KANSAN COMMENT
The Issues, You Say?
( 'Editor's note: This editorial is in answer to a letter asking what issues cause campus unrest, by Mrs. Myron S. Steere of Ottawa. Mrs. Steere's letter is included in today's letters to the editor column.)
Some favorite "specific issues" on campus can be rattled off glibly—the war in Vietnam, racial conflict, ecology, academic freedom. Except for the last, all issues involve a far greater segment of American society than college campuses.
Too many people identify certain problematic conditions with campuses and other conditions with the rest of society.
For example, the war in Vietnam is still considered "a campus issue," although thousands of prominent citizens not connected with colleges and universities have expressed opposition to the war.
On the other hand, the problem of dealing with drug traffic among juveniles is considered an issue of concern to all of society except campuses, although thousands of students are very much concerned about the increase of drug use in junior high and high schools.
In short, to name the issues responsible for campus unrest would be to name every issue of concern to society.
When President Nixon mouthed cliches to the predominantly student audience at K-State, he did an injustice to a far greater number of people than those on campuses across the nation. He derided violence (we agree), asked for responsible
leadership (we agree), called for needed change (we agree), but offered no non-violent, responsible leadership for that needed change. And the change is needed throughout society, not just on campus.
In effect, he struck not at the issues but at the manifestations of those issues, and a tumor can't be cured by aspirin.
The nation's colleges and universities are traditional hotbeds for the intense probing and questioning of existing conditions and the frequent rejection of those conditions in society. Students are urged, even expected, to question tradition and search for realistic means of reform.
For this reason, the campus is usually the first, most vehement and most persistent spokesman for change. With each new crop of students, the issues are resurrected or passed on until change comes. If no change is forthcoming, the cry becomes a little louder and a little more noticeable, until at last—as in the case of the war in Vietnam—the rest of society is involved.
Campus unrest, in a non-violent manner, is not only inescapable but beneficial. It is better, at least, than silent and peaceful acquiescence to conditions that are unacceptable.
But unrest does not have to mean disruption and turmoil in a negative sense; unrest can also mean a disruption for positive change of those conditions in a society sorely in need of change.
—Cass Peterson
Griff & the Unicorn
"Copyright 1970, University Daily Kansan"
LETTERS
To the Editor:
Kimball: an Institution at KU?
In the September 23 Kansan an interesting article appeared. The article was an interview with George Kimball, Democratic candidate for sheriff of Douglas County and a discussion of some of his campaign ideals.
Being relatively new at KU 1 am only slightly acquainted with Kimballs reputation. I recall seeing him on several occasions this summer around the Kansas union. At that time he was wearing what appeared to be his campaign uniform (tin star, six-shooter, etc.) and was evidently working on the establishment of his reputation as a "Folk-Hero"—he cut a dashing figure.
There are several aspects of Kimball's campaign platform about which I am not clear. 1) It seems paradoxical that Kimball can advocate the overthrow of the American government and at the same time run for public office. Evidently if elected he
would propose his own violent overthrow? 2) It is sad to comprehend that the "... large majority of the black and student voters" upon which Kimball is depending may, after all, not be a very large majority but, in point of fact, only a majority of the very small minority who happen to be black or student and Douglas County residents. 3) In the interview it was not made clear exactly how the tearing-down and rebuilding of society was to transpire. I am interested in knowing if Kimball will be in charge of said renovation in the Lawrence area?
4) It's distressing to hear that Kimball has been receiving "hate mail" and "personal threats," but one wonders if such threats are from persons in the establishment or perhaps from antiestablishment groups which feel they are being "sold out?"
Could it be that George Kimball is not really a serious candidate for public office? Could it be that
the Kansan has been wasting column-space and newsprint on a prankster? Answers to these and questions of the campaign platform could be explored in a more complete interview with the candidate.
Meanwhile, I sincerely hope that the American government in all its malevolence does not begin advocating the violent overthrow of George Kimball—a true KU institution.
Craig Heatwole Graduate Student
JustWhat're The Issues?
To the Editor:
I read with interest your comment in the September 18 Kansan, concerning President Nixon's speech at Kansas State University.
THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
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In paragraph three, you state the speech "skirted the issues responsible for campus unrest, although the speech was about campus unrest."
Monroe Dodd
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In no way do I mean to be facetious, but what are the issues responsible for campus unrest?
I have heard in broad generalities, so general as to be incapable of evoking an intelligent discussion, what these issues are but as for any specific issue beyond the Vietnam war I know not what they are, in spite of conscientious reading and inquiry.
Please answer my inquiry.
Mrs. Myron S. Steere 1143 S. Mulberry St., Ottawa
RICHARD LOUV COLUMN
More about Ray. He told me about his uncertain exile, he told me these things, and I can imagine him now . . .
