Why yes, I go...here, there, or everywhere?

A couple weeks ago, I received a letter in the mail written on Columbia University letterhead congratulating me on my acceptance to the Journalism School’s summer publishing program. I rubbed my hands together, threw my head back, and let out a few victory whoops. “At last!” I cried, ripping the Barnard flip-flops from my feet and tossing them out my open window. “My plan is complete.”

At least, that is what I would have done if I were the Barnard student who lives in the imagination of a few Bwog commenters. Strangely enough, I have never met either of these people—the Columbia student who believes these stereotypes or the Barnard student who fulfills them—during my time here. But where is “here”? Barnard? Columbia? For a significant portion of my undergraduate years, the answer was somewhere in between: 2875 Broadway, the Spectator office.

People who know me may be surprised to learn that my Spectator experience (and for a while, Spec defined my college experience itself) was colored by self-consciousness related to being a Barnard student. Let me preface this column by saying that I have never felt disdain from anyone I worked with at Spectator—or any Columbia student or faculty member, for that matter—due to my college affiliation. I am not writing about a negative experience, but rather an ambivalent one.

To me, it seems that (non-apathetic) Barnard students tend to choose one of two paths: we either openly embrace our Barnard identity through Barnard activities or engage in Columbia activities without hiding our affiliation, but without parading it either. During my time here, I have fallen into the latter category. I don’t regret it. My experience at Spectator has been infinitely more valuable—and certainly more fun—than the one I would have gotten had I limited myself to Barnard publications.

I understand the reasons to avoid emphasizing differences between Barnard and Columbia undergraduates involved in Spec and other joint organizations—the risk of feeding negative stereotypes. But I also feel like something important is lost due to this tendency to blend in. Barnard students do have distinct perspectives to provide because we go to a school with different values, different strengths, and different types of people.

During my first year, I focused exclusively on academics and had little involvement or investment in what happened across the street. When I joined Spectator my sophomore year, everything changed. I realized that for all intents and purposes, at Spec, being from Barnard was a non-issue. My college experience was more fulfilling now that I played a role in the news and activities occurring on both sides of Broadway. But as I became deeply involved at Spec, little things persistently reminded me of my non-Columbian identity. I had to talk my way into the Broadway dorm countless times when hunger-strike leaders chose the sky lounge as their meeting place. An article I wrote about students who marry as undergraduates provoked this miffed response from a fellow BC ’09-er: “As a student admissions representative at Barnard, I am concerned with the portrayal of Barnard students by others as women out to get a MRS.” With dismay, I realized that she thought I was a Columbia student with negative stereotypes about her school.

I began my senior year with a renewed commitment to get my parents’ money’s worth from my Barnard education. Though I remained involved in Spec as a training editor and wrote the occasional article, I focused on academics in a way I had not since I joined Spec. For the first time, I began taking advantage of the opportunities for a personalized education that had led me to Barnard in the first place. A professor’s good word got me a job doing research for Barnard president Debora Spar, and I became deeply invested in my senior thesis—something I might not have written at all if I attended Columbia.

Given that Barnard tends to be well-represented on Spectator’s staff, I realize that my unease matters little in practical terms. Yet nothing eliminates the strangeness of having donated hundreds of hours (not to mention a few GPA points) to a publication whose name technically does not encompass my undergraduate identity. I rarely covered issues relating exclusively to Barnard for Spec, but can converse fluently on Columbia-related subjects that impact my school only tangentially. On the other hand, I take Columbia courses, rely on Columbia libraries, and steal as much of Columbia’s free food as I possibly can.

Spectator had a bigger impact on my life than any single course I took here. When I think back on my college years, I am more likely to remember charged student protest meetings and late nights in the Spec office than midnight breakfasts or Barnard spirit days. I think I made the right choice, but I also believe that there was no reason for me to feel that I needed to make that choice at all.

The author is a Barnard College senior majoring in history. She was the deputy news editor for the 131st managing board and training news editor for the 132nd managing board.