With the recent election of Barack Obama, a colleague and I were discussing the history of the 1950's and 1960'e era Civil Rights Movement. While my friend was quick to heave praise on the CRM she was rather apologetic about the cultural changes of that time. I found myself in what has now become an akwardly familiar position: defending the legacy of the 1960's to the obvious dismay of an activist from that period.
When I pushed her to explain why she felt such gall about it, she pointed to the example of Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin. "One killed himself and the other sold-out." She said, "That kind of sums it up." This kind of reaction, although not new to me, did cause me to ponder the very intriguing tale of these two Yippies.
Abbie Hoffman, in spite of ego and chauvenism, will always remain a hero to me. I read his book, Soon To Be A Major Motion Picture when I was a 16 year-old high school dropout. I wasn't infatuated with his writing just because he spoke out against authority figures. He had an ideology and a clearly defined belief in the power of young people to bring positive change to our country. It was the first time I'd ever heard an adult say that someone like me was important and relevant. Plain and simple, he gave me hope. It was at that point I began to learn about the powerful passion of the 1960's era and different media, methods and strategies of the time- including the loveable antics of the YIPPIES.
I never really knew what had become of Jerry Rubin. I'd read his book, Growing Up at Thirty-Seven, in which he painfully describes how the streets he once loved now seemed to have nothing for him; how he felt as politically confused "now" as he was politically sure "then." I recalled feeling disturbed by this book and fearful of it's meaning. In many ways Jerry's coming of age represented mother's terrible curse: "When you get older you'll change." Change in and of itself wasn't a bad thing. The real question was "what did you become?"
I knew that Abbie Hoffman continued to speak and fight for a host of ideals that helped to loosen society's often oppressive shackles. The day Jerry Rubin died I was frantic to hear what the "world" made of this man. I watched TV and listened to the radio all night. There were hours and hours of the typical collage of pointless and irrelevant nostalgia pieces. "Jerry Rubin's last radical act: J-walking." and "Jerry Rubin, the Yippie turned Yuppie." "Was Rubin a sell-out?" "Jerry Rubin proved the Sixities didn't work." "Jerry Rubin, clown."
I fell asleep and awoke with a brain-numbed, dumb-media, hangover. Blury-eyed, I rolled over and tuned-in to what felt like the last bastion of free-expression: the Howard Stern show. Please, Howard, save me!
Caller after caller made their appeals, "Yes, Howard. I don't think Jerry Rubin is worthy of talking about. You can't compare him and Abbie Hoffman. He sold-out while the rest of us kept fighting for change." The next caller, "I think Jerry Rubin should have been shot for what he did during the Vietnam War. Hoffman too. They were both criminals!" Call after call it was the same thing: bickering and petty statements dripping with some kind of dysfunctional passion. Proudly, Howard told them all to "shut-up and go to hell." He explained, in usual Stern-fashion, that both Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin were great people who fought for free-speech.
As I thought about the morning's social commentary and that of the previous night, what I found myself sensing was an underlying passion-- a pleading really-- behind every cheap media spot and comment. No matter what people felt, no matter what the story angle was, it became clear that the message was delivered with a desire to be proven "right!" As if the way that anyone listening made up their mind about Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin was so important that it would determine not only their own personal fate, but, indeed, the fate of our Democracy. It occurred to me how these two long-haired freaks, their lives and their deaths, seemed to reflect something back to America about her collective Id and Ego.
Stern went on to talk about what Jerry Rubin was doing when he died. He explained that Rubin had hooked-up with former Black-Panther, Bobby Seale, and they were organizing gang members to go door-to-door in the Oakland ghetto selling Bobby Seale's new BBQ cookbook.
It was about this time, eyes closed, radio in the background, slipping into a zen-like state of peace, that a knowing smile came to my lips and a chuckle bubbled up from my gut:
Think about it for a minute. Gang members going door-to-door in the ghetto selling cookbooks, making an honest buck rather than shooting each other or selling drugs. Now if that doesn't sound a lot like a Yippie plot to undermine the government, I don't know what does!
