Saturday, September 21, 1968
e 2
THE DAILY TAR HEEL
Dick Levy
CM
g Satlg (Ear 7n
76 Years of Editorial Freedom
Wayne Hurder, Editor
Bill Staton, Business Manager
Dale Gibson, Managing Editor
Rebel Good, News Editor
Joe Sanders, Features Editor
Owen Davis, Sports Editor
Dick Levy, Associate Editor
Kermit Buckner, Jr., Advertising Manager
On Violence
From The Kentucky Kernel
It is time that a long, searching
look be taken at one of the nation's
most 'powerful institutions, the
military.
As an autocratic instrument of
awesome potential and real
destruction, the military has
managed to exist largely
unhampered by other than
superficial examination. It instead
has been able to hide behind
glittering banners of patriotism and
meaningless, simplistic slogans.
Our society has become warped
and twisted in its views of the
purposes and proper function of
the military.
Take, for example, the manner in
which young men are socialized -or
indoctrinated -to accept military
duty blindly.
Military duty is portrayed as a
holy and unchallengable
requirement not to be questioned
at the risk of committing sacrilege
and treason. Worse, military duty is
built up as something in which to
take pride.
Looking at the fundamental
issues, however, gives an entirely
different view. The most basic
fundamental involved in the
military establishment is that it
exists for the express function of
putting human beings to death.
True, at times this course of
action perhaps is unavoidable for
the self-preservation of one group
from attack by another. But even
when military action is "forced," it
is hardly a matter in which to take
pride.
The existence of the military is
an admission of mankind's greatest
weakness the inability even to
coexist with one's fellow man
without killing him. Again, due to
past militarism and belligerence,
military recourse may be
"unavoidable" but it should be
regarded only with extreme shame.
In other words, any man
connected with the military should
accept his position only out of a
feeling of necessity. He should feel
real shame and regret at having to
operate in his capacity.
Instead, our society, in its
warped "thinking," ascribes pride
to military service and even
attempts to make militarism
synonymous with masculinity.
Military service is made to sound
like just another job -with some
special benefits, of course. But no
effort is made to confront these
potential recruits with the moral
questions involved. In fact, this line
of thinking in reality is discouraged.
How many intelligent men would
eagerly volunteer for military
service after realizing fully that
their "profession" would put them
in the position of being told to kill
other human beings whom they
don't even know just because that
individual is on the opposite "side."
The irony of this situation is that
a person's societal indoctrination
usually determines what "side" he
is on. A gung-ho marine, for
example, had he grown up under
Ho Chi Minh's sphere of influence,
most likely, would have been a
gung-ho "Vietnam liberator." This
situation, though it occurs over and
over, is madness. The fact that men
kill each other under such
circumstances is the height of
idiocy. But the military, with flags
waving and the spirit of comradery
uplifted, continues its quest of
stupidity.
Another aspect of this situation
also deserves attention. The fact
that most sane people would not
under ordinary conditions perform
the acts required of them in battle
means that indoctrinated and
unquestioning obedience must be
demanded for a functioning
military machine. But this situation
makes it even more clear that the
military, with its frequently
simplistic line of reasoning, must be
kept under close scrutiny by
civilian institutions.
The university could be the ideal
institution to perform such a
function.
Instead, however, universities are
so tied in with the
military-industrial complex that
they must cater to the military to
obtain needed operating funds.
Witness the intimidating defense
research projects and grants and the
widespread ROTC programs
imposed on college campuses. Such
a situation should not exist.
In this day of intense
questioning, spurred to some extent
by our nation's disastrous Vietnam
war policies with all its
implicationsk more and more
young people are coming to
challenge the military
establishment, including its
purposes, its activities and its
morality-or lack of it.
More and more young men are
coming to see through . the
prevailing idiocy of our current
militaristic posture. They are
coming to see that this posture is
perpetuating rather than abating
international belligerence. They see,
too, that if our nation were really
interested in creating a humanistic
world, it would work to set up such
a situation in our own nation rather
than attempt to boost the
militaristic attitude.
And realizing this, these .young
men come to the conclusion that
they cannot in good conscience and
in an intelligent frame of mind
serve within the military machine.
