Opinion
Kansan
Published daily since 1912
Ann Premer, *Editor*
Jamie Holman, *Business manager*
Gerry Doyle, *Managering* Sara Cropper, *Retail sales manager*
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Tom Eblen, *General manager, news adviser*
Justin Knupp, *Technology coordinator*
Monday, May 10, 1999
The Chicago Tribune
Feedback
Phelps piece borders on sensationalism
We are very disturbed about the front page story April 30 about Fred Phelps. The story was well-written, but it was a disturbing portrayal of a man with a hateful agenda. But, six photographs: When was the last time the Kansan published six photos with one story? The article provided good information. It did not need this excessive shock treatment; pure sensationalism. Where is your integrity?
This sort of coverage gives this promoter of hate exactly what he wants: free publicity. It may draw readers to the story, but it is very offensive and unnecessary. It is damaging to the human soul to see those images. And where is your compassion for KU's gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered readers? It is painful to see his hateful messages. You discussed the content of his picket signs in your article, and that should be enough. Phelps relies on journalists to give him exposure he could not otherwise obtain no matter how disparagingly a portrayal. I urge you to resist the temptation to help him spread his hatred. Publishing these photos is like doing his protesting for him. Ignore him and respect your readers.
Kevin Nisly
Hutchinson junior
Catherine Bolton
Lawrence juvenile
Tutu lecture attracts undue criticism
I attended the Desmond Tutt lecture on April 18, presented at Allen Fieldhouse by SUA. Looking back, the lecture was not only inspirational but eerily timely in light of the events that occurred recently at Columbine High in Littleton, Colo.
The words of Archbishop Tutu pleaded with all individuals to set aside our prejudices and differences because understanding and acceptance of our diversity are key to world peace — what a priceless message he conveyed to all who had the pleasure of attending his historical event at the University.
But according to an April 20 article in the Lawrence Journal World, we should be more concerned with the fact that the cost of bringing this winner of the Nobel Peace Prize "outpaced revenues." What a petty issue to be explored after such and impressive and successful lecture
An important fact that the article failed to mention was that hundreds of KU students received their tickets free of charge. Instructors who deemed it educational and pertinent to their class submitted this information to SUA, who then provided complimentary student passes for this event.
— one which is certainly a milestone for our University lecture series.
Had these students been charged, maybe revenues would not have been in the red as reported, but then how many of these students could not have afforded to attend — thus limiting the scope and range of Tutu's important message. Was money really limiting the scope and range of Tutu's important message? Was money really the key issue in this case, or was it the impact the speaker had on our campus and in our community? We feel it definitely is the latter.
Realistically, this was a small price to pay for the message he provided and the great publicity the University received. per TV and newspaper, across the state. It's a shame that such an article had to sour such a momentous, student-organized event. We commend the students and advisors of SUA whose efforts brought our community this priceless event.
Casey Connealy Leawood sophomore
In regards to the Gas Out editorial, the board failed to see the larger issue. Challenge the political and economic power of the oil companies. Oil is a limited resource, and yes, the mass consumption of oil in the industrialized world produces major environmental damage. Yet, federal and local transportation policy continues to promote the automobile (and air travel), which means that money goes to build more highways and
Gas Out initiative missed by editorial
more airports, at the expense of more environmentally friendly transportation like electric rail. It allows industry to move wherever they want, which forces people to follow. With the work force dispersed, it requires that people drive cars to get to work.
In the 1920s, American cities had excellent public transportation systems. There was once a streetcar system in Lawrence and an electric rail line that connected Lawrence with Kansas City. And there really was a streetcar named "Desire" in New Orleans until GM shut it down.
Today, people depend on gas to get to work. It's nice to dream about a world where everyone walks to work, rides a bike, or rides clean and quiet electric rail, but none of this will happen until we break oil-in industry control of governmental transportation policy. Oil companies own more patents for alternative energy than any other industry. They buy the rights to alternative technology and bury it so it will never be developed.
If gas prices are high, it does not reduce consumption unless prices are so high that people simply cannot afford it. Higher prices mean that people must devote more income to gas. If prices are low, people do not use significantly more gas; they spend less of their income to buy gas. So long as people must drive to work, they must buy gas. It is not realistic or possible for millions of people to walk or ride a bike to and from work, or ride nonexistent public transportation. As long as the public acquires the, oil companies will be free to set prices high in order to maximize profit.
