Eighty years of editorial freedom Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan if you liked the '50s... you'll .,he love the. '70s 420 Maynard St., Ann Arbor, Mich. News Phone: 764-0552 Editorials printed in The Michigan Daily express the individual opinions of staff writers or the editors. This must be noted in all reprints. WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1970 NIGHT EDITOR: MARTIN A. HIRSCHMAN Ike in the good old days By STUART GANNES Editorial Director FALL IN Ann Arbor is a pretty traditional affair. Dur- ing the week, students walk to classes amid the never-ending rainfalls which characterize the city. The rain soaks student enthusiasm for practically everything during the week. But fortunately the dreary week days manage to clear up by Saturday morning and October presents magnificent Indian Summer afternoons when there are important football games to see. As November arrives and the end of the semester looms, many students become occupied with their schoolwork, spending free time in dormitory rooms - and UGLI desks - reading texts and working on assignments. In contrast to this background of traditional campus lifestyles, political attitudes among students have under- gone more marked changes. Over the past fifteen years, University students have changed their political attitudes to an unparalleled degree. What have these changes been? Perhaps it is possible to judge the political moods of students by studying their responses toward the election, campaigns of the past fourteen years. In 1956 Adlai Stevenson was challenging Ike Eisen- hower for the presidency, and students watched the whole affair with bemused detachment. By now the apathy of the fifties is a literary cliche but at this Uni- versity that cliche really describes the prevailing mood of that time. In the week before the election that year, the Israeli attack on the Suez Canal and the Soviet invasion of Hungary had to vie for front page headlines in the Daily with the Michigan-Iowa foot- ball game. A news story of the mood of students during the elec- tion told of the general apathy on election night: students gathered in the Law Quad to watch the elec- tion returns on television and eat elephant and donkey shaped cookies. When the TV commentators announced Ike had won a second term "A Stevensonian conceded defeat, but looking for a new candidate to back retort- ed: 'Adlai lost; all I can say now is GO BLUE!'" In the fall of 1960 the football team still drew the biggest headlines. However, things had begun to change a little. John Kennedy came to campus in October and proposed the creation of a Peace Corps. While the Ken- nedy candidacy didn't attract much student enthusiasm, the Peace Corps concept immediately stimulated wide- spread discussion. In 1960, with Tom Hayden as its Edi- tor, the Daily ran endorsements for both Nixon and Kennedy onconsecutive days. A campus mock election however, showed University students slightly in favor of Nixon, as they voted 2,372 to 2,048 to send the vice president to the White House. Across the Big Ten, Nixon's margin was greater, the vote being 21,032 to 15,058. When Kennedy was elected some sort of signal awoke the campus. His presidency marked a period of in- creased involvement among students in practically every- thing. People went into the Peace Corps, worked for civil rights in the South and in 1962, the newly or- ganized Students for a Democratic Society issued the Port Huron statement - something with which most New Frontiersmen could at least sympathize. So it was no surprise that when Kennedy's successor arrived in Ann Arbor in the spring of 1964 to deliver the commencement address at the University he received the most enthusiastic 'welcome in the institution's his- tory. LBJ spoke to over 80,000 spectators jammed in Michigan Stadium. According to an account in the Daily, only "thirteen pickets from the Direct Action Com- mittee, a militant local Negro organization, used the oc- casion to protest alleged police brutality; 107 other Ann Arborites petitioned Johnson to speak out on peace, poverty and civil rights -which the President indeed did, though he made no new policy statements." "But the President could've quoted from the tele- phone book, for all most of the spectators cared. To them, the important thing was that the Presi- dent had come to Ann Arbor." That fall as the election drew near and it became apparent that practically everybody was in favor of Johnson, the presidential election evoked less enthus- iasm than local issues. The football team was in the midst of an exciting season, geared to fight Minne- sota for the Little Brown Jug. The most active political organization was Students for Staebler, the Democratic nominee for Governor. As for LBJ, students praised his legislative victories and forecast his re-election in 1968. PROSPECTS LOOKED bright, even the war in Viet- nam would end soon. Only after the election did one student editor in the Daily cautiously note: As long as there are no great domestic or foreign crises to create large extemely