In an era of increasing social isolation, platforms like Facebook and Twitter are among the most important tools we have to understand each other. However, social media can also lead to polarization and misunderstanding as author Chris Bail discusses in this episode of Democracy Works.
I used to enjoy doing my schoolwork in my college newspaper’s office. There is a series of tall library shelves filled with dusty books held together by loose binding that contain every article printed since our inception in the 1930s.
The book covers have lost the sharpness of their hues over time, and the thin old papers inside are yellow and torn, but inside those books lie almost 100 years of articles that tell the stories and history of the college town, Isla Vista, and UC Santa Barbara, as written by student journalists at the Daily Nexus.
One day, as I started perusing the books, the tall dusty bookshelves transformed into a historical archive of their own right. There are thousands of stories in those books that show how students from the Black Student Union protested on campus to create the Black Studies Department in 1968, how anti-Vietnam War protests led to the burning of a Bank of America building in Isla Vista, how people from the unincorporated town of Isla Vista galvanized to create a local government after being reliant on county representatives for decades. At that moment, as I was reading these stories, I realized how all local newspapers hold the history of their community within their pages.
Washington Post's Alan Barth once wrote, 'Journalism is the first rough draft of history.' I understood what he meant in that moment with much more clarity.
But if journalism does serve as the first rough draft of history, biased coverage of marginalized communities doesn't just harm those communities today — it distorts the historical record that future generations inherit. It is then the responsibility of journalists to regularly consider how they immortalize the communities they report on, ensuring that all people’s stories are preserved in their local archives with dignity and humanity.
Journalism is by no means an industry unfamiliar with biased coverage of communities of color. In the wake of the racial reckoning after George Floyd’s murder, several journalism outlets, including the L.A. Times and the Baltimore Sun, released editorials taking accountability for systemic bias in their coverage of communities of color.
Both the L.A. Times and the Baltimore Sun offered examples of moments in the past and present where their coverage propelled harmful misrepresentations in stories that included Black, Indigenous, Latino, or Asian communities. The L.A. Times wrote that during the 1943 Zoot Suit Riots, when “sailors on leave from wartime” attacked Mexican Americans in L.A. wearing the Zoot Suit, the Times “blamed the victims instead of their assailants.”
“When First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt suggested that the rioting might have grown out of racial discrimination toward Mexican Americans, The Times vehemently denied that was possible, asserting in an editorial, ‘We like Mexicans and we think they like us,’” the editorial stated.
The Baltimore Sun wrote about their history of taking law enforcement’s word over that of Baltimore residents for decades, even as “the city of Baltimore adopted a ‘zero tolerance’ style of policing in the late ’90s.” Later, the Department of Justice found that their policy led to repeated violations of constitutional and statutory rights.
“Shortly after the diary release, in 1991, the vicious beating of Rodney King by Los Angeles police officers was recorded on video and broadcast across the country, and white Americans could no longer deny that Black people were being mistreated by law enforcement,” their article stated. “Yet, The Sun would continue to take the word of local law enforcement over Baltimore residents in its reporting for decades to come, largely without question.”
A key function of journalism is to hold authorities accountable and question their actions. It was a mission of journalism; the Sun acknowledged that it had failed to deliver in the context of police brutality in Baltimore.
Journalism is often primary source material for historians, and thus, the bias that colors our work seeps into how the past is later reconstructed and remembered.
As a history major at UC Santa Barbara, I conducted research using magazine articles and advertisements from the 70s to understand how henna came into the U.S. beauty industry. My research revealed that amid the second-wave feminism movement, many women were rejecting cosmetic products in response to the idea of freeing women’s sexuality from the male gaze.
There was a cultural rejection of what was considered synthetic, artificial, and to please a man, and an embrace of what was considered natural, authentic, and for oneself. Cosmetic companies looking to cater to this demographic took advantage of the messaging from the movement and started promoting products they could advertise as for the “natural” woman. This is when henna began emerging as a popular hair dye in the U.S.
