In this personal essay, Brown University senior Angela Lian reflects on the community that has come together in the aftermath of the campus shooting on December 13, which killed two students and injured nine others. After a five-day search, authorities said the suspect in the shooting had been found dead.
At Brown University, the center part of the Van Wickle Gates remains closed throughout the year, opening only for convocation and commencement. It is a ritual: Students are welcomed onto campus, then, after completing their college education, depart out into the world.
On Sunday, December 14, a group of us walked past the gate, directionless, and stopped short. At its feet were several bouquets of flowers, their stems whitening in the cold. I don’t remember how long we stood there. I felt a nauseating wave of something bitter behind my ribs. MukhammadAziz Umurzokov, 18, and Ella Cook, 19, likely passed through these gates once, but they would not get to complete the ritual.
Late at night on December 13, 2025, the first snow of the season began to fall, dusting the trees and the tops of our heads. A throng of students gathered outside Brown’s athletic center, waiting to be patted down and let into what had been converted to a shelter. In another world, I would have paused to take in the snow, held out cupped hands; instead, my friend and I walked past police-lined blocks to our apartment, heads down and quiet.
When I awoke on Sunday, the dusting had turned into a thin blanket that coated campus, icy and iridescent. I went straight to the dining hall we call the Ratty to meet some friends; it had become a gathering space for friends who’d been separated all night—because one way to fight gun violence and hate is community. Our hugs were tight, fierce. All across the hall, I watched my peers cry, laugh, share pancakes, pull up nine chairs to crowd around tables that fit four. Heads on shoulders, thumbs catching tears. I watched the dining staff serve students with reassuring smiles. After a long night of fear and heartache, with the knowledge that there were many more to come, I watched a community begin to reunite.
The days since the shooting have been marked by feelings of terror, anger, and pain, but also love—a love greater than any I’ve ever seen. For every story of fear, there is one of grace and strength to match it. While locked down in the cold basement of a nearby cafe, my friend texted me: “They gave us pastries, The workers are actual angels, They’ve been crazy calm and helpful.” Later I heard echoes of similar stories: Students in buildings across College Hill being sheltered, fed, and comforted by staff, strangers, and one another.
This kindness in the face of unfathomable tragedy has spilled over into the days since, morphing into a tender resilience, a strength so steady it warms the bones even in a New England winter. Local businesses like Kabob & Curry, Brown Bee Coffee, Shah's Halal, and Allie's Donuts handed out free meals. Professors, alumni, and community members offered rides to the airport, buying students train and flight tickets and welcoming us into their homes. Students compiled resource lists and organized fundraisers, rideshares, and vigils. Dining workers and other Brown staff—no doubt as affected as we are—continue to feed us and keep us comfortable. One mother and Brown staff member, Andrea Capotosto, offered free mom hugs outside the Ratty. It would be so easy, even justifiable, to shut ourselves off and away, to close doors and shutter windows. Instead, our community has chosen to support one another.
Even as students have dispersed to their homes across the world, we’ve remained connected. My Instagram Story feed is flooded with photos of our beautiful campus accompanied by messages of love and links to mutual aid efforts. Sidechat, an anonymous, internal, campus social media app, has become a space for collective grieving and commiseration; people are sharing everything from words of appreciation for hospital and custodial workers to photos of pets for morale. Shouldering the pain together. Holding each other afloat, snow-soft and sweet, again, again, again.
I spent Sunday night at a friend’s house, drinking boxed wine, eating pizza, and watching The Devil Wears Prada, six of us crowded on the mega-bed they’d made to host others the night before. This morning, the nurse at my doctor’s appointment gave me a hug. So did the cashiers at the Blue Room, another dining hall. Soon, a Brown medical student I’ve never met will drive me to the Providence train station. All of this is happening even as we continue to mourn, and while, four days later, the shooter remains at large.
There is a stainless steel sculpture called Circle Dance installed along The Walk, in the heart of Brown University’s campus. It depicts 11 life-sized figures dancing, holding hands so closely each arm blends into the next in an infinite, impossibly buoyant circle. I walk by it nearly every day. Once, when my parents visited and pointed it out, I told them, “This is what it’s like to go to Brown.” I was joking, and I wasn’t. Attending Brown is twirling, together, endless, light. In every season, under every sky.
When I walked past Circle Dance today, there was a snowman in its center, and I thought of students ducking under those interconnected arms to build it together, to find something like joy. Every time I feel alone, something reminds me that I am not.
