1968 Commemoration Exhibit Provides Plenty of Procrastination Time for Those Bored at Butler

“April is the cruelest month,” said T.S. Eliot. I am torn between whether to agree with this sentiment or to dissent, and nowhere is this struggle more apparent than in the new exhibit currently on display in the Butler Rare Book and Manuscript Room. Featuring extensive, mesmerizing primary source documents deriving directly from the days of the student riots on campus, the exhibit ably outlines the events of those tumultuous days forty years ago.

The small display is organized clearly. The first cases contain information on the causes of the student riots. Turn the corner into the cozy octagon-shaped room, where the cases are organized under headings of “First Day,” “Inside the Buildings,” “Outside the Buildings,” and “The Bust.” Finally, outside of that same door are another three tables, each respectively categorized as “Campus Liberation,” “Commencement,” and “Consequences.”

The exhibit’s overarching flaw, though, is the apparent assumption of its viewers’ pre-existing knowledge of the riots. Without at least minimal previous information, it seems as though the exhibit would pass in a hazy, albeit amusing blur.

However, the exhibit has one major advantage—the records it presents are undeniably fascinating. Perhaps owing to the intimate size and scope of the exhibit, none of the information or documents appear to be a place-holder. Rather, each piece bears a significance that is apparent.

The display cases housing “The Bust” documents are particularly interesting. Featuring photographs and documents depicting and discussing the eventual police raid and student arrests, which ultimately swept through the campus, these particular cases were remarkable.

According to the exhibit, following the police raid in the “liberated” buildings, there was an onslaught of letters to then-President of Columbia, Graydon Kirk. Of the 4,993 letters written, 4,082 were extremely supportive of the University’s choice of action. One letter on display said, “Every teacher that sided with those students causing the riot should be fired pronto, and every student expelled.”

Equally incendiary letters were written from the opposing side, including one, penned by the angry mother of a Barnard College student, crying that there had been “no warrant for the college, to whom we have partially entrusted our children, to turn them over to the police.”

Yet often it is the smaller pieces that provide a clear picture of those tempestuous April days and bear a more lasting significance. This category includes an original circular entitled “Our Demands,” explaining and articulating firmly the six original demands of the rioters, or photographs of blackboards in Fayerweather Hall following its liberation, exhorting “Liberated Women: Remember Your Pill.” I laughed out loud when I passed a sign stating that the room in which it had been was “1. Liberated 2. Cleaned. Keep it that way” and then became increasingly sober as I saw the violent photographs of police skirmishes with students my own age.

As I continued to observe the displays, I became filled with a growing sense of pride—pride in my University, which is obviously not ashamed of what some might label the less appealing nature of their past. Instead of shoving these nastier aspects under the rug, the events of that memorable week in April have taken their rightful place on center stage. Perhaps April of 1968 was indeed the cruelest month, but April of 2008 is anything but.