community

En Columbia existe un fenómeno conocido como el “sophomore year starter pack,” que se refiere a la tendencia de los estudiantes de segundo año de asumir múltiples posiciones de liderazgo en diferentes organizaciones estudiantiles. Es un fenómeno que conduce a altos niveles de estrés y agotamiento, especialmente cuando uno se involucra en las organizaciones culturales.

Every month, Community Board 9, a New York City advisory group representing Morningside Heights and the surrounding area, holds a public meeting on 140th Street to go over major issues and new developments in the community. But among the attendees, Columbia students are far and few between.

En este campus las palabras “mental health” y “self-care” son como el pan de cada día. Estas palabras salen de nuestras bocas como si nada con tanta frecuencia que ya ni parecen palabras y hasta han llegado a perder todo sentido. En mi opinión, el problema con self-care es que suena materialista e insignificante, pero el concepto en sí es sumamente importante.

Earlier this year, a couple of friends and I were hopelessly searching for a table in Ferris. It was the first week of the semester and prime lunch hour, so we eventually had to make do with just a third of a table we negotiated from some young first-years. Having just met on Low Steps about 15 minutes earlier through a mutual friend, we sat down and continued the conversation that initially brought us together—military service.

New York City voters approved a ballot measure on Tuesday to give community boards—advisory groups representing neighborhoods throughout the city—more oversight involving developments in their districts.

The Housing Equity Project (HEP) hosted a paneled town hall on gentrification which incited conversations about Columbia students’ roles in holding Columbia accountable for its Manhattanville expansion, and the impact it has on the community of West Harlem.

Columbia is a landlord. Since moving into Harlem in 1897, Columbia has been taking hold of more and more property in the neighborhood, and its aggression seems to know no bounds. From lobbying for the closure of single-room occupancies (or SROs), to the use of eminent domain to acquire project housing, to the lack of enforcement of the concessionary Community Benefits Agreement, Columbia has continually acted with its own moneyed interests in mind, with no regard for the community in which it resides. The administration’s relationship to community members is like that of an antagonistic proprietor: It makes continued efforts to take land that is not its own, minimize dissent, and enforce its own sense of order. Public Safety, which patrols the surrounding neighborhood, seems to prioritize a sense of security for students above all else, including a sense of safety for community members. In light of all this, we should wonder: What are we as students doing to endorse this relationship between the administration and the community? What sort of culture are we as students fostering on campus?

I’m from Inwood, which is a 20 minute commute from campus on the 1 train. When I decided to come to Barnard, commuting seemed to make the most sense. If I’m from New York City and live relatively close, why would I dorm? However, I didn’t realize how foreign commuting would seem to my peers and what it would mean to a commute to a mainly residential school.