On the 4th of July, many Americans recall that the Freedom of Speech is protected in the first amendment of the Bill of Rights and guaranteed to us all. In 1964, my brother and I were swept away in the maelstrom of the Free Speech Movement at the University of California, Berkeley. That rare and brief time in history brought together a diverse group, by intellectually thoughtful and morally driven political action, who successfully created a powerful coalition that confronted the power structure, and as Thoreau wrote,"met the enemy at the Deep Cut and thrust an avenging lance between the ribs of the bloated pest..." This act of courage brought about democratic reform. Today just as in that heroic time, the conditions seem ripe for a significant change.
"We condemned them, our children, for seeking a different future, we hated them for their flowers, for their love, and for their unmistakable rejection of every hideous, mistaken compromise that we had made throughout our hollow, money-bitten, frightened adult lives.”
—June Jordan
“Leave the building NOW or you’ll be arrested for trespassing” came the raspy voice of a Berkeley cop over the loud speaker. Sproul Hall, the administrative building on the university of California campus at Berkeley, was under siege. The Free Speech Movement had gained momentum after campus administrators had sought to bar students from setting up tables and passing out literature on campus property. Dragged from his table by police, a gentlemen by the name of Jack Weinberg yelled, "Don’t trust anyone over thirty!” and coined an idiom for a generation.
The date was Dec 2, 1964. Terry and I sat with our backs to the wall inside Sproul Hall along with hundreds of other students who demanded more voice in administrative policy. A showdown was inevitable. I weighed my options… then nervously nudged my brother, and told him my political convictions fell just short of going to jail. Noticing the door was still open, I delicately picked my way through the tangle of protesters’ legs, and tripped over the feet of Joan Baez, who was signing, “Oh freedom, of freedom- and before I’ll be a slave, I’ll buried in my grave, and I’ll fight for my right to be free.”
 |
| Joan Baez— "We shall overcome." |
I
burst through the door surrounded by a wall of six hundred policemen hell-bent
on beating down five hundred passively resisting students. A passerby zeroed in
on me and launched into an invective tirade about being tired of paying taxes
for bums and beatniks like me, concluding that I deserved sentence of hard
labor…
An
angry crowd swelled around me in the plaza, filled the steps of Sproul Hall,
and pressed toward the barricaded doors. I was certain we were moments away from
a riot. Hysteria and pandemonium prevailed and the tension was indescribable.
Terry
remained inside the building- stubborn and steadfast. Students were being
dragged from Sproul Hall on their backs- arms and wrists twisted- down a long
staircase, much to the amusement of the police. Jeering at the protesters, the
cops threatened to beat my brother senseless if he resisted. I restrained
myself...
Ten hours later, on
December 3, 1964, 824 students were man-handled by police,
booked behind covered windows where no reporters were allowed, and hauled off to Santa Anita Prison, and into history as the largest mass arrest in the United states. My brother stood tall that day.
— From "Rock Me on the Water" by Renny Russell  |
| Outside Sproul Hall, the atmosphere was tense. |
A review of "Freedom's Orator" appeared in the March 29th, 2010 issue of "The Nation." A photo at the beginning of the review showed Mario Savio and, in quarter profile, a young man who I am almost positive is your brother. That prompted me to write the appended poem.
Best regards, Kevin Cross
ANTHEM FOR RENNY
In the photo, Mario Savio examines the word STRIKE on an IBM card,
punched out above “Do not spindle, fold, or mutilate.”
Looking away from us, uncaptioned and uncapturable,
Stands Terry Russell, coauthor of an anthem for his generation.
How young both men are,
I imagine them full of hope for transcendence and revolution.
Mario and Terry both died young.
Terry, taken by water just months after the victory
Of the Free Speech Movement;
Mario, taken by heart failure years later fighting to keep student fees in check,
A valiant effort blurring the lines entirely at last
between him and Clark Kerr.
My generation thought little of transcendence and less of revolution.
When I entered the University of California,
In place of dreamers and revolutionaries, I found
The InterVarsity Christian Fellowship.
Ronald Reagan became President later that fall.
Yet I carried Terry’s anthem with me,
A high school graduation present from an elderly couple,
Who wrote how much it had meant to their son.
And I spent my vacations visiting the landscapes of the west,
Seeking after the images in the brother's book,
Hoping always to find the secret of making the best persons.
And now it is left to me to
Write letters to the editor,
Attend small meetings,
Organize vigils at offices of
Politicians with sharply constricted vision,
Tend my own garden.
And to wonder who are really most beloved of the gods:
Those who die young, or those who wake again and again
To greet the leaves as they open in the spring?
" History teaches us that it is not the rebel, it is not the curious, it is not the dissident who endangers a democratic society, but rather the unthinking, the unquestioning, the docile, obedient, silent and indifferent." —Leon Litwak
" History teaches us that it is not the rebel, it is not the curious, it is not the dissident who endangers a democratic society, but rather the unthinking, the unquestioning, the docile, obedient, silent and indifferent." —Leon Litwak
