Each year, the 91̽�� reviews thousands of applications from students who want to pursue their undergraduate studies at the state’s flagship university.

From this pool, the 91̽��recognizes a handful of students who already exemplify the Husky spirit of leadership, empathy and community enrichment. These students are named Presidential Scholars.

Presidential Scholars receive $10,000 per undergraduate academic year and participate in a special leadership development program throughout their 91̽��experience. In addition to their 91̽��diploma, Presidential Scholars also receive a certificate in leadership.

There’s no scholarship application; admissions officials select these distinguished students from the application pool based on their values, rather than their academic accolades or financial need. Sometimes, student’s 91̽��applications stand out on their own; other times, the 91̽��hears about students from community leaders throughout the state including elected officials, school principals, district superintendents and heads of non-profit agencies.

The scholarship is open to all Washington residents.

Presidential Scholars elevate themselves and the people around them. They use their talent and creativity to innovate on behalf of their communities — whether by creating a new organization, program or app; telling the stories that have not yet been told; filling a gap in a political, scientific or artistic field; or developing new platforms to advocate for change.

The first cohort — a group of five — started in Fall 2018 thanks to a founding endowment from William and Pamela Ayer. Since then, 45 Presidential Scholars have been named.

The students are social entrepreneurs, computer scientists and community organizers. They hail from all corners of Washington — from Spokane, Wapato, Redmond and Seattle; from Ephrata, Kenmore, Gig Harbor and Goldendale.

To learn more about Presidential Scholars and the selection criteria, click here.

In 2016, Alexes Harris was diagnosed with a rare blood cancer. The 91̽��professor of sociology was told she had only 18 to 24 months to live if she didn’t have a bone marrow transplant. But the search for bone marrow donors turned up only five matches, and none ended up being a donor.

One reason Harris had trouble finding a match is because people of color are underrepresented on the registry, and ancestry matters when finding a compatible bone marrow match. Harris’ mother is white and her father, Black and Filipino.��

According to , the nation’s largest bone marrow registry, a person’s racial and ethnic background is important in predicting the likelihood of finding a match. For example, a white person has a 79% chance of finding a match. A Black person’s potential match is only 29%, and Asian and Latinx people both have about a 47% chance of matching. People of Native American ancestry have a 60% chance of finding a match.

Harris was fortunate; her doctor was aware of a clinical trial that used cord blood stem cells to treat her blood cancer. The stem cell transplant saved her life.

Harris works with Be The Match to raise awareness of the bone marrow registry, especially within communities of color. She calls those who register and commit to becoming potential donors “superheroes” whose actions can save a life.

For more information, contact Harris at yharris@uw.edu.��

A journey years in the making came to fruition this winter quarter when Paula Thiele walked into the mayor’s office, took a seat at her desk and became the first 91̽�� intern in León, Spain.

Thiele, a communication major who will graduate this spring, became the inaugural scholar to participate in the UW’s new , dubbed “¡Spain Works!” — a partnership between the 91̽��León Center, 91̽��Study Abroad and the 91̽��Career & Internship Center.

“I helped develop the idea of doing a practical internship abroad here in León, and my goal was to be the first student of many,” Thiele said. “It feels amazing to know that due to my efforts, together with those of the Communication Department’s faculty and UW, other students can follow in my footsteps and have amazing work experiences like I have.”

91̽��Provost Emeritus Jerry Baldasty, also an emeritus professor in communication who joined the 91̽��faculty in 1978 and maintains strong connections with the 91̽��León Center, said he and other faculty recognized the transformative education made possible through cultural immersion. He worked with partners at the Centro de Idiomas at the Universidad de León — a key partner to 91̽��León — which arranges homestays for 91̽��students and provides Spanish language instruction.

“It’s a combination of work experience and cultural immersion,” Baldasty said.��“ 91̽��interns work at an internship site in León. They live with a local Spanish family and take Spanish courses at the Centro de Idiomas.��Our interns not only live in another culture, they learn what it’s like to work in another culture.”

Thiele worked in the communication department at the mayor’s office (the Ayuntamiento de León), focusing on media relations and social media. Her projects included developing social media content, heading the translation of important historical articles on the city’s website and monitoring events such as press conferences.

“This internship is fully connected to the Communication Department at 91̽��and several of the classes I took throughout my major,” Thiele said, specifically noting classes such as interpersonal communication, media ethics, communication and technology, and ethnography studies. “This internship helped apply and further what I have learned in those classes, giving me real-life communication skills I will take to my future jobs in this same field.”

