Liberating the Third World, One Protest at a Time

Another Thursday gave way to another protest yesterday, as a hundred black-and-yellow-clad members of the Third World Liberation Front marched on the steps of upper Sproul Plaza. I began to read their signs, skeptical at first, but quickly came to the realization that this was a group with something to say:

‘UC Berkeley is racist’: ……maybe…

‘Fuck shit up’: Absolutely.

Where exactly, I wondered to myself, was the war-torn Front line in the bloody and relentless war for the Liberation of the Third World from centuries of poverty, corruption, and disease? Just as I’d guessed, it turned out to be right in the doorway of UC Berkeley’s temporary Multicultural Center. The protesters waved noisemakers in the air and chanted, demanding the construction of a new facility intended to replace the current one built in 2005- which was, apparently, generally felt to have done an insufficient job of Liberating the Third World.

Quick to join the war against suffering, I set out to learn as much as I could about the battleground. I began my research, donning an old t-shirt to take the brunt of the blood splatter before cautiously consulting intelligence at BerkeleyNews:

“The center is located in Heller Lounge on the ground floor of the Martin Luther King Jr. Student Union. The large, open, space is filled with new couches and chairs, and when it opened Tuesday, the first day of spring semester classes, a few students already were there mid-morning to catch a quick nap or read quietly.

‘I'm excited; it's been five years in the making.’”

By Noel Gallagher, Media Relations | 18 January 2005

Naturally, advice along the lines of “Fuck shit up” would pull the Third World out of its impoverished mess in an instant, but one interviewed student was nonetheless defensive of the group’s choice of words: “It’s a reaction to feeling extremely oppressed”, which was “common sentiment among the protesters.” I may fancy myself a writer, but if somebody asked me to describe, using more carefully chosen and precise words than “extremely oppressed”, what it must feel like for a hundred or so Californian university students to be without a sufficiently renovated multicultural center, I’d be at such a loss for words that I’d have to pack my things, run to the Third World, and ask somebody down there to help me find them.

It is important to remember that the violent and impoverished web of corruption plaguing the Third World is not a complicated issue, nor is it one beyond the scope of, say, the UC board of Regents. As the Third World Liberation Front effectively demonstrated yesterday, it is in fact one directly solvable by an alternating schedule of waving noisemakers, installing new sofas in Heller Lounge, and fucking shit up.

Buying a Clicker- HANDS DOWN the Best Purchase of 2008

Initially I was quite frustrated to learn that my economics professor required that I purchase a clicker. In this age of ever-increasing textbook costs, it seems a bit much to have to run out and drop an extra $40 on a ‘classroom response system’, which, of course, is nothing more than a thinly-veiled euphemism for ‘screw you, I can take roll during lecture now’.

These silly little devices are yet another episode in the continuing story of college professors around the country pulling out all the stops to make YOU wake up and sit through their lectures. First it was the elimination of webcasts, then the deletion of online notes… the more the semesters go by, the more we see the erosion of the academic benefits bestowed on us by technology, and the more elaborate professors’ schemes to hold our attention become. The harder they try, of course, the more we know their class isn’t worth the bother.

But I was just in the middle of unpacking my clicker- a dreary-grey bulky relic of late 1970s design- when I noticed something.

This was no ordinary clicker. This was an iClicker. It said so right on the label.

Within moments any doubts I may have entertained as to its purpose in my life were washed away in a stream of modernity, relevance, and affirmation of my identity as a citizen of a new, technologically adept world without shift keys.

The iClicker spoke to me. It said, “sometimes i don’t capitalize, just like you. and we understand each other just fine, don’t we- what’s a bit of incorrect grammar between friends? See, i get you.”

I knew immediately that it was right. It, too, was a member of my generation.

The iClicker is more than just a product. It is a means of self-expression in a world where ‘i’ am becoming an ever-decreasing proportion of the world’s population. It affords me a uniqueness which until now could only be provided by my digital music hard drive and portable telephone.

When I use the iClicker, I’m sending the world a clear message: “i woke up and dragged myself to class today.”

And that’s a message worth sending.

Weight Loss Alternatives for the Less Affluent

Microsoft Fails to Heed Important Adage with Word Count Feature, Student Finds As Deadline of 1,000-Word Essay Rapidly Approaches

"It was all I had"

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Tragedy stuck George Baker this morning when he realized, thirty minutes prior to the deadline, that his well- illustrated essay on ‘The Sociological Impact of Communication Technology on Modern Man’ was far, far shorter than Baker had realized.

“I’d finished my essay and was all ready to turn it in, and just thought I’d double check that it was long enough- and the next thing I know, Word Count pulls a fast one and leaves me about… 1,000 words short of what I’d expected,” Baker sobbed into his hands.

