Page 4
Opinion
University Daily Kansan, April 15, 1982
Time to pay attention
A city the size of Lawrence cannot easily ignore a school as large as the University of Kansas.
The converse is not necessarily true. It may be because of academic pressures, allegiances to hometowns or the temporary nature of their stay in Lawrence, but students often ignore the city.
Next month, students can prove that they are paying attention. If they register by April 19, they will be eligible to vote in the May 11 special election.
Or maybe students don't care about city politics and policies.
But the issues that affect the rest of the city also affect students. Zoning decisions influence the availability of housing and the character of neighborhoods. City drinking ordinances shape student social habits. And fees to be tacked on utility bills dig into student pockets just as they dig into those of everyone else in town.
Next month's election will decide two questions.
The first is whether the city will attach a 50-cent monthly fee to residents' water bills. The fee would be used to finance a study of storm water drainage problems in Lawrence.
A citizens' group collected enough signatures to force the recall election after Gleason wrote a letter to Buford Watson, city manager, asking him to resign.
Students can register to vote at the Douglas County Court House, 11th and Massachusetts streets, or the Lawrence City Hall, Sixth and Massachusetts streets.
The second question is whether City Commissioner Tom Gleason will hang on to his place on the Lawrence City Commission.
The city purposely scheduled the elections to take place when the students would still be in town.
The least the students can do is return the favor by voting.
Mideast peace an illusion security a goal unreached
The latest brouhaha in northern Israel has brought back memories of an exciting jaunt through the area I took with a couple of buddies during another military mobilization in Jordan. *Jerusalem systems.*
It was a few weeks before阿努沙 Wadat was to come to Israel for the first time in November
we'd gotten into Israel by flying to Cyprus from Cairo. This was before Camp David, when direct passage between Egypt and Israel was not permitted.
There were no flights from Nicosia on Cyprus to Athens, but we were told we had dismissed the twice month bid.
Rather than hang on out Cyprus—where the CIA was in great disfavor —we opted for a short flight to Jordan. When we got to Jordan we would get passage visas and cross at the Allenby Bridge on the Jordan River—come in to Israel by the back door, so to speak.
We had no idea what to expect in Amanm, where we would land. It was hot, dirty and poor.
W.I. ANDREWS
with a rank mystery of lost purpose permeating the ocean, a vast island of self-doubt among the Arab world.
We had to stay in Jordan a total of 48 hours in order to qualify for passage to Israel, and sign a treaty with Jordan.
Everyone signed the vouchers, but we had no intention of returning.
A bus took us to the bridge our third morning in Jordan and we were all shuffled into block houses, searched and asked a few questions: "What did you see?" "What is your religion?" "Are you going to stay?" "What is your religion?"
And they made us open our cameras, exposing the film we had, and ripened two maps we had of Israel. One booklet, we convinced the guard, need only have the Israeli section ripped out.
We grew accustomed to this friction and we accepted it. In Egypt, while securing tickets to Cyprus, one of my friends had let on that our final destination was Israel, and the clerk took pains to remind us that in the tourist office this remark would be overlooked, but that in public, measured words were necessary when mentioning Israel.
We were loaded onto the next bus, a heavily cased in and dirt one that barely ran.
The change was like night and day when we got on the Israeli said. The Israeli guard smiled and waved as we approached his sandbagged post. Our bags were unloaded, we received cups of cold lemonade, and were placed in the shade to wait for our next bus.
Arriving in Beirut for a night, we went through the Moslem and Christian guard posts, submitting to body and luggage searches by both sides.
In a movie theater in Jerusalem, the young soldiers laughed at my skittishness over the Israeli policy of armed domestic guards, in green fatigues, appearing everywhere. I was watching Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder in "Silver Streak" but couldn't manage a laugh with a balcony of laps laden with M-Irs surrounding me.
We visited Masada in the South, along the Dead Sea. We could spot the Israeli and Jordanian patrons as they kept watch over that area, as we saw them carrying bags to see "the beautiful superstel in the world."
On the coast road to Haifa, the day before we traveled it to go north, there had been a PLO ambush that had killed some civilians and destroyed a bus.
The next day, we waited at Galilee to board a
bus for Methullah, near the border with the U.N. buffer zone.
I was anxious and wondered into the commercial area of the neighborhood looking for nothing in particular until I found a flea market. I was fascinated and distracted by the nature of the bargaining, not noticing the time until Randy helped me find a different my diversion and tell me we had missed the bus.
On the way, some of the Israelis were aroused for some reason and chattered among themselves. When we reached Methullah we found out why.
Then Randy and I went back to join Steve and take the next bus to Methallah.
The bus had traveled a different route to avoid the scene of a guerrilla ambush that had killed many civilians and two soldiers, and had burned the building. In it. It was the bus to Meibushi that we had missed.
Meetman that we had mistaken
From Methullah we had to hoof it to the hostel.