discontent minorities . . . the system can plod along unexcitingly, nondescript, neither whol- ly satisfying' nor wholly dissatisfying. One only hopes for Lyndon Johnson's sake, that there are no crises brewing." History since 1964 is still fresh in our memories. The University experienced a rise in activism unprecedented in modern times. Protests against the war, the draft and society in general mounted with each year. 1968 marked a turning point for many of us. During the spring hundreds of students left school to work for McCarthy in Wisconsin or Bobby Kennedy in Indiana. But the spring ended with Columbia, the summer saw Kennedy killed and students returning that fall, while confused and uncertain, were definitely interested in doing something. Over the summer the Peace and Freedom Party gathered in Ann Arbor and nominated Eldridge Cleaver as its candidate for President. But as the semester got under way, everybody was thinking about Chicago where the Democratic National Convention had just begun. When classes were just getting started, the news of Chicago began to fill all our thoughts. Headlines in the Daily competed with Walter Cronkite in retelling the gruesome story. The fall of 1968 was a time for activism. But activism for a cause did not mean enthusiasm for either candidate that year. Many students saw the choice between Nixon and Humphrey as little more than a choice between tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum. While a few supported Humphry as the lesser evil, others supported Nixon as not being tied to Johnson's policies in Vietnam. All support, however, was half-hearted. A sign spray- painted on the walls .of Angell Hall cynically stated: "What Election?" As the term got under way, students grew increasingly upset and disillusioned. An editorial in the Daily com- mented: "Chicago was the culmination of four years of political frustration . . . This is the tragedy of 1968. This is the bitter taste of realizing there is never going to be a regenerated America." Some students hoped to begin a write-in campaign for McCarthy, as the only possible moral choice for President. However, those hopes were soon quashed when the State Attorney General declared the write-in would be invalid. The final blow which destroyed the McCarthy movement was the man himself. For Eugene McCarthy endorsed Humphrey for President, making many wonder what had been the point of his campaign in the first place. WHEN HUBERT Humphrey came to Flint to cam- paign, students chanted and booed until the vice president was forced to interupt his speech. However, as it became apparent that no amount of wishing could change the old Nixon, that George Wallace was gaining increased support -among blue collar workers and that there was no other realistic choice students reluctantly looked back to Humphrey once more. A Daily editorial lamented "1968 must be, unfortunately a year for lesser- evilism, simply because not only the other candidates but all the alternative courses to electoral politics constitute worse evils." During all this time, Young Republicans were working hard for Nixon but despite the logic for supporting Hum- phrey, student enthusiasm never materialized. For weeks and, months, the vice president refused to differentiate his policy toward Vietnam from those of LBJ. At the end of September, the University's Young Democrats passed a resolution refusing "to actively support the candidacy" of Humphrey.' Some students talked of voting for Cleaver, but no-one could bring himself to take the ineligible presidential candidate seriously. Frustration mounted. On Oct. 15 a bomb exploded in the University's Institute of Science and Technology on North Campus. By the end of October, SDS was call- ing for a student sttike to protest the non-choice offer- ed in the upcoming election. As the election drew near, the mood of frustration grew to one of desperation. One student wrote: "Voting in 1968 has the same therapeutic value as going to church or going to class. "You can tell me that if I'm not part of a solu- tion (I'm not voting) then I'm part of the problem I I sanction the status quo or worse alternatives). I will tell you that the politics of yoursolution are just as inhuman and corrupt as the politics of the -problem. "You talk to me in terms of lesser political evils. I answer you in terms of lesser degrees of humanity. "I do not believe the political system can be human." The senior editors of the Daily, also dismayed at the choices in the election preferred to address themselvs to the tasks facing the nation rather than endorsing any candidate. "It is evident," their elections editorial said, "that there is no exponent of our views this November. No candidate even comes remotely close. "Faced with a deep cleavage between the kind of Administration we believe is needed and the b a r r e n ideas expressed by the major candidates in this election, we cannot in good conscience endorse anyone." On the day of the election, the SDS sponsored boycott of classes failed to draw much student support. How- ever, that