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Monday, September 29, 1986 / University Daily Kansan
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An important meeting of some special groups took place on campus last week. It was a meeting that ought to become an annual event, and one that went a long way toward making the University of Kansas look good.
Members of gay and lesbian support groups from Lawrence, Wichita and Topeka got together to share ideas about some problems that face the gay community, such as AIDS, discrimination and violence against homosexuals.
And the people involved in the conference voiced their concerns that homosexuals are still far from being an accepted element of society.
No one came up with any broad, sweeping proposals to help end any of the problems. But a lot of people who seldomly discuss these issue in public bad the forum to do so.
It is also important that the meeting took place here.
meeting took place The KU Student Senate has helped finance GLSOK for
several years, while student body governments at many other campuses have denied funds to similar groups. Despite that supposedly "progressive" stand, KU has been portrayed as a citadel for homophobic paranoids.
In two national publications, the much-repeated, and embarrassing story of the "Fagbuter" T-shirts has been laid out for the world to see.
A staunchly conservative, highly visible KU student also has been quoted in Rolling Stone twice. He is seen by many as being representative of students at KU, which does little to help give the University an image as a free-thinking, open-minded institute.
Whatever the image, the reality is somewhat more encouraging.
Last week's meeting took place without a hint of protest and any chance for the free exchange of ideas in an atmosphere conducive to learning should be viewed as a positive and necessary step.
On a day of irony
Saturday was supposed to be "No Crime Day" in Detroit, a teeming metropolitan area that has been dubbed "Murder City."
Sports stars, business leaders and the mayor of Detroit called for the one day armistice, after a summer rife with crime that left more than 30 youths dead. The city's murder rate soared to more than 58 victims for every 100,000 residents — the highest in the nation and seven times greater than the national average.
But while civic officials and community groups were preparing for an early afternoon parade to celebrate the peaceful day, a Detroit police officer was answering a report of a break-in.
Minutes after arriving on the scene, he was shot and killed by a homeowner who mistook him for a burglar.
By 5 p.m. Saturday, five people had been shot in Detroit, two of them fatally, and one person was stabbed to death. Three rapes were reported.
"No Crime Day" meets reality.
To say these events are distant and bear no relevance in the calm heartland of eastern Kansas is to simplify and belittle them and ignores the message they send.
Proclamations and parades don't solve crime. Neither does the paranoia that forces an otherwise docile homeowner to become a gun-toting vigilante, stalking his home for fear of an invader.
The situation in Detroit will be seized upon by advocates who promote abolition laws against guns. Altering gun laws may be part of the solution but is not a cure-all.
Fighting crime, wherever it occurs, requires commitment and cooperation on the community level; you watch out for the next person, while they watch out for you.
It also requires prudence by our legislators. Building more prisons doesn't solve crime. Trying to end the poverty and ignorance that breeds it does
"No Crime Day" should be remembered as more than just cruel irony. It should be the beginning of a rejuvenation in crime prevention.
Stretching the limits
The 20th-day enrollment figures were released last week, and as predicted, enrollment at the University of Kansas increased this year. However, the 4.2 percent increase on all campuses was a little higher than expected.
Chancellor Gene A. Budig has called for increased education financing from the state legislature to help the University meet the needs of an increased enrollment without sacrificing the quality of education.
Granted, the Legislature will have many other needy programs that will need extra financing, but KU's needs should be given careful consideration and top priority. The University has developed a reputation as an excellent school, with strong programs in a variety of areas. The enrollment jump is the result of this reputation.
Every good thing has its limits, and the facilities and services at KU are badly strained by the enrollment increase. KU faculty members are forced to work harder, leaving them less time to devote to each class they teach. Without adequate faculty support, KU will lose the faculty members that have helped to build and maintain the University's fine reputation.
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Indians face government unfairness
Imagine that one day police come to your house and tell you to get out. Imagine that they slaughter your livestock and take away the land that has been in your family for generations. Imagine that the lawyer who is supposed to defend your rights also works for the people who are doing this to you.
this to you.
Unless you're a Native American, this scenario is probably unthinkable to you. But it's happening now in Big
Jan Underwood
companies had to find another way.
Columnist
mountain, an area on Navajo and Hopi reservations in northern Arizona. The U.S. government is forcibly removing thousands of people from their land.
Present U.S. policy concerning these people is simply an extension of a 200-year-old attitude toward all Indians — that human lives are expendable when a profit motive is concerned.
In 1974 Congress enacted a law to "relocate the Indians at Big Mountain. The reason it gave was alleged tribal feuding between Navasajos and Hopis, who both live in the Big Mountain area. In reality, the two tribes have lived together in peace for hundreds of years. They have shared the land, traded and intermarried.
