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About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (June 14, 1988)
Page 2/The BattalionT'uesday, June 14, 1988 Opinion In search of a good commencement addres$ e Graduation. It’s that special time when, after four long years of hard, rock-pounding la bor, we receive our diplomas in our greedy little hands and march off to threaten the REAL world with our newfound knowledge. Grad uation: where we’re supposed But that’s not the subject today, al though it does have, in some weird abs tract way, something to do with the graduation ceremony — something I’m sure every student here would like to go through. Although, if you ask me, I don’t know why. Mark Nair to be smarter and wiser, and we sit through a ceremonious ceremony dressed in black robes, wearing funny looking square hats on our heads to show exactly how much smarter and wiser we really are. I should know. I was there. Gradua tion, May, 1988. I are a college grad uate. So what am I doing here? Don’t ask. Just take a little consolation in the fact that, yes, in August my mind will be sub jected to the merciless mind-numbing experience of law school. But until then I am a free man. Now, graduation is all fine and dandy. Pomp and circumstance. All that stuff. I like it just as much as the next person. But I have to admit, being a po litical science graduate, a liberal arts kind of guy, I was expecting some gra- diose speech at graduation inspiring me to go out into the world, giving it my all and making the world a better place. Ei ther that, or I was expecting some scary speech about how all graduates should lock themselves in the library (a funda mental and evil necessity during one’s college tenure) and stay away from the REAL world because the REAL world is such an ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly place. Apparently, our benevolent univer sity president had other plans. He asked the Honorable William Clements (what a coincidence! He’s the governor too!) to give the commencement address. Our torture of the Indian President Rea- gan’s remarks about Native Americans at the Moscow summit last week were not merely ignorant, they were indoor- record dumb. You’ll recall what he said: that we shouldn’t have “humored” the In- Donald Kaul dians by allowing them to retreat into their “primitive” lifestyles on reserva tions. That was the word he used: “hu mored.” And he got away with it. Oh, the edi torial pages of the nation turned on their “tsk-tsk” machines, the bleeding heart liberals offered a collective groan and a few Indian leaders produced out rage from their badly depleted stock, but it wasn’t even a one-day story. He was forgiven the moment he made the remark — another misstatement by the old boy, isn’t he a caution? The Ameri can people were more interested in whether Raisa and Nancy were holding hands and why. When Russian spokesmen deliver their ludicrous denials of the brutal treatment Soviet dissidents receive at the hands of their government, we rightly brand them as liars. Ronald Rea gan acts as though our annihilation of the Indian cultures is the product of overindulgence, and we say he is misin formed. lages, destroying our growing crops, ravishing our wives and daughters, beating our papooses with cruel sticks, and brutally murdering our people upon the most flimsy pretenses and triv ial causes . . . They brought their ac cursed Firewater to our village, making wolves of our braves and warriors, and then when we protested against the sale and destroyed their bad spirits, they came with a multitude on horseback, compelling us to flee across the Missis sippi for our lives, and then they burned down our ancient village and turned their horses into our growing corn.” To feel, at this late date, no twinge of conscience at what we did to the Indians is immoral. There is a point at which the differ ence between lying and willful igno rance becomes irrelevant and he’s reached it. Our treatment of the native peoples of this continent is surely one of the most shameful episodes in our history. We took their lands — by cheating when we could, by force when we had to — and gave them the worst of our culture while denying them the best of theirs. We herded them onto barren ground and withheld their traditional means of livelihood, forcing them inot beggary. That was our humor. Here is the white man as seen through the eyes of an Indian, Chief Black Hawk of Sauk nation, in 1832. He was attemptiong to rally his tribesmen to the warpath against the white enemy at the time: “From the day when the palefaces landed upon our shores, they have been robbing us of our inheritance and slowly but surely driving us back, back, back to wards the setting sun, burning our vil- The Indians’ night promises to be dark. Not a single star of hope hovers above his horizon. Grim fate seems to be on the Red Man’s trail, and wherever he goes he will hear the approaching foot steps of his fell destroyer and prepare stolidly to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hears the ap proaching footsteps of the hunter. “A few more moons. A few more winters — and not one of the descen dants of the mighty hosts that once moved over this broad land or lived in happy homes, protected by the Great Spirit, will remain to mourn over the graves of a people — once more power ful and hopeful than yours. “But why shold I mourn at the unti mely fate of my people? Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of na ture, and regret is useless. “Your time of decay may be distant, but it will surely come, for even the White Man walked and talked with him as friend with friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. “We may be brothers after all. We will see.” Indeed we will, and sooner than we think. Copyright 1988, Tribune Media Services, Inc. The Battalion (USPS 045 360) Member of Texas Press Association Southwest Journalism Conference The Battalion Editorial Board Richard Williams, Editor Sue Krenek, Managing Editor Mark Nair, Opinion Page Editor Curtis Culberson, City Editor Becky Weisenfels, Cindy Milton, News Editors Anthony Wilson, Sports Editor Jay Janner, Art Director When I heard the news, I seriously considered going to the Vet Med grad uation. They had Dr. Red Duke, those lucky dogs. But, I went to mv own ceremony. Af ter all, it was THE GOVERNOR speak ing. He had to have something inspir ing, something frightening, something overflowing with wisdom and experi ence to share with us, the wide-eyed, open-eared graduating class of 1988. So MISTER Clements decides to dust off a speech (cira 1950, I believe) he found in his closet and deliver it to us with the zest, the zeal and the fire that made him the governer he is today. ri I was wrong. Unfortunately, I cannot accurately relate each and ever bit of wisdom be stowed on us by our State Leader. It was my nap time, and I didn’t want to be cranky when I received my diploma. And what do I remember about the address while I was struggling to stay awake? Engineering. Every other word was about our great new engineering marvels and how engineering can do wonders for our country. He pointed out engineering marvels of the 20th century, i.e. roads. He inspired us to embrace technology like we would em brace Texas politics. Engineering, engi neering, engineering. B) But the parts of the address that 1 did hear have stuck with me like an ice pick through my cerebral cortex. Yum. I think he forgot to whom he was speaking. We weren’t interested in that stuff. Give me a liberal arts commence ment address, or give me death. You see, this was a speech given to the College of Liberal Arts (and the College of Architecture and Environmental De sign). This was a speech given to the up and coming caretakers of the humani ties, philosophy and the social sciences. This was a speech given to the suppos edly well-rounded, those who will work for the betterment of mankind. It was apparent that the governor’s speech was making no headway — not an inch — when, toward the end of his address, he told us he wanted to recap what he had just said. At that, the collec tive body of the 1988 graduating class (not to mention relatives in the stands) let out a low “groooooan” and did the old uncomfortable shift around in the seats maneuver. But, much to our cha grin, recap he did. So, what’s over is over. 1 was inspired nor frightened. 1 was wondering: really, what doestkl to do with me? WHERE’STHEil VANCE! 1 am left toentertheB world bemused and contused,it ^ , . Bnan-Col decipher irrelevant antecdotes m arn ber r engineering marvels in our wondpophistica efFu ient 20th century. m p l ■udder L ■second i It’s time we got it straight.WeBLyric Ai a school of 100 percent engineenB^j^ j*' dents. There is a HUGE propotiBaorary c OTHER students here as wd p ate *y htle . „ unetic.m l'i< surprise, fellas. Bhe eveni joser Henry And now 1 heai that U.T.wasBg tl . u ii w ■ifluence Bill \L,w ,s :4 ,\e ibcrK slyle ment address. But we wouldni Hfet music do something like tint. Instead®, beorg •o.m. maybe A&M udl slum- y,,,, , , one who can offei some intere if each piece i • The III M m j In inn > i nip i ■ ■! ^ , r ras I'oni ( ■o, and P Oh, golly, a “world class" up Jen ry Cowe What I ••' ®nd cell |e you w Mark Nair is a graduate studJ opinion page editor for The B; A surprising number of speeches by Indian chiefs were preserved by white men who transcribed them on the scene. The Indians, lacking a written tradition, were eloquent orators. A good many of the speeches have been collected in a book, “Indian Oratory,” by W.C. Van- derwerth, published by the University of Oklahoma Press. Seattle, chief of the Suquamish (cq) and Duwamish (cq) tribes, delivered this poignant epitaph and prophecy at the signing of the Treaty of Port Elliot in 1855, at which the Washington tribes were humored with a reservation: Editorial Policy The Battalion is a non-profit, self-supporting newspa per operated as a community service to Texas A&M and Bryan-College Station. Opinions expressed in The Battalion are those of the editorial board or the author, and do not necessarily rep resent the opinions of Texas A&M administrators, fac ulty or the Board of Regents. The Battalion also serves as a laboratory newspaper for students in reporting, editing and photography classes within the Department of Journalism. The Battalion is published Monday through Friday during Texas A&M regular semesters, except for holiday and examination periods. 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