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For much of modern American history, handwriting was more than a basic classroom exercise. It was a fundamental skill, a marker of education, personal expression, and everyday communication. From penmanship drills in elementary school to handwritten letters and signatures, the ability to write by hand was once assumed, widely taught, and culturally important. But, with the widespread use of typewriters, and, more recently, with the rise of digital technology, handwriting’s place in American life has shifted.

In the decades following World War II, handwriting instruction was universally integrated into elementary education. Students learned both manuscript and cursive styles, practicing penmanship through repeated drills and lessons. Handwriting was considered essential, not only for schoolwork, but for professional and personal life, from taking notes to signing documents and writing letters.

By the 1950s and 1970s, the use of typewriters began to reshape how writing functioned in professional settings. As typewriting became an essential office skill, schools increasingly offered formal typing classes, often taught on manual and electric typewriters in classrooms throughout the mid‑20th century. These classes reflected the rising importance of keyboard-based communication for future employment and marked one of the first challenges to handwriting’s dominance, as practical writing skills in the workplace began to shift from pen to keyboard.

But, the seeds of change were planted in the late 20th century, as computers, word processors, and, eventually, laptops began to enter schools and workplaces. By the early 2000s, digital devices were becoming more common in classrooms, and keyboarding skills began to compete with handwriting for instructional time, even among the youngest students. As educators incorporated new technologies, the time dedicated to handwriting, especially cursive, began to shrink.

A major turning point occurred in 2010, when the Common Core State Standards were adopted by many state education systems. Unlike previous standards, Common Core did not require cursive instruction or set explicit expectations for handwriting at any grade level. This omission was consequential: without a curricular mandate, many schools deprioritized handwriting in favor of subjects tested more frequently, such as reading and math.

Throughout the 2010s and into the early 2020s, reports and educational commentary noted that handwriting instruction had declined in many districts. With keyboards and touchscreens becoming everyday tools for students, those entering middle and high school had limited experience with cursive or penmanship. For many young people, handwriting became an optional skill rather than a core one.

Yet handwriting did not disappear entirely; it simply shifted context. Students might still take notes by hand, and adults continued to sign documents and jot reminders, but the structured, formal instruction that once surrounded handwriting had weakened. The cultural assumption that every student would learn cursive fluently was fading.

Recently, however, that decline has sparked a new conversation. Concerned parents, educators, and lawmakers have been arguing that handwriting, particularly cursive, offers cognitive, developmental, and historical benefits that digital typing alone can’t provide. Research by psychologists and educators, including studies from institutions such as Indiana University, has suggested that handwriting engages cognitive processes linked to memory and early literacy, reinforcing the idea that writing by hand can support deeper learning and comprehension in ways that typing alone may not.

As a result, a comeback movement has emerged. Today, at least 27 states have passed laws or policies mandating cursive instruction in elementary schools, reversing years of decline and signaling that handwriting still has a role in education. For example, states like Pennsylvania and New Jersey passed legislation requiring cursive lessons to be reintroduced in the early grades, aiming to preserve a skill seen as both a cultural heritage and a practical skill. Public opinion also reflects this renewed interest: a recent poll conducted by The O&P EDGE found that 74 percent of their followers believe cursive handwriting is worth bringing back in schools, highlighting widespread support for its revival and educational value.

Handwriting in America has not returned to its mid-20th-century dominance, but its role is being redefined. Once an unquestioned foundation of schooling, it became a declining skill in the digital age. Now, amid renewed interest in its cognitive and cultural value, educators and policymakers are reconsidering what place it should hold. Rather than disappearing, handwriting is being deliberately re-evaluated less as a universal necessity and more as a deliberate educational choice.

This post was written by Marist Poll Media Team member Molly Goodger

For most of the last century of American history, public opinion on Iran has been shaped by moments of crisis, conflict, and perceived threat. Today, with the United States at war with Iran, those long-standing attitudes are once again being measured, but the roots of American skepticism stretch back decades.

In the early years of U.S.–Iran relations, Iran was not seen as a central concern for most Americans. In 1952 as the threat of communism consumer American foreign policy — and prior to the CIA-backed coup that installed the Shah in power — only 35% of Americans said it would matter a “great deal” if communists took control of Iran, according to NORC. Even more than two decades later, in 1976, public appetite for involvement remained limited, with just 23% of Americans saying the U.S. should send military aid to Iran under the Shah, based on a Time Magazine/Yankelovich, Skelly & White survey. At that point, Iran was still relatively peripheral in the American public’s view of global priorities.