While conducting this research, I was struck by how fashion articles and cosmetic advertisements in magazines could help elucidate such a niche topic decades later. I wondered if one day, the articles I write might be examined by later historians to gain a better understanding of the times in which we live today.
Reflecting on the history we learned in high school, some chapters also highlighted the aforementioned issues in journalism, including misrepresentation and underrepresentation. Until college, none of my classes taught me about the Stonewall Riots or Black history outside the context of slavery and the Civil War.
In my own early-career experiences, I have found that some people in communities of color are distrustful of the media and resistant to being interviewed or included in stories. And I knew that harmful coverage from media outlets I was working for was why people were distrustful of me to begin with. Other times, it was because some communities felt journalists were only interested in their stories when there was crime or violence, and that their lives and stories were otherwise largely ignored. And finally, sometimes, people just don’t trust “the media.”
Perhaps I hadn’t considered the true magnitude of the problem. It wasn’t simply a history of biased coverage. It was a historical archive in which several communities of color had been relegated to stereotypes or were left unheard by the people who claimed to serve them. At one point, people lose faith.
That leaves those of us who write the first rough drafts of history, those of us who chronicle the present, to understand the past we inherit and the magnitude of its impact. Within my scope, I’ve attempted to approach reporting by understanding my audience and building relationships with key community voices and groups from the outset of every reporting position. I think about how to reach out to the everyday communities my outlet serves, the advocates and experts that govern my niche, whether that is immigration or education, and the lawmakers that govern and represent the communities my outlet serves.
The effort of establishing relationships early on allows people to get to know me as a reporter. It enables me to prove to them the type of journalist I am, rather than demanding their trust when a story I’m working on requires their perspective. It’s not the solution to a systemic problem, but it ensures I try my best on a personal scale, not just to expect people to be amenable to journalists, but rather to earn the trust they deserve.
Building relationships can be a long-term endeavor, and the trust it elicits can help tell stories that rectify the distorted narratives often perpetuated by newspapers for many communities. It’s a small step but an important one.
On a grander scale, news outlets can also revisit their previous coverage and consider follow-up stories — or the gaps in history left by underrepresentation or misrepresentation — to reframe the stories that define communities in newspaper archives.
Mark Danner’s “The Massacre at El Mozote” revisited a period of the Cold War in El Salvador where the Salvadoran military, backed by the U.S. army, killed hundreds in the name of anticommunism. Until Danner’s work surfaced in 1993, the U.S. government had largely succeeded in discrediting the very idea that the U.S. had partaken in the massacre.
Or perhaps take 'Unbroken: My Fight for Survival, Hope, and Justice for Indigenous Women and Girls' by Angela Sterritt, which combines memoir with investigative journalism to tell the stories of missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls across Canada. Part of the story includes those who went missing along British Columbia's Highway of Tears since the 1970s, examining how insufficient police investigation created a cycle of desensitization and dehumanization of Indigenous women.
And as Sterrit’s work demonstrates, our life experiences can inform stories that bridge the gaps in historical coverage of certain communities. Such efforts serve as a poignant reminder that the ink that writes history is never permanently dry. However, it requires those of us who produce primary sources for future historians to consider the longer-term implications of how we create a permanent record of the people we report on.
Atmika Iyer is a graduate student in Northwestern Medill’s Politics, Policy, and Foreign Affairs reporting program. Atmika is also a journalism intern with the Fulcrum.
To read more of Atmika's work, click HERE.
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"To prepare tomorrow’s doctors, medical school deans, elected officials, and health care regulators must invest in training that matches the pace and promise of this technology," writes Dr. Robert Pearl.
While colleges across the nation are adapting their curricula to harness the power of generative AI, U.S. medical schools remain dangerously behind.
Most students entering medicine today will graduate without ever being trained to use GenAI tools effectively. That must change. To prepare tomorrow’s doctors – and protect tomorrow’s patients – medical school deans, elected officials, and health care regulators must invest in training that matches the pace and promise of this technology.
Universities embrace AI as medical schools fall behind
Across the country, colleges and universities are reimagining how they educate students in the age of generative AI.
