Review of Freedom’s Orator

Freedom’s Orator: Mario Savio and the Radical Legacy of the 1960s.

by Robert Cohen Oxford University Press, 532 pages, $34.95

It probably wasn’t until seven years after his death that a Mario Savio speech would reach its largest audience – albeit in altered form.  Anyone of a certain age who detected an echo of Savio’s 1964 “gears of the machine” speech in the 2003 season finale of Battlestar Galactica was not having one of those legendary acid flashbacks.  The show’s producer had been looking at a copy of the speech hanging on his wall for five years and it was with the permission Savio’s widow that the character known as “The Chief” delivered a paraphrase of the words that led into the famous Free Speech Movement (FSM) sit-in at the University of California, Berkeley’s Sproul Hall.

Probably more of Savio’s peers saw the clip of his original speech in another television show, though, Martin Scorsese’s 2005 Bob Dylan documentary, “No Direction Home.”  Only fitting in that, as FSM principal Jack Weinberg told Robert Cohen, author of the Savio biography, “Freedom’s Orator,” back then “If you named … young people who were famous, all the rest were rock musicians … [the] Beatles and Bob Dylan–and Mario Savio was a celebrity of that caliber.” Since it was Weinberg’s arrest that set off the thirty-two hour blockade of a police car that created FSM, he may lack sufficient distance to make such a judgement, but then it is a fact that, upon finishing his speech that day, Savio turned the mike over to Joan Baez for a rendition of her friend Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are A Changin.”

When Mario Savio enrolled at UC Berkeley in 1963, it was his third college in three years.  Berkeley already had a free thinking reputation when he arrived.  That fact was the better part of why he was there: There was a serious student political party of several years standing called SLATE; Cal students had participated in major San Francisco demonstrations in 1960 at a House Un-American Activities Committee hearing at City Hall and outside the 1964 Republican National Convention at the Cow Palace; and the Civil Rights movement was a campus presence – Savio would be one of 167 arrested at a sit-in protesting the discriminatory hiring policies of the San Francisco Sheraton Palace hotel.  By the time Savio left, the campus had a free speech reputation as well – the man and the institution each having become a nationwide symbol of a new wave of student activism.

A ban on political advocacy on the Berkeley campus dated back to the 1930s, apparently a result of a West Coast Red scare that followed the San Francisco general strike.  There was, however, a twenty-six-foot-strip of sidewalk on Bancroft and Telegraph Avenues where such activity went on because it was believed to be city, not university property.  But in September of 1964, university administrators decided otherwise and shut the free speech area down.  A couple of brief sit-ins protesting the ban at administration offices followed over the next few days.  Then, at a Sproul Plaza rally called in defiance of the ban, administrators decided to arrest the above mentioned Jack Weinberg because he was not currently a Cal student, having dropped out of graduate math studies to concentrate on civil rights activities through a campus chapter of the Congress of Racial Equality.

Cohen writes: “The method used to arrest Weinberg could not have been more provocative … he had been dragged into a police car in the center of Sproul Plaza.  It was the most crowded spot on campus and shortly before noon, the busiest time of day.” A “fairly major level of stupidity,” Savio later observed.  At that moment, the Berkeley sit-in moved to a new level: “Before the officer could start his engine students were sitting in around the car.” Savio, who had already emerged as the leader of protests against the free speech ban, had been sitting on the car’s hood and, he recalled, later, “Sometimes you’re just … gripped by the moment and you have a feel for what’s poetically right.” Then “I took my shoes off.  I didn’t want to hurt the car,” (although he would later bite a cop’s leg – and subsequently apologize profusely), stepped up into history and gave the first speech of the protest that would block the police car for the next day.

The American campus had never seen anything like this before.  And it grew – 6,000 came to a December 2 protest at which Savio gave “the speech” about blocking the machine with your body that swelled the numbers ultimately deciding to sit in at the Administration office building to over a thousand.  Jackie Goldberg, later an LA City Councilor and member of the California Assembly, remembered the people “who walked into that building who had come to the rally not intending to sit in,” but did “because Mario had given that speech that just lifted us four or five inches off the ground.”

