carman

Everyone remembers the chaos of their first few weeks at Columbia. For me, it mostly revolved around the grand piano that lived in the John Jay lounge. The piano was a prime source of bonding; it kindled conversations among musicians and non-musicians alike. Anyone was welcome around the piano, and everyone who sat down to play had a different story to tell through their music. During these first few weeks, the John Jay lounge saw countless jazz jam sessions, impromptu classical performances, and rehearsals. Thanks to its accessibility and visibility, the John Jay piano was a forum for practice, musical expression, and cross-pollination. It allowed for the formation of a welcoming first-year music culture within the first few weeks of our time at Columbia. However, the John Jay piano was short-lived, and the story of its disappearance is a testament to Columbia’s lack of commitment to its student artists.

An unknown perpetrator tore an air vent cover off the wall, marked it with an anti-black racial slur, and placed it outside the front of a black resident’s door in Carman Hall earlier this month.

Thrust against the same closet that I had only stepped out of four short months before, and in a daze from the many cups of jungle juice I drank that night, my tongue proved itself the strongest muscle in the human body. We kept our clothes on, not only to hide where our hands were going, but also to have a small measure of decency for the 30-some other hot and sweaty first-years at the Carman party I went to my first night of orientation.

Dear Carman 7,

Let's be honest here: In your ranking of what's hot and what's not in residential housing, it's not always about the suite life vs. the hallway life. Whoever said it's what's on the inside that counts didn't know anything. When it comes to housing, what's on the outside is just as equally important.