An internship abroad requires a set of skills students need to quickly develop, such as familiarizing themselves with the culture and language, adjusting to the job market and work expectations in the new country, and understanding how to carry out meaningful work in a new environment. Since the students become immersed in the Spanish culture, schedule and lifestyle, they become more flexible, adaptable and organized, needing to not only carry out their job but make sure it fits into this new context.

“León, Spain, has long been welcoming to 91̽��students, and we are excited to expand our partnership through this new internship program,” said Briana Randall, executive director of the 91̽��Career & Internship Center.��“The benefits of international internships are vast and, with the support and structure provided by the 91̽��León Center, interns will gain work experience and cross-cultural competencies, both of which will help set them up for career success.”

The new program hopes to grow but needs additional funding and support to do so. Randall said there is a commitment for two internships in Winter 2023, and she is hoping to have funding for three. Baldasty said the program prioritizes student access, meaning any student should be able to participate regardless of their financial status.��Donor-supported scholarships cover the cost of transportation, housing and most 91̽��fees for each 91̽��intern, and fundraising efforts are underway for future interns.

“We could not be happier with the way that Paula, our first intern, has embraced this opportunity,” Baldasty said. “We were confident she would do well, but she’s far exceeded our hopes, representing 91̽��to people in León — and especially the mayor’s office. We are off to a great start!”

Thiele was featured earlier this month in a , in which León Mayor José Antonio Diez expressed excitement about the partnership with the 91̽��and prospects for future interns not only in the mayor’s communication office, but in other fields and throughout the city.

Baldasty said he is meeting with potential partners in León to identify additional internship sites, particularly in the areas of communication, cybersecurity, social media, NGOs, government, and business and technology.

For her part, Thiele seems just as excited about the prospects for future generations of students as she is about her own experience in León. She wants those considering such an opportunity to know it isn’t as intimidating as it may seem.

“It is, in all honesty, the best thing I’ve done,” she said. “Learning and adapting is quick, and the benefits can be reaped long after the internship is over. It is an amazing experience to become more open-minded and see the job market through a different lens. It is simple to apply for, and the faculty will support you through every step of the way.”

# # #

For more information, contact Victor Balta at balta@uw.edu

In 2019, Azjargal Amarsanaa was hosting a tour group in the land of the “Reindeer People” — or , the nomadic reindeer herders who live in northern Mongolia — when she heard her interview to be a Fulbright Foreign Language Teaching Assistant had been scheduled. The brings instructors from around the globe to American colleges and universities to teach their native languages for an academic year.

Her interview was just two days away in Ulaanbaatar, the nation’s capital, and couldn’t be changed.

Without efficient transportation, she had to improvise. She jumped on a horse and rode three hours to get to the nearest family. She then traveled by motorcycle to the nearest town, took a van to her hometown of Murun, and then a bus to Ulaanbaatar.

More than 30 hours after her journey began, she arrived at her interview, so exhausted that she didn’t know what she was saying.

It didn’t work out, but she didn’t give up. She tried again in 2020, and due to the pandemic, the interview was virtual. With no geographic hurdles, she did well at her interview and was admitted into the program.

Now she has a much easier journey — by bus, across town — to teach the Mongolian language at the 91̽��for the 2021-22 academic year. The course is offered by the East Asia Title VI National Resource Center in the Henry M. Jackson School of International Studies.

“I really wanted to be part of the Fulbright Foreign Language Teaching Assistant program, rather than other programs, because I’m really proud of my culture and my language,” Amarsanaa said. “I am so excited that the 91̽��is introducing Mongolian again after many years. I am fully energized when I come to campus and meet my students every day.”

Amarsanaa’s class is the first chance 91̽��students have had to learn Mongolian in 15 years, says Paul Carrington, managing director of the . It’s the result of a collaboration among multiple 91̽��departments, including history, Asian languages and literature, Near East languages and civilization, and environmental and occupational health sciences, which has a partnership with Bulgan Province in Mongolia.

The U.S. Department of Education funded the initiative in recognition of the UW’s efforts to offer instruction in languages and cultures of minority ethnic groups facing persecution in China, like the Uyghur and Kazakh people. The Chinese government has begun to limit Mongolian language instruction in Inner Mongolia, an autonomous region within China.

The Fulbright program initially reached out to the Jackson School about hosting Amarsanaa, because the school has a successful track record working with the program. The 91̽��is hosting four other language assistants this school year, teaching Thai, Finnish, Turkish and Ukrainian.

Bolortsetseg Minjin, executive director of the , a US 501c3 org based in Mongolia, said: “We’re thrilled that the 91̽��is not only teaching Mongolian again, but also with a resident Mongolian instructor … Learning a new language expands your horizons; with Mongolian, you also get a glimpse of our unique history and culture, which goes past the present-day Mongolia to various diaspora groups around the world.”

