Political parable of anti-war activism
"Ravens in the Storm: A Personal History of the 1960s Anti-War
Movement" (Scribner, 352 pages, $25), by Carl Oglesby: One of the
biggest radical groups in U.S. history, Students for a Democratic
Society, imploded in 1969 amid a whirl of ideology and extremism,
even as opposition to the Vietnam War soared.
One-time SDS president Carl Oglesby traces the group's spectacular
trajectory in his new book "Ravens in the Storm: A Personal History
of the 1960s Anti-War Movement," crafting a political parable of
activism and ideals, indoctrination and violent disillusionment.
Oglesby, ever an advocate of dialogue over doctrine, has a taste for
moderation that frames his memoir, just as it defined his approach
toward activism. For years, he reached out to hawks as well as doves,
trying to convince anyone who'd listen that the Vietnam War was wrong
and unwinnable arousing the ire of revolutionaries who came to
dismiss that kind of dialogue as a bourgeois delusion.
But Oglesby is drawn to conversation and contradiction. A
self-defined "radical centrist," he joined SDS not as a student, but
as a married man and father of three by day employed with secret
clearance at a Michigan defense contractor, by night writing plays
with leftie poets.
He researched Vietnam for a local politician, publishing his findings
in an essay read by a young SDSer, who recruited him to join the
group. Within months, Oglesby was voted SDS president, setting off on
a half-decade hurricane of public speeches and back room strategy
sessions to help build the anti-war cause.
His account of those years is driven by personal memories, and omits
many of the most typical sit-in and rally scenes to instead showcase
the odd meetings and unexpected moments that must have most excited
and impressed him as a man.
The result is a fast-paced, fly-on-the-wall account of 1960s
activism, an eclectic stew of cerebrum and celebrity. Oglesby
investigates the war with Jean-Paul Sartre, secretly sips Sam Adams
with Cuba's U.N. ambassador and is asked to run for vice president
alongside a Black Panther. When police swarm peaceful protesters at
Chicago's Grant Park, he is center stage holding the microphone; a
year later, he follows Mayor Richard Daly on the Chicago Seven trial
witness stand.
Through it all, what seems most interesting to Oglesby, who helped
introduce the teach-in, are the moments of dialogue and intersections
of opinion openings for fact, reason and persuasion.
"Carl, why do people have to keep reminding you that the revolution
is not a debating society?" asks Bernadine Dohrn, a bright, beautiful
SDSer, a founder of the Weathermen and his ultimate foil.
Curiosity pulls Oglesby into any conversation with friends,
enemies, Marxists, capitalists, hawks, doves or government agents; on
television, in churches, barns, airports and back rooms. Words are
always his weapon of choice. It should come as no surprise then, that
he pins SDS's demise on ideology, as the group's leaders, frustrated
by an ever-escalating war, abandon nonviolent discourse to "pick up the gun."
Oglesby seems at times amused by their revolutionary turn: "Honey,
Marxism has clogged your pipes," he tells Dohrn. But more often, he
is distraught, desperate to halt a swing toward extremism that he
fears will sink the anti-war cause.
"The revolution is anguish and chaos," he blurts out when an SDS
faction, soon to be Weathermen, expel him on suspicion of being a
federal agent, in an inquisition that lays bare the struggle for the
anti-war movement's soul, methods and goals.
Oglesby sees absolutism and ideology as privileged indulgences that
transform his righteous comrades into terrorists, killing three in an
accidental Greenwich Village explosion.
A former playwright, Oglesby has an eye for character and scene that
helps him laugh at his life, even as he mourns its lost cause.
Some observers have found inconsistencies in his account, questioning
select dates and figures; and it is hard to believe that he was as
calm a political combatant as he suggests. But Oglesby is so
reflective and unashamed of contradiction, that such points seem
irrelevant to his broader message.
What was best about SDS, Oglesby says, was not that its members were
hawks or doves, but rather taking a metaphor from the biblical
flood that they were "ravens in the storm" who chose to ride the
era's most turbulent winds.
His book is a reflection on the nature of resistance, a poignant
insider account of the rise and fall of one of the most infamous
anti-war groups and a window into the nuances of 1960s radicalism.
And it is a reminder that once upon a time, hundreds of thousands of
Americans stood up against a distant war that seemed to have no end.
