I saw the power of storytelling and the responsibility we have to share stories to educate and change lives.
Dr. Terésa Dowell-Vest is an Associate Professor of Communication at Prairie View A&M University and President of the University Film and Video Association (UFVA), an organization that supports film, television, and media studies in higher education.
In this conversation Terésa and I discuss:
The music of Janet Jackson, Prince, and Jimmy Jam/Terry Lewis
Teaching media in a post-truth world
What UFVA is, why it matters, and how professional associations can sharpen teaching and creative practice
What filmmaking trends she sees with her students at Prairie View A&M
The short documentary her students did in collaboration with students from USC (link here)
“The Death of Cliff Huxtable” and the process of separating art from a problematic artist
Here is an AI generated transcript. Don’t come for me.
BEN: Hi everyone—Ben Guest here. Welcome to The Creativity, Education, and Leadership Podcast. Today my guest is Professor Terésa Dowell-Vest, an associate professor of Communication and Media at Prairie View A&M University and the President of the University Film and Video Association (UFVA).
In this conversation we talk Janet Jackson, the media landscape for young people interested in production, what UFVA does, and more. Enjoy.
Professor, thanks so much for joining me today.
TERÉSA: Thank you. Thank you for having me. It’s my pleasure to be here.
BEN: I always like to start with a fun question. Senior year of high school—what music were you listening to?
TERÉSA: Senior year of high school—1989. 1990 was a great year to be a Janet Jackson fan. *Rhythm Nation* was probably worn out in my car’s tape deck. I was a huge fan.
BEN: Did you do the choreography?
TERÉSA: Oh yes. I can do the hands and all that—the “A‑5‑4.” I would do it, for real.
And Janet Jackson was the big one, even though Prince’s *Purple Rain* came out a few years earlier. That album was still in regular rotation for me in high school.
And then in 1988 New Edition put out *Heart Break*—produced by Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis. That was such a good time. So yeah: Janet, Prince, New Edition—Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis were the soundtrack.
BEN: ’88 was when Bobby Brown’s *Don’t Be Cruel* came out, right?
TERÉSA: Listen, lemme tell you, the eighties to be a teenager in the eighties, to be in your twenties in the nineties. What a time to be alive.
BEN: Yeah. I love it. Okay, second fun question. What’s your pick for best picture this year?
TERÉSA: I’d say *Sinners*. There are a few this year, but funny enough I actually focused more on television—I was obsessed with *Stranger Things* and *Severance* (and one other show I’m blanking on), so I didn’t get to the movies as much.
But I did see *Sinners* and it really stuck with me. I should preface that by saying I’m not as familiar with the entire pool, but I’m almost confident it’ll be a strong contender.
BEN: So good. I saw that your MFA thesis was titled *The African American Producer Is the American Griot*. Can you talk about that—maybe even in relation to *Sinners*?
TERÉSA: I’ve always been fascinated by the power of storytelling. My bachelor’s degree and my MFA are both in theater because I love live engagement. That also shaped me as a professor—I love being in front of students and engaging in a transactional, interactive way, not just a linear one. Theater and education give me that kind of exchange with an audience.
For my graduate thesis I came to know Dr. Maulana Karenga—best known for creating Kwanzaa. He was chair of the Black Studies program at California State University, Long Beach. During my years there (1994–1997), I was the only Black student in the program, and in 1997 I became the first Black person to graduate with my particular degree from that program. Even in the ’90s I was thinking: why are we still talking about “firsts” and “onlys”?
I wanted to bridge storytelling with the legacy of slavery and survival—my own ancestors were from Virginia, where I was born and raised. Dr. Karenga taught me the concept of the *griot*—the storyteller—and the responsibility that comes with that. In the U.S., storytelling often gets treated as frivolous—an extracurricular, “nice to have.” A lot of Black parents, especially, don’t want their kids studying film, theater, or the liberal arts because it doesn’t seem like a stable livelihood.
I started undergrad as an accounting major and didn’t tell my dad I’d switched to theater until graduation day—he found out when they called my name under the College of Arts instead of the College of Business. That’s the mindset I came from: my family wanted us to succeed, and the arts read as struggle, not a viable career.
But there’s honor in being a storyteller. That idea changed how I saw theater.
