According to a recent nonscientific study, Columbia's bulletin boards contain the highest rate of exclamation marks per square inch in the country. An apathetic student cannot walk from Lerner to Butler without being begged to attend numerous rallies, support group meetings, protests, and candlelight vigils. Judging by the amount of revolution-seeking propaganda, one would expect this campus to be full of Che Guevara wannabes, Red Rosa look-alikes, and Malcolm X clones. However, a brief look at the people strolling on College Walk would reveal a surprisingly different picture: everybody seems to be so damn content with their sushi-eating, Snapple-drinking, Urban-Outfitters-wearing existence.

This weird dichotomy raises an interesting question: if everybody is so happy, who posts these ridiculously raging posters? Could it be that some outside revolutionaries are able to storm every available flat surface on campus without Security noticing it? Or maybe a clan of angry, socially responsible creatures inhabits Columbia's tunnels in a modern day, Ivy League version of Metropolis? How about the "Activist Werewolf" theory: come midnight, could it be that all those courteous employees of Cafe 212 turn into cruel, politically aware beasts, who go about posting their manifestos in a Bacchaic frenzy?

The disappointing truth is hardly that romantic. In reality the happy, smiling students that you see all the time are, in fact, the mysterious radicals and wild amazons of the bulletin boards. Their annoying grins do not contradict the fact that they have just come out of an intense meeting, calling to stop violence against lesbian midgets, to fight discrimination against men who have three nipples, or to promote tolerance for people who stink. On the contrary, the fact that they have donated an hour of their precious time to a random cause is what brings about their feeling so darn good about themselves. Leaving anachronistic traditions such as constructing barricades and seizing buildings behind them, these aware members of the Columbia community have formed a new breed of protesters: Comfort Activists. Their agenda is uncompromising. Their weapon is a stapler.

The first important characteristic of Comfort Activists is their quest for a perfect yin-yang balance. Since listening to a lecture about discrimination against women in Papua New Guinea is somewhat boring, not to mention depressing, the atmosphere should be balanced by providing authentic Papua New Guinean food, and by selling handmade Papua New Guinean bracelets and chains. In order to counter the somewhat redundant nature of Ralph Nader's rhetoric, rally attendees should enjoy music by equally self-satisfied musicians such as Eddie Veddar. To disguise the fact that most people at these events hardly give a damn, they all wear T-shirts, stickers, and hats attesting to their devotion.

Another key element in Comfort Activism is its subtle egotistic nature. "You should fight Citibank because Citibank is the devil. It enslaves millions of innocent people in third world countries. It finances the destruction of rain forests in Brazil. The weekend lines for its ATMs are excruciatingly long." Or: "Come, join our esoteric anti-something group. It's a really important cause. You can make a difference by only hanging a dozen posters around campus. It will also make the extracurricular part of your resume so much more impressive when you try to land that high-paying corporate job upon your graduation." Plain activism is OK, but being active and actually getting something in return (not to mention meeting hordes of potential sex mates) is so much better.

Finally, the cornerstone of every Comfort Activist group is not the promise of a better world, but rather the promise of lots of free food. Every poster invites students to hear a fascinating lecture (using size 12 font), followed by free cookies, pizza, BBQ, finger food, bagels, sushi and gummy bears (all in multicolored, oversized letters). It's not that they think nobody will come unless food will be served, they know it.