On understanding the seemingly universal love-hate relationship with Columbia.

It’s easy to be cynical about Columbia. As a current junior, my time here has been defined by a kind of overarching crisis which no one can seem to name or move beyond. I’m reminded of this each day when I swipe into campus, where once decorative gates now feel symbolic.  I don’t blame my peers for their attitudes. Cynicism is a social language here. It’s easy to bond with someone at Columbia over their complaints about the institution. That cynicism, I’ve come to understand, is not the whole story, and not necessarily a flaw. 

To make sense of Columbia, I’ve started to think of it as a beast with many heads. Some of those heads I deeply admire. Others have made decisions I find indefensible, such as the choice to arrest my friends or to undermine academic freedom in ways I nor my professors can stand for. Holding all of this at once is disorientating. It’s hard to explain to an outsider of this fragmented institution. So I keep my head down and keep going to class.

That has shifted after a visit to a professor’s office hours this past month. When I gave my usual chuckle and “it’s complicated” response to her question about my time at Columbia, she pushed me further, drawing on her experience growing up near universities and teaching at peer institutions like Harvard. She enlightened me through comparing the demographics and attitudes of the institutions, especially within the microcosm of her classroom. While Harvard students were of course quite bright, she stated that they tended to be more unitary and alike in their behavior. Columbia kids however cannot be pinned down. What struck her was not the difference in intelligence, but rather in dynamics. I found it fascinating just how diverse Columbia was in her view, and realized how much of it I take for granted on account of being within the belly of the beast. This diversity, in her view, led to much more interesting discussions within the classroom. People were more unpredictable, more likely to challenge her claims or those of their peers. That difference, she argued, makes for a classroom which feels more intellectually vibrant and alive. 

Listening to her, I realized just how much of that I had taken for granted. 

She then reframed the very cynicism I describe earlier, one which is quite familiar to anyone within this institution, but one which I always felt as a negative weight. At Columbia, the lack of school spirit is a running joke. Even before the tumultuous events of the past 3 years, reckoning with one’s place within Columbia as an institution required some level of nuance and humor. What I found so inspiring, however, was her conviction that this cynicism wasn’t necessarily a negative. Instead of apathy, it reflects a unique sort of engagement. If students and faculty did not care about the reputation or future of this university, there would be no pushes to reform and address both scandals and systemic issues.

Compared to her time at peer institutions, this professor said Columbia students were more willing to call out institutional failures, many of which are not unique to this university. Framing this cynicism as an investment rather than detachment has transformed how I understand this institution and my place within it. Near constant criticism of my school has made my relationship to Columbia complicated, but I do prefer this to the alternative of blind acceptance, especially when critique stems from desires for a university that truly serves its constituents and mission. As students, we expect more. 

Said conversation has allowed me to better understand myself within the fragments of Columbia which I encounter on a daily basis. I am so beyond grateful for the elements of this institution which enable me, a girl from South Carolina public schools, to feel like I belong within its storied history and present.

 That shift materialized last week when I went to the Met Opera with my Music Humanities class. Looking around during the intermission, I was overwhelmed with emotion when considering how special it was to have all these nerds from everywhere, who are studying everything under the sun, to come together on a Tuesday evening and hold this shared experience of grandeur. I am so grateful for the factors, the people, and the history of this school which allowed for that moment. There in the opera hall, I felt what I can only describe as the spirit of Columbia, one of remarkable connection through difference. 

That spirit deserves our defense from external and internal actors who flatten this institution into its worst headlines. They fail to understand or even see the true nature of everyday campus connections and the people who give this place life. 

I love the Core. I love its unifying mission and how it creates a shared language across difference. I love the people here who have broadened my mind and continue to challenge me, unsettle me, and expand how I think. I love that my education has given me the language and context to critique this institution, even when said critique is uncomfortable.

My relationship with Columbia is complicated. Increasingly, I hold that complexity not as a problem, but rather the very thing which makes this unique institution and its people matter. 

Header via Bwog Archives