Amarsanaa teaches Monday through Thursday, using instructional materials developed and made available by the center. On Friday, she holds an optional session where she teaches cultural concepts, hosts guest speakers or meets with students one-on-one. She brought storybooks and other items from home to share her country’s rich oral history and heritage. She’s also connecting students with pen pals in Mongolia to help them develop their writing skills and strengthen their cultural understanding.

Four students are taking Amarsanaa’s class the first quarter, and they all have unique motivations for taking Mongolian. One Chinese studies student wants to better understand the Mongolian people because they are one of China’s ethnic minorities. A history student will use his knowledge of Mongolian to read historical documents, while another will be able to supplement his study of a language related to Mongolian, called Khitan.

For one student, the reason is more personal.

“I am from Inner Mongolia but was not able to attend Mongolian-speaking schools when I was young,” said Lillian Liu, a student in environmental and occupational health sciences. “Having this opportunity to study Mongolian is a remedy for my ‘nostalgia,’ and I feel like I can connect to my roots better.”

For Amarsanaa, teaching Mongolian is not only about celebrating her country’s language and culture — it’s also about taking what she learns home.

Living in the United States is giving Amarsanaa the opportunity to improve her English, pick up the nuances of the language and gain an understanding of American culture. She’ll use this knowledge to enhance her lessons as an English teacher when she returns to Mongolia after the program is over.

In the countryside where she’s from, students don’t study academic English — the kind that will help them pass tests they need to study or work abroad, like the TOEFL or IELTS. That education is only available in big cities like Ulaanbaatar, not remote communities like her own. She plans to start a language center where children in the countryside can gain these skills.

And she’ll continue to visit the nomadic Tsaatan people. In the summer, she brings tour groups to the Tsaatans’ home in northern Mongolia. While she’s there, she also teaches English to the children, bringing along a mobile library of English-language childrens books and health supplies, like toothbrushes.

Eventually she’d like to return to the United States to get a master’s degree in education or linguistics, which is what she studied as an undergraduate at the National University of Mongolia. She’s already pursuing a project that could be the basis of a thesis.

The language spoken by the Tsaatan people, called Tuvan, is under threat. Tsaatan children no longer speak Tuvan in school and might learn it only from elders, like their grandparents. Amarsanaa is working with her contacts among the Tsaatan to record videos of people speaking the language. She wants to compile the videos into an online “talking dictionary,” an interactive tool that documents Tuvan words and phrases, as a way to preserve the language before it is gone.

For Amarsanaa, it’s all about love for her community and empowering Mongolian children to do what she’s gotten a chance to do as a Fulbright Foreign Language Teaching Assistant.

“I want to open the gates to enable them to go abroad, get scholarships, get higher education and then come back home to their town,” she said. “That’s my mission.”

When you look outside, you might daydream. You might notice a bird on a tree or the funny shape of a cloud. When looks outside, he thinks about solving big problems — like how to monitor a farm, track diseases or go into the heart of an explosion or the middle of a volcano.

Gollakota, a 91̽�� professor in the Paul G. Allen School of Computer Science & Engineering, has taken inspiration from nature’s tiniest creatures, creating inventions that allow humans to use technology to go where they haven’t gone before. He is being celebrated for those inventions as a .

“Outside there’s a whole world on every square foot, with living beings that you don’t even think about. We just walk over it,” Gollakota said. “But there’s so much happening — feats of engineering. There’s so much beauty in these tiny things.”

As one of five fellows for 2021, Gollakota will receive a total of $825,000 supporting his inventions, which includes $675,000 over three years from the Gordon and Betty Moore Foundation and $50,000 per year from the UW.

Built in collaboration with the team he leads at the 91̽��Network and Mobile Systems Lab, Gollakota’s inventions include a sensor so tiny that it can ride on the back of a moth, a sensor that fits in a removable “backpack” on a bumblebee, a camera that a beetle can carry and sensors that can fly like dandelion seeds.

There is limitless potential for technology this small in size and light in weight. You can track temperature, humidity and crop health in different areas of a large farm, bringing new meaning to the term “worker bee.” Researchers could attach teensy sensors to drones and send them into environmentally sensitive areas. Tiny cameras could allow you to explore novel environments.

Vikram Iyer — a former Electrical & Computer Engineering doctoral student in Gollakota’s lab who just joined the Allen School as an assistant professor — used similar technology to when the species was terrorizing the Bellingham area in Washington last fall.

