For those who know me, you’ve probably heard me rave about American films from the late 1960s through the 1970s—classics like 2001: A Space Odyssey, Taxi Driver, The Godfather (Parts I and II), and so many others. The book and documentary Easy Riders, Raging Bulls capture this cinematic revolution—a shift away from studio-controlled, formulaic productions toward more independent, daring, and unconventional storytelling, largely driven by a new generation of visionary directors. These films haven’t just entertained me—they’ve profoundly shaped how I see the world. And honestly, the number of quotable lines that seem tailor-made for life’s everyday absurdities is kind of uncanny.
Stay with me—I promise this connects. Because as many of you also know, I’m equally obsessed with this era for its intersections with the food movement, environmentalism, and the surge of protest culture that helped redefine American society.
I was on a flight to Mexico, scrolling through the in-flight entertainment menu on Aeromexico, and voilà—All the President’s Men (1976) popped up. This timeless film, directed by Alan Pakula (who also directed Klute and The Parallax View—more classic ’70s films), stars Dustin Hoffman and Robert Redford as Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward, two young journalists at The Washington Post who stumble onto a goldmine of a story: the Watergate scandal. Woodward and Bernstein’s reporting played a pivotal role in exposing those involved in the scandal—including individuals at the highest levels of President Nixon’s administration. Their relentless, consistent investigation was instrumental in uncovering the details and bringing the truth to light. Did they take down a president? Maybe not solely but their reporting mattered, and the public listened.
It got me thinking about just how different those times were compared to the world we’re navigating today. Investigative journalism is still alive—and many reporters continue to earn Pulitzers for important, courageous work—but public engagement feels increasingly muted.
Part of the challenge is the sheer volume of information. We’re bombarded by a constant stream of updates from countless sources—some credible, many not—making it harder than ever to separate fact from noise. Then there’s the speed of it all: news today moves at the pace of the internet, with stories breaking and evolving in real time. In the '70s, people waited for the morning paper or the evening broadcast; now, headlines are old within hours.
And let’s be honest: our attention spans aren’t what they used to be. Long-form reading is in decline, and much of our public discourse now plays out in 280-character bursts. The distraction is real.
We’ve become numb—complacent in the face of the relentless headlines and horrors unfolding around us. Take Howard Beale, the iconic character from Network (1976), played by Peter Finch. He’s the anchor of the fictional “UBS Evening News,” and he unravels on live television, overwhelmed by the social decay he sees in the world. In one famous moment, he snaps and begins shouting repeatedly, “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”
Damn straight. Is anyone else mad out there? And who’s taking it? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like we just keep taking it—again and again, straight on the chin.
As Han Solo famously told Chewbacca in Star Wars (1977), “Fly casual.” These days, that feels almost impossible—but somehow, we’re doing it.
In his blog post What to Expect When You’re Expecting Catastrophe, historian Timothy Snyder compares the atmosphere of our current moment to the Third Reich. One line in particular hits hard: “Daily life will take on a surreal quality… life went on as before, though it had now become ghostly and unreal… many adapt to living with clenched teeth.”
And that feels about right. In an effort to stay sane—or maybe just to maintain the illusion—people are still posting their adventures on Instagram, dining at top-rated restaurants, seeing shows, and going about life as if nothing’s wrong. It’s like that moment in The Godfather Part II (1974) when Frank Pentangeli tells Michael Corleone, “You’re sitting high up in the sierras drinking champagne cocktails,” while chaos unfolds on the streets of New York. La la la. Life goes on. It all has a strangely Nero-fiddling-while-Rome-burns kind of vibe.
Which leaves us with two options: fight or flight.
Many of my students say they’d rather stay and fight the good fight—and I admire that. I truly do. But I also wonder: what does fighting even look like right now? Social media skirmishes? Probably not. Quietly trusting the courts to restore balance? Maybe—but that could take years. Protesting? Possibly, though I’m not convinced this administration is even paying attention. Boycotting big-box stores? Well-meaning, but let’s be honest—not enough.
The real question is: how are you going to fight?
As I wrote in my last blog,, many people are choosing to leave—if they have the means. And yes, I fully recognize that leaving is a privilege few can afford. As Jack Nicholson’s character Bobby says in Five Easy Pieces (1970): “I move around a lot, not because I'm looking for anything really, but 'cause I'm getting away from things that get bad if I stay.”
Since the new administration took office, I’ve been on the move—Kenya, Mexico, Thailand, Lao PDR. I’m acutely aware of how fortunate I am to have that kind of mobility. But travel offers more than just escape; it offers perspective. It reminds you how vast and varied the world is. And it’s hard not to notice: while much of the world is moving forward, the U.S. increasingly feels like it’s disappearing in the rearview mirror.
Science, free speech, and—largely—human rights have taken a back seat in today’s America. For many of us, these aren’t optional ideals; they’re the bedrock of a functioning society. When those foundations erode, it becomes harder and harder to stay rooted in place. Some countries, thankfully, have the wisdom to welcome scientists, thinkers, and dissenters with open arms.
The real question is: are you willing to get off the boat?
If you’ve seen Apocalypse Now (1979), you’ll know the reference. Willard, on his mission upriver to eliminate the rogue Colonel Kurtz, says: “Never get out of the boat. Absolutely goddamn right. Unless you were going all the way. Kurtz got off the boat. He split from the whole fucking program.”
Tempting, isn’t it?