Think of your first day as a GU-Q student. Your orientation, who led it? Who made sure your experience in it was smooth? Who surveyed you so much that you went crazy? No one other than the Office of Student Life, or the Office of Student Affairs now, it seems.
Now, think of your first day of classes, an excited first year looking forward to the next four years, living out the fantasy world painted by your orientation week. In between classes, you visit the one office you were told would always welcome you with open arms. But the reality? Most of the staff are either not there or have their doors closed. The couches? They all have random junk thrown on them. Even the walkways around the office? Littered with random objects. You think to yourself, this is Student Life’s busy day, the first day of classes, I’ll come back later in the semester.
Five weeks pass, you’re studying for your first midterms, and you decide to take a breather in the Student Life office. Except you walk in, the same doors are closed, the same junk is on the couches, and the same junk is on the floor. The only difference this time, the clutter has increased.
Three more weeks pass, and you go back in determined to interact with what you decide is a useless allocation of your tuition: the third painting session of the year. Sifting through the piles of clutter, you find a place to sit, and you finally notice the wall, “welcome” screams at you in a bunch of different languages.
That day you decide to interact with the staff for the first time, and you share your frustrations about the inaccessibility of the space. To your surprise, they agree, they validate you. They start telling you that they are too busy to organize the office, keep their doors open, or even stay in there. But you think to yourself, busy with what? The small last-minute programs? The twice-a-semester MUN conference? The postponed club leaders training? The open counseling hours that wellness is supposed to be hosting? The eight-student Fall Break CEP trip? What is so important that Student Life is doing that requires this much of their time not being spent with the one body they serve, students?
Two weeks later you go and talk to the same staff members. Validation, validation, validation. It catches you off guard.
Three more weeks, the same thing all over again.
Another week passes by, you’re talking to your upperclassmen friends, and they share similar stories of Student Life staff not following up on students’ complaints, football jerseys being purchased a semester late, club leaders not receiving any clarity, programs being cancelled and postponed last-minute, and Student Life turning into an extension of the Student Wellness and Counseling Center.
As we reflect on these experiences, one question remains: when will the Office of Student Life become the vibrant, welcoming hub it promised to be? When will it shed the clutter—both literal and metaphorical—that keeps it from serving the very students it exists to support? While validation is important, it cannot replace action. Students deserve more than words; they deserve a space that mirrors the energy, care, and promise of their orientation week—a space where their concerns are heard, their needs are met, and their voices shape the programs that define their college experience. With the arrival of Dean Ken, there’s hope for change. But hope alone won’t clean the couches, open the doors, or refocus the mission. It’s time for action. It’s time for accountability. It’s time for Student Life to live up to its name.
Dean Ken, this Barbie really needs your help.
コメント