Gollakota’s work is part of the research areas known as the Internet of Biological Things and Internet of Bio-Inspired Things. These phrases extend a concept known as the Internet of Things, which refers to the vast number of objects wirelessly exchanging data over the internet, from your smart speaker to tractors outfitted with satellite-connected guidance to smart power grids.

With the Internet of Biological Things, organisms are part of this web of connectivity. A drone drains its battery after 20 minutes, but an insect like a bee can travel for hours. It can carry sensors to places a drone couldn’t easily go, while also offering intelligence you couldn’t get from a machine, such as locating areas that are best for pollination.

With the Internet of Bio-Inspired Things, scientists look at the “feats of engineering” present in every living thing and use that as inspiration for designs. For example, ants can fall from a tall building and survive. Gollakota used ants as models to design the tiny sensors that can be dropped from great heights.

To do this work, Gollakota has assembled a research group with expertise that spans disciplines, including computer science, biology and electrical, mechanical and aerospace engineering.

“There is a lot of potential for innovation at the interface of disciplines,” Gollakota said.

He points out that interdisciplinary efforts require you to learn how people in different fields think — the language they speak, what they care about and the nuances of their work. It also requires vulnerability. You might need to ask questions, like, “What is happening?” or, “How does it work?” — questions that might feel naive if you’re used to working in areas where you have strong expertise or authority.

With vulnerability can come failure, which Gollakota says is “actually good for keeping an open mind … you’re learning what you can do better — and that’s basic growth.”

Gollakota is now working with 91̽��colleagues in biology to move beyond putting electronics in a tiny backpack. They are investigating how to ethically use gene editing to further integrate electronics and insects. Their dream is to create a bio-hybrid system that could smell and diagnose diseases.

“Looking 10 years from now, melding electronics and biology has the potential to change the world,” he said.

Whatever the future holds, Gollakota will be driven by the characteristics that have always motivated him: curiosity and awe at the natural world. These provide inspiration for his work and dictate the sorts of projects he chooses to pursue — those that celebrate the power of nature.

“Happiness comes by looking outside and seeing how beautiful it is,” Gollakota said. “If you don’t have that, then what’s the point of all the technology?”

If you look on Emily Levesque’s , you’ll notice that one punctuation mark is prominent: the exclamation point. “Classifying massive stars with machine learning!” reads one blog post. “Gravitational waves from Thorne-Zytkow objects!” reads another.

“My default state is exclamation point,” said Levesque, an associate professor of astronomy at the 91̽��. “When we’re talking about space and we’re talking about science, how could you not?”

Now Levesque is bringing that enthusiasm to The Great Courses, an online learning platform offering classes to the general public on a range of topics, from playing guitar to decoding Egyptian hieroglyphics. Levesque’s course, “,” takes viewers on a tour of the biggest advancements in one of humanity’s oldest sciences — and the people behind them.

This course, which launched in February, came six months after Levesque’s popular science book on the history of observational astronomy, “.” The course consists of 24 lectures and covers the work of some scientists you may be familiar with, like Albert Einstein, Carl Sagan and Edwin Hubble, and others who might be new to you.

Those names include Henrietta Swann Leavitt. She was one of the Harvard computers, the team of women who processed astronomical data — work made famous by the film “Hidden Figures.” Leavitt’s research on measuring the distances to stars laid the groundwork for Hubble’s assertion that the universe is expanding. George Carruthers was an African American scientist who patented an ultraviolet camera and built the only telescope we’ve taken to the moon. Vera Rubin discovered dark matter; today an entire subfield of astrophysics is devoted to studying it. An enormous telescope in Chile is now named after her.

“The course pokes at our idea of what a scientific hero is,” Levesque said. “There’s this stereotype that science is done by a white man alone in a room, coming up with an idea and then just spitting it out full formed into the universe.”

This stereotype overlooks the collaborative nature of science, something Levesque’s course highlights. Breakthroughs can result from the efforts of a dozen scientists doing work that builds off each other over time, or from heroic efforts by teams of thousands. Levesque teaches a unit on the discovery of gravitational waves; the gravitational wave detector in Washington, part of the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory, or LIGO, took thousands of people to build and takes thousands to maintain.

Levesque also broadens the definition of heroism to include acts like improving access to astronomy, making it more inclusive and bringing science literacy to the public.

One lecture tells the story of Frank Kameny, an astronomer in the U.S. Army Map Service. Months after he was hired in 1957, Kameny was fired when he refused to answer questions about his sexual orientation. He filed a lawsuit against the federal government, the first alleging discrimination based on sexual orientation in a U.S. court. Although it was unsuccessful, Kameny went on to become a leader in the fight for LGBTQ rights.