That changed dramatically with the 1979 Iran Hostage Crisis, a defining moment that cemented Iran as a primary adversary in the American imagination. In the midst of the crisis, 66% of Americans said the U.S. should attack Iran if American hostages were harmed, according to an NBC News/Associated Press survey, while 69% opposed sending the Shah back to Iran for trial, per an ABC News/Louis Harris & Associates poll. Through the 1980s and early 1990s, distrust remained deeply entrenched, with Gallup finding in periodic polling that only 5% to 13% of Americans viewed Iran favorably.

Following the September 11th attacks, perceptions of Iran became even more tied to national security concerns. In 2004, Gallup found just 17% of Americans held a favorable view of the country, while 77% viewed it unfavorably. In the same polling, 58% said Iran posed a long-term threat to the United States, 72% believed a nuclear-armed Iran would attack Israel, 66% feared attacks on the U.S. or Europe, and 82% thought Iran might provide nuclear weapons to terrorist groups. By 2006, Pew found Iran topping the list of countries representing the “greatest danger” to the U.S. with 27% of Americans naming the country, a sharp increase from 9% the year before.

Despite these concerns, support for direct military conflict has always remained fairly low. In 2010 a CBS News/60 Minutes/Vanity Fair Poll found Americans divided on what would justify war: 25% said only an attack on U.S. soil, another 25% pointed to an attack on U.S. naval forces, while smaller shares cited a nuclear test (11%) or an attack on Israel (10%).

By the mid-2010s, negative perceptions of Iran reached some of their highest levels. In 2015, 84% of Americans held an unfavorable view, according to Gallup. Opinions were split on the Obama administration’s nuclear agreement — with about 38% approving and 48% disapproving — but most Americans saying they were skeptical that Iran would uphold its commitments, according to a 2015 Pew Research Center poll.

Since then tensions continued to shape opinion. After the U.S. withdrew from the nuclear deal under President Trump, 62% of Americans believed Iran had violated the agreement, according to CNN/SSRS polling. The 2020 killing of Iranian General Qasem Soleimani further escalated tensions, and public opinion remained overwhelmingly negative in the years that followed. From 2021 through 2024, Gallup consistently found that between 13% and 17% of Americans viewed Iran favorably.

Now, amid renewed conflict, the public remains wary of deeper military involvement. This past summer a Washington Post poll found that 45% of Americans opposed U.S. airstrikes on Iran, compared with 25% who supported them, while 30% were unsure. Little has changed now that we are at war. Notably, no major polling since the outbreak of the current conflict has shown majority support for the war.

Americans have long viewed Iran through a lens of caution and concern, shaped by decades of geopolitical tension. But even as negative perceptions have remained consistent, support for military action has also been consistently limited. The result is a public that sees Iran as a threat, yet remains hesitant about the costs and consequences of war, a divide that continues to define opinion today.

The American Dream has long been a guiding idea in the United States, the belief that hard work can lead to a better life. People have imagined owning a home, having a steady job, and helping their children do better than they did. But, how have attitudes toward the Dream changed over time? Let’s step through the decades and find out.

In the 1950s and 1960s, many Americans were confident the Dream was within reach. People believed that owning a home, having a steady job, and helping their children do better than they had were realistic goals. At the same time, Americans trusted that the system around them was stable. In 1958, about 73% said they trusted the federal government to do what is right “just about always” or “most of the time.” This didn’t mean the government would give people success; it meant that rules, institutions, and the economy were stable, creating opportunities for those willing to work hard.

By the 1970s, rising inflation and economic uncertainty made some Americans question how success was achieved. Education was becoming more important for moving up in life. In April 1978, a CBS News/New York Times survey asked whether “in order to get ahead in life these days, it’s necessary to get a college education.” Americans were nearly evenly split: 49% said yes and 47% said no. This showed that the Dream was starting to feel conditionally dependent not just on hard work, but also on access to education and opportunity.

Through the late 20th century, Americans largely kept their confidence in opportunity. Gallup data from 1998 shows that 81% of respondents felt there was “plenty of opportunity to get ahead.” Even as optimism remained high, new challenges emerged: rising inequality, debates over access to education, and changes in the job market suggested the Dream might not be equally attainable for everyone.

The Great Recession made Americans rethink economic mobility. By 2019, Gallup reported that roughly 70% of Americans believed the Dream was achievable, though a growing minority doubted whether it was within reach for most people. Hard work was still valued, but confidence in whether the system was fair and opportunities were truly available had become shakier.