There is, of course, a profit motive at Big Mountain. The Navajo people live on top of 19 billion tons of coal, as well as uranium, oil, and natural gas. When the Navajos made it clear that they wanted no part of "energy development" — that is, strip mining and other practices that demolish land, air and water — the energy
At the request of Standard Oil Company, the U.S. government formed a "tribal council" in 1923. The council is made up of a few pro-development Indians, several of whom are millionaires, who had been educated in white schools. These councils are the only Najava and Hopi representatives that our government recognizes. No others have been allowed to voice their opinions before Congress or federal judges.
"Tribal feuding" is a fabrication that allows the government to remove people from the land. The joint-use area has been divided with a 300-mile fence, and everyone on the "wrong" side of the fence is being moved. This involves the relocation of between 10,000 and 15,000 Navajos and several hundred Hopis. When the land is cleared of people, the tribal councils will hand over its use to the energy companies.
Although the relocation is labeled "voluntary," the Indians are being threatened and coerced into leaving. Sen. Barry Goldwater said in December, "I've put the National Guard on notice and they are ready."
speak English, and most lack marketable job skills. They are being removed from lifestyles in which they are completely self-sufficient to a culture in which they are not prepared to cope.
Many Hopis and Navajos do not
The relocation itself, if completed, will cost the government at least $500,000,000. This figure does not include the cost of welfare for those who can't find work, health services for those who experience psychological trauma and fees for the ensuing legal mess. And there is no price tag on human suffering. Suicide rates and alcoholism are extremely high among those relocated.
Lawrence has several support groups for the victims of relocation. Recently I spoke with Mark Parker, a member of the Lawrence Big Mountain Project.
"The heart of the issue is these people" self-determination and sovereignty," he said. "I can't imagine a sovereign nation choosing just to move their people."
Big Mountain is not an isolated issue. The Bureau of Indian Affairs, which was created in 1849 to oversee the extinction of the Indian races, is working together with the tribal councils, energy companies such as Peabody Coal Co. and Kerr-MeGee and certain members of Congress to usurp Indian land all over the western United States. Our government's policies threaten not only a few thousand Navajoos and Hopis but all Indian nations.
And the bureau's policies are consistent with U.S. foreign policy. Andrew Young, ambassador to the United Nations in 1977, said that his approach to U.S. aid programs was "not necessarily humanitarian . . . It is in the long-range interest of access to resources."
As American citizens we must stop our government's imperialization of Big Mountain. Parker suggested three levels of action we can take.
The first is political. We can write to our senators and representatives and call for a repeal of the 1974 relocation law. We can support California Sen. Alan Cranston's call for a tribal council that is truly representative of the people. We can insist that forced relocation stop and that provisions be made for those already relocated who are suffering.
The second is material. Parker suggests seeking out a support group you like and giving what you can — money, clothes, food and other supplies. His group has made two trips to Big Mountain to distribute contributions. Other local groups are the Offense-Defense Committee and Support for Future Generations.
The third is personal. For example, we can take advantage of Haskell Indian Junior College to form friendships and show our support.
A God-given right to the White House?
"White people," Parker said, "should become more conscious of what white government and white encroachment has done."
And we should learn more about the issue.
Slats Groblin looked up from his newspaper and said, "Boy, I'd sure like to get out there in the streets and work a precinct for this guy."
Which guy?
"This Rev. Pat Robertson, the television preacher who is thinking about running for president."
I didn't know you were part of his flock.
"I'm not, but I like politics and this Robertson has really got some heavy clout going for him."
What kind of clout?
"He says that God wants him to run. How can you beat that for an endorsement?"
That is impressive.
"You bet. The way Robertson talks, it sounds like God is his campaign manager, his pollster and fundraiser. And that's heavy. You can say what you want about the backing of the AFL-CIO, or big business, or this or that ethnic leader. But when you get the All Powerful behind you, hey, there's been nothing like that since Dick Daley has been gone."
Or even Tammany Hall.
"Right, Robertson could do a radio commercial, and at the end, when the voice says, 'This commercial paid for by the citizens for Robertson' and endorsed by God Almighty,' that is going to make ears wiggle."
I would think so.
"Especially if they get an announcer with a real deep voice and put him in an echo chamber. And I wonder, you think maybe Robertson could do a TV commercial with God in it?"
I don't think God has ever done a commercial before. Not even for American Express.
"Well, then if he can't get Him to do it in person, maybe he could do one like those old DeMille movies, where the sky has got all those big clouds and Pat Robertson is standing on a mountain, and a voice rumbles down from the clouds and says, 'I want all of you down there to vote for Pat Robertson, understand? You don't want no floods, do you?'
Could be very effective.
dorse him."
