saw it as a powerful medium for historical storytelling.
(Craig Wirth) University of Utah documentary production students prepare a camera to get footage at the Topaz Internment Camp site near Delta, Utah, where some 10,000 Americans of Japanese heritage were incarcerated during World War II.
“When I read, it doesn't have the same impact as when I see it,” he said. “It's almost like you're sitting in the room with them, listening to them tell you a story. It can be a lot more powerful than writing.”
On March 22, Hollis and other production students traveled to Topaz, guided by Topaz Museum President Jane Beckwith. With just one day to film, they worked efficiently with ground cameras and drones, Hollis said.
Hollis said filming at the former camp site offered a unique, creative challenge. The vastness of the field provided little visual inspiration, demanding imagination and careful attention.
“It was just kind of a film as you go, figure out what you need as you go,” he said. “We had to get everything then, so we had to be very diligent and specific and not pass up any shot opportunities.”
Hollis said he felt like he was standing in a graveyard. Cement slabs, rusted nails and barbed wire circling wooden pegs served as the only remaining evidence of the barracks that once housed thousands of people.
“I'm a big World War II buff, so getting to kind of see a piece of history, a pretty big scar on America's past, was interesting in its own right, but it was also very sad,” Hollis said.
The production team worked to capture meaningful footage of a location that appeared to be little more than an empty field stretching for miles. They focused on revealing the historical details hidden in plain sight.
After four hours of filming, the team collected over 100 photo and video assets.
The subsequent editing process involved carefully assembling interview segments with visual materials. Enhanced by thoughtfully selected music, said Wirth, the documentary evolved into a vehicle for commemorating lives forever altered by Topaz.
Misaka, one of the few remaining incarceration survivors, said she’s grateful to the students for their efforts to recognize and amplify her community’s history.
“People forget their history,” she added, “and when you forget your history, you repeat it.”
Anderson believes that as a student who took part in this project, she is taking a significant step toward educating Utahns about a painful chapter in their state's history.
“It is crazy that a film of this magnitude is being produced by students,” Anderson said. “It is mindblowing.”
The class will continue editing through the summer, aiming to release the documentary on YouTube by August 2025. The hope is that it will be a source of awareness for what happened at Topaz and create space for historical remembrance.
“The mark of success is: did you make anyone who watches it reinforce or change their opinion, or get them talking?” Wirth said. “That’s a good documentary.”
Jordan Thornblad wrote this story as a journalism student at the University of Utah. It is published as part of a collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