--------
Former SDS president reflects on ride with 1960s anti-war student group
http://canadianpress.google.com/article/ALeqM5hfH5uvb5AuWrO92KFQ_7mK-wLMGA
2/13/08
Theresa Bradley, THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
One of the biggest radical groups in U.S. history, Students for a
Democratic Society, imploded in 1969 amid a whirl of ideology and
extremism, even as opposition to the Vietnam War soared.
One-time SDS president Carl Oglesby traces the group's spectacular
trajectory in his new book "Ravens in the Storm: A Personal History
of the 1960s Anti-War Movement," crafting a political parable of
activism and ideals, indoctrination and violent disillusionment.
Oglesby, ever an advocate of dialogue over doctrine, has a taste for
moderation that frames his memoir, just as it defined his approach
toward activism. For years, he reached out to hawks as well as doves,
trying to convince anyone who'd listen that the Vietnam War was wrong
and unwinnable - arousing the ire of revolutionaries who came to
dismiss that kind of dialogue as a bourgeois delusion.
But Oglesby is drawn to conversation and contradiction. A
self-defined "radical centrist," he joined SDS not as a student, but
as a married man and father of three - by day employed with secret
clearance at a Michigan defence contractor, by night writing plays
with leftie poets.
He researched Vietnam for a local politician, publishing his findings
in an essay read by a young SDSer, who recruited him to join the
group. Within months, Oglesby was voted SDS president, setting off on
a half-decade hurricane of public speeches and back room strategy
sessions to help build the anti-war cause.
His account of those years is driven by personal memories, and omits
many of the most typical sit-in and rally scenes to instead showcase
the odd meetings and unexpected moments that must have most excited
and impressed him as a man.
The result is a fast-paced, fly-on-the-wall account of 1960s
activism, an eclectic stew of cerebrum and celebrity. Oglesby
investigates the war with Jean-Paul Sartre, secretly sips Sam Adams
with Cuba's UN ambassador and is asked to run for vice-president
alongside a Black Panther. When police swarm peaceful protesters at
Chicago's Grant Park, he is centre stage holding the microphone. A
year later, he follows Mayor Richard Daly on the Chicago Seven trial
witness stand.
Through it all, what seems most interesting to Oglesby, who helped
introduce the teach-in, are the moments of dialogue and intersections
of opinion - openings for fact, reason and persuasion.
"Carl, why do people have to keep reminding you that the revolution
is not a debating society?" asks Bernadine Dohrn, a bright, beautiful
SDSer, a founder of the Weathermen and his ultimate foil.
Curiosity pulls Oglesby into any conversation - with friends,
enemies, Marxists, capitalists, hawks, doves or government agents; on
television, in churches, barns, airports and back rooms. Words are
always his weapon of choice. It should come as no surprise then, that
he pins SDS's demise on ideology, as the group's leaders, frustrated
by an ever-escalating war, abandon nonviolent discourse to "pick up the gun."
Oglesby seems at times amused by their revolutionary turn: "Honey,
Marxism has clogged your pipes," he tells Dohrn. But more often, he
is distraught, desperate to halt a swing toward extremism that he
fears will sink the anti-war cause.
"The revolution is anguish and chaos," he blurts out when an SDS
faction, soon to be Weathermen, expel him on suspicion of being a
federal agent, in an inquisition that lays bare the struggle for the
anti-war movement's soul, methods and goals.
Oglesby sees absolutism and ideology as privileged indulgences that
transform his righteous comrades into terrorists, killing three in an
accidental Greenwich Village explosion.
A former playwright, Oglesby has an eye for character and scene that
helps him laugh at his life, even as he mourns its lost cause.
Some observers have found inconsistencies in his account, questioning
select dates and figures; and it is hard to believe that he was as
calm a political combatant as he suggests. But Oglesby is so
reflective and unashamed of contradiction, that such points seem
irrelevant to his broader message.
What was best about SDS, Oglesby says, was not that its members were
hawks or doves, but rather - taking a metaphor from the biblical
flood - that they were "ravens in the storm" who chose to ride the
era's most turbulent winds.
His book is a reflection on the nature of resistance, a poignant
insider account of the rise and fall of one of the most infamous
anti-war groups and a window into the nuances of 1960s radicalism.
And it is a reminder that once upon a time, hundreds of thousands of
Americans stood up against a distant war that seemed to have no end.
---
"Ravens in the Storm: A Personal History of the 1960s Anti-War Movement"
Carl Oglesby (Scribner)
.
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