We arrived at the hostel at sunset. It sat on a small hill overlooking the U.N. buffer zone less than a mile away. The expanse below was a maze of rolling hills and hidden valleys. U.N. troops meandered along the dusty path among the observation huts scattered about the zone.
That night we sat on a bluff at the edge of the hostel area and watched the Israeli Kirf jets, the orange spheres of their engines, as they coiled in front of us. We fired rockets at suspected guilder hide-ups.
The Israeli soldiers we sat with applauded their comrades in the sky. To me it looked like the world.
We went to bed late and woke up early. Steve had gotten a map to a preserve area to the northeast that rimmed the U.N. zone and thought catching a good view from a mound on the reserve.
We walked about an hour and a half that morning and reached the base of the preserve bluffs. We went down a reentrant and into a cavern with a tricking waterfall. It looked like a scene from a rocky island, colored and orange with light reflecting off the spray of water as the stream hit the shallow pool.
It was completely quiet, and in the dome enclosure of the rocks, whispers were amplified to
As we walked out and away from the cavern, we suddenly emerged to within earshot of the cave.
The noise, to me, sounded like a train, and to Randy, an out-of-tower tractor trailer. What it was, we saw as we created the ridge, was three miles of infantry infantry moving into position along the zone.
The terrorists' attacks had prompted the move and the sharp look troops rumbled by us below, the treads of their armored personnel carriers gouging great divides in the roads crushed rock bed. The troops smiled, a couple waved; they looked confident and determined. A Mirage jet screamed and by out over the valley. I slid back down the ridge and went toward the cavern. Again the sound immediately disappeared. ALL I could hear were
If we make 'peace', he said, the hatred will not go away. We prefer security without peace, and security without peace.
And then I thought of my awe as I emerged from the peace of the cavern waterfall, to see the army rolling by. I never knew they were there. The peace was illusionary.
I don't blame the Israeliis for professing their belief that peace is illusionary, for it may be just that in the Middle East. But if they should choose to never peace, then that security should be made safe.
I thought about the buses, and the terrorism, and could not imagine that as safe.
I thought about what an Israeli soldier had said the night before at the Youth Hostel.
I slid back down the ridge and went toward the cavern. Again the sound immediately disappeared. All I could hear was the peaceful solitude of the flowing water.
I don't want to have to rely on missing buses.
The University Daily Kansas welcomes letters to the editor. Letters should be typewritten, double-spaced and should not exceed 300 words. The writer's name, address and phone number. If the writer is affiliated with the University, the letter should include his class and home town or faculty or staff position. The Kansas university should not edit or reject letters.
Letters Policy
U.S. policy should sail with Britain
One of the more barren, storm-swept spots on earth suddenly has become the center of world tension. Until two weeks ago, the Falkland Islands were nearly as obscure as South Succotash. But when Argentina invaded the Fort Stanley became a modern-day Fort Sumter.
It is easy to see why Argentina covets the islands: they are flat, treeless, rocky moors, bare to the chilly South Atlantic sea and lashed by winds that buffet a few hundred thousand barrels.
They are shepherded by less than 2,000 inhabitants, most of them Scots, who may have migrated because the desolate terrain of the Orkneys reminded them of the Shetlands and the Orkneys.
But these few carry on a rough love affair with the dog, whose terrain is an ever-changing reminder of a distance.
The islands' bleakness allowed their inhabitants to live in peace until the daring Argentine navy forced upon another people the salty realization that the world continually grows smaller as countries bulge at their boundaries.
The history of the world is only a million tragic tales, most of them longer and more grim, but similar to the one unfolding in the Falklands. Invaders always have trampled the everyday lives of peoples, often more cruelly than the Argentineans have. The current crisis, in terms of human suffering, is only a nick amid gashes.
Yet it matters. By the accord Roosevelt and Churchill struck in the Atlantic Charter to preserve peoples' right to self-government, it matters.
Pragmatists argue that these 1,800 shepherds and fishermen—not enough to make a decent-sized small town—are not worth spilling blood for. They see the British fleet dispatched to retake the islands as an overblown reaction of an affronted people who long to hearken back to Nelson's glorious triumph at Trafalgar. They think the British are swelling their chests as the brisk, salty breeze of nostalgia enters their nostrils.
The British do have pride, and it may be overblown. But it is as invagoring as a whiff of Old Spice to see a country acting firm for her era when we are made to feel guilty for fighting for
what is ours, and what is right. Great Britain has shown that, although it may not have the great naval grip on the Seven Seas that would prevent a war with Germany, the Falklands invasion, it still has a lion's spirit.
The lion may have been caught napping before the invasion, but since then Britain's course has been right. Nothing less than a full blaze of ambush would succeed, will bury Ardeinta from the archipelago.
