New York
Police Remove Pro-Palestinian Demonstrators Occupying Columbia Library
Dozens of pro-Palestinian demonstrators were taken into police custody on Wednesday evening after occupying part of the main library on Columbia University’s campus in an attempt to rekindle the protest movement that swept the campus last spring.
The protesters, wearing masks and kaffiyehs, had burst through a security gate shortly after 3 p.m. and hung banners in the soaring main room of Butler Library’s second floor, renaming the space “the Basel Al-Araj Popular University,” according to the demonstrators and witnesses at the library.
Columbia security guards blocked them from leaving unless they showed their identification, causing an hourslong standoff. Outside the library, crowds gathered, leading to a chaotic scene. By about 7 p.m., Columbia administrators had called the New York City police back to campus for the first time since the occupation of Hamilton Hall, another campus building, in April 2024.
“Requesting the presence of the N.Y.P.D. is not the outcome we wanted, but it was absolutely necessary to secure the safety of our community,” Claire Shipman, the acting president of the university, wrote in a statement.
Ms. Shipman said that two public safety officers had been injured during a crowd surge outside the library, when some people had tried to force their way in. Several protesters also appeared to have been injured.
The protest comes as the Trump administration has been cracking down on Columbia over what it calls its failure to protect Jewish students from harassment, cutting more than $400 million in federal research funding to the school. The university has been under enormous pressure to stem disruptive pro-Palestinian protests, particularly those that call for an end to the state of Israel.
The tense situation that unfolded around the library over several hours on Wednesday threatened to complicate ongoing negotiations between the Trump administration and Columbia officials seeking the restoration of federal funding.
“While Columbia students try to study for finals, they’re being bombarded with chants for a ‘global intifada,’” Representative Elise Stefanik, a Republican lawmaker pushing for universities to do more to protect Jewish students, posted on social media. “Not a single taxpayer dollar should go to a university that allows chaos, antisemitism, and civil rights violations on its campus.”
The demonstrators had pushed past a library security guard, carrying tote bags and backpacks, before heading up the stairs to the main reading room, video posted on social media showed. After chanting pro-Palestinian slogans for about an hour, some of the protesters tried to leave but were prevented by the row of Columbia public safety officers.
The disruption was limited to a single reading room, a university spokeswoman said. A statement from Columbia said that the protesters would face consequences.
“It is completely unacceptable that some individuals are choosing to disrupt academic activities as our students are studying and preparing for final exams,” the statement said.
Public security officers evacuated students not involved in the disruption from the library, which was filled with people studying. Hundreds of onlookers gathered outside the library.
Just before 5:20 p.m., a group of seven people was released through the back exit of the library on 114th Street. They were free to go, presumably after having their identification checked. A few minutes later, a protester was brought out in handcuffs by the university’s public safety department, which now employs several dozen peace officers who are empowered to make arrests.
The scene became increasingly tumultuous. A building fire alarm began sounding at 5:35 p.m. before going quiet a few minutes later. Some protesters still in the library shouted through megaphones to the crowd outside. There appeared to be at least one injury, with a protester taken out on a stretcher through the back entrance of the library. The person was covered with a white sheet to conceal their identity and had an ice pack held up to their arm.
As 6 p.m. approached, a demonstration in support of the protesters began gathering nearby at Broadway and 114th Street. Police officers assembled metal barricades. The protesters inside the university gates and outside at 114th Street chanted in unison: “No cops, no K.K.K., no fascist U.S.A.”
After Ms. Shipman authorized the police to enter the private campus, events unfolded quickly. At 7:25 p.m., about 30 protesters were escorted out of the building and loaded into police buses by officers in riot gear. The crowd chanted, “Free, free Palestine.” More demonstrators were escorted out, their hands restrained behind them with zip ties.
About 70 demonstrators appeared to have been taken into custody. The police said that they had responded to a trespassing situation at Columbia and that charges were pending.
Columbia has taken many steps to try keep demonstrations under control this academic year, including closing the gates to the main campus to anyone unaffiliated with the university and threatening serious discipline for those who break rules. In part for that reason, the pro-Palestinian movement at Columbia has splintered.
Columbia University Apartheid Divest, the group that organized the occupation of the library, once attracted a wide array of antiwar protesters, but has become smaller and more extreme in its rhetoric. Its leaders, who do not publicize their identities, now publish manifestoes supporting armed resistance by members of groups that United States authorities consider terrorist organizations.