But as a speaker at the Sproul Hall memorial service following Savio’s death recalled, it wasn’t just that speech, but the fact that so many students had already heard Savio many times articulate their growing sense that right was on their side over the preceding months.  Literary critic Wendy Lesser considered him “the only political figure of my era for whom language truly mattered … the last American perhaps who believed that civil, expressive, precisely worded, emotionally truthful exhortation could bring about significant change … The sentences he spoke were complicated and detailed, with clauses and metaphors and little byways of digression that together added up to a coherent grammatical whole.” Well, maybe there were a few more besides Savio, but he was definitely a carryover from a pre-sound bite era of detailed argument.

At least a bit of his style can be traced back to Savio’s experience a few months earlier with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) in Freedom Summer which he considered “the event which more than any other created the white student movement” by bringing together “privileged upper- and middle-class youths from northern campuses with the disenfranchised black community of Mississippi.” As Cohen writes, “Having defied the Klan in Mississippi, he was not going to be intimidated by campus officials in Berkeley.” And if there is another figure that Savio resembles, both in his plain spoken but powerful speaking style and his reticence regarding the limelight, it would likely be Robert Moses of SNCC.

The Berkeley free speech advocates ultimately carried the day, although not before Savio was hauled off stage by campus police in front of a crowd of 15,000 at Berkeley’s Greek Theater, another disastrous episode in a series of administration blunders.  His arch adversary, UC Chancellor Clark Kerr later acknowledged that he “was obviously a genius at understanding crowds, appealing to them, and handling situations like that – quite beyond the capacity of any of us in the administration.”

There was a down side to all this, Cohen notes – the “rift between the Left and liberalism [that] would benefit the Right and contribute to the rise of Ronald Reagan” who would win the governorship two years later promising to “clean up the mess” in Berkeley.  Savio was expelled from the university for his actions and would not complete his undergraduate degree for nearly two decades.  In the immediate aftermath of the FSM he was a sought after speaker, participating in the 36-hour 1966 Berkeley Vietnam War teach-in but, as he would say many years later, “ I had trouble during the anti-Vietnam days because it was hard for me to talk about something I had not seen.” He ran a desultory 1968 state Senate campaign as a Peace and Freedom Party candidate, but never showed any inclination to stay in the limelight just because he could.  On the balance celebrity was a burden to him and he retired from public view (although FBI files show that the agency followed his activities for the next decade.)

Jackie Goldberg certainly surprised a few of us at the memorial service who did not personally know Savio with her mention that he was “a very troubled person.” Cohen tells us that he was hospitalized for depression in 1971 and that his eloquence was all the more striking to those who knew him, as he suffered from a severe stutter that he did not shed until the Free Speech Movement.

When he finally returned to college in the 1970s, he was again brilliant, this time in physics, to the point where a professor later included “Savio’s Theorem” in his text book Analytical Mechanics for Relativity and Quantum Mechanics.   When opponents of 1980s US Central America policy pined for a movement to rival that of the Vietnam era, it just came naturally to seek out Savio, whose subsequent seclusion had left his place in the annals of 1960s student activism untarnished.

Savio responded with speeches on a number of campuses that were every bit as thoughtful as before, particularly on the difficulties of mounting efforts against American foreign policy.  Recognizing that the anti-Vietnam War movement did not carry with it the physical dangers that pushing for civil rights did in many locations, he nonetheless defended it as, in some ways, the more difficult effort.  Compared to arguing for constitutional rights, the antiwar case was “less sweet.  I mean there is no way it could be otherwise.  It is an attack rather than a defense,” but “That’s what was needed because the war had to be stopped.” He thought “There was no way to have a decade to catch up so you could educate people so you could talk to them about these things.  In fact what was necessary was what the country got.  It got the best it could, given the time pressure.” Likewise, he thought opposing US Central America policy more difficult that opposing apartheid in South Africa.

In producing his definitive biography, Cohen has included nearly a hundred pages of Savio’s speeches and writings, starting with his 1960 valedictory speech at Martin Van Buren High School in Queens, New York, apparently delivered without hint of his then severe stammer, and ending with a pamphlet co-authored with his son Nadav, “In Defense of Affirmative Action: The Case Against Proposition 209.”   (Some of his speeches are also available at www.savio.org.)

When Savio died of a heart condition at age 53, he was heavily involved in a fight against a tuition increase at Sonoma State University where he lectured in math.   One colleague found his method of continuing to bring student voices to the fore “really wonderful.” He would get journalists to the campus “because it was Mario Savio calling,” but “he would not be there when the reporters came” – so they spoke with student activists instead.