The Mail THE TEACH-IN

To the Editors of the CRIMSON:

I came away from Monday night's teach-in with one aggregate image of all the speakers which still sticks in my mind. Amid the anachronistic panelled pomposity of Sander's Theatre a small voice was screaming. "Do something." The situation seemed strikingly ironic at first: Prominent politicians, journalists, educators-people with a great deal of what traditionally constitutes power in our society-yelling at us (yelling at me) to do something.

Tired voices trying desperately to sound refreshed. Tired voices that we've listened to so many times before. Eugene McCarthy is so exemplary in this respect. He always looks so tired-as though he has somehow come to personify the tiredness we all feel towards this drawn-out nightmare of a war.

In fact, tired is how I felt when I read of the invasion of Laos. "Nixon invaded Laos."

"Of course."

"Nixon invaded Laos."

"Yes. And how're you doing?"

You get used to chronic nausea after a while.

But, someone is yelling at me to do something. To do something once again. To once again have the faith to do something.

I saw a movie the other night in which one character quoted Lenin as saying the two greatest virtues of the revolutionary were patience and irony. The counsel of patience seems appropriately sage. For, although we are all tired we must continue with more protests, rallies, civil disobedience. More struggle. The cost of doing nothing is too high.

Nixon's new invasion must only serve to refresh the struggle. The ironic nature of protest is that it is refreshed by frustration.

Can we wait until Spring? (Can I wait until I've finished my term paper from last semester?)