“It’s a really important time right now to remember that science is done by people,” said Levesque. “I don’t think understanding science — and understanding the human nature behind the discoveries we make — has ever been more important. The human side of scientists can’t be separated from the science that they do.”

The human side of scientists not only affects their work, but it also shapes narratives around science.  Stories we tell about scientific heroes and discoveries are often what makes science memorable. If the stories about people are interesting, then learning about the science will follow.

Levesque remembers, as a teen, reading the book “A Man on the Moon: The Voyages of the Apollo Astronauts” by Andrew Chaiken, about the early space program. She loved learning about the astronauts and the people in mission control. She was already a “space geek,” but reading about the fun they were having, identifying with them and seeing the creative problem-solving behind the science enabled her to picture what it would be like to work in astronomy.

Stories have the power to inspire or — when the narrative is skewed or told from a singular point of view — they can send a message about who does or doesn’t belong. That’s why expanding the definition of a scientific hero beyond the stereotype is so important.

Levesque says her colleagues are a broad mix of people. They are ultramarathoners. They play in bands. They have a broad range of interests but have one thing in common: a love for space. More women are entering the field, but the low number of scientists from underrepresented groups like the Black and Latino communities shows there is still a ways to go when it comes to making astronomy more inclusive.

But if a broader range of stories are told, then more people will be able to envision themselves doing the work. And that will result in better science.

“It’s always worth reminding people when you talk about scientific heroism that you need heaps of people to do this work,” Levesque said. “Unique contributions can come from having a different perspective on a problem or other areas of expertise that a scientist can draw on. You need all sorts of talents and skill sets and enthusiastic folks who want to make science a part of their lives — that’s the ingredient, that’s the way to do science.”

The 91̽��School of Nursing announced in February it was launching the . The first of its kind in the nation, the center will tackle racism in health care — from classroom to research to the doctor’s office.

“Racism is a complex problem that exists at many levels — personal, institutional and societal,” said 91̽��School of Nursing Dean . “Nurses work at all those levels, and they have the potential to be a powerful force for transformation both inside and outside of the health care system.”

The COVID-19 pandemic has laid bare racial inequities in our society. The Black Lives Matter movement and related demonstrations have intensified calls for action.��But Emami’s commitment to fighting for those underserved by the health care system predates the explosive events of 2020. It has deep roots in her identity.

Born in Iran, Emami has been shaped by the experience of being, what she calls, an “insider–outsider,” someone who is part of an institution but has a perspective different from others within it. She experienced this first in her native country, as the daughter of a Kurdish father in majority-Persian Iran, and then as an immigrant to Sweden, where she moved to at age 20 in the aftermath of the Iranian Revolution.

She minimized her Iranian identity to assimilate into Swedish culture. As an insider–outsider, she was able to recognize the underlying dynamics of interactions.

“You realize your place in society — where people see you and where you should place yourself in the caste system,” Emami said. “Whatever I do, whether professionally or personally in my life, it’s very deeply and strongly impacted by my identity as an immigrant.”

At the Karolinska Institutet, Sweden’s largest center of medical academic research, Emami studied phenomenology, a field that asks public health professionals to examine their assumptions and biases, put them aside and focus on patients’ lived experiences. The field incorporates insights from philosophy, psychology, social sciences and more.

She went on to earn her doctorate from the institute, and become a faculty member and head of nursing there, working with famed physician and epidemiologist Hans Rosling. He invited her to lead a joint doctoral program with the Ministry of Health and Education in Iran.

“Initially I was hesitant to partner with Iran and didn’t want to connect with a country I had migrated from decades ago,” Emami said. “But Hans convinced me that it would be very rewarding to be able to make a contribution to my country of origin, and that it would help me with my healing and reconciliation. I was very doubtful, but I followed Hans’s advice and I am very happy I did it.”

Her relationship with Rosling shaped how she viewed her work.

“I learned from him that it’s not only about global health. It’s about a lifestyle, how you view your life. If you really can manage to be aware of your blind spots, of your biases, it’s not only about your science or your professional contribution, it’s about who you become as a person.”

Emami moved to the United States in 2008 when she was hired as the dean of the College of Nursing at Seattle University. Five years later, she joined the 91̽��in 2013 as the Robert G. and Jean A. Reid Dean of the School of Nursing.

At the UW, she’s applied her insider–outsider perspective, training and expertise.

Emami knows what it’s like coming into a new culture as an immigrant. She says the health care system for many is a new culture — with its own set of rules, customs and language. The system is challenging to navigate for patients, who are in vulnerable situations, and it’s easy for health care professionals to make assumptions or ignore the realities of their patients’ experiences.

