Early this fall my “adoptive grandson” mentee Gerardo came from Texas for a short visit. We took a walk from my home to the University of California Berkeley campus, going by People’s Park barricaded with stacked shipping containers and guarded, stopping by Revolution Books to buy a new keffiyeh, and on to the Free Speech monument to mark the 60th anniversary of the Free Speech Movement.
Students heedlessly walked across it oblivious of all except their cell phones on which they were intent. We knelt at the six-inch hole of the monument full of dry sycamore leaves and chewing-gum wrappers. I said that I believed the small hole was there to put the butt end of a talking-stick upon the exposed earth to call upon the Mother to bear witness that what we spoke was truth.
In 1964 I was doing my graduate studies in comparative literature at the University of Oregon and spent that summer in Tlaxcala on a Carnegie Foundation research grant through the Oregon Institute of International Studies and Oversees Administration to study Nahuatl literature. And that fall went to Sevilla on the third year of my NDEA fellowship to do research for my proposed doctoral dissertation. On returning to teach at UO the fall of 1965, I found that the effects of the UC Berkeley Speech Movement on many universities of the country were such that a group of us faculty and graduate students had no difficulty organizing teach-ins and setting up information tables on the campus protesting the U.S. involvement in the Vietnam war. And so, political activism and freedom speech had become part of higher education on many campuses.
The monument to free speech is a piece of conceptual art, a small hole exposing the bare earth from which rises a column of air rising to the skies set on a circular slab of gray granite six feet across set flush to the ground on which is engraved in classic Roman the inscription "This soil and the air space extending above it shall not be a part of any nation and shall not be subject to any entity's jurisdiction."
I remarked to Gera the cosmic irony of the inscription. I recalled that in 2010 my friend Maggie undertook a conceptual art piece of her own involving the Free Speech Monument in which she asked a few of her artist friends to modify the monument in some way and photographed each ephemeral “installation.” My contribution was placing near the hole a piece of paper on which I had printed: “Freedom of speech knows no borders/La Libertad de palabra no reconoce fronteras.”
Looking about Sproul Plaza and glancing at Sproul Hall behind us, I had difficulty recalling how many times I had spoken from its steps and participated in demonstrations in the plaza. The more recent ones I had attended protested the genocide in Gaza by Israel and the United States. Such peaceful protests have disturbed college and university campuses throughout the country and have been met with harsh suppression on the grounds that they are “antisemitic” although many of their organizers, speakers, and protestors are Jewish. This cynical accusation by the Zionists have instigated violence by police and caused the resignations of presidents of prestigious universities who have tried to protect the freedom of speech. Such cynical irony that protesting genocide should be called anti-Jewish.
Not long after Gera’s visit, and 60 years after the Free Speech Movement the nation elected an openly fascist party and a criminal, a liar of a man that threaten suppression of free speech, censorship of education, banning of books to govern us. Darkness gathers around us and I fear that nooses may strangle our throats, pincers hold our tongues, gags seal our lips, and our dissenting speech be silenced.
Before leaving the UC Berkeley Monument to Free Speech, I placed an Earth-Justice-Peace, Beloved Community pin on the dry leaves in the hole as offering and blessing to whomever came upon it. Then we rose to our feet and went our way.
Students heedlessly walked across it oblivious of all except their cell phones on which they were intent. We knelt at the six-inch hole of the monument full of dry sycamore leaves and chewing-gum wrappers. I said that I believed the small hole was there to put the butt end of a talking-stick upon the exposed earth to call upon the Mother to bear witness that what we spoke was truth.
In 1964 I was doing my graduate studies in comparative literature at the University of Oregon and spent that summer in Tlaxcala on a Carnegie Foundation research grant through the Oregon Institute of International Studies and Oversees Administration to study Nahuatl literature. And that fall went to Sevilla on the third year of my NDEA fellowship to do research for my proposed doctoral dissertation. On returning to teach at UO the fall of 1965, I found that the effects of the UC Berkeley Speech Movement on many universities of the country were such that a group of us faculty and graduate students had no difficulty organizing teach-ins and setting up information tables on the campus protesting the U.S. involvement in the Vietnam war. And so, political activism and freedom speech had become part of higher education on many campuses.
The monument to free speech is a piece of conceptual art, a small hole exposing the bare earth from which rises a column of air rising to the skies set on a circular slab of gray granite six feet across set flush to the ground on which is engraved in classic Roman the inscription "This soil and the air space extending above it shall not be a part of any nation and shall not be subject to any entity's jurisdiction."
I remarked to Gera the cosmic irony of the inscription. I recalled that in 2010 my friend Maggie undertook a conceptual art piece of her own involving the Free Speech Monument in which she asked a few of her artist friends to modify the monument in some way and photographed each ephemeral “installation.” My contribution was placing near the hole a piece of paper on which I had printed: “Freedom of speech knows no borders/La Libertad de palabra no reconoce fronteras.”
Looking about Sproul Plaza and glancing at Sproul Hall behind us, I had difficulty recalling how many times I had spoken from its steps and participated in demonstrations in the plaza. The more recent ones I had attended protested the genocide in Gaza by Israel and the United States. Such peaceful protests have disturbed college and university campuses throughout the country and have been met with harsh suppression on the grounds that they are “antisemitic” although many of their organizers, speakers, and protestors are Jewish. This cynical accusation by the Zionists have instigated violence by police and caused the resignations of presidents of prestigious universities who have tried to protect the freedom of speech. Such cynical irony that protesting genocide should be called anti-Jewish.
