My first thought after hearing that pro-Palestinian students unlawfully camping out at Columbia University had been arrested was that justice had finally been served. But there was also a tinge of glee—privileged kids had gotten what they deserved, I thought. I don’t wear a MAGA hat, but I’m a retired law and order lawyer who opposed the idea of defunding the police.
Although I’m not Jewish either, some of my family members are. My list of Jewish friends is as long as my Catholic ones. I’m pro-Israel and, since Oct. 7, I’ve been heartsick at the brutality of the Hamas massacre of Israelis, as well as the death of all innocents during this unfortunate war.
About a week ago, I learned that among those arrested at Columbia was the daughter of a long-term acquaintance in my hometown. Yes, the girl had been a protester, but the family had also been doxxed when their daughter had apparently been misidentified as another masked protester holding an inflammatory sign.
I don’t know the mom’s political views on the Israel-Hamas conflict. She and I differ on politics in other areas. But I know the mom. She’s a good person and a marvelous supporter of the arts in our community, and I believe her when she says she’s tried to be a responsible parent, too. Despite my horror at our country’s rash of antisemitism, the moment I learned of her child’s identity, I realized that my heart held room for compassion, too, for both mother and child. Because all the protesters are somebody’s child.
There but for the grace of God go I. I remember that oft-repeated phrase growing up. My children graduated from college relatively unscathed, but the years had not been without their challenges, especially as our family went through a difficult divorce.
I got good grades in high school and stayed out of trouble. But I went a bit wild on a few occasions once I got to college and had my first beer. I couldn’t wait to protest something. What I found was a handful of well-behaved students holding signs against the latest tuition hike. Looking back, I realize that the peace signs and fringed moccasins I wore in high school had been more fashion statement than protest. In reality, I’d known precious little about the Vietnam War that came before me.
If I’d gone to college years earlier, would I have joined the Vietnam War protesters? Perhaps, although I’m fairly certain that if the university had told me to decamp, I’d have listened immediately. My parents wouldn’t have stood for any defiance. But I also wanted to study law, believed in right and wrong, and knew that actions held consequences.
So I channeled my youthful restlessness into opportunities provided by the university to give students a voice. The president appointed me as the student representative to his private advisory council. I was elected student representative to the Faculty Senate. To me, these were not resume-enhancing activities for law school applications that, sadly, they’ve become today. Rather, I listened to students, advocated for them, and, in turn, earned the respect of professors and administrators.
I had little time to get into trouble. My parents went without to pay my tuition. I worked in order to pay for extras, down to a slice of pizza on Friday night after classes.
These aren’t excuses, merely a fuller portrait of how ill our uncivil society has become.
I’m glad Columbia University had students arrested. By all accounts, they behaved unlawfully and spewed hate. Legally and morally, they must be held accountable and incur appropriate consequences for their actions, including the property damage they caused. Our catch-and-release justice system teaches them nothing and perpetuates political polarization.
