exclusivity

Dear readers,

Nathan Farrell arrived at Columbia with a vivid picture of what his life would look like. Like many Columbia students, Farrell, now a sophomore in Columbia College, had been heavily involved in extracurriculars in high school—he founded and led an a cappella group (“The Passing Notes”), played saxophone, was a member of student government, and was a peer leadership mentor, all while maintaining his spot in the top 1 percent of the class. But still, Farrell felt like his life would only truly begin when he got to college, where he saw himself “hopping around in all of [his] passions.”

When I went to the Activities Fair this past fall, I signed up for more clubs than I could count. After the fair, I excitedly researched the clubs I was interested in, including a couple of cultural clubs. One of them was the Asian American Alliance, to which I applied to be an organizational committee member. The application seemed pretty casual, and as someone totally unaware of the selective nature of clubs at Columbia, I was sure that anyone who showed interest and passion would be accepted. When I received my rejection email, I was shocked.

The exclusivity of student groups seems like a fact of life at Columbia. By the first week of October, with summer heat starting to retreat and midterms on the horizon, most student groups have all but closed their doors to new members. And some clubs do have good reasons—the debate team certainly can’t send 300 members to their next debate tournament. But what about cultural clubs? Or interest groups? Is there a good reason that they have acceptance rates that rival college admissions?

The Columbia Undergraduate Admissions website promises its hopeful applicants the following: “You will meet other students like you—students who want to make an impact in their community, continue a familiar passion, or discover a new one. Clubs here are some of the most interesting, rewarding, close-knit, and fun micro-communities you’ll ever be part of.”

It's the day that all first-years dream of. After the hot mess that is NSOP—a time when you manage to meet 10 million different people but not a single friend—every first-year waits with bated breath for the miracle that is the Activity Fair. It's regarded by many as the life raft in the tumultuous seas of the first weeks at Columbia.

I don't belong.