night, as election results began coming in, more than 2000 students took to the streets in despera- tion. After marching practically all over campus, the shouting crowd massed in front of President Fleming's house demanding an end to University war research, the abolition of entrance requirements and greater participation in University affairs. While no one knew exactly how the march came about, the indirect cause was obviously the election. While student moods during the course of that fall could be described as enthusiastic, cynical, frustrat- ed, revengeful or even desperate, it was always appar- a Ad on SJJS r 'HIS BRINGS tus to this fall and these elections. Yes- terday we had an election, an election which could have taken place in 1956. This is not tossay that people are more concerned about the football team than poli- tics or that this year there was no Suez crisis or Hun- garian invasion. Indeed, the problems confronting our society: the war, racism and the economy constitute issues which should logically become central to any election campaign. Moreover, students have been labelled as the new demons of society. Logically, 1970 should have been a- year of tremendous political activity. But aside from a few desperate terrorists, our apathy has been overwhelming. This year, the election has been marked by active campa'igning for no major candidate. On the editorial page of the Daily,' the , apathy of the fall was transformed into cynicism for the future. Writ- ers expressed doubts about the value of participating in electoral politics. One student advocated "refusing to vote for Levin" because this would be "one way of telling the Democratic Party that when they nominate gut- less, issueless, convictionless media candidates t h e y lose your vote." The writer proposed writing-in John Sinclair's name as a "symbolic gesture" against the na- ture of society, and went on to add: "But perhaps more importantly, writing-in John Sinclair for Governor would be kind of fun." Another article noted: "What kind of choice can the system offer if you realize political participation is pos- sible only to the extent that you are willing to play the politicians' games, sell yourself on a television set and compromise your ideals?" A third writer quoted Senator Hart as saying: "If the voter ever had the opportunity to vote for none of the above, the political, system would be destroyed." He went on to, say that when his alarm rang on election day: "If I decide-to shut the buzzer, turn over, and go back to sleep, what the hell?" Fourteen years have passed since Eisenhower was elected to his second term. And electoral politics, while managing to disillusion a generation of students, have changed little. For many of us, elections, like so many institutions in our society, appear to be ritual affairs whose character is molded more by tradition than events. Despite the introduction of instantaneous publicity and mass media campaigning, candidates' still have basically the same task to perform in order to be elected to a public office. And those who are elected can expect to accomplish about as much as any other American poli- tician. A few programs netted for one's constituents at the expense of compromising some moral and philoso- phical principles comprise the sum total of most poli- ticians' careers. So where have we come from and where are we going? A person from the fifties awakening from a long sleep would have little trouble adjusting to the.political climate at universities. He might need to become accustomed with the use of marijuana instead of liquor as the local weekend diversion. But otherwise things haven't chang- ed too drastically. During the week you can count on the weather to be rainy. At night you study for school. On Saturday afternoon you still watch the football team -another great one-battling valiantly on the field. On weekend nights the same movies and parties call to you. As for the election, student interest is more vicar- ious than concerned. After all, elections never really change anything, do they? * 4 ent that huge numbers were concerned and emotionally involved to a greater extent than ever before. Probably the ultimate expression of this concern oc- curred two days after the election when an advertise- ment covering two full pages appeared in the Daily. One page displayed an enormous picture- of an SDS sponsored march with the letters SDS's appearing in huge three inch letters. The other page was totally blank except for one small corner saying: "Help fill these pages with tomorrow's news," and asking people to come to the Diag that night. That night, more than 150 people showed up - some to help SDS, others to overcome it. As people stood around wondering what was supposed to happen, it became clear that no organization had placed the ad. In fact, no-one ever found out who was responsible for it. What was aston- ishing was that 150 people were willing to act upon the slightest call. 1968 was not a time to just sit around. 4 4 John Kennedy and Richard Nixon in 1960 .4 0 x~iC ,M.. .. eta:;