I’m From the Government, and I’m Here to Help
House Speaker Mike Johnson visited Columbia on Wednesday, April 24.
Six days after the NYPD cleared an encampment of student protesters on the East Lawn and less than a day after University President Minouche Shafik appeared poised to authorize a sweep of the encampment on the West Lawn—though this proved to be a false alarm—Republican Speaker of the House Mike Johnson arrived on campus, approximately 1,200 miles away from his hometown of Shreveport, Louisiana.
Mr. Speaker, as you know, Columbia University is a long way from Shreveport.
Johnson’s visit came during a moment of exhalation for Columbia’s student body. The night before on Tuesday, April 23, hundreds had gathered on South Campus, anticipating another show of force from Shafik. Protesters hustled to organize supplies, dividing themselves into groups based on their willingness to be arrested, and prepared for the possibility of another NYPD drop-in.
The police never came. Thankful for a moment of peace, the protesters resumed their positions in the encampment, and students uninvolved with the protests dispersed quietly to their rooms, wondering what the future held. Perhaps the next day would bring a day of peaceful protests (nothing new this academic year), away from the scrutiny of both the nation and the world.
God had other plans. Enter Mike Johnson.
I woke up the next morning, Wednesday, April 24, to the news that Johnson would be making a trip to Morningside Heights to meet with Jewish students and hold a press conference on the steps of Low Library.
Aside from the Speaker of the House’s anticipated arrival, student protesters maintaining their occupation of the lawns, the presence of dozens of news cameras inside and outside the campus gates, reporters soliciting comments from students, restricted access to campus, and the continuation of hybrid classes, the day began like any other.
I attended class in the morning, went to Dodge Fitness Center for a workout, and even had time to go to Corniel Barber Shop on 107th and Amsterdam for a haircut. I was unfortunately delayed on my way back to campus by two recent Union Theological Seminary graduates who told me that the end times are upon us and cited about twenty Bible verses to prove it. I nodded along politely, thinking about how Johnson, a Southern Baptist, would probably enjoy something like this.
I eventually escaped, and as I approached 113th Street I was greeted by three black SUVs with tinted windows, sandwiched between two NYPD cruisers with flashing lights. “He’s here,” I said aloud to no one in particular.
I broke out in a dead sprint toward Low Library, determined to witness Johnson’s speech firsthand. Little did I know, he wouldn’t arrive for another hour. In any case, when I reached Low, a cluster of reporters stood awkwardly at the top of the steps. Johnson’s lectern faced up the stairs with Butler Library and the occupied lawns as the backdrop. Johnson’s staff, in a frenzy, scrambled around, seemingly oblivious that bleachers had been set up for Commencement. It finally dawned on them that this obstacle made it logistically impossible for the encampment to be a part of their boss’s photo-op.
Eventually, they repositioned the lectern to face Butler and the lawns (with Low being the new backdrop), while reporters and onlookers jostled for a new vantage point, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Speaker. The stage had finally been set, and another ballyhooed spectacle at Columbia University in the City of New York was about to begin.
I squeezed into a spot between my peers on the first landing in front of Low, right in front of the steps where Johnson was to speak. It felt cramped, hot, and generally uncomfortable, much like Senior Night when you’re wedged in so tightly that leaving Amity Hall as soon as possible becomes a necessity because you fear you might never escape. I began to sweat, but I was not about to give up seeing the Speaker of the House, the third most powerful person in the United States behind the President and Vice President. I persevered.
Just before 4 PM, Johnson emerged from Low Library, flanked by a posse of fellow representatives, several Jewish students he had spoken to earlier, his staff, and his security detail. Behind his horn-rimmed glasses, Johnson wore an expression of unrelenting calm, as if it were business as usual.
Johnson was met with a cascade of boos and jeers from the assembled students. He looked unphased, maintaining his aura of unrelenting calm, and began his prepared remarks.
“What the hell?! I can’t hear a damn word this guy is saying!” I said to a friend next to me. I was exasperated. I came to Low to hear Johnson! Confused murmurs reverberated through the crowd until finally, a chant of “We can’t hear you!” drowned out any possibility of parsing out at least a word or two of Johnson’s remarks.
Johnson’s press conference quickly devolved into a joke. Since no student could hear what Johnson was saying, a quasi-trash talk conference and pro-Palestinian protest ensued. I’ve compiled a catalog of insults, chants, and comic bits shouted by students at Johnson during the eighteen minutes and twenty seconds he appeared before us:
“Fuck you!”
“From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free!”
“Get off our campus!”
“How many kids did you kill today?”
“Where’s your CUID, Mike?”
“Racist!”
“Mike, you suck!”
“Snake!”
“Free! Free! Free Palestine!”
