I went to college before cell phones, when dorm-room doors were not only canvases for self-expression but core communication tools. Oh, how lovely to come home to find a fresh message scrawled on your dry-erase board!
Meet me at Yorkside for midnight fries … Bagel brunch Sunday at kosher kitchen … Left your book on your desk … Mom called, needs to know what train you’re taking home for break … Come find me in Cross Campus Library, I’ll be the one drooling on the big orange chair…
I suppose text messages have made much of this kind of thing moot. But dorm-room doors were also where people put up posters about a play they were in or a food drive they were organizing. There were rainbow flags and religious symbols, Black power fists and sports team logos, holiday decorations and bumper stickers for political candidates or causes.
Friends festooned each other’s doors with surprise birthday wishes. Clubs tapped new recruits with coded door messages. You knew who lived where because of the silly-themed nameplates that Resident Advisers made to welcome folks each fall — and could sense the season based on how faded or worn they’d become.
Alas, no longer at Barnard. “While many decorations and fixtures on doors serve as a means of helpful communication amongst peers,” the dean wrote in an email announcing the new policy, which took effect Wednesday, “we are also aware that some may have the unintended effect of isolating those who have different views and beliefs.”
When did the “unintended effects” of what someone says become more important than their right to say it? That’s the literal inversion of the First Amendment.
It’s clear this is about Israel/Palestine. Barnard is one of a growing number of colleges and universities facing lawsuits accusing administrators of failing to protect students from severe antisemitism since Oct. 7.
The school has also cracked down on what can be hung on the quad after two students unfurled a pro-Palestinian banner there in December, and on what academic programs can put on their websites after women’s, gender and sexuality studies posted a “statement of solidarity with the Palestinian people” that referred to “settler colonial war” and apartheid. (Of course the faculty responded by creating their own website with the statement.)
Among the pre-crackdown signs on Barnard’s dorm doors were ones that said “Zionism is Terrorism,” “End the Genocide, Free Palestine,” and “Resist Colonial Power By Any Means Necessary.” Also, of course, “Kidnapped” posters of those held hostage by Hamas. There were doors adorned with kaffiyehs — and Israeli flags.
Can kids today really not handle walking by signs they disagree with — or even find deeply disturbing or offensive? Does that mean they also cannot live with — or even near — people who hold those views? Or they just…don’t want to know who their neighbors really are and what they think and feel and why?
As long as we all have the same drab, blank doors, everything must be OK.
I don’t want my kids to go to colleges where they can’t put dry-erase boards on their dorm-room doors. And I don’t want to live in a country where college administrators won’t wrestle with difficult decisions for fear of getting sued.
As I ranted about this to a colleague, she pushed back. What if a student with an unwanted pregnancy had to walk by a dorm-mate’s door that said “abortion is murder.” What if a student related to an Oct. 7 victim lives next to a sign saying “Hamas is the resistance?”
It seems to me they would be better prepared for life. Especially if instead of averting their eyes from the signs they tried to engage the people who put them up.
What if those signs led to one of those only-in-college all-night gabfests where the student with an unwanted pregnancy and the one with the anti-abortion poster and ones with relatives inside Israel and inside Gaza all told their truths? Or, better yet, what if they stayed up talking to each other about something totally unrelated, like Audre Lorde or Jean-Paul Sartre or the Russian Revolution or math?
And then the next morning, maybe they’d leave each other little follow-up notes on their dry-erase boards.