These aren’t niche experiments. They’re part of a sweeping, systems-level transformation aimed at preparing graduates for a rapidly evolving workforce.
Most medical schools, however, have not kept pace. Instead of training students to apply modern tools toward clinical care, they continue to emphasize memorization — testing students on biochemical pathways and obscure facts rarely used in practice.
Early fears about plagiarism and declining academic rigor led many university departments to proceed cautiously after ChatGPT’s release in 2022. But since then, an increasing number of these educational institutions have shifted from policing AI to requiring faculty to incorporate GenAI into their coursework. And the American Federation of Teachers announced earlier this month that it would start an AI training hub for educators with $23 million from tech giants Microsoft, OpenAI, and Anthropic.
Medical education remains an outlier. A recent Educause study found that just 14% of medical schools have developed a formal GenAI curriculum, compared to 60% of undergraduate programs. Most medical school leaders and doctors still regard large language models as administrative aids rather than essential clinical tools.
This view is short-sighted. Within a few years, physicians will rely on generative AI to synthesize vast amounts of medical research, identify diagnostic patterns, and recommend treatment options tailored to the latest evidence. Patients will arrive at appointments already equipped with GenAI-assisted insights.
Used responsibly, generative AI can help prevent the 400,000 deaths each year from diagnostic errors, 250,000 deaths from preventable medical mistakes, and 500,000 deaths from poorly controlled chronic diseases. Elected officials and regulators need to support this life-saving approach.
How medical schools can catch up
In the past, medical students were evaluated on their ability to recall information. In the future, they will be judged by their ability to help AI-empowered patients manage chronic illnesses, prevent life-threatening disease complications, and maximize their health.
With generative AI capabilities doubling every year, matriculating medical students will be entering clinical practice equipped with tools over 30 times more powerful than today’s models. Yet few doctors will have received structured training on how to use them effectively.
Modernizing medical education starts with faculty training. Students entering medical school in 2025 will arrive already comfortable using generative AI tools like ChatGPT. Most instructors, however, will need to build that fluency.
To close this gap, academic leaders should provide faculty training programs before the start of the next academic year. These sessions would introduce educators to prompt engineering, output evaluation, and reliability assessment. These are foundational skills for teaching and applying GenAI in clinical scenarios.
Once faculty are prepared, schools would begin building case-based curricula that reflect modern clinical realities.
Sample Exercise: Managing chronic disease with GenAI support
In this scenario, students imagine seeing a 45-year-old man during a routine checkup. The patient has no prior medical problems, but on a physical exam, his blood pressure reads 140/100.
First, students walk through the traditional diagnostic process:
Next, they enter the same case into a generative AI tool and compare its output to their own. Where do they align? Where do they differ (and, importantly, why)?
Finally, students design a care plan that incorporates GenAI’s growing capabilities, such as:
This type of training – integrated alongside traditional curriculum – prepares future clinicians to master not just the technology but also understand how it can be used to transform medical care.
A call to government: Empower the next generation of physicians
Medical schools can’t do this alone. Because most physician training is funded through federal grants and Medicare-supported residency programs, meaningful reform will require coordinated leadership from academic institutions, government agencies, and lawmakers.
Preparing future doctors to use GenAI safely and effectively should be treated as a national imperative. Medicare will need to fund new educational initiatives, and agencies like the FDA must streamline the approval process for GenAI-assisted clinical applications.
This month, the Trump administration encouraged U.S. companies and nonprofits to develop AI training programs for schools, educators, and students. Leading tech companies — including Nvidia, Amazon, and Microsoft — quickly signed on.
If medical school deans demonstrate similar openness to innovation, we can expect policymakers and industry leaders to invest in medical education, too.
But if medical educators and government leaders hesitate, for-profit companies and private equity firms will fill the void. And they will use GenAI not to improve patient care but primarily to increase margins and drive revenue.
