"Here Come The Students”

Here is a third column not generated by the coronavirus

Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated on April 4, 1968. During the months that followed, news about the Vietnam War was increasingly grim. By August, Chicago’s oppressive weather only added to the starkness. Early one mid-summer morning a student stopped me on the street waving a handbill announcing an emergency gathering of a student organization to take place in Chicago at the same time as the Democratic National Convention. This handbill had been distributed across the nation. I was shocked to read that the headquarters for the action was “The Church at 57th and University Ave,” where I was the new pastor. These plans had been made without any notice to me or to the congregation.

Three days later, here came 300 students! I had been warned that this particular group was the radical arm of SDS (Students for a Democratic Society), calling themselves “The Weathermen.” They were gathering in order to disrupt the Convention by demanding an end to the Vietnam War. Their project was called “The Days of Rage.” And here was this pastor right in the middle of it. Having been alerted to the potential violence, I enlisted two very large men to guard me and the church building. Everyone who arrived was searched. Guns and knives were confiscated and held in the church’s safe.

I found myself in a difficult cul-de-sac. On the one hand, I had been deeply involved in the movement to end the war in Vietnam. I had been in anti-war demonstrations in Washington, Chicago and elsewhere. University Church was a focal point of opposition to the war, and the congregation was fully involved as well as supporting my involvement. On the other hand, the congregation and I had consistently pleaded for a non-violent response. The horror of the war, and the potential violence in aspects of the anti-war movement had both been consistently resisted. And now here came students who were dedicated to ending the war, but at the same time seemed committed to violence as the operative tactic. What was I to do?

In conversation with the leaders of the congregation, and the local student majority who had been consistent in denying the use of violence, I decided to stand with the group that was using my church as the base of operations. At the same time I made it clear to them that I disavowed their proposed tactics, and would keep any such action out of the church facilities. That meant that even planning for “the days of rage” would be out of bounds. I decided to stand by the students, and I was the closest thing they had to a chaplain, even while I resisted the dark aspects of their agenda. I would be tear-gassed with them in Grant Park during the “police riots.”
Looking back, it seems clear that my attempt at a dual stance might have been impossible.

My dilemma came to a head the next year during the trial of “The Chicago 8” ( David Dellinger, Rennie Davis, John Froines, Tom Haydn, Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, Lee Weiner, and Bobby Seale) While disavowing their tactics, I had consistently tried to maintain this dual role as a supporter, but one who had consistantly stood in opposition to the violent nature of their action. The 8 had been indicted for their role in “The Days of Rage.” I had met with them, welcomed them in the church building and stood by them during their trial.

Did I get away with it? Possibly not. I was called before the Grand Jury that indicted them, as “a person of interest.” That was a harrowing experience. I was questioned by the district attorney. I was not allowed an attorney, nor did I have the right to confront my accusers. Two young undercover FBI agents, who had infiltrated our student group, had identified me as a co-conspirator.

My job, at which I was probably less than successful, had been to keep the demonstrations as peaceful as possible. However, as time went on, I became more and more convinced that the students were right and that the war was both immoral and illegal and had to be stopped. As a result of my involvement in the demonstrations, my phones were tapped and pictures were taken from a tower at the University right across the street, of everyone who entered our church building.

I have never been certain whether or not my difficult stance was really possible, but I stand behind what I did. The ambiguity might have been expected. When everything on which you stand is shaking, to hold your ground is both a commitment to act and the courage to face the consequences. I would do it again.