“We’re tired! We’re bored! Go tell your kid to stop watching porn!”
Students shout, “Mike, you suck!” at House Speaker Mike Johnson. (Jonas Du/Columbia Sundial)
After Johnson concluded his press conference, he reentered Low, leaving Columbia and probably hoping never to return. The people in the crowd went about their day, perhaps to class, a library, or the encampment. I sat down and actually listened to a recording of Johnson’s remarks, aiming to make sense of his words, his visit, and the students’ response.
Johnson remained composed amidst the students’ jeers, staying steadfast in his message. He calmly urged the students to “enjoy [their] free speech” as they continued to heckle him. Johnson’s view, echoed by many in Congress, is that “mob rule” reigns in Morningside Heights. Johnson advocated for the arrest of violent protesters and called for Shafik to resign if she could not “bring order to this chaos.”
The Republican representatives accompanying Johnson on his field trip to Columbia—Virginia Foxx, Nicole Malliotakis, Anthony D’Esposito, and Mike Lawler—all spoke as well. Foxx, who hails from North Carolina, was particularly scathing. Her deep Appalachian twang, a stark contrast with the urban backdrop of New York City, pierced through the microphones as she stared into the cameras and declared: “The inmates are running the asylum,” almost as though she envisioned Columbia as the setting for a remake of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
Johnson then fielded a handful of questions from the reporters present. When asked whether he thought bringing in the National Guard to quell the protesters was appropriate, Johnson responded that he intended to call President Biden to explore that option if the protests were not contained. Johnson also said that he and the other representatives met with Shafik prior to the press conference but was rather mute on the details of that meeting.
Johnson then addressed the students before him. “It does not matter who shouts in our faces, we’re going to do what is right by America,” he declared. Gesturing emphatically, he added, “We respect free speech!” However, his call was met with a chorus of jeers, notably a loud chant of “Mike, you suck!” Johnson shook his head in disapproval. Later, adopting a tone of the students’ trash talk, he said, “Stop wasting your parents’ money!”
Unless you were within earshot of Johnson or watching on television, you wouldn’t have caught any of these words. The prevailing sound for those present was the students’ shouts.
The response of Columbia students to Johnson’s presence largely fed into the narrative he has been pushing about elite institutions like Columbia. What viewers witnessed on Columbia’s campus was precisely what Johnson wanted them to see: a university lacking in civility, marked by internal conflict, and hostile to free speech. In the eyes of the nation, Columbia was an institution diametrically opposed to open dialogue and viewpoint diversity.
However, placing the blame solely on Columbia students for the hostile image of Columbia portrayed to the nation is misguided. Johnson himself bears a significant share of the responsibility.
He arrived without a speaker or microphone, indicating no desire for an open dialogue with students and no concern for their ability to hear him. Johnson’s presence seemed to be solely for the benefit of the news cameras, catering to the Fox News viewers who think Columbia is located just one rung above hell.
Johnson also refrained from venturing into the encampment, which he has labeled as a hotbed of antisemitism and radicalism. Nor did he attempt to talk with any pro-Palestine protesters. There have been isolated incidents where protestors intimidated Jewish students, which have garnered attention on social media. However, the protesters have maintained a more or less peaceful presence. Johnson, perched atop Low, was unaware of this, as I would expect.
Neither side was willing to speak or listen to the other. Johnson, one of the most powerful figures in America, pulled a political stunt on Columbia’s campus that was a joke to students from the outset. Accordingly, they responded with mockery and drowned out his speech.
So, each side took cemented stances in the discourse-free void that has permeated Columbia. However, this void necessitates filling unless we wish Columbia to continue regressing into the political spectacle we witnessed on Wednesday. It is a void that needs to be filled by Shafik.
Shafik’s presence among students has been minimal, limited to sporadic late-night emails concerning negotiations between the administration and student protestors and an announcement that classes would move to a hybrid format for the remainder of the semester. As a result, she has yet to establish her authority as president, and her lack of consistent action has been co-opted by political actors like Johnson.
Shafik, cloistered in Low, has become the all too distant Columbia administrator. Yet this moment at Columbia demands active leadership. It calls for a leader who personifies the university’s values and engages with students to foster mutual understanding and respect. It mandates continual communication, visibility, and action. Shafik must earn her authority in this pivotal moment.
Because Shafik failed to lead as an active and engaged president, Johnson swooped in and assumed the job of child protective services. Shafik has continued to wallow in her role as the incapable, absentee caretaker, a role the Board of Trustees supports. In place of her voice, I can almost hear Johnson’s voice saying, “Yes, I’m Mike Johnson, the Speaker of the House, and I’m here to help.”
Henry Oltman is a senior editor for Sundial and a junior studying history at Columbia College.