LSU was not my school of choice three years ago.
I never grew up wanting to be a Tiger. I even convinced myself I would never attend such a large school for college. During my last year of high school, I had my heart set on Furman University in South Carolina. But like many in-state students, TOPS became the deciding factor on where I went after high school.
Driving up on move-in day my freshman year was not a happy moment. I didn’t want to be here.
My freshman and sophomore years at LSU passed by, and I still wasn’t emphatic about being a Tiger.
Then the threat of budget cuts landed on our front door.
I thought of all the teachers who positively affected my life here. What if previous budget cuts had forced LSU to fire them? How would my life be different?
I thought of all my classmates and friends who would have trouble getting into the classes they need to graduate. What if they had to leave and go to another school to finish their degrees?
I thought of my sister, who is coming to LSU next year, and the rest of the University’s future students. Would students come to a university in financial crisis?
I realized these are the people who make LSU a great school. The teachers, students, administrators and facility services employees are the faces of LSU. It’s not the sports teams that make our university great, but rather the men and women within our institution.
When cuts began to threaten the University, I learned to bleed purple and gold.
I marched up the steps of the Capitol last Thursday and saw the men and women who will hurt the most in years to come if higher education funding crumbles.
Every member of the Senate Finance Committee promised LSU students after the march that higher education is their No. 1 priority.
After next week’s finals, a mass exodus of thousands begins as students move back home. By default, there won’t be enough students left to rally on the steps of the Capitol during the final weeks of the legislative session.
The only voices fighting for funding our future in Baton Rouge will be the legislators who have dedicated themselves to our cause and the University administration. They will pick up a torch we helped light, and we can only hope they keep the flame from burning out.
The only avenue we have when we go home is to continue to write letters and emails and to call our local legislators. Hopefully, through our actions last week and letter writing, the legislature will have the popular support required to confront Louisiana’s constitution and open up other areas to cuts currently protected and supported by special interests.
I’ve written columns blaming Gov. Bobby Jindal, legislators, Louisiana citizens and even my fellow students’ previously held silence for the disaster that lies ahead. But now it’s time to take some of the blame.
I wish I’d acted sooner. I wish I would have rallied the Tigers in the first weeks of the legislative session to march the Capitol, and then march on it again — but I didn’t.
Actions speak louder than words, and it took me four months, 10 columns and the urging of a friend to realize that colloquial truth.
On the steps of the Capitol, I looked upon the faces that made me love LSU. Behind them, a Louisiana state flag waved in the wind. As we sang the alma mater, I stopped, looked out at the picturesque view of downtown Baton Rouge and couldn’t help but smile.
That moment was greater than any night in Tiger Stadium. That moment was my proudest as an LSU Tiger.
I fight against budget cuts so that others may learn to love our university as I did and others may yell “Forever LSU.”
My battleground isn’t a football field or basketball court, it’s Louisiana politics. But just as our athletes give everything they’ve got in the name of LSU, I’ll work just as hard to protect our beloved university.
That’s a promise. Geaux Tigers.
Justin DiCharia is a 21-year-old mass communication junior from Slidell, Louisiana. You can reach him on Twitter @JDiCharia.