Thirty-five years after I first set foot on Columbia’s campus as a Barnard freshman, my daughter began her classes at Columbia College, and her brother joined her a year later.
Awaiting them both during their respective orientation weeks was the nearly 40-person strong Columbia Bahá’í Club, a club they had been looking forward to joining ever since their acceptance. Here was their chance, free at last from the confines of home, to join their peers in activities that would be meaningful and fulfilling. Here was their chance to join a group of men and women working together, undaunted by religious, racial and social prejudices, for the betterment of their community. And here was their chance to act like true Columbians, to open their eyes to the existing conditions of the world and to look into ways to reform their lives.
The Columbia Bahá’í Club that awaited me in 1972 looked different. It was comprised of only two active members: a CC student from Nebraska, and my brother, who was a CC senior. As a third and new member, I not only served to balance the gender inequality of the membership, but also added to the manpower needed to make our presence, albeit a small one, known on campus. We used to meet in Earl Hall, where the floors squeaked, where the lights were perpetually dimmed, and where only a few ventured during those cold winter nights to listen to our message. People were not interested in religion, and they were skeptical when discussion led to it.
Indeed, although some had heard of the Bahá’í Faith, few knew what it was and what exactly its teachings were. We had a lot of explaining to do. Who are we? The world’s second-most global religion after Christianity. What are our fundamental principles? The oneness of God, the oneness of religions, and the oneness of man. What is our purpose? To bring about the unity of mankind.
How much has changed in three-plus decades! These principles I had espoused seemed strange to so many back then—now they are commonly recognized axioms at Columbia. No one looks in askance when a Bahá’í mentions the importance for harmony between science and religion. No one questions the need for absolute equality between men and women as a prerequisite for peace, a fundamental belief in my faith. And no one belittles the idea that there needs to be a ‘spiritual’ solution to our economic problems.
However, although most Columbians and New Yorkers may be familiar with the name “Bahá’í,” perhaps few know that Columbia’s ties to the Bahá’í Faith in fact go back to 1912, when Abdu’l-Bahá, the Son of the Founder of the Bahá’í Faith, spoke to a group of Columbians at Earl Hall. He encouraged those gathered to “endeavor to promulgate and practice the religion of God which has been founded by all the Prophets. And the religion of God is in short absolute love and unity.” A messenger of peace, He had just been freed from prison in Acre, a city in what was then the Ottoman Empire and what is now northern Israel. He had been set free after more than half a century of incarceration for believing in God’s Progressive Revelation. He spoke of the truth in the messages of Krishna, of Buddha, of Moses, of Jesus, of Muhammad, and of Baha’u’llah, the founder of the Bahá’í Faith.
There was no Bahá’í Club at Columbia when Abdu’l-Bahá came in 1912, and He passed away in 1921. But I wonder how Columbians would react if Abdu’l-Baha were to visit the campus in 1972, during my freshman year at Barnard, or even today. Thirty-six years ago, it would have been difficult for our informal Bahá’í Club to have successfully organized a welcome. But today, the event would be significantly different. Certainly, the second-floor Earl Hall room Abdu’l-Baha visited then would not accommodate the throng that would gather to hear Him today; perhaps He would have to address the crowd in Lerner. With more people, Student Governing Board funding, co-sponsorships, listserv e-mails, and fliers, today’s Bahá’í Club would be far better equipped to host such an event than we would have been in 1972.
Being a Bahá’í at Columbia today is neither as exotic nor as difficult as it was in either 1912 or 1972. And with a small but strong and supportive community both on campus and in Morningside Heights, Columbian Bahá’ís are no longer oxymorons. To me, this represents not how far the Bahá’í Club has come, but how much the University and the city have changed. As a mother and a Barnard alumna, I am heartened to see how different my children’s experience is from mine.