The person for whom demonstrators renamed the library on Wednesday is a Palestinian revolutionary icon who was accused by Israel of planning a large-scale attack and was killed by Israeli forces in 2017. Part of the statement that demonstrators published on Wednesday called on students “to propagate the successes of the heroic Palestinian armed resistance in weakening Israel and U.S. imperialism and inspiring anti-imperialist struggles around the world.”
Anvee Bhutani, Chelsia Rose Marcius, Wesley Parnell and Sharla Steinman contributed reporting.
New York
Read the Indictment Against Nicolás Maduro
intentionally and knowingly combined, conspired, confederated, and agreed together and with each other to violate Title 18, United States Code, Section 924(c).
35. It was a part and an object of the conspiracy that NICOLÁS MADURO MOROS, DIOSDADO CABELLO RONDÓN, RAMÓN RODRÍGUEZ CHACÍN, CILIA ADELA FLORES DE MADURO, NICOLÁS ERNESTO MADURO GUERRA, a/k/a “Nicolasito,” a/k/a “The Prince,” and HECTOR RUSTHENFORD GUERRERO FLORES, a/k/a “Niño Guerrero,” the defendants, and others known and unknown, during and in relation to a drug trafficking crime for which they may be prosecuted in a court of the United States, to wit, for MADURO MOROS, CABELLO RONDÓN, and RODRÍGUEZ CHACÍN, the controlled substance offenses charged in Counts One and Two of this Superseding Indictment, and for FLORES DE MADURO, MADURO GUERRA, and GUERRERO FLORES, the controlled substance offense charged in Count Two of this Superseding Indictment, knowingly used and carried firearms, and, in furtherance of such crimes, knowingly possessed firearms, and aided and abetted the use, carrying, and possession of firearms, to wit, machineguns that were capable of automatically shooting more than one shot, without manual reloading, by a single function of the trigger, as well as destructive devices, in violation of Title 18, United States Code, Sections 924(c)(1)(A) and 924(c)(1)(B)(ii). (Title 18, United States Code, Sections 924(o) and 3238.)
36.
FORFEITURE ALLEGATIONS
As a result of committing the controlled substance offense charged in Count One of this Superseding Indictment, NICOLÁS MADURO MOROS, DIOSDADO CABELLO RONDÓN, RAMÓN RODRÍGUEZ CHACÍN, the defendants, shall forfeit to the United States, pursuant to Title 21, United States Code, Sections 853 and 970, any and all property constituting, or derived from, any proceeds the defendants obtained, directly or indirectly, as a result of the offenses, and any and all property used, or intended to be used, in any manner or part, to commit,
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New York
Video: New York City Hit With Heaviest Snowfall in Years
new video loaded: New York City Hit With Heaviest Snowfall in Years
transcript
transcript
New York City Hit With Heaviest Snowfall in Years
A winter storm blanketed the Greater New York area, leading to more than 400 flight cancellations across the region’s major airports. Parts of Long Island saw up to nine inches of snow.
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I think it was absolutely beautiful. We’re from North Carolina, so it was great to come up to New York and see the snow.
By Jorge Mitssunaga
December 27, 2025
New York
Vote For the Best Metropolitan Diary Entry of 2025
Every week since 1976, Metropolitan Diary has published stories by, and for, New Yorkers of all ages and eras (no matter where they live now): anecdotes and memories, quirky encounters and overheard snippets that reveal the city’s spirit and heart.
For the past four years, we’ve asked for your help picking the best Diary entry of the year. Now we’re asking again.
We’ve narrowed the field to the five finalists here. Read them and vote for your favorite. The author of the item that gets the most votes will receive a print of the illustration that accompanied it, signed by the artist, Agnes Lee.
The voting closes at 11:59 p.m. on Sunday, Dec. 21. You can change your vote as many times as you’d like until then, but you may only pick one. Choose wisely.
Click “VOTE” to choose your favorite Metropolitan Diary entry of 2025, and come back on Sunday, Dec. 28, to see which one our readers picked as their favorite.
Click “VOTE” to choose your favorite Metropolitan Diary entry of 2025, and come back on Sunday, Dec. 28, to see which one our readers picked as their favorite.
Two Stops
Dear Diary:
It was a drizzly June night in 2001. I was a young magazine editor and had just enjoyed what I thought was a very blissful second date — dinner, drinks, fabulous conversation — with our technology consultant at a restaurant in Manhattan.
I lived in Williamsburg at the time, and my date lived near Murray Hill, so we grabbed a cab and headed south on Second Avenue.
“Just let me out here,” my date said to the cabby at the corner of 25th Street.
