Columbia originally closed the gates as a temporary measure in a time of crisis. Two presidential administrations later, and it doesn’t seem like they intend to open them any time soon. How does this impact community life at Columbia?

I never had a full year at Columbia where the gates were open and merely decorative, as they once were for generations of students. Every day now, I swipe in. Each time I begrudgingly pull out my wallet to access my campus, there is a slight reminder that this isn’t normal. This wasn’t how Columbia’s environment felt when I first started here. For those who’ve been at Columbia before April 2024, before the student encampment for Gaza and the administration’s subsequent crackdown, the gate closures still feel surreal. The gates used to be mere decorative fixtures that we barely noticed. In only two academic years, they have been transformed into instruments of control that we accept every time we swipe in.

The iconic gates at 116th and Broadway, donated by George Delacorte in 1970, were never meant to be actual barriers. They were ornamentation, symbols of stepping off the NYC streets and into Columbia’s unique campus. Each gate still bears its small plaque: “May All Who Enter Find Peace And Welcome.” Reading these words while waiting in line to swipe into campus now feels bitterly ironic. You have to prove your right to enter a space that claims to be welcome to all. This used to be the case, but through the daily ritual of having to swipe in, it is easy to forget how abnormal all of this is for Columbia. The gates were always meant to project exclusivity (that’s what gates do, even open ones), but they functioned more as thresholds than checkpoints. You walked under them into Columbia’s world, a space many students already described as a “bubble,” cut off from the surrounding neighborhoods by tall buildings and limited access points. But the bubble was permeable. Anyone could walk through.

In my freshman year, whenever there was a Palestine-related protest at Columbia, the administration would close the gates for that day. This seemed strange to me, but I didn’t know how strange until an upperclassmen told me Columbia never did this for other protests, and that this was deeply abnormal. Following the encampments, the gate closures became indefinite. This semester, Columbia has removed the temporary security tables it once had at each gate, replacing them with more permanent Public Safety booths. The administration cites safety and the protection of free speech, but this claim rings hollow when you consider that closing the campus also means shutting down the spaces where that speech had been happening. Regarding safety, how does a closed campus protect students when they walk one block away to their dorm or to the park? Nearly two years later, this indefinite closure has become something we are just numb to.

Media theorist Marshall McLuhan argued that technologies change us not through their content, but through their mere existence. “The medium is the message”, altering how we perceive and interact with the world. The same is true for gates. Even when they stood open, their presence mediated our experience of Columbia, marking an inside and outside, campus and city. Their closure has fundamentally reconfigured the social fabric of this university for all who interact with it. Instead of just symbolizing exclusion, the gates actively produce it every day.

For those who were here before, the shift is jarring. I am now a junior, and I think back to my freshman year when we could walk freely through multiple entrances, barely registering the gate’s existence except as historical architectural features. Now, the gates have inserted themselves as active forces shaping campus life.

For students who arrived after the closure, this is simply what life at Columbia is. I have overheard freshmen mention they would feel unsafe with the gates open, or that they could not imagine life before that. This suddenly made me feel very old, but more importantly, it showed how quickly and forcefully Columbia has shifted the dynamics and culture of its campus. As students graduate and new ones enter, it is easier for the abnormality of this to be forgotten. The daily ritual of swiping in is just accepted as a fact of campus life, to the point where new students see this division as natural, even necessary.

This is how institutional power works. It is immediately visible through dramatic actions, such as inviting the NYPD to campus and expelling students. It is less noticeable, and perhaps more powerful in this manner, through the slow normalization of control and surveillance. The once decorative gates have been weaponized by an administration that seeks authority over our daily movements and perceptions. Visually, keeping the gates closed sends powerful messages regarding the special politics of campus life, determining who belongs and who doesn’t, who is safe and who is threatening. Crucially, those of us whose lives are most shaped by the gates, the students, faculty, and community members, have no say in whether they open or close.

This is an uncomfortable fact of current life at Columbia, but we must recognize how the gates’ current function was always a possibility embedded in their existence. Even if Delacorte and campus planners never imagined an indefinite closure, functional gates can always be closed and weaponized by a new administration. Infrastructure is never neutral. Its power comes in the fact that political forces behind it are rarely considered. The physical structures around us shape who can move freely and who cannot, who feels welcome and who feels watched. I see this power when considering current underclassmen who have never experienced student life at Columbia with open gates. Will they ever get to experience how different an open campus feels? Will they ever get to see how deeply strange this moment is, or will they keep accepting it as a fact of life?

We need to resist further normalization of this moment. It should still feel strange to present your ID and swipe into an academic campus that claims to welcome all. It should feel wrong that a university claiming to serve the public good has walled itself off from the public. The longer we accept closed gates as normal, the harder it becomes to imagine or demand anything different.

The gates will continue to shape campus politics, social life, and possibilities for community. They are daily physical reminders of who holds the power at Columbia and the ability of that power to reshape our environment to maintain control. Will we keep accepting this closure as inevitable? Or will we finally see the gates not as protective but as enforcement tools for an administrative vision prioritizing control over genuine community?

For now, the gates will remain closed. What we do with that reality will define this era of Columbia? Will we accept their indefinite closure, or will we resist and ask why we should be forced to accept exclusion?

Editor’s Note on November 18, 2025: The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Bwog Limited.

Image via Bwog Archives