features

Halfway through the interview with Dr. Raymond Givens, two young boys materialize through the slightly-pixelated Zoom virtual background displaying the stoic face of the rapper Biggie Smalls. The little one pops cheerfully through the famous rapper’s mouth, waving a tiny green toy at the camera, and the taller one comes running through the rapper’s tilted plastic crown, grinning cheekily and tugging at his father’s surgical scrubs. Givens, smiling at his sons and not at all fazed by the distraction, smoothly introduces his six-year-old, Lucas, and his two-year-old, Nicholas, pausing momentarily to swoop Nicholas into his lap and put his arm around Lucas’ shoulder. Givens gently corrals them out of the room, apologizes for the interruption, and without missing a beat, returns to the discussion of his efforts to change the name of Bard Hall.

Columbia College sophomore Vivian Jackson shares a one-bedroom apartment in Hell’s Kitchen with her family. When Columbia went remote last spring, she struggled to attend Literature Humanities while her mother, a ballet teacher, taught plies and how to stand en pointe a few feet away from her laptop. While the commute would have been easy, the opportunity to have her own room, reliable Wi-Fi, and an on-campus job compelled her to live in the dorms this fall. As one of many students who requested on-campus housing this fall, Jackson identifies as a first-generation, low-income college student. On August 14, Columbia reversed its initial decision to bring up to 60 percent of undergraduates back to campus and instead opted for a semester entirely online. Only students who needed on-campus housing to “pursue their academic programs successfully” were provided dorm rooms; Jackson was one of them.

Columbia School of the Arts promotes its film master’s degree program with a skillfully produced trailer that offers a seductive sales pitch to prospective applicants. The school boasts that students’ films play at “every major film festival you can think of: Telluride, Berlin, South by Southwest and Tribeca, Cannes.” Deans and professors tout the program’s focus on practical training and portfolio development set students up for industry success: The school proudly announces that students are “making things from the first day they come here and they’re making things as they walk out the door.”

At 9:30 p.m. in Seoul, South Korea, the sun has long set, and Erin Chung’s parents prepare for bed. But for the Columbia College first-year, who woke up only a few hours ago, the day is just beginning.

Michael Rebell was growing frustrated. It was October, over 10 months after the trial had ended, and Judge William Smith still had not released a decision on the case. In the 50 years that Rebell had worked in education reform, he had never known a judge to take this long. His career had taught him that change often required patience, but that did not stop him from hoping that Smith’s decision would arrive sooner. The case he had presented, after all, was urgent: He believed democracy was on the line.

This past summer, I attempted to learn how to skate and immerse myself in the surprisingly exclusive New York City skating community. Since Alexis Sablone, a 2008 Barnard graduate and one of the best professional female skateboarders in the United States, developed her professional-level skating while at Columbia, I assumed that I could at least learn some basic skating skills and perhaps find a skate community to be a part of on campus.

Although students often spend Sunday nights alone, working on next week’s homework to make up for a weekend spent with friends, Matthew Wang, Columbia College junior and president of the Columbia eSports team, spends the night on Discord with more than 200 other members. At first glance, the server may seem quiet—nobody is constantly chatting or playing music when in fact, everyone is immersed in gaming as shown in their profiles: League of Legends and Overwatch scrimmages, or their nightly game of Minecraft or Hearthstone.

In July, Nanette DiLauro, Barnard’s director of financial aid, wrote to students who received financial aid and had participated in the housing lottery in the spring semester. She informed them that they were eligible to receive a financial aid award of $7,846 to support off-campus room and board as a part of the campus reopening plans.

When Jenna Gould answers my phone call, it is with an apology. She is holding her baby as we speak, and while she believes that he won’t make too much of a fuss over the course of the next thirty minutes, she’s sorry in advance if he does. I hear a sleepy murmur behind her voice—the hushed kind that only a child nestling into his mother’s arms makes—and then he falls quiet, just as Gould predicted.