Advocating that people simply make a personal choice to use less gasoline guarantees that nothing will change. It guarantees that the government will continue to use whatever means necessary to maintain our reliance on oil, even using the military to enforce our claims on oil in the middle east. Saving the environment requires policy change, which will not happen until we collectively challenge the political and economic power of the oil companies. The Gas Out was intended as a step in that direction.
Kansan staff
George Lundskow Cincinnati graduate student
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"It's the job that's never started as takes longest to finish."
Broaden your mind: Today's quote
—J.R.R. Tolkien
How to submit letters and guest columns
Letters: Should be double-spaced typed and fewer than 200 words. Letters must include the author's signature, name, address and telephone number plus class and home-town if a University student. Faculty or staff must identify their positions.
All letters and guest columns should be submitted to the Kansan newsroom, 111 Staufer-Flint Hall. The Kansan reserves the right to edit, cut to length or reject all submissions. For any questions, call Ryan Koerner or Jeremy Daherty at 864-4924.
Guest columns: Should be double-
spaced typed with fewer than 700 words. The writer must be willing to be photographed for the column to run.
If you have general questions or comments,
e-mail the page staff (opinion@kansan.com)
or call 864-4924.
Graduation incomplete without backyard ritual
Perspective
Stepping out of the sliding-glass door of my childhood home always had been like stepping out into heaven for me. Our backyard patio was not large, nor was it covered by a suburban rain-sealed, wooden deck.
Ryan Koerner
joining ksansam.com
The simple 12 by-15 foot slab of concrete was shaded on the right side by a large oak tree, with a trunk that branched into two just above the ground, making it perfect for climbing. The grill where my dad cooked Saturday-night steaks is at the front, left-hand corner. All of the furniture is wrought iron.
There is a dining table and four chairs that were a wedding gift and three chairs on the other side that fashioned a part of sitting room. The not
A sidewalk extends from the left side of the patio, out the chainlink fence and onto the driveway. That is the most commonly used path into our house. Seldom a day went by between first grade and senior year that someone didn't meander onto the patio or on the glass door.
tern of the removable umbrella over the table and the fabric for the cushions changes every few years.
Usually, they were looking for my mom.
There was a standing rule in my house. No calling before noon. That meant the doorbell shouldn't ring, the phone shouldn't ring, and, unless you were very quiet, don't knock on the patio door. My mom, who became a stay-at-home mom shortly after she and my dad married in 1973, was not a morning person.
In fact, when complications from her lung cancer finally caused her breathing to stop early one January morning in 1998 and my sister and I were fretting about when to call our extended family, we simply implored Mary Jo's rule: Nothing Before Noon.
Until the doctor diagnosed her cancer, my mom was as much a fixture on our backyard patio as the Jayhawk stepping stone that was the bridge between the concrete and the grass yard beyond. After that, she said being on the patio made her want to smoke. And, when I thought about it, that's what she did on the patio, but it wasn't what she did best.
My mom had a gift for gab. Her talent went beyond extending cocktail-party chit chat more than the obligatory 10 minutes. She had a way of drawing people out, making them feel comfortable enough to share tricks of their trade or just simple secrets.
During high school, our patio hit its heyday. Few of Central High's sporting events and social gatherings ended before lounging on the Koerners' patio.
Mom would sit on the wrought iron lovesat — by then the cushion was hunter green-and-white striped — sipping white zinfandel from a plastic glass wine and smoking Eve Lights, something only she could get away with. When I pulled in the driveway, she would flip on the light, a great 5-foot outdoor lamp with an all weather light bulb. By the time I had my sweats on, my mom was getting the evening's gossip from my friends. Most of them still referred to my mom as Mama Jo — a name she devised when her first grandchild was born. Grandma just wasn't her style, she'd tell you.
My last conversation with my mom on the patio was two weeks before I came back to school my junior year. Her wig had just come in at the beauty shop and had been hand-delivered that day. I can't remember whether she was on a chemo or radiation rotation, but she had given up her wine for chocolate shakes. She sat sipping one when I finally mustered the courage to ask.
A lot of what was said those evenings I never heard. There were things my friends told my mom that they never told me. Sometimes, I just went to bed before my mom closed shop. She never left the natio until the last kid's curfew had passed.
"If you want me to stay, I can. School will always be there. The Kansan can get by without me, and everyone will understand if I can't be there for the first part of rush. Do you want me to stay home this semester? Do you want me to stay just a few more weeks?"
