Staff Writer Danielis Villegas navigates the memory of Columbia’s violent Spring Semester.

This past month, Columbia hosted the so-called Fall Festival, and, I can’t lie, the cotton candy, Dippin’ Dots, free snacks, and cider really got me. I remember walking aimlessly through campus with my friend, simply enjoying the sights and commenting on how “college” Columbia felt at that moment. 

But even as I saw the sun fall behind Low and the lamp posts twinkle with the coming fall weather, I felt a sense of unease and uncertainty. How could I feel that way? I spent the summer at Columbia, and I almost entirely refused to come to campus unless I absolutely had to. Back then, the wounds of the Spring Semester felt far too fresh. Being on campus felt heavy and I couldn’t bring myself to feel at ease anywhere inside of the 116th gates. But, then, the beginning of the Fall Semester arrived—and, well, we all kept going.

The semester started off with a strict policing of the lawns, a stark reminder of the distrust and animosity that the administration bears its students, but, eventually, there was a shift. The administration kept filling those lawns with games, snacks, and warm drinks instead of guard—although they were never far away.

I felt hesitant to give in at first; it somehow felt wrong, almost like they were trying to distract us from the memory of our classmates being arrested in that very spot. Eventually, I too was swept by that lively air of people lounging on the lawns, picking up cider, playing frisbee or volleyball—all of a sudden, I did feel a certain romance come alive within campus. Because sometimes the New York sky turns a soft shade of blue as the sun sets behind low, and I can’t help but stare in wonder at how beautiful our campus can be.

But still, I had (and still have) a hard time reconciling the memory of Spring 2024 with those moments where I do feel glad to be here. That idyllic image of Columbia and New York I had as a freshman has given way to reality: the rats, the midterms, and, above all, Columbia’s violence towards its students and its disregard of Palestinian lives. So how can I bring myself to like this place, when Columbia has given us every reason to resent it?

At the same time, I can’t help but recognize all the work I put into getting here, and now that I am here, all of the privilege that comes with being a Columbia student. At the end of the day, most of us are still here, walking along the same lawns and going into the very same classrooms and buildings that bear violent wounds. Although we may now play, lounge, and sunbathe in the lawns, I don’t think anyone has forgotten. It may not dominate classroom conversations the same way it did last semester, but the memory of the NYPD storming campus, the anger, and the uncertainty are all there. I think that memory and the cognitive dissonance that comes with it has become a hallmark of the Columbia experience.

While I haven’t fully resolved this internal debate, I have given myself permission to enjoy the lawns, the Dippin’ Dots, and the sunsets behind Low, even if it can feel unsettling at times, because I haven’t forgotten, and I don’t think any of us have. It may not be the cover of every news publication, and Columbia may no longer be on national news every other week, but we are all still here making the same walks and going into the same buildings that bore witness to Columbia’s violence.

I don’t have a profound conclusion to this, other than that I am still trying to figure it out. Because I have to, and we all have to. I still need my Columbia degree, and I will be glad to have it. But I am working with myself to allow for that to exist within a critical awareness of where I stand. It doesn’t matter how many classical or radical theorists we read: nothing could have prepared us for this.

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