He bought a paper and a coke at a drugstore two blocks down and went back home to sit in front of the open window to read, far above the street and the Lawrence people who were rushing home now in the hot and cold running weather.
He picked up one leg and rested it on the sill, following a police car with his eyes. Ray buckled the paper and read down several columns.
VIET CONG INTENSIFY MOVE INTO CAMBODIA
STARLIGHT MAY FACE LAST SEASON
That was Ray's field—theater. Once he had wanted to work at the Starlight Theater in Kansas City, but that had been once. Strange, there was never any news of draft dodgers who just stayed in the United States, like Ray. Always the stories concerned those who went to Canada, or those who hijacked ships or jumped ship in Sweden.
He read about a fund-raising drive by the Shawnee Mission PTA and got up to turn on the light and make coffee.
★ ★ ★
The way it ended for Ray, the way his underground venture came to an end, was an unfortunate fall.
He left his room with a friend, for Kansas City, driving like mad along the highway hills in the spring air full of old promises. The leaves had been born again to, another Earth Day, and the air had an old-fashioned feeling of freshness, blowing along, through the hills and farms, calling and sighing like an Indian on a crest, knowing his Nation was in mind only and his time was coming to an end.
Ray got drunk in Kansas City with his friend. The last time he had been drunk with Sandy was at a track meet in which Ray nearly finished first, but tripped over his own feet, while Sandy steamed past toward high school glory and three quarts of beer after the race, which Ray, good loser that he was, helped him finish.
So here he was again, steaming along with his friend into Kansas City, sipping Coors and yelling at everybody he saw. The city sprung up around them like a field of stalagmites, wet after the spring rain and colored sunset rose at the very tops, around which swam the particles thrown up into the air by smokestacks. They parked the car on 12th Street and weaved toward a dark bar that featured a stripper of famous size.
And within that bar, where the lights spun as fast as the stripper, they got drunk as skunks, stinking drunk. A man and his wife left, and the man leaned over to freaky looking Ray and said, "You son of a bitch."
Ray and Sandy stared straight ahead and the couple left.
"Do you speak American?" asked Sandy, wiggling his moustache in 4-4 time.
"Well, we have ways of dealing with people who don't speak American."
"No," answered Ray slyly, eyes narrowed, shirt collar pulled over his nose.
"We make you take long walks around the block. We make you take cold showers in your Jockey shorts. We make you do PUSHUS."
"You do?" asked Ray, wide-eyed.
"Yes. But listen," Sandy looked over each shoulder and leaned forward, talking louder because of the music, and louder still because he was drunk, "we can help you, Herr Commandant, but you must do something for us. In this country we have a saying, 'you can't get something for nothing.'"
"What can I do? I'll do anything!"
"No!"
What can I do? I'll do anything!
"Kill the Witch of the West."
"No. That I cannot. will not do."
"But you were strong, Herr Commandant, you killed the Wicked Witch of the East."
"But that was an accident. I didn't know what I was getting into." "Either kill the Wicked Witch of the West or join the King's Army. That is the choice."
"Neither. I'll do neither. Those are not alternatives." "Son of a bitch." said Sendy
"Son of a bitch," said Sandy.
They wandered out of the bar after a while, into the city night.
"To the countryside!" Ray danced off down the street like a moth, lost in the land of lights, not knowing which one to bounce off of.
"Look at me!" yelled Sandy. "I'm truckin' on down the line." He walked past Ray with his feet way out in front of him, his head thrown back. Ray fell in step beside him, truckin' on down the line.
In the car, Ray suddenly remembered an old girlfriend.
"Delores! Let's see Delores, my old love!"
Delores: Let's see Delores, my old love:
So they did, but when they got to the house all the lights were out.
So they did, but when they got to the house all the lights were out.
"Up the roof to her bedroom," said Ray, "I've done this before."
Sandy boosted him up and got a foot in his eye. Ray got nearly to the window when he began to slip. He rolled down the roof and off, landing next to Sandy, who was covering his eyes.
"You OK?"
"Yeah. Except I think I broke my back," hissed Ray. "Or my leg." The lights began to go on inside the house.
"Oh crap." Sandy pulled Ray to the car and pushed him in. Around the corner came Delores' tee-shirted father, followed by his wife and dog. Delores wasn't even home. The father raised a shotgun and pulled the trigger. Bang! And the car aerial went spinning off. But Sandy had the car puffing out of sight already, with Delores' dog puffing after it.
So Ray is laid up now with his leg broken in three places. He is decorating his cast with magic markers. His mother is mothering him and waiting for him to get drafted.