And it was the ’90s—*Rent* was happening, and I was in Los Angeles, flying back and forth to the East Coast to see Broadway shows that weren’t just entertaining; they were educating and changing lives. I remember *The Life*—not a massive hit, but it told the story of Black and Brown women working as call girls in New York City. You’d think, “Is that a Broadway story?” But the music was outstanding.
And there were so many others—*Bring in ’da Noise, Bring in ’da Funk* with Savion Glover, looking at African American history through tap and music. During that period I really saw the power of storytelling—and the responsibility we have to tell stories that educate and change lives.
BEN: That’s so powerful. The responsibility of storytelling to educate and change lives.
TERÉSA: Yeah.
BEN: It’s one of the things I’ve often thought as a teacher: I’m a storyteller. How do you construct a lesson so students are receptive? It’s like you’re telling a story over a unit, a curriculum, or even a single lesson.
TERÉSA: When you engage with students and give them permission to share their stories, you’re not really “teaching” in the traditional sense anymore. It becomes more like peer engagement than “I’m the teacher, I know the things, and I’m telling you the things.”
Students receive it differently when they feel you’re invested in who they are—not just their grade.
BEN: There’s a great quote, I think it’s Roger Ebert films, but really stories are empathy machines.
TERÉSA: Yeah.
BEN: It allows us to walk in someone else’s shoes for a moment. There was a reconciliation group in Mississippi whose motto was: “Enemies are people whose stories we haven’t heard.”
TERÉSA: Incredibly profound. When we think about fear, it’s often a lack of understanding—no connection to the thing you’re afraid of. Hearing stories can build that connection.
BEN: Can you talk about the importance of media education? I’m a documentary filmmaker, documentary filmmaking in today’s world where so much of where we are in a post-truth society.
TERÉSA: There are mechanics to telling the truth, and mechanics to telling a lie. In fiction you see this a lot—shows like *The Mentalist* or *Law & Order* where someone reads body language, eye movement, and so on to figure out whether someone is lying.
What matters for media education is helping students understand the “tells” in information—how to challenge and debunk claims instead of assuming, “Someone told me a thing, so it must be true.”
I didn’t fully appreciate how urgent that was until the pandemic, when early reporting was all over the place and a lot of it conflicted. Being able to sort honest, vetted information from dishonest or speculative claims mattered in a very concrete way—like realizing you probably shouldn’t drink bleach.
Coming out of that period, teaching media studies has meant teaching reporting with integrity. You can’t just assume something is true—not because people are “bad,” but because people absorb information differently based on what they’ve experienced.
I do a lecture with my senior capstone students on the difference between **knowledge** and **information**. Knowledge is shaped by culture, character, race, gender, where you grew up, what language you speak, what faith you practice—so it can carry bias. Information, on the other hand, is verifiable and can be vetted. 2 + 2 = 4 no matter who you are.
Good storytelling—and good journalism—knows how to bridge knowledge and information with integrity. When I have journalism students who lean into opinion-driven news—whether it’s Fox, MSNBC, whatever—I tell them: that’s playing to an audience’s sensibilities. It can be entertaining, but it isn’t the same as straight reporting.
Then there’s reporting that aims to be more information-based—“Here’s what happened today.” That also needs to be taught. We’re in a moment where students need tools to tell the truth, recognize lies, pick them apart, and trust their internal compass about what’s important to share.
And Ben—my answers get long. You might have to cut me off.
BEN: I’m going to cut you off when what you’re saying stops being interesting—so I doubt I’m going to cut you off.
You’re the President of the University Film and Video Association. For listeners: what is UFVA?
TERÉSA: UFVA is a nationally recognized organization of university and college educators and institutions focused on film, television, and media studies—both practice and theory. We’re a collective of makers and scholars. Our members hold a range of degrees—MAs, MFAs, MS degrees, PhDs, EdDs.
As an organization, we examine how film and television are used—and we keep digging into how the field is evolving through innovation and emerging technology. Each year we host a conference (typically in July) where we share classroom best practices and research, and we analyze how film sparks conversation.
You asked me earlier about a front-runner for Best Picture. I think about *Sinners* as a kind of textbook in a lot of ways. One of my students gave an informative speech last semester on the history of hoodoo, and she referenced *Sinners* heavily because it’s central to the film. In that moment she used a movie as a learning text.
