History, in its relentless and unforgiving cyclical nature, has once again reared its cruel head. The fate of the ever-iconic DLSU Freedom Wall eerily mirrors the tragic burning of the Library of Alexandria in Egypt back in the third century BCE. After standing as the University’s official digital coliseum for years, the infamous wall has crumbled into oblivion, leaving in its wake a gaping, libag-ball-shaped void in the hearts of its staunch supporters.

And yet, in what the venerable sages are dubbing “the biggest communication crisis,” a successor emerges: Archer’s Freedom Wall, rising like a phoenix from the ashes as the newly rebuilt library of Lasallian literature to reclaim the voices lost to the void.

The scroll of chaos

Long before its demise, the DLSU Freedom Wall thrived as a scroll of chaos, where its most notable entries cannot be erased from the souls of its readers. 

Consider the Libag Ball, which stood the test of time as a sophisticated testament to the ingenuity of the DLSU Freedom Wall. It was an unparalleled magnum opus: a painstakingly crafted ball of skin debris, with its ingredients carefully harvested from the corporeal composition of its contributor and humbly encased within a small, yellow (or yellowing) plastic cup. It was an artifact of persistence and dedication to the preservation of grime that was once a product of many feats.

Meanwhile, a more recent entry was the legendary battle that erupted on The Barn’s forsaken third floor. It was electrifying, almost, the tempest of flying fists and the firm entanglement of chaos and sharp combat, as if the scene was drowned in cinematic intensity. The very battle was fueled by greater adrenaline as 2NE1’s “Fire” echoed in the background, with its beat pounding alongside every jaw-shattering hit.

There were times when the DLSU Freedom Wall set the internet ablaze beyond the confines of its immediate congregation. When the Freedom Wall’s former administrator uncovered a post made by a university-that-must-not-be-named’s meme account—mocking Lasallian students with the damning phrase “Nagpa-meme mga future employees natin”—pandemonium ensued. While some have dismissed it as playful banter, many recoiled at the implications of these words, decrying the classism that the internet has used to define the institution’s student body. The intensity of the discourse and backlash later reached the very depths of the Freedom Wall, prompting one of its founding architects to make a public statement condemning the repost.

(Our future employees made memes.) 

The great red-tagging incident and other infamy

Above all, the Freedom Wall was a tell-tale of absurdity and, oh, how it catapulted to new heights. Lorraine Badoy, a villain who was already condemned in 2022, reemerged with her signature flair for baseless accusations. She red-tagged the library over an entry showing the Edi Binuild  Student Council distancing itself from Anak Ko Ba Yang Si Vito Cruz? (AKBYSVC). This caused a subtle commotion, though it bore no significant weight. A representative from AKBYSVC dismissed it as an empty threat. 

Even those who sought to be bearers of joy found themselves at the mercy of the Freedom Wall’s cruelty. That was the fate of a blue-painted influencer, the self-proclaimed “pinaka-OA media personality.” Once celebrated for his exuberance, he found himself in the crosshairs of controversy after peers accused him of filming without consent. What was once lighthearted content turned into a battleground on privacy and ethics, proving that no one was safe from the Wall’s wrath.

The Wall admin also flew too close to the sun with the promise of Starbucks at the expense of a back-to-back championship from the team passing a ball around for two hours. While this act of bribery could have backfired spectacularly, the admin, to their credit, honored their promise—at least for a lucky few.

Even the tides stirred differently by mere aspiring businessmen. They once took to the Freedom Wall to share their daring attempts to bring an international doughnut house franchise within the rat-infested walls of the campus. Alas, international franchising restrictions crushed the dream before it could take shape. But the audacity? The ambition? They did more than belabor doubts.  

The vanishing archives

Time and time again, the rankings and ratings of the University’s top spots and comfort room “poopability ratings” proved to be more useful than any service and feedback evaluation form. These gems used to be available for public viewing and administrative review if taken into consideration. 

But now, all of this has vanished. Tales have been erased, The LuhSallian’s effort to retrieve files is an ethnographic pursuit fraught with difficulty. The cultural loss of campus tradition was felt across the student body and the alumni. Fortunately, students who have saved the sacred texts are known to pass them around, carrying down the literature for the slumbering seeds of tomorrow. 

This article was published in The LaSallian‘s Spoof 2025 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSSpoof2025.