Yes, God would be a considerable political advantage.
"Sure. And it would make it a cinch to ring doorbells and get out the vote for the guy."
Mike Royko
Chicago
Tribune
What would you say to people?
"I'd knock on the door and I'd say,
'Good morning, lady, how many
registered voters you got in this
house?' Four? God — that's spelled G-O-D — wants all of you to vote for Pat Robertson. Here's some campaign
literature. Read it. There's some
very good stuff in there about His
Isn't that a bit strong?
mighty and swift sword. You wouldn't want to see your chimney hit by lightning because you voted the wrong way, would you?"
"Whaddaya want me to do, sing a hymn? You got to let people know what the deal is."
What if they ask what you can do for them?
Medical costs.
What about medical costs?
"Have you ever looked at a hospital bill lately?" an aspirin cost $2. Every time an intern says good morning, it's another C-note. But this Robertson is one of those faith healers. He can pat you on the head and get rid of your migraines, give you a pat on the rump and the old hemorrhoids are gone, tweak your nose and you drop your crutches and start dancing a polka. You can't get cured cheaper than that. We wouldn't
need Medicare."
"A snap. I tell them, 'Don't worry With Pat in the White House, we'll be stronger without spending any money. Remember all Pat has to do is ask You Know Who, and He'll send those Rooskies some pestilence and locusts and give 'em sores. Remember what he did with the Red Sea?' Next time, it might be the whole Baltic Sea flooding their basements."
That could have considerable appeal. What if you're asked about such issues as defense spending?
I can see the possibilities. But what if Robertson should speak in tongues.
Exactly
"Oh, you mean that religious stuff,
where he opens his mouth and all kinds of strange words come out, and nobody is sure what he's talking about?"
"Fine. Let him talk that way. It didn't hurt Reagan, did it?"
The champion of mariqolds remembered
WASHINGTON — If you heard a low rumbling Tuesday afternoon, it was probably Everett McKinley Dirksen commenting on the latest outrage committed by the folks he left behind to tend the nation's business.
Dirksen's posthumous dismay would have been caused by the House of Representatives, which gave final
ARNOLD
SAWISLAK
national flower. His loyalty to the marigold was as passionate and steadfast as his advocacy for other lost causes of the day, such as balanced budgets and more Republicans in the Senate.
His speeches on behalf of the marigold were yearly events eagerly
congressional approval to legislation designating the rose as the national flower.
UPI Commentary
The rose! Dirksen would have been horrified. Most surely, he would have taken the Senate floor and denounced the choice at length in an avalanche of Technicolor rhetoric delivered in an oratorical style once described as "a rising tide of olive oil."
Dirksen, who came to Washington in 1933 and represented Illinois in the House and Senate for 36 years, was the champion of the marigold for the
The rose! Everett McKinley Dirksen would have been horrified. Most surely, he would have taken the Senate floor and denounced the choice at length in an avalanche of Technicolor rhetoric.
awaited by aficionados of old-time elocution. There were some who believe the debate over the issue of a
Dirksen, who died 17 years ago, was one of the last practitioners of medicine-show oratory in Congress. His voice was low and syrupy, and like Tony Bennett, he loved to hold a note, rolling a long word around on his tongue and savoring each syllable like a tasty morsel.
national flower was purposely prolonged by members who preferred to listen to Ev Dirksen damn the rose and other such pretenders as the dogwood and cornflower at length rather than sit through another dreary debate over nuclear proliferation.
He was telling them to ask House
His ornate style could be deceiving. During one legislative battle, reporters asked Dirksen, then Senate majority leader, a question and were told in sonorous tones, "That is locked in the bosom of Abraham."
Tall, shambling, usually rumped with tousled hair. Dirksen in the 1960s was a kind of political throwback to the days when senators looked either like distinguished statesmen or ham actors. Take your choice. Some thought he was a caricature of the latter, calling him "oblequinous Ev."
Republican leader Charles A. Halleck. One reporter who recalled that the initial stood for Abraham got the story.
Others, and their names might be a surprise, regarded him as a tough-minded realist who played politics to the hill but could accept defeat with good grace.
One was Clarence Mitchell, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People's Capitol Hill lobbyist during the great civil rights battles of the 1960s. Mitchell as unassuming as Dirksen was flamboyant, said he never had trouble doing honest business with the Illinois senator.
Another was Lyndon B. Johnson, who said in his memoirs that Dirksen, for all of his bombast, could be trusted to do what was right for the country. And, said LBJ, it was Dirksen who broke the back of the anti-civil rights filibuster in 1964 by signaling the end of a long Republican-Southern Democratic alliance with the declaration that the end of legalized racial discrimination was "an idea whose time had come."