By By Daniel Phillips

I first conjured my vision of New College while my aunt, who attended thirty seven years ago, told me what it represented. It was the best-kept secret on campus, based on the Oxford University curriculum; she was drawn to the University for New College. She told me it attracted the students willing to work harder and take responsibility for their education.

I weighed my college options on a daily basis in my senior year of high school and decided to attend the University with the sole purpose of graduating from New College in 2009. While the school remains an exceptional vision for me, I feel as if I’m trying to board a train already in motion. While it may be the most beautiful train around, it is moving along briskly on an unknown track, leaving me to struggle with my own curiosity as to its final destination.

I often wonder if there is any reason for me to be worried about the fate of New College. After all, the little news I hear is from connections within the University, upper-class students and downright gossip. As a freshman it is awkward for me to be speaking in such a resolute manner. I have not the status or experience to be laying blame or making judgments.

Nevertheless, I feel something missing from my freshman experience so far. I am at home in Roosevelt Hall, the same building my aunt told me about, the building New College always resided. The difficulty, you see, comes not from what I have experienced, but from what I feel has been neglected. There is no great sweeping change taking place. It is not as if New College has been disbanded, the doors of Roosevelt Hall nailed shut.

I am beginning to sense an unexpected answer to my many questions. What will change for New College and its dwindling student body in the fall of 2006? Where will my classes be held? What courses will be offered? Which professors will teach them? What will differentiate my college experience from that of any “main campus” student? I am not daunted by the answers I have received, but rather the worried and blank stares I get in return. No one seems to know anything in terms of concrete destiny. It seems as though New College is slowly being taken apart, in some vague and unformed way.

I came to the University with the sole purpose of attending a college I was told still existed. I have yet to meet any other freshman who came to the University with a New College focus in mind. The one or two I know only recently decided to enroll in New College classes and now are intrigued by the cluster courses they are taking within Roosevelt’s old, wonderful halls. Call it a hunch, but I feel politics are hard at work. Politics and politicians are going to directly affect my college experience and my long held expectations.

The most disturbing part of my research is I am receiving no solid answers from my instructors about their futures as New College professors. New College was a family tradition, as was the University. My mother and her brother attended, as well as my aunt. No one needs to tell me a problem has arisen; the silence I have dealt with from Sept. 6 tells me all I need to remain cautious and alert. If I am living on a ghost ship, it would certainly be nice to be left with survival instructions, and if not, why can’t anyone speak with absolute confidence? If there is nothing changing in New College, why is no one willing to say so?

The most detrimental factor in all of this is the college’s vague presence in contrast to the rest of the campus. We need to be enlightened about New College, about our very education. I have already fallen in love with the college, but feel as though I am engaged in a monologue rather than a dialogue. What will happen when the junior and senior New College students graduate; who will keep us from disappearing? If the University wants New College intact, then why is it so intent on making such drastic changes, and why is no one advertising one of the University’s greatest assets? I suppose the only thing left to do is to hope for the best, to refuse to answer silence with silence.