The document, abandoned shortly thereafter, remained maximized on Baker’s screen. A single image- an emoticon, smiling gaily- was boldly positioned just below the title, and slightly to the left of a familiar flickering vertical black line.

“It was all I had,” Baker recalled wistfully.

Microsoft representatives have declined comment.

Cheer Up: It's Tele-BEARS Time

It’s Tele-BEARS season again! Students everywhere are vowing to wake up later than ever, waitlists are growing by the second, and third-year students are still getting a hang of the system. You, in particular, will find- at the last minute- that the class you need has been moved to 8:00 am, that its well-populated waitlist didn’t manage to get left behind, and that its unit value will be miscalculated to be just enough to block you from enrollment.

Theoretically though, one day, our future won’t actually be scheduled on Tele-BEARS anymore. But will “real life” really be so different? Probably not. What life lessons can we draw from our Tele-BEARS experience?

Now: You realize you chose the wrong major as you find, yet again, that all of your classes are scheduled for 8:00 am

In the Future: Every morning at 5:00, as you wake up, you realize the same thing about the rest of your life

Now: INTROSPECTIVE NORMATIVE ANALYSIS OF SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY 10AC sounds like something you’d rather not do

In the Future: so does PAYING THE RENT

Now: There is a $10 drop fee to correct bad course decisions

In the Future: For $10, your young children can still be persuaded to go away

Now: No matter how carefully you plan it, one of your classes will later be rescheduled to create a perfect conflict with another

In the Future: Your wedding and funeral will occur simultaneously

Now: Choosing a class involves cross-referencing between multiple websites, many of which contain no information, finally culminating in an unsettlingly permanent random decision

In the Future: Choosing a wife will involve cross-referencing between multiple websites, many of which contain no information, finally culminating in an unsettlingly permanent random decision

ISLAM ABUSES WOMEN,

or so proclaimed a new character outside Dwinelle on Monday, holding above him a sign twice his size. As he pondered his heavenly reward (Jesus, after all, taught always to offend and to love others only as a last resort), an angry crowd gathered to read and absorb its wisdom:

ISLAM:

Pedophilia: check!

Polygamy: check!

Wife Beating: check!

“Islam advocates the abuse of women,” the man quietly repeated, savoring the far-more humanitarian thought of the opposing crowd burning in hell. Not to be outdone, they began to chant: “Racist go home! Racist go home!”- affirming their correctness through repetition, and most importantly, use of the term “racist.” The obvious misapplication of the word, in the considered opinion of many present, lent the argument a certain extra poignancy. Someone in the crowd produced a Bible. Someone else produced a lighter.

Ten minutes and twenty-seven “CRUSADES!!!” references later, I began to realize- and I suspect not uniquely- that I was, without question, the most intelligent, reasonable, and virtuous human being in the crowd.

“Take your hate somewhere else, you F*#KING MAN PIG!” the girl next to me (incidentally, a hate-free individual) screamed above the din of the rapidly-expanding crowd.

I may have received a “Just Drop Out Now” on my last midterm, but at least I didn’t say that.

Protests, it strikes me, are not the essence of Berkeley- they are its therapy. Only after months of immersion in this environment of pure and crushing personal failure can we fully appreciate how deeply and perfectly good it feels to catch our peers in the act of being so wrong. Sproul Plaza affords every one of us a unique daily opportunity to be reminded of how brilliant we truly are- if only by nature of not spending more time there. Of course, for those of us with extra-large martyr complexes (and size zero mathematics skills), participation can only serve as a greater distraction from our GPAs. Our protests don’t have a prayer of changing anyone’s mind, let alone the world. But we need them. Tree-sitting might sound stupid- but only if you’ve never sat through Econ 100A.

At some point in this particular protest, some loser pulled out a Qu’ran and began to translate. The rapid influx of information, naturally, terminated our exercise in Free Speech, and the crowd dispersed.

It would be difficult to find an example of a recent protest half as concerned with informational accuracy as it has been with endowing its participants with freedom-fighter status.

But being wrong, as it happens, is our constitutional right.

On Humility and Intellect (…and Pretentious Titles)

Intellect, like many other features that radically define how a person is seen and sees himself (such as, most prominently, physical beauty) is entirely non-chosen, with relatively limited room for effort-driven change. In this sense it is no better a measure of a man (in terms of value judgment) than his height, weight, or shoe size.

To purposely downplay one’s intelligence, then, is not an act of humility so much as it is an acknowledgement of perceived self-superiority. The concept of humility, after all, applies only to situations in which an individual is genuinely deserving of praise or commendation. To be humble about a naturally-endowed physical characteristic (such as intellectual capacity) is, in effect, to reflect a belief that it is not only earned and deserved, but a vitally important measure of a man’s value.