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:
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