How did you become involved with AJHA?
I first learned about AJHA through my dissertation chair and research advisor while pursuing my Ph.D. at Mizzou. At the time, I was researching the history of digital camera technology in photojournalism, particularly the roles of the Associated Press and the Olympic Games in driving its adoption. My advisor, a media historian and an active member of AJHA, encouraged me to submit my research to AJHA’s conference as a place where it could find a strong scholarly audience.
My path to media history has always felt like a natural progression, albeit one that could be described as an aberration of sorts. My career has been built on working with the newest technologies, the most cutting-edge tools and techniques. But I have always believed that in order to understand where we are going, we must understand where we have been. I don’t see history merely as a tool for course correction—it is a story, one that deserves to be explored and respected. The people we study in history were acting in their present, just as we are acting in ours. Historians in the future will examine our decisions, just as we analyze those of the past. There is something profoundly humbling in that. 
This mindset has shaped how I approach research. Years ago, while living in China, I was hired as a consultant for Guangzhou Daily Press. My job was to modernize the layout and editorial structure of their English-language newspaper. But before making any changes, I first went into the archives to understand how the paper had evolved to that point. At Mizzou, when studying emerging digital technology, I wanted to trace every innovation since the telegraph that led to the tools we use now. That curiosity—the need to ask, "What led us to here?"—has defined my work.
AJHA provided a scholarly home for that perspective. It connected me with other researchers who see media history as more than just a chronology of past events, but as an ongoing conversation that informs how we understand journalism, technology, and culture. The association continues to influence my research through its daily newsletters, research calls, and conferences, keeping me engaged with new scholarship and opportunities. If anything, I need to do better about fully engaging—attending more in-person events and taking part in networking opportunities. The first year after completing my Ph.D. and relocating to a new position was a whirlwind, but now that the initial chaos has settled, I look forward to becoming more involved in the years ahead.
How do you connect your research on emerging digital technology with media history in the classroom?
I treat media history as an intrinsic linkage to learning emerging digital technology. Every tool, every industry standard, and every decision that seems taken for granted today was once an innovation. By exploring the origins of these tools and practices in the classroom, students develop a robust professional foundation on which they are able to engage with future technologies.
In my Media Production Principles course, for instance, I guide students through the invention of the kinetoscope, the rationale behind 35mm film as the standard for full-frame digital sensor technology, and why we continue to rely on a 4:3 aspect ratio in digital motion picture for standard television in North America. We also explore why movies are presented at 24 frames per second in major motion pictures (Director Peter Jackson, notwithstanding)—a decision rooted in early technological constraints and cost efficiency rather than any inherent natural law. Students swiftly recognize that many of the tools and formats they use daily were shaped by historical decisions made long before their time.
I have often observed a profound fascination for these lessons on history in my students—they frequently express surprise at understanding why certain media conventions exist and gain a deeper appreciation for the industry once they do. Many have commented in their course evaluations that my approach to teaching these lessons captivates them. Some students even remark that, despite their best efforts, they could not remain uninterested because it is too engaging for learning. This is one of the greatest compliments I can receive as an educator.
At times we explore transcending current industry standards, contemplating how present-day choices might influence media in the next century. We’ve contemplated alternative histories, such as, what if Edison and Dickson had selected a 1:1 or 3:4 format instead of 4:3? What if spatial computing leads us to entirely break away from traditional frames? While students sometimes laugh at such forward-thinking ideas or give the imitation shiver, these discussions help them realize that they are part of an ongoing evolutionary process, not passive users of technology.
Ultimately, my goal is to assist students in recognizing that history is not merely something to study for the sake of studying it. History is something they are living and shaping right now. By fostering this perspective, I aim to instill a sense of responsibility and agency among my students, encouraging them to contribute meaningfully to the future evolution of media.
How has your extensive international travel and twelve years living outside the U.S. informed your understanding of media history in the U.S. and/or abroad?
Spending over a decade in China fundamentally shaped my understanding of media history—not just in terms of studying it, but in living it firsthand. I worked inside state-controlled media as a visual editor at Guangzhou Daily and as a voice-over reporter for GDTV’s World Channel, where I saw how journalism functioned in a system with direct government oversight. Each week, we received a white paper outlining which stories had to align with Xinhua's [News Agency, China's state news outlet] official version. It was an accepted reality of the newsroom, and while there were moments when editors might have quietly joked about running a different version, there was no question about what would actually go to print.
What many people don’t realize, however, is that even in state-run media systems, investigative journalism still exists—it just operates within defined boundaries. Local corruption, consumer protections, and infrastructure failures were fair game for reporting, and I saw firsthand how these stories could still have real impact. Working within this system didn’t make me more cynical about press freedom; rather, it deepened my understanding of journalism as an impartial act that is shaped by the structures in which it operates. In the West, journalism serves one set of interests; in China, it serves another. No system is without influence.