Today, Americans are nearly divided on the Dream’s attainability. In 2024, Pew Research Center found that 53% believe the Dream remains possible, while 41% say it was once attainable but is no longer. People also define the Dream differently: by 2025, Gallup reported that about half of respondents thought the American Dream is more about opportunity (51%) and the other half (49%) felt it was more about stability. Across all groups, one idea is clear: hard work matters, but opportunity is not guaranteed. Education, fairness, and economic stability now play a big role in whether the Dream feels achievable.

Over time, the American Dream has not disappeared. Instead, it has become conditional, nuanced, and connected to both effort and opportunity. Americans still believe in its promise, but their faith now reflects the realities of the modern economy and society.

This post was written by Marist Poll Media Team member Molly Goodger

For much of modern American history, college has been more than an educational path. It has been a symbol of opportunity, mobility, and the American Dream. But heading into the mid-2020s, something striking is happening: confidence in the value of higher education is no longer a given. Where a college degree was once widely seen as the clearest route to success, Americans today are increasingly weighing the benefits versus the rising costs.

In the decades following World War II, when higher education became a cornerstone of middle-class life, the GI Bill sent millions of veterans to college. Public universities expanded rapidly and a degree came to represent, not just learning, but economic security. For generations, Americans largely agreed: college was worth it, and then some.

By the end of the 70s, that belief was pronounced. According to a 1978 Gallup Poll, 36% of Americans said a college education was very important. By 1985, that share had jumped to 64% reflecting a growing sense that a diploma mattered more than ever.

Yet, even during this period of rising confidence, concerns were emerging. In 1985, 39% of Americans said most people could afford a college education. By 1991, that share had fallen to just 25%, based on Pew Research Center data, an early warning sign that cost was beginning to erode the universal promise of higher education.

Despite cost concerns, the importance of a degree was still ingrained in many Americans. Just after the Great Recession reshaped economic expectations, a 2011 Pew Research Center Social & Demographic Trends survey reported 74% of Americans said that, in order to get ahead in life, it was necessary to get a college education. At that moment, college still stood as the central gateway to opportunity.

By the early 2010s, public sentiment remained overwhelmingly positive. In 2010, roughly 75% of Americans said a college education was very important, according to Gallup— reflecting a now long-held belief that a degree was essential for landing a good job and achieving upward mobility.

But, by the middle of the 2010’s, cracks began to appear. As tuition rose faster than wages and student loan debt became a defining issue for young adults, Americans started to question the value proposition. The belief that college was indispensable no longer went unchallenged. Even as enrollment remained high, skepticism was quietly growing beneath the surface.

A 2015 Gallup–Purdue Index study found that only 38% of recent graduates strongly agreed their degree was worth what they paid, a notably lower share than among older alumni. Even among those who had already gone to college, satisfaction was slipping. The promise of college was still there, but it no longer felt guaranteed. By 2019, only 51% of Americans saw a college education as very important.

The 2020s have made that divide even clearer. According to a 2024 Pew Research Center survey, 49% Americans now say a college degree is less important today than it was 20 years ago for getting a good job, while just 32% say it’s more important. When cost enters the conversation, the picture sharpens further: the same Pew survey found that only 22% believe college is worth it if it requires taking out loans. A much larger share (47%) say it’s only worth it without debt, and 29% say it’s not worth the cost at all.

Last year, the shift in attitudes is unmistakable. A 2025 Gallup Poll showed only about one-third (35%) of Americans now say a college education is very important, down sharply from 75% in 2010, based on earlier Gallup tracking data. Confidence in higher education has also fallen: according to a 2024 Gallup survey, just 36% of Americans express a great deal or quite a lot of confidence in colleges and universities, compared with 57% in 2015.

Americans have not abandoned higher education, but they are clearly rethinking it. The college dream hasn’t disappeared, but it has become more conditional, more cautious, and more closely tied to affordability and outcomes.

This post was written by Marist Poll Media Team member A.J. Gambino.

Every four years, the Winter Olympics return with a blend of athletic spectacle, global politics, and national pride. But heading into Milan–Cortina 2026, something unusual is happening: enthusiasm is higher now than in the past few games, summer and winter. New MRI-Simmons data shows 54% of Americans say they’re fans of the Winter Games — a return to pre-pandemic levels of interest.

Our Time Machine starts in Calgary in 1988, Games remembered for extending the Winter Olympics to 16 days for the first time and introducing sports like curling and short-track speed skating as demonstrations. It was a period of athletic focus—bobsleigh, biathlon, figure skating, and the debut of freestyle skiing—even as the Winter Olympics continued a trend toward media spectacle that arguably began in Lake Placid 1980 when the American “Miracle on Ice” hockey team beat the Soviets.