As deans prepare to welcome the class of 2029 (and as lawmakers face the growing costs of American health care), they must ask themselves:
Are we preparing students to practice yesterday’s medicine or to lead tomorrow’s?
Dr. Robert Pearl, the author of “ ChatGPT, MD,” teaches at both the Stanford University School of Medicine and the Stanford Graduate School of Business. He is a former CEO of The Permanente Medical Group.
South Novato Library, California
Bay Area community advocates are cautioning community members to be wary of what they see, interact with, and post on social media regarding information about the United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and immigration, following a rumor that targeted the Marin County Library.
‘South Novato Library has safe rooms that cannot be accessed by border patrol or ICE without a court order,’ an Instagram story post reads, with photos of a room in the library next to the text alongside the library address. The graphic claims Immigration and Customs Enforcement would not have the right to enter the pictured room without a court-ordered warrant.
Despite the graphic becoming a popular share among the local community of Novato, a Marin County city located just north of San Francisco, the information is false.
“I am extremely concerned that people have taken the information that I shared in a specific meeting out of context and used it erroneously,” Héctor García, Bilingual Community Library Specialist, said in an email statement.
García believes whoever created the post took information he shared earlier in the year from a meeting in which he relayed information given to the library staff by the county. At the time of the meeting, the staff spaces at the South Novato Library were considered off-limits to ICE agents, he stated.
“Someone took a screenshot of this chat and shared it on their social media,” he said. “However, as we agreed in all our meetings concerning Immigrants Rights and Justice is that everything is changing at a fast speed during this administration and that we need to make sure before sharing that we are not misinforming people.”
South Novato Library’s Media Manager, Andre Clemons, said after looking at the post, a few things stood out to him.
“The quality of the image is not something we would produce, and there is no way to verify this information on who to call, but it did have our address, and it was written in a tone as if we wrote it, but that's not something that we write,” he said.
Clemons says he wishes people would call the library before reposting.
Despite the social media post’s claims, ICE agents do not need a court-ordered warrant to enter the South Novato Library. There is an ongoing investigation over the social media post, according to Clemons.
“The hope will be that we are able to protect our voice from being misused in a way that causes confusion and just creating more fear unnecessarily,” Clemons said.
The post became a popular share on social media platforms during a time of unrest and high tension across California after President Donald Trump’s order in April to go after sanctuary cities that “obstruct the enforcement of Federal immigration laws.” Tensions escalated in June when ICE began raiding parts of Los Angeles, and the city began to heavily protest all ICE activity. But it wasn’t just Los Angeles; protests erupted all throughout California in support of the immigrant community.
And for those who didn’t see it on their streets, they saw it on their screens. Social media apps like TikTok and Instagram are used to post sightings, videos of protests, and even videos of people getting detained by ICE.
However, local leaders warn that misinformation is flooding social media platforms at an increasing rate. Lisa Bennett, Executive Director of the nonprofit Multicultural Center of Marin, says misinformation is growing even beyond mainstream social media apps and manifesting in apps like ICEBlock and People over Papers. ICEBlock and People over Papers allow the public to post ICE sightings, confirmed or not.
“It’s difficult [to differentiate between fake and real content], we can’t even differentiate sometimes,” Bennett said. “There are people who do this maliciously, and so I have to look out for that.”
The Multicultural Center of Marin County hosts the Marin Rapid Response Network, a 24-hour hotline that serves immigrants by providing resources and assistance if they are faced with ICE. Bennett says they receive about 10-15 calls a day with people reporting or inquiring about ICE sightings. The network verifies in two ways: by sending trained observers or receiving a call from a community member whose family member has been detained.
Bennett says the most helpful action people can take is to call the Marin Rapid Response Network's 24-hour hotline and relay what they have heard or seen, allowing them to verify the information.
The Multicultural Center of Marin is working to create a mass alert system using its hotline. The hotline will notify the community about ICE's presence and debunk false sightings.
Above all, Clemons and Bennett advise that the community should not repost information regarding ICE without verifying it with the hotline or contacting entities directly, especially if the online content ties entities to specific information, such as the library.