When I pushed her to explain why she felt such gall about it, she pointed to the example of Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin. "One killed himself and the other sold-out." She said, "That kind of sums it up." This kind of reaction, although not new to me, did cause me to ponder the very intriguing tale of these two Yippies.
Abbie Hoffman, in spite of ego and chauvenism, will always remain a hero to me. I read his book, Soon To Be A Major Motion Picture when I was a 16 year-old high school dropout. I wasn't infatuated with his writing just because he spoke out against authority figures. He had an ideology and a clearly defined belief in the power of young people to bring positive change to our country. It was the first time I'd ever heard an adult say that someone like me was important and relevant. Plain and simple, he gave me hope. It was at that point I began to learn about the powerful passion of the 1960's era and different media, methods and strategies of the time- including the loveable antics of the YIPPIES.
I never really knew what had become of Jerry Rubin. I'd read his book, Growing Up at Thirty-Seven, in which he painfully describes how the streets he once loved now seemed to have nothing for him; how he felt as politically confused "now" as he was politically sure "then." I recalled feeling disturbed by this book and fearful of it's meaning. In many ways Jerry's coming of age represented mother's terrible curse: "When you get older you'll change." Change in and of itself wasn't a bad thing. The real question was "what did you become?"
I knew that Abbie Hoffman continued to speak and fight for a host of ideals that helped to loosen society's often oppressive shackles. The day Jerry Rubin died I was frantic to hear what the "world" made of this man. I watched TV and listened to the radio all night. There were hours and hours of the typical collage of pointless and irrelevant nostalgia pieces. "Jerry Rubin's last radical act: J-walking." and "Jerry Rubin, the Yippie turned Yuppie." "Was Rubin a sell-out?" "Jerry Rubin proved the Sixities didn't work." "Jerry Rubin, clown."
I fell asleep and awoke with a brain-numbed, dumb-media, hangover. Blury-eyed, I rolled over and tuned-in to what felt like the last bastion of free-expression: the Howard Stern show. Please, Howard, save me!
Caller after caller made their appeals, "Yes, Howard. I don't think Jerry Rubin is worthy of talking about. You can't compare him and Abbie Hoffman. He sold-out while the rest of us kept fighting for change." The next caller, "I think Jerry Rubin should have been shot for what he did during the Vietnam War. Hoffman too. They were both criminals!" Call after call it was the same thing: bickering and petty statements dripping with some kind of dysfunctional passion. Proudly, Howard told them all to "shut-up and go to hell." He explained, in usual Stern-fashion, that both Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin were great people who fought for free-speech.
As I thought about the morning's social commentary and that of the previous night, what I found myself sensing was an underlying passion-- a pleading really-- behind every cheap media spot and comment. No matter what people felt, no matter what the story angle was, it became clear that the message was delivered with a desire to be proven "right!" As if the way that anyone listening made up their mind about Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin was so important that it would determine not only their own personal fate, but, indeed, the fate of our Democracy. It occurred to me how these two long-haired freaks, their lives and their deaths, seemed to reflect something back to America about her collective Id and Ego.
Stern went on to talk about what Jerry Rubin was doing when he died. He explained that Rubin had hooked-up with former Black-Panther, Bobby Seale, and they were organizing gang members to go door-to-door in the Oakland ghetto selling Bobby Seale's new BBQ cookbook.
It was about this time, eyes closed, radio in the background, slipping into a zen-like state of peace, that a knowing smile came to my lips and a chuckle bubbled up from my gut:
Think about it for a minute. Gang members going door-to-door in the ghetto selling cookbooks, making an honest buck rather than shooting each other or selling drugs. Now if that doesn't sound a lot like a Yippie plot to undermine the government, I don't know what does!
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