And the Argentine troops must be removed before any negotiations can take place, for, despite the willingness of the pragmatists to appease General Galtieri's government so lives may be saved, lives ultimately will be lost, if the Argentine force is allowed to remain.
BEN IONES
The Falklands will become a precedent for other territorial disputes, and in the future nations will be less hesitant to flout international law as flagrantly as Argentina has. If negotiations fail, there must be retribution against Argentina.
Until now, the United States has tacitly taken Britain's part in the dispute, but should Secretary of State Alexander Haig's attempt to mediate a solution break down, the U.S. should come out stamatically for Britain, imposing sanctions on Argentina and carceling military aid.
Galetti's government, with U.S. support, is swimming along in 140% inflation; with our censure it would either topple or be forced to be more responsive to its citizens.
If the United States did withdraw its support from the military junta, Argentina probably would turn to the Soviet Union for support. Argentine wheat helps the U.S.S.R.'s logistical collection of goods in other parts of the Union, although it did not veto a U.N. vote that censured Argentina for the invasion, has shown sympathy for that country in Tass agency news reports.
Russian bear loose on the Argentine pamps, U.S. sanctions against Argentina would strengthen our influence with South American countries by showing that we back our words with actions. Our influence certainly could not get much weaker: President Reagan spent nearly an hour on the telephone to afflict Pankalski, Galtieri attacked, immediately. So far, the only U.S. retribution has been a vote of disapproval in the U.N. resolution.
But even with the dangers of turning the
If Argentina does not feel a backlash for blatantly ignoring the will of a country it depends upon, it will assume our foreign policy has become, "Speak pleadingly and leave the big stick in the closet guarding us." We should be intent on peace-keeping factor will be diminished even further than it is now.
Reagan should learn what Britain learned after Neville Chamberlain signed away Sudetenland to Hitler at Munich: that to appease dictators only whets their appetites. The German war machine fed upon the annexation like a hurricane that sucks up power as it moves over more water. Galitzer's junta is not a threat like Hitler, but it would be an accident. According to a Jack Anderson column already Argentina has flown pregnant women to Antarctica to give birth there, in a perverse effort to shore up that country's claim to the continent.
Argentina's strongest claim to the Falklands is based on the islands' nearness to its coast. But in race and customs, the Falklanders are nearer to Britain. The conflict raises virtually every detail of the situation and determines sovereignty—discovery, settlement, military might, or proximity.
Land, because it outlasts explorers, settlements and governments, seems to defy solid claims to ownership. Land should be seen as a place where people can live in cavities of inhabitants, not apothesis to be coveted.
The Falklands rightfully belong to the people who have lived on the land. If Argentina wants to acquire the islands, it should gradually buy the land as the present owners die or move off the islands. Britain may agree to other ways of transferring ownership of the islands to Argentina, but Britain, under the Iron Lady Maggie Thatcher, will never tolerate a military takeover. The U.S. should back Britain all the way, if it has to come to war.
Letters to the Editor
To the Editor:
First, builders do not request changes in building plans. Perhaps architects or control
As president of the Students Concerned with
Drug Abuse in the School System, he worked in the April 7 article on handcuffed students.
Second, SCWD does not work through the Student Assistance Center. We work with them, just as we work with other offices on campus. Then, Paulette Strong, however, works in the center.
Story based on stereotypes
Your statement perpetuates the "handicapist" stereotype that we, as disabled people, do not have the ability to work as an independent group. You can also be less likely to have ability to work as an independent group. It assumes that disabled people need help from a more powerful source than themselves—usually defined as nondisabled people. This myth has a counterpart in sexism—women cannot be or do
Third, I suggest you also interview disabled women on campus, including myself. All of your interviewees were men with very visible disabilities. This may be appropriate when covering physical barriers, but it conveys that the disabled community is not varied. It is varied. There are disabled staff and students at the University of Kansas. There are people with visible disabilities, with mental disabilities and with invisible disabilities (such as diabetes, or psychological disabilities).
biodiversity of mental disability.
Fourth, the statement that our members have
We of SCWD have been working with both disabled and nondisabled people at KU, including administration. But, we are not a "crippled" organization working viciously through another office. SCWD works to eliminate physical and communication barriers facing disabled people (and nondisabled people). In this spirit, SCWD invites students, staff and faculty to participate in the Disabled Awareness Week activities which began on April 12.
negative attitudes was incorrect. SCWD members are disabled or concerned with disabilities. They and others affiliated with SCWD have more positive understandings and attitudes than those who may not be affiliated with the organization.
Janice M. McKown.
president of Students Concerde with Disabilities
I hope that the spelling "drys" was a mere sleep of the pen because, if it wasn't, it makes one wonder whether there is anybody over there who knows how to spell. I don't want to put you in the pillory, but perhaps it's time to invest in a copy of Webster's Dictionary at last!
To the Editor:
Spelling lesson
W. Keith Percival, professor of linguistics
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