Not long after Gera’s visit, and 60 years after the Free Speech Movement the nation elected an openly fascist party and a criminal, a liar of a man that threaten suppression of free speech, censorship of education, banning of books to govern us. Darkness gathers around us and I fear that nooses may strangle our throats, pincers hold our tongues, gags seal our lips, and our dissenting speech be silenced.
Before leaving the UC Berkeley Monument to Free Speech, I placed an Earth-Justice-Peace, Beloved Community pin on the dry leaves in the hole as offering and blessing to whomever came upon it. Then we rose to our feet and went our way.
© Rafael Jesús González 2024
A principios de este otoño, Gerardo, mi “nieto adoptivo”, vino de Texas para una breve visita. Dimos un paseo desde mi casa hasta el campus de la Universidad de California en Berkeley, pasando por el People's Park rodeado de contenedores de trasporte apilados y vigilado, parando en la librería Revolution Books para comprar una nueva keffiyeh, y luego al Monumento a la Libertad de Expresión para conmemorar el 60º aniversario del Movimiento por la Libertad de Expresión.
Los estudiantes caminaban descuidadamente a través de él sin prestar atención a nada excepto a sus teléfonos celulares en los que se concentraban. Nos arrodillamos ante el agujero de seis pulgadas del monumento lleno de hojas secas de sicómoro y envolturas de chicle. Dije que creía que el pequeño agujero estaba allí para poner la punta de un bastón de la palabra sobre la tierra expuesta para pedir a la Madre que diera testimonio de que lo que decíamos era verdad.
En 1964 estaba haciendo mis estudios graduados en literatura comparativa en la Universidad de Oregón y pasé ese verano en Tlaxcala con una beca de investigación de la Fundación Carnegie a través del Instituto de Estudios Internacionales y Administración Extranjera de Oregón para estudiar literatura náhuatl. Y ese otoño fui a Sevilla en el tercer año de mi beca NDEA para investigar para mi propuesta de tesis doctoral. Al regresar a enseñar en la UO en el otoño de 1965, descubrí que los efectos del Movimiento de Libre Expresión de UC Berkeley en muchas universidades del país eran tales que un grupo de nosotros, profesores y estudiantes graduados, no teníamos dificultades para organizar clases y poner mesas de información en el campus protestando contra la participación de Estados Unidos en la guerra de Vietnam. Y así, el activismo político y la libertad de expresión se habían convertido en parte de la educación superior en muchos campus.
El monumento a la libertad de expresión es una obra de arte conceptual, un pequeño agujero que deja al descubierto la tierra desnuda desde donde se eleva una columna de aire que se alza hacia los cielos colocado en una losa circular de granito gris de seis pies de ancho colocada a ras del suelo en la que está grabado en romano clásico la inscripción "Este suelo y el espacio de aire que se extiende sobre él no serán parte de ninguna nación y no estarán sujetos a la jurisdicción de ninguna entidad".
Le comenté a Gera la ironía cósmica de la inscripción. Recordé que en 2010 mi amiga Maggie emprendió una obra de arte conceptual propia relacionada con el Monumento a la Libertad de Expresión en la que pidió a algunos de sus amig@s artistas que modificaran el monumento de alguna manera y tomó fotos de cada “instalación” efímera. Mi contribución fue poner cerca del agujero un papel en el que había impreso: “Freedom of speech knows no borders/La Libertad de palabra no reconoce fronteras”.
Al mirar alrededor de Sproul Plaza y ver a Sproul Hall detrás de nosotros, tuve dificultad para recordar cuántas veces había hablado desde sus escalones y participado en manifestaciones en la plaza. Los más recientes a los que asistí protestaron contra el genocidio en Gaza cometido por Israel y Estados Unidos. Estas protestas pacíficas han perturbado los campus universitarios de todo el país y han sido objeto de una dura represión con el argumento de que son “antisemitas”, aunque muchos de sus organizadores, oradores y manifestantes son judíos. Esta cínica acusación de los sionistas ha instigado la violencia por parte de la policía y ha provocado la renuncia de president@s de prestigiosas universidades que han intentado proteger la libertad de expresión. Es una ironía tan cínica que las protestas contra el genocidio sean consideradas antijudías.
No mucho después de la visita de Gera, y 60 años después del Movimiento por la Libertad de Expresión, la nación eligió un partido abiertamente fascista y un criminal, un hombre mentiroso que amenaza con suprimir la libertad de expresión, censurar la educación y prohibir libros para gobernarnos. La oscuridad crece a nuestro alrededor y temo que las sogas nos estrangulen la garganta, las pinzas nos sujeten la lengua, las mordazas sellen nuestros labios y nuestra expresión disidente sea silenciada.
Antes de dejar el Monumento a la Libertad de Expresión de UC Berkeley, puse un prendedor Tierra-Justicia-Paz, Amada Comunidad sobre las hojas secas en el agujero como ofrenda y bendición a quien lo encontrara. Luego nos levantamos y nos fuimos.
© Rafael Jesús González 2024