The United States is a world leader in scientific research and spends more on health care per capita than any other country. Yet it ranks low in overall health outcomes, like life expectancy, compared to other developed nations. The COVID-19 pandemic has put that fact into stark relief, with the United States suffering more deaths from the virus than any other country as of early 2021.

“That disparity between science and outcome is explained by the gap in our understanding of human nature — equity, poverty, the caste system — as well as the injustice in our health care system and in our overall society,” she said. “And I don’t think that as a health care professional, particularly as a nurse, you can help people if your education isn’t expanded to include all these components.”

Emami’s interdisciplinary outlook aligns the School of Nursing with the UW’s Population Health Initiative. Launched in 2016, the initiative invites departments across campus to come together to improve health — looking beyond the absence of disease to issues ranging from equity to climate change to governance. The school’s role in the initiative also gives Emami another connection to her mentor Hans Rosling, the namesake of the UW’s new Center for Population Health.

As part of the initiative, the school has to focus more on transforming health systems, engaging community and promoting health equity — not just managing a patient’s immediate health care needs.

With the Center for Antiracism, curricula will also be modified with an antiracist lens so that every nurse graduating from the 91̽��will be empowered to become an advocate for antiracism.

Emami understands that health outcomes are best when people are seen as their full selves, with unique cultural and social identities. She has grown from the young woman who hid who she was to fit in with her new country.

“I refuse to be assimilated now. I refuse to deny important parts of my identity,” she said. “And I am committed to guarding people’s right to be who they really are.”

The association, also called , represents construction educators and industry practitioners seeking the advancement of construction education through the 150-some construction management programs at colleges in the United States, Canada and Europe.

The is given each year to recognize the work of someone who has advanced construction education through “knowledge, inspiration, guidance and/or the promotion of excellence in curricula, teaching, research and service.” The ASC praised Schaufelberger as an accomplished scholar, servant leader and student-focused educator. He will receive his award on April 5, during the group’s annual .

Schaufelberger’s resumé is lengthy indeed. He joined the 91̽��in 1994 after a 30-year career with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, managing public construction projects internationally and even representing the U.S. in negotiations with some foreign governments. At the UW, he was chair of the Department of Construction Management from 2002 to 2014, and dean of the College of Built Environments from 2012 to 2019. He served in the 91̽��Faculty Senate from 1997 to 2012.

Schaufelberger has written a number of textbooks on construction management as well as journal articles, papers and technical reports. He has been active in the American Council for Construction Education and serves on its board of trustees. He was associate editor of the ASC’s International Journal of Construction Education and Research for many years.

The ASC quoted Renée Cheng, current dean of the College of Built Environments, praising her predecessor: “Most people try to follow the ‘golden rule,’ treating others as we would like to be treated ourselves. John follows what you might call the diamond rule, treat others better than yourself. He never hesitates to take on tasks that, given his seniority and roles, would seem to be beneath him. But he does not consider what is above or beneath, merely that if he can help, he will.”

91̽��Notebook caught up with Schaufelberger for a couple of questions about his work.

You came to the 91̽��after retiring from the U.S. Army, where you were a teacher and administrator for many years. Has your Army experience been helpful to your work at the UW? In what ways?

Yes. Both the Army and academia are in the people business, heavily focused on mentoring, training and education. I found the intellectual engagement with students just as rewarding as mentoring young Army officers. In the Army, I learned to be a servant leader and to make decisions based on incomplete information. Both skills have been very useful at the UW.

What was your most challenging construction project or negotiation during your Army Corps of Engineers years?

I think that the most challenging construction project on which I worked was constructing a military city for 75,000 people in Saudi Arabia in a remote area near the border with Kuwait and Iraq. It is called King Khalid Military City and involved an international workforce of 15,000 workers installing $2 million dollars of construction per day.

What are the effects of climate change on the construction industry? How will 21st century construction — and construction education — differ from that of the 20th century? 

I think that the major changes will occur in reducing carbon emissions from construction activities. New construction materials will be developed, construction equipment will become electrified, and use of modularization in construction will increase. The challenge in construction education will be to remain current with the rapid adoption of technology for planning and executing construction.

What’s next for you?

My plans are to retire from 91̽��at the end of December but to continue to work with the American Council for Construction Education to mentor construction educators.

• Watch a video produced by the College of Built Environments to congratulate Schaufelberger on his award.

Her associate dean role was half-time and Lidstrom, a professor of applied microbiology in the UW’s chemical engineering and microbiology departments, was determined that if she accepted the role she would keep her research going. But accepting the position would mean giving up instruction – including a program she loved, teaching biology to engineers – and limiting some of her laboratory work. She negotiated a 75% position as VP for Research in November 2005, reserving 25% of her time to maintain her lab and research.

