Shortly before 9 a.m. Tuesday, a group of Columbia University students posed under the cherry trees above the campus’s iconic Low Steps, heels stuck in the grass and sky blue graduation gowns billowing behind them. On the grounds just below them, other students were waking up in tents and waving Palestinian flags at the “Gaza Solidarity Encampment,” which has moved from its original location after mass arrests on Thursday to an adjacent lawn on campus.
Since the university’s president, Nemat Shafik, authorized the New York Police Department to enter the campus on Thursday afternoon, officers have arrested more than 100 individuals occupying the original encampment on Columbia’s South Lawn, according to news reports.
The demonstrators have vowed to stay on the adjacent lawn until Columbia agrees to fully divest from companies with ties to Israel, among other frequently updated demands. It does not seem that they are at imminent threat of arrest, though the situation remains unclear and many wonder how the university will proceed.
Other colleges and universities, including some in Georgia, have had demonstrations on their campuses since the Israel-Hamas war began in October. None, it seems, have resulted in as many arrests as at Columbia, the Ivy League school in upper Manhattan. The actions of students, administrators, law enforcement and donors are being closely watched across the country, particularly by student activists, free speech experts and others involved in protests concerning the war.
Much of the focus — and criticism — has fallen on the shoulders of Shafik. The arrests came a day after Shafik testified before a congressional committee about antisemitism on campus. In an email she sent to the Columbia community shortly before the arrests, Shafik said that she had authorized the NYPD to clear the encampment because individuals on the lawn had violated various rules and ignored warnings.
Credit: Alice Tecotzky
Credit: Alice Tecotzky
At a press conference following the initial arrests on Thursday, NYPD Chief of Patrol John Chell said that Columbia, not the police, identified students as a “clear and present danger.” He emphasized, though, that all of those arrested were respectful, peaceful and cooperative.
Non-university affiliates have continued to protest outside the gates of the campus, and some — including New York City Mayor Eric Adams — have expressed concern about antisemitic rhetoric among some demonstrators near the campus. On Sunday, a rabbi associated with Columbia texted a group chat of nearly 300 students advising them to leave campus, according to the Columbia Daily Spectator, the nation’s second-oldest college daily newspaper. The Columbia/Barnard Hillel, however, does not believe Jewish students should leave campus, as they specified in a post on X, formerly known as Twitter. Columbia announced that all classes on the main campus will be hybrid through the end of the semester. Barnard College courses will continue to be held in person.
Several students declined on the record interview requests from The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, though many seemed supportive of the demonstrators. A protest supporting the encampment on Monday drew a significant crowd. On Monday, a faculty walkout in support of the protesters and suspended students also drew large crowds.
In a statement posted on their Instagram on Monday, Jewish Voice for Peace, one of the groups organizing the encampment, explicitly condemned all hateful and violent comments toward Jewish students while also arguing that the university’s attempts to shut down the protest do not ensure safety. Responding to a White House statement condemning antisemitism on campuses, the post said that it “inaccurately presumes that all Jewish students support the Israeli government’s genocide of Palestinians.”
Some students have said the situation is unnerving.
“The last few days, I’ve felt uncomfortable around this university,” Ben Soloman, a senior, told CNN. “I’ve felt like this is not a welcoming environment.”
Jack Raines, a Georgia native pursuing his master’s degree at Columbia’s business school, near the undergraduate campus, raised his concerns on social media about the university’s efforts to provide a secure place for students to learn.
Credit: Alice Tecotzky
Credit: Alice Tecotzky
Columbia has a long history of student activism, namely in 1968 when the NYPD arrested hundreds of students occupying various campus buildings to protest the Vietnam War and proposed construction in nearby Morningside Park. Thursday marked the largest occurrence of mass arrests since that year and sparked similar outrage.
For the past few days, most entrances to the campus have been closed, barricaded off and surrounded by police officers, many of whom are in riot gear. Only university students, faculty, and employees are allowed to enter, and must tap their IDs before one of the few open gates. Often, long lines of those waiting to enter weave between camera crews.
Police vehicles are stationed along both 116th Street and Broadway, parked next to the food trucks that are a staple of the student lunch scene. Officers and protesters stand in the same line for gyros or dumplings.
Peace largely exists inside the campus, albeit over a hum of anxious speculation about whether Shafik will order the NYPD to enter the gates again. Protesters spent much of Friday singing, dancing and chanting, their voices competing with the drones and helicopters flying overhead. As some students study in Butler Library for upcoming finals, muffled calls for Palestinian liberation echo against the otherwise silent space.
For the past few days, the campus’s soundscape has rung out with songs, chants and speeches. As protesters trickled onto the newly occupied lawn throughout Friday, some brought pots and spoons, others drums, others cowbells. The crowd included babies in strollers, students, elderly professors, and even a cat. Many don masks and some further obscure their faces with sunglasses or hats. Others wear black-and-white kaffiyehs, a patterned headdress that has become a symbol of solidarity with Palestinians.
It’s unclear how the administration will respond to the ongoing demonstration. The campus is a simultaneous hub of political fervor and a backdrop to the banality of college life. Students keep going to class; members of the maintenance staff keep building the bleachers for graduation; spring keeps blooming in almost dystopian splendor. And on South Lawn, voices keep rising, floating through the porous gates for those without university IDs to hear.
Alice Tecotzky is an undergraduate student at Columbia who was an intern last summer on the AJC’s education team.
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