But unless they can meet certain
rigid and narrow standards, they are
forced -with the alternatives of
prison or expatriation to
participate in and perpetuate the
horror of militarism.
This situation must be ended.
. . And Non-violence
It's a grand old tradition of
collegiate football to tear down the
goal posts when one's team beats
the traditional rival.
Today UNC plays traditional
rival N.C. State and it looks like
UNC might win, thus presenting the
crowd with the traditional
ingredients of a goal post tearing
down session and minor not'.
The Administration and Student ,
Body president Ken Day don't
particularly want this to happen
and so they are discouraging
students from celebrating too much
out on the field right after the
game.
We'd like to second that warning
from the Administration and Day
for a couple of reasons.
One, because rioting is not the
type activity a "Carolina
gentleman" should indulge in; two,
(and more importantly) there are
going to be a lot of police down on
the field waiting to pinch you
should you try something; and
lastly, the goal posts are permanent,
imbedded in cement. That means
students stand about as much
chance of pulling down the goal
posts as they have of effecting a
change in the direction of
America's Political parties.
After we win today, save your
energy for some other kind of
activity besides tearing down the
goal posts. If what you're interested
in doing is showing support for the
team, don't do it after the game by
tearing down the goal posts, but
during the game, by cheering.
uarn
Bow:
I i l A
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The Sorrowful Saga Of A Young Man
Vying Desperately To Buy His Books
rn Which He Tearfully Relates:
ow He Got Lost When He Couldn't Read A Map
ow He Discovered Finally That The Book Ex
ooks For Only Three Of His Courses
ow He Waited In Line For Thirty Minutes
Had B
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A REAL
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This is a story of personal
anguish and anger. It contains
the tender, revealing account
of how a senior, believing that
the New Book Ex for which he
had allowed himself to be
fleeced for three years at the
old one would solve all his
book-buying problems, was
cruelly disillusioned.
I couldn't wait to go to all
my classes on Thursday so that
I would know what books I.
would need from Mr. Shetley.
Through my head as I sat
through lectures were visions
of what would undoubtedly be
the most splenderous building
in the world. "Just think," I
thought, "you contributed a
few dollars toward
construction of this modern
parthenon."
Upon finally arriving at the
building site, I was pleased to
find that a patch of dirt as
broad as the Mojave Desert lay
between me and my
destination. "After all," I
reasoned, "only devoted
pilgrims should be allowed to
make the trek to Mecca."
Carefully I slinked across the
vast expanse of landscaped
clay, watching all the while for
bricks falling from the nearby
student union. I nearly ran into
a catepillar tractor, but I knew
that God would never allow me
to fall short of my goal.
Finally my efforts were
rewarded. There before me, in
brilliant black and white, stood
.the Colossus of Carolina, a
massive monolith done in
"Modern Turtle." I wept
openly and unashamed.
"Where are all the beautiful
shade trees?" I cried. "Why are
so many buildings so close to
one another?"
But I pulled myself together
at last, figuring that perhaps
the new Book Ex was like the
Louvre: not so hot on the
outside, but filled with
treasures.
I entered perfunctorily,
though a bit shaken at seeing a
uniformed policeman at the
exit. "Oh well. Maybe you
have to show your credentials
or something." I continued on
through a door, only to
discover to my shock that I
was evidently so lost that I had
wandered into either Gimbels,
Macys, or the Harvard Coop.
Before me were racks of
everything from clothing to
greeting cards.
"Ah, well maybe I can get a
new dogsled. Or perhaps
someone here will arrange all
the details for my wedding."
Big Brother was obviously
looking out for me, and I loved
it. "Wonder whatever
happened to the Umstead
Act?" I castigated myself for
my ignorance as I spent the
next five minutes searching
vainly for the exit
After escaping at last, I was
pleased to find myself near
some steps. I ascended them
briskly, though I lowered my
eyes to avoid the obviously
amorous glances of dozens of
students standing around a rail
above me.
Shortly thereafter, having
successfully negotiated a
simulated Paris Island obstacle
course complete with lockers,
turnstiles, and a little man
staring at me, I was inside at
last. "Rather like attempting to
gain, entrance to a Mormon
Temple," I observed.
