The leftist message was ugly; authoritarian, angry, ingrown, hyperbolic, self-righteous, untrue, and yes, violent.
In 1969, demonstrations, rallies, campus takeovers, and violence abounded. America was roiled in the spitefulness of the New Left. It was a most intense time. Being a student, I went to the rallies, curious about the left’s “new” ideas. They were making their case, were mobilized, intense, and loud. Their speakers could be engaging, and the crowds were big. I listened, wondering if what they were saying was true. America was being described as racist, heartless, warlike, imperialist, and rotten. The speakers were animated, confident, bold, and they were swaying many with their message.
As I listened, I slowly became turned off. Watching the strident anger of these people was disturbing. In every speech, in every action, they were more intense and extreme. Continuing to attend, I couldn’t help but suspect these New Left people had deep personal problems. There were two experiences that created an indelible imprint about the left.
The first was at a rally. Speeches stirred the crowd, one saying we needed to take to the streets. Well, the speaker got the crowd into lines of about ten; a lot of lines, one behind the next, and we walked into the street. I already felt a little uncomfortable, but I was in a line with a friend. We’re marching, line after line on the street. Someone held a bullhorn and started chanting the following. “Vote with your feet, get to the street, vote with your feet, get to the street!” I was in my line, looking both ways, and there we were, supposedly intelligent students, chanting mindlessly. I tried. Honestly, I never felt so foolish in my life. Rather than empowerment, I felt deflated. Instead of thinking I was doing something good, I felt like a total doofus. Materially well-off college students pretending we were the proletariat to take power from the eeevil capitalist bosses was full-on absurd.
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