Pricila Flores is a journalist in Northern California. Flores is a UC Santa Barbara alumna with a degree in Language, Culture and Society with a minor in Professional Writing under the Journalism track.
Earlier this summer, I recorded an episode of the Scaling Laws podcast with MacKenzie Price, founder of Alpha Schools—schools “where kids crush academics in two hours, build life skills through workshops, and thrive beyond the classroom.” The secret is AI, but likely not the sort of AI that comes to mind.
Students at Alpha Schools work with “adaptive AI” that allows 1:1 learning at the pace necessary to master a subject, moving at the speed of the student’s learning rather than that of the entire class. By relying on AI to set that tempo, the school shaves hours off the traditional classroom model and reallocates that time to activities that allow students to more fully explore their interests, from horseback riding to documentary filmmaking.
This approach also offers far more individualized communication between Alpha’s teachers, or “guides,” and students. Price asserted that guides and students have around two dozen 1:1 meetings over the course of the year. In contrast, she flagged that teachers in traditional classrooms spend an aggregate of a few minutes with each student over the course of a year.
If all of this sounds too good to be true, Price has the evidence to make the case for her approach. She can easily list all the universities that Alpha graduates are headed off to and can quickly share how students have managed incredible knowledge gains in a short amount of time. If pressed, Price will let you know they have troves of empirical data on student success because Alpha is serious about the importance of using data to continually improve their adaptive AI system.
Alpha is available to students in Austin, Miami, and, soon, even more communities. Of course, access to such an innovative and controversial model comes at a price. It’s about $40,000 per year to attend an Alpha School. Unsurprisingly, that price point leaves a lot of families stuck with the traditional model.
Most schools operate as if it were 1975, rather than 2025. Our students are stuck in institutions built in bygone eras and trapped in pedagogical practices that aimed to train reliable factory workers rather than the interdisciplinary and thoughtful leaders we need in the age of AI.
I’m the “fun uncle” or “funcle” to several nieces and nephews. When I catch up with my friends about how these youngsters are doing, I hear about students struggling to get the attention they need to make reliable progress. For instance, my nephew Tommy (not his real name) recently struggled through a math lesson on fractions. Tommy’s teacher, managing 28 other students, had maybe 30 seconds to spend with him before moving on. Tommy fell further behind, his confusion deepening with each passing day.
Meanwhile, on a tablet in the school's unused computer lab, an AI tutor akin to the one used at Alpha sat dormant—one capable of detecting exactly where Tommy’s understanding broke down, adjusting its approach in real-time, and working with him until the concept clicked. The technology to give Tommy what wealthy families have always bought their children—personalized, patient, adaptive instruction—was right there. But school policies, procurement red tape, and institutional inertia kept it locked away.
This scene plays out millions of times daily across America, and it represents something more troubling than inefficiency. We're not just failing to help Tommy learn about improper fractions as well as we could; we're actively choosing to let him struggle when we know exactly how to help him succeed. And Tommy isn't alone. Across education, healthcare, and justice, we're systematically denying ourselves the transformative benefits of artificial intelligence by clinging to institutions designed for a world that no longer exists.
In a few years, it's likely that Tommy's school and schools just like his will get access to a generic version of Alpha's AI tool. Some will say that's soon enough—after all, we cannot expect all schools to overhaul their systems to look more like Alpha's. I say that's a load of hooey. Our charge is to give our students and all future generations the tools required to thrive today and for all foreseeable tomorrows. State education departments spend tens of thousands of dollars per year on each student. Those funds should not continue to subsidize a flawed and antiquated approach to education. As large enterprises, school districts are in a position to bargain with AI companies for discounted tools. They also have the means to train teachers and demand the adoption of new tools.
Will such a change be easy? No. But it is not optional. Progress delayed is progress denied. Each day that Tommy and others are stuck in classrooms of the past, they are missing out on new knowledge and the opportunities afforded by that knowledge.
Kevin Frazier is an AI Innovation and Law Fellow at Texas Law and Author of the Appleseed AI substack.
