50 Years On: A Reunion Reflection
The last time I walked across Columbia’s campus as a student, it was 1975. The Vietnam War had only recently ended and Watergate was still fresh in the nation’s memory. I felt alive with possibility and curiosity as to where my career might take me. As I returned this spring for my 50th reunion at the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, I was struck by how much—and how little—had changed.
The campus looked nearly the same. Low Library’s stately dome still presided over College Walk, and the familiar granite buildings seemed untouched by time. But the mood was different. For almost the last year, the university had been at the center of national headlines due to protests over the Gaza war. For many alumni, the spotlight evoked memories of the 1968 protests and other moments when Columbia became a flashpoint for political and moral confrontation.
In response to the recent protests, Columbia had implemented new security protocols: metal detectors, QR codes for entry and a locked main entrance. Yet inside the gates, the lawns were just as green, and the steps of Low were still a place where students gathered to talk, read or just sunbathe.
There were no protests during my visit. But a few months earlier, a student leader—a green card holder of Palestinian descent—was arrested by ICE and jailed. Soon after, the Trump Administration pulled $400 million in federal funding from Columbia for what it claimed was inaction over the harassment of Jewish students by allowing pro-Palestinian protests on campus.
Columbia had agreed to overhaul its protest policies in response to the administration’s demands and the university’s capitulation stunned students and alumni. Many of my former classmates refused to attend the reunion and sent off furious emails to the university’s board.
The weekend’s reunion schedule had been filled with panels on the future of journalism with long titles like “Deadline Democracy: How Hostility to Mainstream Media & Social Media Are Strangling the Fourth Estate.” As a member of my reunion committee, along with my colleagues, I demanded that the current panels scheduled for the weekend be replaced with presentations by Dean Jelani Cobb addressing the issue.
As a result, Cobb, who was not involved with the university’s decision to capitulate, displayed his own frustration with the decision. “We’ve become the laughing stock of the Ivy Leagues,” he told the alumni. “We are now radioactive.”
The statement saddened me. I was always proud of my master’s degree from Columbia where I was taught to speak truth to power and held that belief throughout my career. Rather than dwell on the current image of the school, I chose to lean in on the joy in reconnecting with my former classmates and reflect on careers and paths taken. We laughed over stories that hadn’t been told in decades. We shared pride in what we had accomplished in our careers and lives despite the struggles.
I found myself thinking a lot about the role of journalists in moments like this when voices rise in protest, when authorities respond with force, and when truth becomes a battleground. The same questions I wrestled with as a student in the '70s are still being asked, maybe even more urgently now.
Walking the campus again, I felt both a sense of return and a reckoning. Fifty years had passed, but the spirit of questioning, of bearing witness, of seeking truth, those things endure. Columbia has changed. Journalism has changed. But the responsibility we carry as journalists remains just as relevant today.
There’s a statue of Thomas Jefferson in front of the journalism school. It was given in 1914 as a gift from Joseph Pulitzer’s estate. It’s meant to represent Columbia’s commitment to “free inquiry” and encourage debate among students. A blue and white banner hangs over the school’s entrance door. It says “The First Amendment Lives Here.”
As I walked past it, I hoped the motto lives on forever.