In my many walks across campus, I’ve had the pleasure—and, occasionally, the displeasure—of entering most of the university’s buildings. Sometimes I do it just for fun, to explore and better know my university, but also out of necessity—when it rains, even Miller Hall is appealing.
I’ve since realized one undeniable tragedy: many of the buildings on campus have, in one way or another, deteriorated.
Before renovations began recently, the abandoned Huey P. Long Field house was seen as the epitome of LSU’s crumbling infrastructure. Lockett Hall, infamous for its “collapsing ceilings” and the studio arts buildings—or the “School of Decay” according to its own students—are similar symbols of deterioration on campus. Luckily for future art students, recent renovations to the studio arts facilities shown promising signs of improvement.
Nonetheless, there’s worry that even after renovations these buildings will fail to live up to expectations. Earlier this semester, Cedar Hall, which opened in 2019, suffered a substantial sprinkler system issue that flooded several suites with black water.
Students are far from the only ones to complain about these infrastructure failings. In fact, some of the biggest critics have been faculty and staff.
Judith Schiebout, who tragically died last year due to complications from COVID-19, joined the university in 1976, going on to serve as associate professor, curator of the LSU Museum of Natural Science and director of the LSU Museum of Geoscience, which sits in the Howe-Russell complex on campus.
In a 2016 interview with the Advocate, she said she was “embarrassed by the condition of several buildings that hold some of the state’s most precious artifacts, historical documents and scientific discoveries.”
Schiebout had seen two pipes burst over her office and a pile of “plaster and ceiling tiles crumbled on the floor.” When she reached out to university officials about the problem, they “told [her] not to worry because it wasn’t a leak; it was just the ceiling falling down.” Schiebout cracked a laugh as she said the last bit.
If you’ve been at LSU for more than one semester, you probably find these instances of utter neglect funny too. Black water rushing into your room? That’s a decent excuse to not turn in your homework.
I found these issues amusing, too. But when I learned that the university has an annual revenue of over $700 million—about half which comes directly from our tuition money—and that only 10% of the university’s total expenditures go toward operating, maintaining and renovating such infrastructure, I stopped laughing.
It is true that sharp budget cuts have put financial strain on both the university and its students. Since 2008, state aid for Louisiana universities has been slashed in half, a pattern seen across the country during the recession.
But also since 2008, LSU has increased tuition by over 150% to compensate for the lack of state funding. Students are now more responsible than ever for funding the university, and students suffer most when lecture halls crumble and dormitories become unlivable.
Our deteriorating infrastructure is not entirely due to budget cuts, but due to a lack of commitment in upkeeping our university’s historic campus.
Samuel Camacho is a 21-year-old economics junior from Maracaibo, Venezuela.
