Letter From the Editor

To the Freshmen …

I imagine you’ve brought a personal litany of questions through Columbia’s gates. Many, I’m sure, are standard college fare: Will I make friends? (Yes.) What should I major in? (Not econ.) Will I fail FroSci? (Certainly not.) Is Barnard an Ivy? (No one cares.)

These questions come with simple answers, ones you will learn either from experience or from upperclassmen with the gift of hindsight. But other hanging questions—posed by op-eds in national newspapers, by locked gates, and by the weighty omissions in your convocation speeches—elude a succinct answer. Who rules Columbia? Are we a corporation or an educational institution? Is Columbia fascist? Is it antisemitic? Did we capitulate to the Trump administration? Have we lost our academic freedom? And, if we aren’t satisfied with the state of affairs, what is to be done? 

You are arriving at a time when Columbia is questioning itself. It’s strange attending a college in the throes of an identity crisis. I’ve felt both fully invested in our community, and, at the same time, hopelessly isolated; like the small lonely dot tenuously attached to a giant hook of an institutional question mark. But, as the University administration and federal government threaten restrictions on freedom of speech, giving voice to our discontents has become more trying—and more necessary—than ever. 

In my freshman year, my questions found a home in the pages of The Blue and White. I applied to the club on a halfhearted whim, believing at the time that journalism was somehow shallow or dull. My first B&W meeting proved me utterly wrong. The room would burst into laughter as illustrators drew vivid descriptions of witty comics. Writers rambled passionately about architecture, linguistics, and art; about the history of intersectional queer spaces, tenants’ rights in Columbia housing, and the post-affirmative action landscape. As ideas bounced across the space like ping pong balls, I latched on to two uniting questions that everyone seemed to be implicitly answering, each with an idiosyncratic flair: What excites you? And, How can we fill in the gaps forgotten—or purposely ignored—by dominant narratives?

I now view those questions as the defining ethos of the Magazine: pairing our passionate curiosity with meaningful challenges to prima facie assumptions surrounding Columbia. In this issue, Rocky Rūb takes interest in the subversive power of queer spaces, interviewing drag queen Naomi Smalls during a time of political repression, while Kate Sibery delves into the eccentric career of horror actress and model Zelda Adams. Questioning the racist underpinnings of the portrayal of Morningside Park taught to Barnard students, Cecilia Zuniga offers a reimagination of justice and policing. Marvin Cho emphasizes the oft-neglected potential of aesthetic pursuits to defy suppression of free speech, while Duda Kovarsky Rotta pens a satire of the narrative sold on Columbia tours.

Here’s another story you may have heard: On May 7, 2025, our campus was paused by a pro-Palestine demonstration in Butler Library, culminating in the arrests of dozens of students and, now, the expulsions and long-term suspensions of even more. President Shipman retold one version of events—that violent protesters injured security workers and forced her to call the NYPD as a last resort. In Views from the Barricades, available for the first time in print, our writers question that narrative with first-hand testimony, utilizing the unique potential of long-form student journalism to chronicle campus happenings on our own terms. 

As we put in the collective work of imagining, revising, and fighting for a University that we can be proud of, I think we could all benefit from approaching the uncertainty of the new year with a freshman mindset: with excited curiosity, intellectual humility, and a surplus of good questions. I look forward to you leading the way.

Maya Lerman 

Editor-in-Chief