Since then, Lidstrom and her team in the Office of Research have made it their mission to support research by supporting researchers. Key among their priorities is helping faculty navigate and make sense of the bureaucracy, paperwork and regulations that come along with their jobs.

“Faculty spend way too much time on administrative issues,” Lidstrom said. “We have a specific initiative to give time back to faculty so that they can do research, mentor trainees, teach and interact with students – all of the things that make the faculty job so amazing and their research so successful. It isn’t easy to achieve this goal in the face of ever-increasing regulations from the federal government, but because of the strong team we have in the Office of Research and with our partners across the university, we are making progress.”

Now, after more than 15 years of providing that time for others, she’s taking a little for herself. Lidstrom will step down from her position on Aug. 31, 2021, with plans to return full time to the faculty, concentrate on her research, and establish mentoring and diversity, equity and inclusion programs.

“I’m looking forward to several years of pretty intense activity in these areas,” Lidstrom said. “I’ve been putting these things off for 15 years, basically, because I haven’t had time to pursue them and now I’m going to indulge myself. It’s a little selfish, in some ways, but I’ve convinced myself it’s not selfish because I do think after 15 years it will be very healthy for the University to bring in somebody with new ideas and new perspective.”

Lidstrom’s ongoing ability to keep her research in progress no doubt contributed to her election to the National Academy of Sciences in 2013. Her research team studies bacteria that live on methane, and they are working on projects that will increase sustainable production of fuels and industrial chemicals, while also removing greenhouse gases from the atmosphere to help slow global warming.

The University’s research portfolio has grown from $996 million when Lidstrom took on her role to an astounding $1.63 billion in 2020. Over the past decade, the 91̽��has received more externally sponsored research funding than any other U.S. public university, and recent global rankings that emphasize research place the 91̽��in the range of sixth to 16th in the world.

Lidstrom is quick to credit the faculty and scholars for those accolades, noting that the depth and breadth of the UW’s expertise is rare among research universities and has helped the University weather the ebbs and flows of funding in any particular areas. That said, she has been successful in significant fundraising for research and researchers, and has played an important role in a number of high impact interdisciplinary programs in the past 15 years covering research, education and outreach.

“It is always true that research is about recruitment and retention of top faculty, and having a supportive environment for them,” Lidstrom said. “A lot of universities have four or five areas of excellence and they focus on those. But here we have dozens. That’s what makes the research enterprise so strong.”

Mark Richards, the UW’s provost and executive vice president for academic affairs, said it’s difficult to overstate Lidstrom’s contributions to the UW.

“She has brought strength and stability to our research enterprise during challenging times, including the pandemic and the several times in her tenure when federal funding and support of science have been uncertain,” Richards said. “Moreover, Mary’s wisdom and savvy about the national and international research landscape have helped keep 91̽��at the forefront of many fields.”

Collaborative research – within the 91̽��and with other organizations – has been a priority for Lidstrom, with 27% of 91̽��research funding involving partnerships with other entities. Interdisciplinary research centers and institutes are also thriving across the UW’s campuses.

“What I knew before I came in is how collaborative researchers are at the 91̽��compared to other places I’ve been,” Lidstrom said. “It’s just in the culture here. That actually makes it easy for the VPR to do this job, because you can reach out and you can work with people and they are willing to discuss new ideas and to help.”

Lidstrom, who got her start doing research as an undergraduate, said a hallmark of her academic career has been maintaining a tiered mentoring community in which students sometimes as early as high school are working in concert with undergraduates, graduate students and postdoctoral researchers, along with professors.

“I think it’s a very healthy environment for people to learn in, and to support diversity, because that’s really important to me,” she said. “A significant amount of research funding at the 91̽��goes to support undergraduate learning – hands-on, experiential learning. At a public research institution like the UW, you can’t separate out research and education, because they’re just inextricably intertwined.”

The Frank Jungers Endowed Chair of Engineering, Lidstrom first joined the 91̽��as an assistant professor in 1978, earning tenure and promotion, before going to Caltech in 1987. She returned 25 years ago as professor and took on the role of vice provost for research from 2005 to 2010. She served as interim provost for the 2010-11 academic year, and then returned to the Office of Research as vice provost.

As for what the next 15 years and beyond may bring in the world of academic research, Lidstrom expects to see changes in the research training and funding processes to make them more diverse.

“I think it must change and become more inclusive,” she said. “I don’t think we have to completely revamp the whole system to get that to happen, but I think there will be some growing pains there.”