My time in China also made me view Western media through a more critical lens. While American journalism prides itself on press freedom, the U.S. has its own forms of narrative control—through omission, misdirection, or the economic realities of media ownership. Teaching this perspective to students often results in pushback, which I welcome. Many have grown up immersed in American ideals of free press, and it can be jarring to confront the reality that all media systems, even democratic ones, have constraints. But as someone who has lived in both worlds, I try to bring that complexity into the classroom.
Beyond China, my travels across Southeast Asia—Thailand, Vietnam, Malaysia, Myanmar, the Philippines, Sri Lanka—exposed me to even more varied approaches to journalism and media governance. Seeing how different nations handle media access, censorship, and digital communication reinforced my view that media history isn’t just a timeline of technological advances, but a reflection of each society’s values and power structures.
Having graduated semi-recently, what advice do you have for other PhD candidates or recent graduates? This could be about the job market, dissertation writing, first year at a new job, etc.
Transitioning from PhD candidate to tenure-track professor has been both rewarding and overwhelming. One of the biggest adjustments wasn’t just stepping back into the instructor’s role. A professorial role carries with it a substantial burden of responsibilities. Doing this at an American university after years of teaching in China added an additional challenge of shifting into a new culture. While I had extensive experience in the classroom, the cultural and institutional expectations were more of a transition than I had anticipated.
One of the hardest realities of this position is the workload—upwards of 70-80 or more-hour workweeks, constant pressure to publish, committee service, professional service, curriculum development, and teaching. Unlike in China, where I had long semester breaks, there is no real downtime here. Winter break is for writing and prepping courses; summers are spent teaching, revising curriculum, attending conferences, and producing research. This is the reality of tenure-track life at a research university in the U.S., and no one should enter it under any illusions that the workload eases up once the dissertation is finished. The pressure of the tenure clock is real. Defending your dissertation helps to prepare for that ticking pressure.
Financially, the transition has been jarring as well. The most important piece of advice I can offer to PhD candidates is this: Make sure your program is fully funded with a living stipend. The dissertation process is all-consuming, and unless you are in an extraordinary situation, working a full-time job while writing a dissertation is nearly impossible. You may find yourself starting to fund your studies on credit, and I cannot stress this enough—do not charge your way through school. The financial burden of paying down that debt after graduation will follow you for years.
As for the job market, it’s an intense but thrilling process if you know your worth. I was writing my dissertation while applying for positions, meeting search committees at AEJMC, and flying to universities for campus visits. The experience was high-pressure but ultimately rewarding, and I was fortunate to receive multiple offers. Timing and my research area contributed favorably, as I’ve known others who applied to 50 or more institutions and heard back from only a handful. Applying for a tenure-track line is highly competitive, but when you find the right fit, the process is worthwhile.
What hobbies or activities do you enjoy outside of academia?
Travel, photography, and fitness. Photography is the longest throughline in my life. It has been with me from childhood, through my travels, into my career, and even into my academic research. My father taught me how to use a camera when I was a kid, letting me experiment with his Pentax 35mm SLR film camera. We practiced photographing everything—macro photography of coins on the kitchen table shooting through extension tubes to get right down into the scratches and nicks, documenting birthdays, holidays, and everydays, whatever caught our curiosity. My grandfather was also an avid photographer, a hobbyist who never ate a warm meal because he was too busy photographing his food—long before Instagram was ever a concept, my grandpa photographed everything. My father took photography a step further than his dad, turning it into a small business when he and my mother ran a video rental store and eventually expanded into video production. My brother and I would use the editing decks to make skate videos, cutting together footage of us out on our boards.
I carried this passion forward. In high school, I ordered a photography class-on-tape from the Seattle Film School and dreamt of attending the Art Institute, which I eventually did—earning my BA from the Art Institute of Colorado. I took my father’s camera on my first-ever solo trip to New York City in 1991, where I photographed everything—including a worm’s eye view shot looking up at the tall palm trees inside the World Trade Center. That trip was a turning point in my life. For one, I’d never seen palm trees inside a building before. It galvanized my passion for travel, a passion that deepened when I served in the Marines as I traveled to almost every country with shores on the Mediterranean Sea—Egypt, Tunisia, Israel, Greece, Italy, and Spain. I have been a traveler ever since, always with at least one camera in hand.
Photography became the foundation of my career. It took me to China, where I documented a mid-tier city for my master’s thesis, and later, it led me into journalism and academia. Photography got me here, and now, though I don’t have time to make photos the way I once did, my research is taking me where I’m going next.
Fitness has also played an important role in my life. I ran track in high school, ran in the Marines, and later, I picked it back up while living in China. Running has been a constant, though my passion for fitness deepened in 2014-2015 when I decided I wanted more than just running. I joined a gym, started resistance training, gave up the sweets, colas, alcohol, even meat, and trained religiously—lifting on gym days, running on the in-between days.
Fitness was also what connected me to my brother, so when he passed away in 2021, my fitness routine unraveled. Now, though my training regimen isn’t what it was, every time I train, I think of him, and it keeps him.
Travel, photography, fitness—these have all shaped me (no pun intended). Even when one fades into the background, it never truly disappears.
Chad Stuart Owsley is an assistant professor of communication in emerging media studies at the University of Nebraska at Omaha.
