The magazine will be posted online later tonight, but for those brave enough to emerge from Butler, the print version is already scattered around campus.
Emmy and Pulitzer winning playwright Tony Kushner, CC '78, had to cancel our first interview when the Writers Guild of America strike called him to the picket lines. When we finally corralled him at the Hungarian Pastry Shop, the Angels in America author arrived on a little folding bike to regale us with tales of activism, experimentation, and a room near and dear to his heart (residents of 1013 Furnald, you've been warned).
THE BLUE AND WHITE: How involved have you been in the strike?
Tony Kushner: Well, I've been on the picket line pretty much every day there's been a picket line. I've been a responsible member. I'm not writing a screenplay that I was in the middle of writing when this started.
B&W: What's that been like for you? To completely step away from something you're immersed in?
TK: It's been tough because it's a script for Steven Spielberg and I'd been working on it for a year before the strike happened. I think it's important that it's in basically the same shape that it was in when the strike started, so that people running things in Hollywood understand that it's not like a lot of work is secretly getting done while we're on strike.
B&W: One of the things you mentioned in your 2004 Class Day speech is that you wouldn't have been there unless the grad students were taking a rest from their strike. Were you involved in activism as a student?
TK: Yeah, that's one of the reasons why I came. I had a fantasy that I would walk on campus and May '68 would still be going on, and I had really powerful romantic feelings about Columbia's history of student unrest. This was 1974, so I was somewhat surprised by what I found when I got here. But there was still actually a lot going on, and I think about a month after I arrived, Abe Beame, the mayor of New York, announced that they were closing all the branch libraries in the public library system, because this was at a point when the city was completely bankrupt. And a bunch of old people who were all 1930s radicals who used the library as a place to sit on cold days announced that they were going to sit in and not allow the libraries to close. And then somebody, I don't know who, put up posters saying, "Let's go support the old people." And so it became, every day, this amazing gathering of 80-year-old communists who still lived in rent-controlled apartments on the Upper West Side and student radicals who had occupied Grayson Kirk's office in '68 and one guy who claimed to have put acid in the water cooler in Low Library—and people like me who were interested in being part of that tradition at Columbia.