This past Sunday, I was headed to rehearsals in Hamilton Hall when a text message made me change course. Rehearsal had been moved outside to the Math lawns. As I walked up the steps toward Dodge Hall, Low Steps appeared to shine in the bright afternoon light, and a mosaic of students enjoyed a much-needed break from the cold weather. On the small sections of grass between the Low Plaza walkways, students sunbathed on picnic blankets. Across College Walk, football and soccer matches were in full swing on South Lawn. When I finally reached the paved walkway to the Math lawns, I noticed, to my surprise, a few people sitting on the stone ledge around the perimeter of Low Library, leaned against the edifice while reading and talking with friends. I routinely see many people sitting on Low Beach during all seasons. But even when it’s warm, I rarely see anyone sit on the lower perimeter of Low.

It is a widely accepted fact that people who wear glasses are temporarily blind when drinking hot beverages out in the cold. On a brisk morning in late fall, I walked into the Stabile Center to grab a coffee from Joe Coffee. Order in hand, I peered through the glass doors to the library just next door. But my normally clear view of couches and coffee tables in the Stabile Center was clouded. At first, I wondered if I had mysteriously fogged up my glasses. Then I realized the glass doors were covered by a sheet of plastic tarp.

Columbia’s two-week course shopping period is over, and I finally feel settled into my schedule. Walking through the Broadway gates, however, I’m confronted with a new, unsettling addition to campus: long metal barriers blocking off Alma Mater and Low Library from the rest of campus. I try to ignore them at first, but on my way up the stone steps toward Dodge Hall, I look back at the plaza with apprehension, and a bit of anger, at this act of architectural hostility.

I’m already late for my environmental justice class when I enter the Altschul Hall elevator and do a double take. Stepping in and quickly pressing the button for the ninth floor, I whirl around to the poster hanging on the back wall advertising the new construction. Goodbye, Altschul Hall... Welcome to the Roy and Diana Vagelos Science Center.

I think it was the quietest my Contemporary Civilization class had ever been. Only the turning of fresh notebook pages and pens cut through the silence until our professor walked in, took off his sunglasses, and immediately—eerily so—gave voice to what was all on our minds: the gates.