Palling Around with Traitors, or Those Who Feel Like Them

Long before my letters of acceptance and rejection from universities trickled in, I was sitting in a café with my Columbia interviewer—who, herself, had graduated not long ago. She had been a political science major—the same major which I then intended to pursue, and still do intend to pursue. One of the most salient features of my life had been my wide-ranging political activism. Not surprisingly, she asked me about it.

Before the interview, I had prepared answers to a wide variety of questions—“Why Columbia?” or “How come the Core is so very, very awesome?”—but I suppose this one had not crossed my mind. As I thought about it in the few moments of not-quite-awkward silence that ensued, I realized something.

As someone who comes from an upper-middle-class area of New Jersey, I have often been accused of armchair liberalism or whatever the term for it is these days. But the fact of the matter is that my outrage at various policies—be it the Republican deregulation of the economy or Congressional and executive apathy towards the genocide in Darfur—inevitably stems from two sources.

The first, most likely, is my faith—a bizarre combination of Judaism and Quakerism. I was raised as a reform Jew, in a tradition which preaches and practices social equality, justice, and the celebration of differences. My high school education introduced me to and immersed me in Quaker tradition, which resembled my Jewish upbringing in many ways.

The second is my sexuality. As a gay American, I have understood—though perhaps to a lesser degree when compared with many others—what it is to feel “othered,” to feel as if I don’t belong or that others look down on me.

These two undeniable aspects of who I am—which have thankfully dovetailed well—have led me to a personal ideology that is faith-based, empathetic, and desirous of social, political, and economic justice.

Not long ago I had a discussion with Learned Foote CC ’11, my class president and friend, and Gen Liberatore, another friend and member of the class of 2011, about the Navy ROTC controversy. Each of us approached the issue from a very different point of origin.

At the time, Learned made some of the same points he recently made in his very well-written opinion piece in the Spectator, as well as a variety of others, in support of the return of NROTC.

While many of his points are valid, I am forced to disagree with him when it comes to his characterization of Columbian opposition to the return of the military to campus.

My opposition to the return of the ROTC is not based on some sort of infantile tit-for-tat schematic, nor do I think that distancing this institution from the military will necessarily force the military to change its policies. My opposition is based on my experience at my Quaker high school, where military recruiters were forbidden to come on campus, where everyone—LGBT persons included—was loved and cherished (even the football team—notorious at other institutions for its rampant homophobia—participated annually in various gay rights events), and where notions of social justice prevailed.

Until I arrived on my high school campus, I had remained in the public school system of New Jersey, where, though in a heavily liberal district in a heavily liberal state, homophobia lurked around every corner, and I was terrified almost constantly. I cannot think of a single instance in which I felt secure in my identity. I am proud to say that today I feel safe as who I am and that I attend an institution that supports that safety.

But my fear is that, should an institution with both an anti-gay culture and anti-gay policy invade this campus, the LGBT community will suffer. It is my fear that we will not be able to feel as safe in our persons or identities and that we will not be able to either feel or, indeed, be fully active members of our community. The return of the NROTC will establish, for the first time in a long time, an entire department at this institution in which an entire section of our student body cannot participate.

Therefore, it is not out of a belief that we, alone, can change national policy, but rather out of a fear that national policy will change us, that I oppose the return of the military to our campus.

The author is a Columbia College sophomore.

This article previously appeared on the "Commentariat," the blog of the Spectator opinion section.