Cornell: The Liberated Zone

On April 25, 2024, Cornell University students gathered before dawn to liberate the Arts Quad on campus, calling for Cornell to fully divest from companies supporting the ongoing genocide in Gaza, and to end its close relationship with Technion—Israel Institute of Technology, with which it shares a campus in New York City. This action followed a historic referendum by the Student Assembly, in which undergraduate students voted 2:1 in favor of Cornell divesting from ten weapons manufacturers.

For the next nineteen days, Cornell students, staff, and faculty, as well as local community members sustained what came to be called the Liberated Zone, practicing the values and educational standards they wanted to see in the world. Specifically, through nonviolent resistance—including teach-ins, art installations, rallies, and performances—they highlighted the urgency of their demands for Cornell to act in response to the Israeli government's genocide of Palestinians in Gaza.

One of the first acts of the Liberated Zone was to erect a mural, which would stand tall for the duration of the Liberated Zone. This mural, depicting the unification of Gaza and the West Bank, became a symbol of united resistance against genocide and apartheid. By incorporating elements of Gayogohó:nǫˀ (Cayuga Nation) symbolism, this mural also underscored the importance of mutual liberation. Cornell's investment in the genocide in Palestine cannot be seen outside of its investment in the genocide of Indigenous Peoples across North America as the largest beneficiary of the Morrill Act of 1862, which redistributed Indigenous land as public domain to establish and endow land-grant institutions.

In the mural and the encampment more broadly, students highlighted Cornell's role in dispossession and genocide across the globe. The local chapter of the Gayogohó:nǫˀ Nation organized a fast in collaboration with the Native American and Indigenous Students at Cornell (NAISAC) student organization to emphasize their solidarity with Palestinians in Gaza.

Official recognition of Cornell's investment in the genocide of Indigenous Peoples across North America through the Morrill Act was just one part of the demands of the Liberated Zone, which were represented by the Liberated Zone's Negotiations Team and put into practice by the many individuals who sustained the Liberated Zone day-to-day.

The charge to keep the Liberated Zone going was a tall order, led by just a handful of extraordinary individuals who labored tirelessly to keep all who passed through the Liberated Zone nourished, healthy, and safe. These individuals not only made the Liberated Zone possible, but also made it a community. By inviting allies across Cornell and the local Ithaca community to support the Liberated Zone through food collections, donations, and acts of service, the committees who ran the camp fostered a community that made the Liberated Zone a welcoming place to practice a collective vision for a better future. When the Liberated Zone disbanded, this team of individuals donated the excess food and supplies to the local community through mutual aid networks.

A leader of one of these committees, the Food and Supplies committee, spent the final month of their senior year protesting against the genocide in Gaza. Highlighting the power of the community forged in the Liberated Zone, they write, "My entire time at the encampment, it's the first time when I didn't have to skip a meal to save money." While they felt that the Liberated Zone embodied many of the students' demands, they offered suggestions for future acts of liberation, including the need to also direct "funds, energy, and time into virtual efforts to as many international genocide and refugee relief efforts" as possible.

Beyond the Liberated Zone's community, daily teach-ins of the "People's University" and independently organized walkouts by multiple departments and schools at Cornell were other means through which the values of mutual liberation were practiced.

One of the organizers of educational programming explains that the People's University demonstrated "our ability to create a university for everyone, promoting action-oriented engagement with the community" that is fueled by "our unwavering commitment to the people of Gaza." She hopes that the People's University will live on through a student movement that stands "in solidarity with the people and students in Gaza, Bangladesh, Kenya, Haiti, and the Global South."

Another organizer of educational programming especially appreciated "hearing others conduct teach-ins on Palestinian liberation, protests against South African Apartheid, and many other topics grounded in our shared histories. Every participant, whether student or community member, played such a vital role in pushing and pressuring for divestment." But she continues that "it was not without its challenges—both in students facing institutional repercussions, such as suspension and doxing, and organizing ourselves to be political actors with the ability to grow and learn from failures." She hopes the students of the People's University understand that "the struggle doesn't end or begin with the university or with influencing the minds of a few administrators or shaky academics. It was always with the people and their courage to resist against imperialism at home and abroad through whatever means possible. A free Palestine will be achieved in this lifetime, and I know it will be done together."

Beyond the Liberated Zone's organizing committees, the success of the encampment also relied on allyship with Cornell staff and faculty to organize marches and rallies during critical moments. During the first round of student suspensions, for instance, students and community members formed a human wall around the Liberated Zone to protect campers at risk of police intervention. At this event, Cornell staff and faculty spoke in solidarity with the campers, united in the vision of a Free Palestine. This moment became one of many demonstrations of staff/faculty and student/community solidarity, always united in the fight for the demands of the Liberated Zone.

One former Cornell professor highlights the beauty and importance of this solidarity: As supportive faculty and staff, "our aim was to support [student activists] in any way possible, but particularly by guaranteeing their safety and their right to free expression." Beyond donations, speeches, and other forms of support, the professor explains that "faculty and staff were largely learners as events unfolded this spring." In his eyes, the Liberated Zone "modeled what a coalition of difference—different nationalities, genders, races, religions, academic interests, backgrounds—would look like when motivated by a deep understanding of Western imperialism and the history of global, racist oppression."

While the Liberated Zone has disbanded, the values, memories, and community it fostered live on. As the U.S.-funded Israeli genocide of Palestinians in Gaza blazes on, the demands of the Liberated Zone remain as important, if not more important, today. As members of the Liberated Zone continue their mission to end Cornell's investment in the genocide in Gaza, we keep the lessons we've learned, the hope we sparked, and the vision for mutual liberation we began to foster as the center of our fight.

The Coalition for Mutual Liberation

Coalition for Mutual Liberation

Cornell University, 2024