T

he path to Goldstein Auditorium, about a 50-foot walk from one side of the lobby to the other, had a roadblock— block-letter posters and glares of Syracuse University students. The smiles of university officials met students’ chants about the lack of representation on campus. Admitted students — then-seniors in high school — expected a classic college tour. Instead, they were met with protest.

It took a lot for Madii Goldberg, one of about 100 protesters, to stay calm when student after student and parent after parent blew by her. Accepted students were told to keep walking. The 17- and 18-year-olds who wouldn’t look up.

A video from an SU professional fraternity, Theta Tau, was released 36 hours prior displaying racist, anti-Semitic, homophobic and ableist comments. Goldberg said her protest was just met with eye rolls from parents and passersby.

In the corner of her eye, one family of color — two parents, a younger child and an accepted student — stopped in the middle of the path, against the flow of the crowd. They read protesters’ signs. The four took the time to ask questions, to commend them. Goldberg told one of her friends to look. And in between the crowd of families fast-walking by, the family started to clap.

“You blow off the accepted students that are just walking by, but you really remember the ones that spent that time, that cared,” Goldberg said. “In that moment, I knew we were doing this for a reason.”

Student protesters organized a sit-in protest against SU administrators in Schine Student Center during an accepted students day last year, when SU showcased its student experience. For some accepted students, it was an indication of empowerment — a sign that this school was for them. Others couldn’t understand why Recognize Us, the group who set up April’s protest, schemed to distract SU’s pitch to them. One year later, they’re now freshmen at the school they were told to think twice about, to not “commit to SU until SU commits to you.”

“You witness everything that happens that day, everything in real time,” current SU freshman Mira Fleschman said. “This school seemed so accepting, like this isn’t what I knew. It’s just crazy I came here after that.”

Before the intersection of current and prospective students at Schine Student Center, everyone had different motives for why they wanted SU. For most, it was the academics — the high-end programs in communications, policy studies and architecture. But also, they yearned for the diversity many of their suburban hometowns lacked.

Fleschman would watch YouTube vlogs of Margot Lee, a lifestyle YouTuber and SU student with more than 350,000 subscribers, and noticed a lot of people’s views aligned with hers. From south of Boston, Tara Gordon wanted to stray away from her town, specifically her high school that embraced the confederate flag — phone cases, screensavers, flags — and she needed out.

SU appealed to freshman Luca Giacobbe because he saw “old-school history with culture and parties.” First-year student Emily Kinka “people-watched”for 45 minutes after her first tour in September 2017. Other students visited often and decided to apply through early decision, a binding agreement to attend SU upon acceptance.

Touring SU meant prospective students would also have to face their own perceptions of Greek life, regardless of whether it was a big part of their decision to commit to SU. Connor Muldoon, a prospective student at the time, believed fraternities were for “certain brands of people.” Fleschman planned on joining a sorority but wanted to meet a mix of people. Kinka, now a communication and rhetorical studies major, was unsure how deeply Greek life culture was rooted in SU.

“I was like, ‘Is it just this school that’s beefy about Greek life?’” Kinka said. “Then I looked at all the other schools, and it was the same.”

But most didn’t know how to distinguish professional and social fraternities and sororities. When mulling over her college decision, Gordon had questions. Weren’t they all the same? Was there a difference between a social fraternity, and say, Theta Tau?

• • •

For the thousands of high school seniors planning to attend SU, a large part of their decision rode on April 20, 2018. For Fleschman, it was her first time visiting her dream school. Students like Kinka and Gordon wanted to be “wowed.” Would SU convince them? They had all been on college tours, but accepted students day would be different, they thought.

After riding up with parents and staying in hotels near campus, students received messages an incident with Greek life appeared in the prospective students’ inbox. Muldoon’s sister’s best friend, who attends SU, texted him “Oh my god, you’re literally visiting on the worst day.” Fleschman met with a then-senior at SU at Cafe Kubal who filled her in. Parents and neighbors heard the news with details still unclear.

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal at first,” Gordon said. “I was like, aren’t all fraternities like pieces of sh*t? Not shocking.”

It was just another fraternity incident like University of Oklahoma and University of Georgia, some thought. But this time, they were in the middle of it. They would have to see the aftermath firsthand.

