To the Entire Columbia University Administration

The first word of The Iliad, as we all know, is “rage.” It’s fitting that this is also the first book students read at Columbia, because, in one form or another, it’s what most of us feel on a daily basis. Whether it’s because you are inviting America-hating despots as guests of honor, requiring students to take final exams, or taking away beloved food options, the indignities you cause are never-ending. That’s why in the last two weeks, for a fleeting, succulent moment, I thought you guys had finally come around. I thought you finally understood your student body and wanted to do right by us.

When those students set up shop on Butler Plaza and refused to eat until their ludicrous demands (what did they want, again? Free Tibet? Free Converse All-Stars?) were met, you ignored them. It was like a dream come true. Despite their vociferous protests, you stood fast and made no mention of the nuisance they were creating. I was sure that they would eventually walk back to the Community Food & Juice, defeated by the unkind and (ironically) un-nurturing hand of Alma Mater that we have all come to know and love.

Yet in order to maintain your overwhelming record of disappointing the majority of your students, you had to appease the hunger strikers. You had to give them the impression that you were actually listening, that you actually cared, and that things were actually changing. Uh, who are you and what have you done with the old administration? It is not like you to care about your students. For example, you have not responded to any of my complaints or suggestions this year, and I have provided such things in great abundance. Even my letter to the manager of 212 went unnoticed. Do you remember how I lamented the loss of the sweet, sweet Mexicali Roast Beef? Well, guess what, hunger strikers? You think that going hungry for a few days is legit? Since there’s no more Mexicali at 212, I haven’t eaten anything all semester. No Gatorade, either. I drank only my own tears as I cried every night looking at pictures of the Mexicali.

But, my dear administrators, now that I have seen how malleable your wicked hearts are when it comes to hunger strike camp-outs, I’m going to redirect my avenue of complaint from this column into a series of focused hunger strikes, starting immediately. Just so you’re prepared to capitulate, I’ll enumerate the first few of my demands:

1) The inclusion of the history of Mexicali Roast Beef in the Core Curriculum, specifically in Contemporary Civilization.
2) A vice provost for Mexicali affairs, as well as 12 tenured professors with extensive expertise in the subject of Historical Sandwiches.
3) The immediate withdrawal from Manhattanville.

I think it’s only fair that you acquiesce to my demands. After all, I’m just as qualified a representative of the student body as the hunger strikers were. Additionally, you will see that I have included the demand that you withdraw from Manhattanville. This is not actually a position I support, but I am expecting that several students will see this and blindly fall in with my protest, thus improving my odds of success (if, indeed, the number of protesters has any bearing on whether the administration descends from the Dark Tower to speak to the plebeian masses).

For those students who have actually managed to eat this semester with the disappearance of the Mexicali (nobody I know, that’s for damn sure), I will also be hosting a candlelight vigil, much like the ones the previous hunger strikers held. In order to ensure that mine is sweeter than theirs, though, I have contacted numerous recording artists, such as New Edition, Menudo, and the Backstreet Boys, about performing. As soon as they get back to me, I’ll announce who is playing, and students should all show up for solidarity and whatever.

I didn’t want to make this into a big thing. I was happy to just write my letters, e-mail them to my grandparents so they would have refrigerator ornamentation, and share them on Facebook so that girls would think I was doing something (anything) with my life. But now that you’ve made it so blatantly obvious that any yahoo with a camping tent and the will to lose a few pounds can bring about absurd and unneeded change, well, it’s just too good an opportunity to pass up.

RAGE,
Eddie

The author is a Columbia College senior majoring in Classics.