We said our goodbyes, quick and shy, knowing that we would see each other at work the next day. I was giddy and probably grinning with happiness and hope.
“Oh boy,” the cabby said, shaking his head as we drove toward Brooklyn. “Very bad.”
“What do you mean?” I asked in horror.
“He doesn’t want you to know exactly where he lives,” the cabby said. “Not a good sign.”
I spent the rest of the cab ride in shock, revisiting every moment of the date.
Happily, it turned out that my instinct about it being a great date was right, and the cabby was wrong. Twenty-four years later, my date that night is my husband, and I know that if your stop is first, it’s polite to get out so the cab can continue in a straight line to the next stop.
Ferry Farewell
Dear Diary:
On a February afternoon, I met my cousins at the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. Their spouses and several of our very-grown children were there too. I brought Prosecco, a candle, a small speaker to play music, photos and a poem.
We were there to recreate the wedding cruise of my mother, Monica, and my stepfather, Peter. They had gotten married at City Hall in August 1984. She was 61, and he, 71. It was her first marriage, and his fourth.
I was my mother’s witness that day. It was a late-in-life love story, and they were very happy. Peter died in 1996, at 82. My mother died last year. She was 100.
Peter’s ashes had waited a long time, but finally they were mingled with Monica’s. The two of them would ride the ferry a last time and then swirl together in the harbor forever. Cue the candles, bubbly, bagpipes and poems.
Two ferry workers approached us. We knew we were in trouble: Open containers and open flames were not allowed on the ferry.
My cousin’s husband, whispering, told the workers what we were doing and said we would be finished soon.
They walked off, and then returned. They said they had spoken to the captain, and they ushered us to the stern for some privacy. As the cup of ashes flew into the water, the ferry horn sounded two long blasts.
Unacceptable
Dear Diary:
I went to a new bagel store in Brooklyn Heights with my son.
When it was my turn to order, I asked for a cinnamon raisin bagel with whitefish salad and a slice of red onion.
The man behind the counter looked up at me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t do that.”
Teresa
Dear Diary:
It was February 2013. With a foot of snow expected, I left work early and drove from New Jersey warily as my wipers squeaked and snow and ice stuck to my windows.
I drove east on the Cross Bronx Expressway, which was tied up worse than usual. Trucks groaned on either side of my rattling Toyota. My fingers were cold. My toes were colder. Got to get home before it really comes down, I thought to myself.
By the time I got home to my little red bungalow a stone’s throw from the Throgs Neck Bridge, the snow was already up to my ankles.
Inside, I took off my gloves, hat, scarf, coat, sweater, pants and snow boots. The bed, still unmade, was inviting me. But first, I checked my messages.
There was one from Teresa, the 92-year-old widow on the corner.
“Call me,” she said, sounding desperate.
I looked toward the warm bed, but … Teresa. There was a storm outside, and she was alone.
On went the pants, the sweater, the coat, the scarf, the boots and the gloves, and then I went out the door.
The snow was six inches deep on the sidewalks, so I tottered on tire tracks in the middle of the street. The wind stung my face. When I got to the end of the block, I pounded on her door.
“Teresa!” I called. No answer. “Teresa!” I called again. I heard the TV blaring. Was she sprawled on the floor?
I went next door and called for Kathy.
“Teresa can’t answer the door,” I said. “Probably fell.”
Kathy had a key. In the corner of her neat living room, Teresa, in pink sweatpants and sweaters, was sitting curled in her armchair, head bent down and The Daily News in her lap.
I snapped off the TV.
Startled, she looked up.
“Kathy! Neal!” she said. “What’s a five-letter word for cabbage?”
Nice Place
Dear Diary:
When I lived in Park Slope over 20 years ago, I once had to call an ambulance because of a sudden, violent case of food poisoning.
Two paramedics, a man and a woman, entered our third-floor walk-up with a portable chair. Strapping me in, the male medic quickly inserted an IV line into my arm.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his partner circling around and admiring the apartment.
“Nice place you’ve got here.” she said. “Do you own it?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, all but unconscious.
Once I was in the ambulance, she returned to her line of inquiry.
“Do you mind me asking how much you paid for your apartment?”
“$155,000,” I croaked.
“Wow! You must have bought during the recession.”
“Yeah” I said.
They dropped me off at Methodist Hospital, where I was tended to by a nurse as I struggled to stay lucid.
At some point, the same medic poked her head into the room with one last question:
“You wouldn’t be wanting to sell any time soon, would you?”
Illustrations by Agnes Lee.
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