That’s what UFVA does: we create space to share those opportunities through research and scholarship, and we bring it back to our students and institutions.
BEN: You said “best practices,” and I want to come back to that because it’s a rabbit hole I love.
But first: in an interview you did with the *Journal of Film and Video*, you said you were about to start your UFVA presidency and weren’t sure what to expect. Now that you’ve lived it—how was it?
TERÉSA: One of the biggest things I’ve learned—maybe I’ve only really realized it in the last couple of months—is that joining an association as an educator keeps the fire hot. It keeps you learning.
As UFVA President, I’ve met so many people who’ve inspired me. It’s not that I want the presidency to end; it’s more like, “I need more time to implement everything I’m learning from colleagues.” It also pushed me to partner with other organizations and communities I knew about but hadn’t been deeply involved with.
I joined UFVA because of the pandemic. Before that I’d never even heard of the University Film and Video Association. I was the kind of person who kept my head down and did my work in my silo, and I was fine with that. But when the pandemic hit, no one knew what to do with film production courses in quarantine.
I reached out to colleagues—thinking maybe eight or ten of us would hop on Zoom and talk through hybrid and online teaching. That snowballed. People said, “Can I invite a colleague?” I said yes. I posted on Facebook: if you teach film production or media studies and want to talk about what we’re doing this fall, let’s meet.
Jennifer Proctor replied and asked, “Have you heard of UFVA?” I hadn’t. She suggested sharing the call with UFVA, and we kept casting the net. By the time we met, there were 126 professors from around the world—about 100 universities represented, including USC, Ivy League schools, and institutions in Germany and Australia.
I ran the meeting as breakout rooms—nine of them—named after Black women in film and television: Shonda Rhimes, Julie Dash, and others. So even in the mechanics of the meeting, people were saying these names and being reminded of who matters in media.
Two things came out of that experience. First, UFVA invited me to join the board. I said, “Let me be a member first,” but within a few months I knew: yes, this is where I want to be.
Second, I saw the gaps. There was very little representation from HBCUs, and very few Black people involved. Not because UFVA was “bad,” but because people simply didn’t know. So I understood my call: help bring people in, build bridges, and create collaboration without turning it into a slogan. I love that we get to do the work without making it a “thing.” That’s been the value of the presidency for me.
BEN: Love it. Can you talk about with your students at Prairie View, what are some trends you’re seeing with what the young people are doing?
TERÉSA: Oh, child. They want to be influencers.
This is the social media age, and a lot of students see it as the primary industry of their generation—and I get it. If you have enough followers and a couple brands offer deals, it can be real money. I have students with tens of thousands of followers. I’m like, I can barely get my family to like a post. And they’re like, “Oh, I do nails,” or “I do lashes,” or “I show my sneaker collection,” and they’ll get 10,000 likes every time they post.
My reaction is: we need to be teaching this. We need to teach students how to parlay that into careers. Even if I don’t personally understand every part of it, that doesn’t make it non-viable.
It reminds me of when we were in school. The internet wasn’t even a thing when I was in college (1990–1994), and then suddenly we were on the edge of being connected to the world. Professors were saying, “This will create cheaters—you’ll never look things up in books again.” Sound familiar?
Now students are figuring out VR, AR, AI. They’re building brands, protecting brands, learning to be CEOs of themselves. That’s exciting.
BEN: Yeah. I think about that all the time. It’s like when people first started writing letters—somebody must have said, “No one’s going to talk to each other anymore. They’re just going to send letters.”
TERÉSA: Exactly. Every generation has a thing—“Who’s using this calculator? You need to learn long division.”
BEN: I graduated high school in ’93, so when you’re talking about Janet, my “Janet album” is literally *janet.*—“Again,” “That’s the Way Love Goes,” all of that. It’s funny how, year by year, the soundtrack shifts just a bit.
BEN: Okay—teaching and best practices. What’s something you’ve done in your classroom that really leveled up your teaching?