By the early 90s pollsters noticed something else: interest wasn’t guaranteed. After Albertville 1992, the Seton Hall Sports Poll recorded a 26% drop in viewer interest and a “20-plus percent” decline in TV ratings. Even then, Americans were already showing signs of fluctuating enthusiasm long before cord-cutting or social media reshaped viewership.

Two years later, as the Winter Games shifted to a schedule offset from the Summer Games, controversy dominated — and not for the first time. Just before Lillehammer in 1994, a poll found Americans opposed Tonya Harding skating in Norway by a two-to-one margin, even as the Games themselves later became remembered as one of the most beloved ever.

Heading into Nagano in 1998, the Games reinvigorated some public interest with the introduction of snowboarding, the return of curling, and the debut of women’s ice hockey. Opening the men’s ice hockey tournament to the world’s professionals added new star power—a reminder that the Olympics have often adapted to win back audiences.

Salt Lake City in 2002 offered another twist. Before the Games, 45% of Utahans didn’t want the Olympics at all. But after the events concluded—widely celebrated as one of the most successful U.S. Games in history—public opinion flipped. The Olympics have often had a way of winning back hearts once the flame is lit.

Turin 2006 generated strong hometown feelings, with 81% of Turinese residents saying the Olympics would be “strategic for the city.” Yet nearly 20% still didn’t entirely understand what the Games would entail—a reminder that local opinion often starts with uncertainty and caution.

By Vancouver 2010, public sentiment centered on inclusion: 73% of Canadians wanted women’s ski jumping added to the Games, and when the Olympics finally arrived, 46% of newspaper editors, news directors, and editors at the major news websites across the country named it the top news story of the year in Canadian Press surveys. Even in the digital age’s early acceleration, the Games could unify national attention.

Sochi 2014 was different. A Pew poll found Americans deeply split over whether it was a “good decision” to hold the Games in Russia. Age mattered: 49% of adults 18–29 said hosting the Games there was a good idea, compared with just 24% of those 50+. Concerns over terrorism and Russia’s policies toward LGBTQ+ people dominated the reasoning among those who opposed the location. The sports were on the ice; the debates were elsewhere.

In PyeongChang 2018, geopolitics again overshadowed athletics. An Ipsos global survey found that 50% of people worldwide were worried North Korea would behave provocatively, with U.S. concern—at 58%—among the highest. That anxiety loomed large even as Korean diplomacy attempted to calm tensions, and the games came off without a geopolitical hitch.

Beijing 2022 arrived amid both diplomatic strain and public disinterest. Pew found that 91% of Americans had heard little or nothing about the U.S. diplomatic boycott, yet nearly half approved of it. Views of China were similarly icy: 54% described China as a competitor and 35% as an enemy. Perhaps the political noise helped depress pre-game excitement. Ipsos found 42% of Americans were interested in the game prior to their start — lower than interest ahead of many prior summer and winter games.

And that brings us back to now and the run-up to Milan 2026. According to MRI-Simmons, 22% of Americans say they plan to watch (remember the same survey showed 54% say they’re fans) which, in a fractured media age, may prove to be a strong outcome. It is, after all, about 55 million people!

If past Winter Games were shaped by boycotts, geopolitical tension, ratings drops, or breakthrough sports moments, perhaps Milan–Cortina will be defined by something different: all the new ways fans (and non-fans) see and interact with the Games.

For more than six decades, the flu shot has been a key tool in protecting public health in the United States. What started as a limited campaign to vaccinate high-risk populations has grown into a yearly ritual for millions of Americans. Behind every injection is a story of shifting public opinion, policy decisions, and medical advances that together have shaped how Americans view and use flu vaccines.

In 1957, during the Asian Flu pandemic, Americans became more aware of the dangers of influenza. A Gallup Poll from that year showed widespread concern about the flu and support for vaccination.

Two decades later, in 1976, a swine flu scare prompted a national vaccination campaign. Early public opinion polls, such as a Gallup Poll from August, indicated that about half (53%) of Americans planned to get the jab.

By 1979, awareness of flu vaccinations had grown, but uptake remained limited. According to an Opinion Research Corporation survey from that year, only 15% of Americans said they planned to get a flu shot, despite widespread public health campaigns encouraging vaccination for high-risk groups like older adults. Surveys from this period revealed mixed attitudes: while many recognized the importance of flu shots for preventing illness, others expressed skepticism about their effectiveness or concerns about potential side effects.

The 1980s and 1990s marked a period of expanding access. Employers, schools, and healthcare providers offered flu shots more widely, and federal public health campaigns emphasized the benefits of annual vaccination for some groups.