The next fifteen minutes
were traumatic, and you will
forgive me if I cry as I think of
how all my idols, from Tom
Shetley on down, were
destroyed before my very eyes.
First, I observed that the
line of people waiting to pay
for their books was even longer
than I ever remember at the
old building. Worse, it was
wrapped around the perimeter
in such a way that if you ever
did succeed in finding the book
vou wanted, you had to forge
between two people or stand
on one of their shoulders.
Using Levy's Law of Lines,
it was easy to ascertain why
this situation would exist. At
the old Book Ex, part of the
waiting time was consumed
outside as you waited to get in,
sort of like paying homage to
Stalin's body in Lenin Square.
You worked yourself into the
necessary feeling of adoration
toward whoever invented
books in the first place. Only .
then did you enter.
At any rate, the line,
according to Levy's Law,
tended to get longer and
shorter in waves because when
it got to a certain length
anyone walking by would say
to himself "Line's too long.
Got to come back later when
it's shorter."
Then, when the line had
contracted by about ten feet,
an entire group of people
would jump into it, increasing
it once again to maximum
length. The result, of course,
was that you never had to wait
more than a certain length of
time to get your books.
But in the New Book Ex
there is no maximum wait The
number of people who enter is
not limited at all. Once you get
in, you are trapped. You can't
simply leave and come back
later when the line outside is
shorter.
As I watched these poor
wretched animals perspire
freely as they wondered
vaguely what had happened to
the proposed air conditioning
system, I was comforted that
even though the lines were
longer, surely they would move
many times more quickly than
ever before. The fact that when
I looked over at those poor
sheep backed up against the
wall a few minutes later they
seemed to have remained
stationary struck me as a mere
optical illusion. I attributed
this to the fact that walls are so
monotinous and sterile that
each section of it looked like
every other, so that you really
couldn't tell whether someone
had progressed toward the
distant cash registers.
It took me twenty minutes
of agony to find the books for
three courses. At the
conclusion of the Mao's March
up and down the aisles
someone seeing me come by
for the fourth time did me the
favor of pointing out a map.
Without a compass I still had
trouble finding my way, but
my search carried me at last to
Row 19, where all my
remaining books were allegedly
residing. I circled that counter
at least a dozen times, first
clockwise, then in reverse. No
books. No wonder, I finally
realized. They didn't have the
books I needed.
There is something of a
Camus anti-hero in me, so I
shrugged my shoulders and
decided to continue grinding
my existential gears by
standing in line myself. Do not
be deceived, dear Reader. This
was truly an existential
experience.
I gained that awareness
when I realized that I was
within the range of television
cameras that were recording
my every move. How real the
possibility of death became as I
thought of armed police
gunning me down between
aisles six and nine. "Or
perhaps," I mused cynically,
"they will break me down until
I love Big Brother Shetley
again."
Fortuately I escaped that
trap. Luckily,- too, I spotted a
fnend with whom I could
stand in line. My next class was
still forty minutes away, so I
knew that the worst would
soon be over.
- i1 is hun
judgment! Thirty minutes later
we had advanced our position
seventeen paces, or fifty-one
feet, to be charitable. Everyone
around me was so irritable that
only a miracle prevented fights
breaking out. Periodically Tom
Shetiey's soothing voice would
ask someone to come to his
office, and our spirits were
momentarily lifted, but in each
case hope of relief was
summarily crushed.
There was nothing else to do
but put my books down and go
to class. I would have to start
all over again on Friday.
I put my hands over my
head to show that I was
concealing no books on my
person, then snaked my way
past masses of the faithful As I
squeezed through the door at
last, I turned back for last look
at Paradise Lost. Then, sobbing
uncontrollably, I muttered
something like "God is dead,"
and ran all the way to the
other end of campus.
Last night I had nightmares
for the first time in years. The
thought that I might have to
return to the New Book Ex has
left me so shattered that I'm
not sure that they'll let me out
of South Wing in time to
attend school this semester.
The Dairy far Heel U
published by the University
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except Monday,
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Offices are on the second
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