Provost Richards will soon launch an internal search to find Lidstrom’s successor and will be seeking nominations of outstanding faculty leaders from within the 91̽��for consideration.

In his 36 years of teaching, some of the best writing 91̽��English Professor Shawn Wong has seen came out of English 302, his class on narrative storytelling. Still, he was taken aback by Zoe Hana Mikuta’s essay in winter 2019.

“I write about queer, half-white girls and I kill off their families for the drama of it all,” the essay read. “I make them fight robots, because it’s thrilling, and I make them fall in love to give them something to fight for.”

Mikuta, a sophomore at the time, had been unassuming in class.  But, at just 19, she had already secured a two-book deal with MacMillan Publishers, one of the “Big Five” publishers of English-language books.

Mikuta’s first book, “,” is set to come out June 29. Categorized in the young adult genre, it tells the story of Eris and Sona, who live under a tyrannical regime enforced by 100-foot-tall mecha robots called Windups. Mikuta, now 21, has to “Gearbreakers,” and she’s currently working on its sequel, due out in 2022.

Mikuta was born in the Washington, D.C., area to a Korean mother and white father. The family moved to Boulder, Colorado, when she was 12. In D.C., she enjoyed gatherings with her mom’s family. In mostly white Boulder, she was cut off from her Korean heritage.

Mikuta began writing in third grade, and it became a release, a way to de-stress. Her parents divorced in 2017, during her senior year of high school, and she had a separate lunch period from her friends. She went to the library during lunch and wrote “Gearbreakers” in just three months — a pace she doesn’t think she’ll match again.

That summer, she sent out query letters to find a literary agent, and a week before leaving home for the UW, she signed with an agent — all unbeknownst to her parents. She then inked a publishing deal the following April, a week after turning 19.

The point of view in “Gearbreakers” switches back and forth between Eris, who is a half-Korean, half-Japanese member of a rebel group called the Gearbreakers, and Sona, who is a half-Korean, half-white cybernetically enhanced Windup pilot. Eris is a cold-hearted warrior, while Sona is on fire to avenge her parents’ murder at the hands of the regime. Both grow as they find their opposites in each other, and both are reflections of what Mikuta was going through at the time.

“When I was all angry and hateful, I definitely was not grappling with humanity on that kind of scale,” Mikuta said, referring to the struggles her characters face. “But what I’m trying to explore in ‘Gearbreakers’ is — what makes our humanity? I think it’s the people we love.”

Writing the book at such a young age allowed her to create an emotional “prototype” for her life.

“‘Gearbreakers’ hinges on the relationships between characters,” Mikuta said. “That’s what makes any book series special to me. It’s about the characters’ relationship with others and relationship with themselves. By writing, I’m just discovering what feels good in that regard.”

Now, Mikuta is working on the “Gearbreakers” sequel and exploring a new set of themes, including the experience of being biracial. The book is set in a future where the presence of Korean culture has been whittled down, hidden but still a strong part of the characters’ identities. Readers will find Korean words and references to Korean culture, echoing Mikuta’s own efforts to reconnect with her heritage by learning the language.

Writing from her own perspective, Mikuta is filling a gap in the genre. She , which features two women of color — something Mikuta hasn’t seen very much in young adult literature. She says that young adult books featuring people of color often have white authors, crowding out authors of color who want to tell stories from their own experience.

Lack of representation is something Wong has grappled with throughout his career.

“In the early 1970s, I had to educate an audience to Asian American literature, before I could become a published writer,” said Wong, who along with being a professor, is also a pioneer of Asian American literature as an author, publisher and scholar. “You feel responsible … and I think for Zoe, it’s the same thing. There’s this vacuum out there, and there are readers out there who want to see themselves.”

Mikuta attended fall quarter at the 91̽��from her mom’s house in Boulder, and she’s now living in her first apartment in Seattle. She’s keeping up with her 91̽��community as the president of , a group for UW’s queer women, nonbinary and trans students, even though she’s had to defer her studies this winter due to financial difficulty.

“It’s important for me to continue my education at the UW, because I want to know as much as possible,” she said. “Sometimes I get very excited that I get to be old someday, because I can’t imagine how much I’ll know by then. Learning feels to me like participating in the most fundamental, moral human practice.”

Mikuta puts that love of learning into her writing. It’s how she’s come to know more about herself — from trying out relationships and processing emotions to thinking about identity — as she explored in her 2019 essay for Wong’s class:

“What kind of person can feed into the person that you are at this point in time? Do your edges line up nicely where they need to, do they blur where it is necessary? Is it comfortable, have you both grown into the way you’ve grown up? Do you like the way I look?

“Is it okay that I’m still working on being happy?”