By 1999, polls indicated that most Americans viewed flu shots positively, and vaccine coverage was steadily increasing, though differences persisted by age and region. For instance data from this era shows that coverage among those 65 and over peaked around 65% and hovered there until 2013.

The early 2000s brought new challenges and awareness. Following 9/11, public health messaging emphasized pandemic preparedness, which boosted interest in flu vaccination. Surveys from 2001 to 2003 showed that Americans largely supported flu shots, particularly for children and other vulnerable groups. Coverage remained uneven, but the overall trend reflected growing trust in the vaccine’s role in preventing serious illness. Indeed an October 2001 American Society of Health-Systems Pharmacists found 58% of Americans said at least one person in their family had or would be getting a flu shot that year.

By the the 2010’s, public health campaigns targeted children, older adults, and people with chronic conditions. A 2010 Commonwealth Survey reported 46% of American adults had or would get a flu shot. Coverage for adults continued in the 40-50% range, while pediatric rates remained higher. Polling during this period showed strong support for routine vaccination every year. 2012 showed that 45% of U.S. adults had gotten a flu shot in the last 12 months, and in 2018 54% of adults planned to get one in preparation for the upcoming flu season.

The COVID-19 pandemic disrupted routine vaccinations, and flu shot coverage declined in the early 2020s. CDC data from the 2023–2024 season shows that overall influenza vaccination rates dropped, particularly among children. Researchers note that rates also vary across counties, with lower coverage in low-income areas. Public opinion polls reflect this shift: some Americans continue to see flu shots as essential for protecting themselves and others, while others are hesitant, citing safety, necessity, or mistrust of public health guidance.

Together, these moments show how public opinion, scientific research, and government action have influenced flu shot use over decades. From early pandemic campaigns to modern concerns about access and equity, the story of flu vaccination in America illustrates the ongoing interplay between policy, medicine, and the public.

This post was written by Marist Poll Media Team member Julia Tartaglia.

In any political debate, you’ll hear candidates express support for unions, labeling them as the cornerstone of American labor and manufacturing. But how important are unions nowadays and how many union members are left?

If fewer than 10% of Americans were members of a union in 2024, then why are unions still such a contentious point of discussion? Perhaps it’s the long history of organized labor in America.

In July 1936, just one year after the passage of the Wagner Act, which guaranteed workers the right to unionize, Gallup asked Americans if they supported labor unions. 76% said yes. Around this time, as a result of New Deal policies and Depression-era frustrations, membership surged. Union membership rose from about 13% of American workers in 1935 to 29% in 1939.

The passage of the Taft-Hartley Act in 1947 sought to amend and limit union power. The prohibition of practices such as closed shops (businesses which required union membership for employment) were instituted. This did not hinder overall support for unions however. According to the Department of the Treasury, labor unions would reach their peak membership in the 1950s with one-third of American workers claiming membership.

Through the post-war decades, union support continued to hold strong. Gallup, in 1957, found that 75% of Americans approved of labor unions, an all-time high. Trouble was on the way however, as media reports of corruption within unions such as the Teamsters began to shift public opinion. According to Gallup, by 1979, approval had dropped to 55%. Ronald Reagan’s firing of striking air traffic controllers in the early 80s seemed to continue eroding support. That year, 1981, Gallup found only 14% of Americans thought labor leaders had high ethical standards, and, by 1983, just 20% of American workers belonged to a union.

In the latter decades of the 20th century, union membership declined rapidly. This can largely be attributed to the loss of U.S. manufacturing plants and factories. Industries which were traditionally union strongholds, such as the steel, auto, and manufacturing industries, saw factories close or move overseas. As blue-collar jobs disappeared, union membership dropped.

But what about the public perception of organized labor? According to Pew in 1999, 70% of Americans still said that labor unions were necessary to protect working people.

Coming out of the 2008 recession, the early 2010s saw a surge in union support from new demographics. As income inequality grew, professions such as teaching became hotbeds for activism, materializing in strikes and walkouts.

Nonetheless, membership continued to decline AND support continued to rebound. Then came the pandemic. Workers in essential roles, such as healthcare, food service, and delivery, began demanding more compensation for their efforts. Gallup, in 2022, found that 71% of Americans approved of unions, the highest percentage since 1965.

Post-pandemic, unions continued to hold strong public support, achieving high-profile victories such as the Union of Auto Workers (UAW) winning concessions from automakers. A 2023 CNN/SSRS poll showed 76% of voters supported striking auto workers.

Today, though union membership only hovers around 10% according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, their cultural presence as a tool for social equity has not faded. As income inequality continues to grow, these unions show big corporations that people — workers — still have at least some of the power.