“My mom was joking like, ‘You can’t back out now,’” Kinka said.

Chancellor Kent Syverud’s initial email on April 18 to the campus community announcing Theta Tau’s suspension mentioned offensive videos had surfaced online. Shortly after, a Facebook page and GroupMe chat called “Recognize Us” were created. Recognize Us organized a protest with about 100 people on lawn of the chancellor’s house and surrounding the Theta Tau property. The accepted students stayed in their hotels that night, as current students filled Hendricks Chapel to voice their concerns: How would the school respond? Where was Syverud?

Later that night, while students remained in Hendricks, The Daily Orange released a video showing people engaging in the behavior that Syverud had called “racist, anti-Semitic, homophobic, sexist, and hostile to people with disabilities.” The Recognize Us group chat amassed more than the 500 allotted slots on GroupMe, and were granted an extension. And as the night came to a close, the rumbling of another, bigger, protest filled the group. It had to be secretive, though.

“We were told we could not hold it because of accepted students and the location we wanted to hold it,” Goldberg said. “And we were like there, perfect, we’re holding it there. That’s exactly what I wanted to do.”

By 6:30 a.m., a list of demands started to cover the front and side doorways of Schine. Positioned posters lined a pathway: “ACCEPTED STUDENTS This University doesn’t ACCEPT you.” “How About a Student-Led Tour of Campus Discrimination.” Recognize Us had obtained the itinerary for accepted students day and planned to follow it.

Twenty minutes before students arrived, Goldberg said they were told to not hand out fliers because it was “solicitation.” They did anyway. Fleschman heard the loud noises before she reached Schine, where accepted students were gathering with their families.

Members of University 100, a group of university-run campus tour guides, tried to create a path so that families could get through, students and protesters said.

“It was like out of a movie,” said Giacobbe, an admitted student.  

Giacobbe’s mom turned toward him, away from the mix of smiling tour guides with orange rugby shirts and loud protesters, and wondered: “Is this about the frat?” He shot back, “It has to be.”

Gordon’s mother was “visibly salty,” Gordon said, telling her daughter that it needs to be brought up during the information session. They felt intimidated.

“I remember admin walking in students like we were violent or something,” Goldberg, a protester, said.

Giacobbe felt like the protesters were trying to deter prospective students from SU. Others like Fleschman and Landyn Esham, another prospective student, were inspired. While they still walked with the crowd, they quietly felt empowered.

As Goldstein Auditorium filled up, Maurice Harris, dean of undergraduate admissions, took the microphone. Syverud stood outside, making his first remarks since the video was released. Harris did what Gordon’s mom wanted — he acknowledged and supported the protests.

“You’ve obviously seen the news, this isn’t who we are,” Harris said to the crowd of parents and potential students. “If you want information, seek it.”

“I don’t think they wanted to accept the blame,” Gordon, now a public relations major, said. “They were clearly avoiding the fact that they didn’t regulate Greek.”

After the program, the group — now bounded together as witnesses to the demonstration — went their separate ways. Near the Carrier Dome, one protester approached Kinka and her mother and told her to not be scared or upset, that “I love this school, and I just want you to be informed.”

Later on, Muldoon spoke back to a shouting protester near the same spot. “I totally get what you’re doing, but why did you pick today?” Muldoon said. They responded that they wanted to disrupt the administration, make their voice feel heard.

“‘But we’re visiting,’” Muldoon said to them. “‘Thousands of prospective students were here, like today? Really?’”

• • •

A year later, the accepted students day has just become a “weird story.” It comes up in icebreakers. Class discussions. And sometimes, grows into the epicenter of an argument in SEM 100 — a class created for first-year students meant to spark conversation on diversity and inclusion.

But for Goldberg, the protest did its job. It informed students of the current state of a university in a state of change. Some are still annoyed. Some know if it happened again, they’d be on the other side of the line.

Still, for the people who were there, it’s a moment they look back on often.

Now freshmen, they walk into Schine regularly — the remnants of a divided campus are reminders that they were a part of campus that day. They were in the middle of it.

Embed photos by Molly Gibbs | Photo Editor
Main photo by Kai Nguyen | Staff Photographer