Yesterday’s rain supplied a fitting soundtrack for a campus with few students. Photo by Robert Rios.
By Robert Rios, Co-News Editor
As the shadow of the coronavirus threat lengthens across the world, even our small slice of that world has been darkened by its gloomy haze.
So it was only fitting that on the first day of at least a month of no face-to-face classes on the CSUDH campus, a steady drizzle fell. It’s fitting because even though it’s a cliche, rain does seem to dampen most enthusiasm, and there was little to be excited about yesterday. At least not for me.
Sure, I had the day off from classes, just like I’ll have Monday and Tuesday off. But considering the circumstances, and how hard I have worked to reach the point where I’ll be graduating in just two months, I don’t want a day off. At least not this way.
And I sure don’t want the place I have spent countless hours at the past four years feeling like it did yesterday. Not on a Thursday at 1 p.m. No, it wasn’t deserted; there were a few bodies in the library, student workers in the LSU restaurants, office staff and maintenance workers.
But the heart of this campus, the 17,000 of us that pump life into it, were, for the most part, absent. It wasn’t a ghost town, but it wasn’t the town any of us live in, either.
The Games Room, which is always full, was vacant. There was no long line to pay your student debt at the cashier’s office. The walkways were mostly barren. There were no tabling events. Programs and student services were open and employees were there, but no students stopped by to ask questions. There were no lines in the food court, no groups of students huddled together in the LSU, no socializing.
But most noticeable was the silence. Outside of the rain, which added to the gloomy vibe, there was no noise. No chatter about next week’s quiz. No complaining about being tired. No random guy who isn’t a student asking you to sign a petition you don’t want to sign.
If you are someone who dislikes not being able to find a parking space, it was your kind of day. But for someone who has attended this campus for four years and is graduating soon, it was pretty weird to not see people walking around campus or in the buildings.
Yet, there was also an odd sort of peacefulness to the campus. It was almost comforting that during a time when we are being told to avoid large groups and to be hyper-vigilant about our personal space and that of others, to not have to worry about bumping into each other, or to be jolted by the sound of a cough or a sneeze.
It’s terrible that a public health crisis led me to this, but the emptiness and silence of the campus yesterday got me thinking. About this place we call CSUDH. All too often, when stressed out or not feeling it, it’s easy to see this just as a place of classes and assignments, papers and exams, stress and aggravation, hoop after hoop to jump through to get a degree.
But on the first day when students and faculty were basically told to steer clear unless absolutely necessary, it also felt like a refuge. Yes, this campus is obviously a part of the greater world around it. But for the 17,000 of us who really make it what it is, this campus also feels detached from that bigger world, at least most of the time. It is a place where we’re not expected to know everything because we’re learning, a safe place where we may be called upon to excel, but if we come up short sometimes, it’s OK. Because we’re still learning, and we’ll get another chance.
So maybe there is a silver lining in the cloud that the coronavirus has cast over this campus. Because just like yesterday’s rain, though it bled into this morning, passed, so will the threat of this virus. And when classes resume and when the parking lots are packed, when the walkways are filled and when there are lines again and when all that sweet noise returns, maybe we’ll all return with clearer eyes and realize what we have here, and not take it for granted.
And the Toro, who at the moment is quiet, cautious and reserved, will once again stomp its hooves, raise its horns, loudly snort and proudly bellow to the world that he, she, or they is back and nothing will stand in its way of succeeding; nothing will silence it any longer. And it will return stronger than ever to roam these hills it rightfully owns.