Her response I never will forget. It was something I used to defend myself several times when I rfiends told me I would regret spending those three months 80 miles away.
"No, Ryan, don't you do that," she said. "We have to get you through college. That's what matters to me now — getting you to graduation."
All that is left for most of my colleagues are the final staff meeting at the Kansan, a few finals and a short trip down Campanile hill.
I have one more commitment, though. It involves sweeping the patio, buying a bottle of wine and digging a faded green-and-white cushion out of the garage.
Koerner is a St. Joseph, Mo., senior in journalism and is the Kansan editorial editor.
Drive demands dialogue
I know. I made the trip Saturday to see some close friends finally pick up their diplomas from the University of Missouri.
It's a dull, lonely drive round trip from here to Columbia, Mo.
I borrowed my mother's car — four cylinders get a lot better gas mileage than eight—and hit I-70.
There were about 800,000 police officers handing out tickets between Kansas City and Columbia. The car's oil light started coming on, making me wonder whether I would be stuck at MU for the weekend. The tape player ate my Midnight Oil tape.
Gerry
Doyle
conition@uganam.com
It's not that long of a trip, I suppose. About five hours, both ways.
opinion@kansan.com
Why? I suppose because I was seeing the results of 17 — or more — years of education. From kindergarten to cap and gown, these people were finishing up a process that had consumed most of their lives.
But it gave me a lot of time to be alone with my thoughts, especially after Blue Sky Mining became a magnetic snack for the Mazda's tape deck.
I was thinking about the graduation that I had just witnessed. It was for the school of engineering, and at the end, they had a slide show, set to music, of the seniors' year.
So this led my thoughts to consider what I was getting out of my 17 years.
My thoughts and I had some interesting conversations, especially on the way home.
I knew exactly one of those people, and I still got a little misty-eyed.
It's about learning.
But it seems largely about money
That's not what education is about, is it?
A bill about higher education in Kansas is lying somewhere on Gov. Bill Graves' desk, waiting to be signed. Depending on whom you ask, it could be a great thing, or it could impale the University squarely on the short end of the reform stick.
And, being a philosophy major, I posed the next logical question to myself. What have I learned?
I guess I've learned not to splice sentences with a comma, it's bad. I've learned to avoid bad grammar, which is because of a poor command of the English language. I've learned that black type on a blue background is hard to read. I've learned that you sometimes can get blood from a turnip, especially if the turnip is a reporter.
I've learned that defending a coherent theory of justifying punishment is harder than it looks. I've learned that symbolic logic is a lot closer to math than I'm really comfortable with. I've learned that egoism really disguises me as a moral theory.
But really, learning is more than that.
Being in school for 17 years has taught me how to treat people. It is taught me how to handle myself in sticky situations. It's taught me how to be who I am.
It's edified me.
Doyle is a Kansas City, Mo., senior in journalism and philosophy and is a Kansan managing editor.
But if I remember to check the oil and watch out for police, I think everything will be OK.
That's the conversation that I had with myself. I finally made it back to Lawrence. In two weeks, it will be my turn to walk down the Hill and begin the first days of the rest of my life.
It's kind of scary.
NRA convention disrespectful
The National Rifle Association defied the wishes of city officials and cast aside respect for the dead and grieving when it held its annual meeting in Denver, less than two weeks after the Columbine High School shootings in nearby Littleton, Colo.
Editorial
Though the NRA shortened its annual convention on May 1 from two days to one and canceled all nonessential business, this was not enough. It refused to call off the event or move it to a neutral location.
But that is what it should have done.
Instead, 3,000 NRA members attended the convention in downtown Denver as thousands
Barely two weeks after Columbine, NRA held Denver meeting.
"It implies that you and I and 80 million honest gun owners
of protesters gathered a few blocks away to condemn their presence.
NRA president Charlton Heston delivered a defiant speech to the NRA members gathered at the meeting. In it, he shoved aside any notion of placing blame for the killings on the NRA. He also rejected the idea that the NRA should stay away from Denver for a while.
are somehow to blame," Heston told the crowd.
Instead, he blamed politicians and the media for trying to profit off of massacres such as Columbine.
Heston's remarks at the convention only added salt to the Denver area's fresh wound. Politicizing the issue and shifting blame, as Heston did, were completely inappropriate in that time and place.
But regardless of whether the NRA is responsible for those deaths, Heston and his organization should have had the decency and respect to allow the area to recover from its wounds and grieve in peace.
Nathan Willis for the editorial board