TERÉSA: Oh, wow. Gosh, I think it’s less something I’ve done and more the intention of showing the students that their success is not coming from looking up. It’s from looking over. It’s the concept that. When you graduate from college, it isn’t some executive that’s going to give you an opportunity. It’s the people you’re in the trenches with right now that you’re gonna build with right now. So I think the thing that’s leveled up my teaching is less a thing that I can show them as much as relationships that I can help them forge and the power of networking. So our program has has a pipeline relationship with the Annenberg School of Communication at the university. The University of Southern California professor Mickey Turner, who’s a professor there at USC teaches the senior storytelling for Media course similar to the communication capstone course that I teach here. And so every semester, professor Turner and I collaborate. Those two classes together and we introduced those students to each other through pitches, research topic pitches for their final capstone project. And what they see is. Students at an HBCU or students at this PWI are not different at all. They just, they, live in different states. Perhaps they come from different backgrounds, but by and large, they have similar goals. And we teach them that this is who you need to forge a relationship with because when you are at the stage of making deals or going out and work, this is the person you’re gonna want to call. So I think the thing that’s leveled up my teaching is my understanding. And my teaching of that understanding of how the industry works and how it can best work for them. Since you no longer have to live in LA or New York to, to make movies people are making movies on their devices. You have to now find your tribe to tell your stories and it can be much more localized. And so I teach them to build their team where they are and not. Go after this aspirational. The only way I can make it if is if I put it in the hands of someone so far away from me. No, put it in the hands of the guy sitting next to you or the young lady that’s sitting on this other side and shoot your film, make your short tell the story. Do your podcast. I feel like that’s leveled up. The final piece to that USC story is that during the pandemic, five of our students from Prairie View and five students from USC collaborated on a short documentary about the pandemic and how it impacted students at HBCUs, at this HBCU versus how it impacted students at a private, pWI Prairie View is 45 minutes outside of the city of Houston. We’re a rural community. We’re in the middle of nowhere essentially, whereas USC is in the heart of Los Angeles and those students taught, told an amazing story. I’ll send you the link to the film. It’s on YouTube. Told an amazing story from two different vantage points. That is a great indication of how education can be collaborative. Just as film is.
BEN: Yeah. Before we started recording, we were talking about travel—and it just reminds me: travel is one of the best educations people can get. The more you interact with people from around the country and the world, the more you realize how similar we are and what we want: better lives for our kids and a better world to live in.
That feels like a good place to end. For people interested in your work, where can they find you?
TERÉSA: A good starting point is **thedeathofcliffhuxtable.com**. That’s where you’ll find my fan-fiction series—and later scholarly series—about separating the art from the artist when the artist is problematic.
Bill Cosby’s work touched every stage of my life: as a child I watched *Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids* on Saturday mornings; as a teenager in the ’80s I watched the Huxtables and wanted to be part of that world; and in college in the ’90s—at James Madison University, a PWI—every Thursday night at 8:30 we gathered to watch *A Different World*, and it made us feel connected in a way.
When I think about the more than 60 women who came forward, my first thought is: that many people aren’t lying. Even if one person tells the truth, it changes everything.
In 2015—around the time the New Yorker reporting was circulating and more women were speaking—I started writing fan fiction centered on the Huxtable family at the moment Cliff Huxtable dies. I “killed” Cliff Huxtable to push back on the idea that Bill Cosby was “America’s dad.” That moniker belonged to Cliff Huxtable—a fictional character written by an artist who created something meaningful and also did something horrific.
We can’t see Cliff the same way because he wears Bill Cosby’s face, but they are not the same person—one of them isn’t even real. Writing the series helped me illustrate that tension, and it eventually became a scholarly project.
During the pandemic we hosted a virtual series with 51 artists, scholars, and actors who read chapters and then joined post-show discussions on the themes. You can find all of that through the website, and it’s also the easiest way to contact me.
BEN: Wow. Professor, thank you for all the, for your time today, but also for all the good work you’re doing in so many different spaces.
TERÉSA: Thank you. Thank you. And I look forward to listening to the podcast even more. I’m sorry that I’m just now getting hip to your great work, but I tell you what, I am going to tune in and probably hit you up with some questions and excited remarks shortly thereafter.
BEN: I love it.
That was my conversation with Professor Dowell-Vest. If you enjoyed it, share it with a friend. Have a great day.
