Chapter Fourteen University Life, 1960--70

Student Demonstrations and Other Strife

URING the nineteen-sixties student enrolments continued to rise very rapidly, up to 9,330 by 1970, which was far nhcad of official predictions. The D University had to pass a Limitation of Enrolmcnts Statute which excluded students for various reasons such as poor progress with their studies. Students living south ofTuakau, a place thirty-eight miles south of , were expected to enrol either at the University of Waikato or else at Massey University, which catered for extra-mural student�. Trnnsfers from other universitie� were discouraged.' It also proved necessary to place restrictions on the enrolment of overseas students, especially in the School of Engineering, which had a high proportion of South-east Asian Chinese students. Preference was given to Pacific Islanders and to students sponsored by international aid schemes such as the Colombo Plan. This restriction underlined one of the respects in which the Univesity had changed very much. Before World War II, <�part from a very few Maoris and New Zealand Chinese, the students were almost all European. Now there were large numbers of young people from South-east A�ia, including Thais, Malays, and Indonesians, from the Pacific Islands, and a few from Africa. The University was much more international; the New Zealand students were much more aware of world-wide issues. Another significant change was that the students became overwhelmingly full­ time. The Hughes Parry Committee had, like its predecessor, the Reichei-Tate Commission, heen very critical of the high proportion of part-time students in New Zealand. The Government accepted the recommendation of the former that

255 1\UCKLANO STAR

A race across the harbour in a variety of craft became a capping tradition: this one was in 1966 bursaries should be raised. The new bursary scale, while scarcely generous, did enable far more students to come to university full-time.2 This fact is relevant to campus and urban agitations of the sixties: before 1960 many of the demonstrators would have been at work and, in general, not fully committed to student affairs.

INTERNAL ENROLMENTS

1959-1979

1959 1962 1964 1969 1979 Faculty FIT PIT FIT PIT FIT PIT FIT PIT FIT PIT

Architecture 179 118 215 97 171 103 241 173 395 98

Arts 575 963 737 1,272 1,033 1,048 2,099 1,416 2,459 2,129

Commerce 41 570 143 596 284 404 650 353 987 61 I

Law 75 225 113 214 212 214 567 161 589 235

Total enrolmencs all Faculties 1,743 2,197 1,208 2,179 3,144 2,015 6,304 2,467 8,186 3,5361

256 TOP As early as /969 Muldoon was appearing in 'Procesh'. BOTTOM An innovation of the /960.1 was the annual open-air Shakespearean production. This Hamlet was in 1979 A HISTORY OF THE

Not everyone welcomed the increase in full-time study. The lawyers had always relied on law students to provide lowly-paid law clerks. Bur now, with vacation jobs plus their bursaries, law students in increasing numbers began to study full-time. The Law Faculty increasingly moved lectures into hours nfter nine and before five. The Law Society made strong and repetitive represent

258 STUDENT DEMONSTRATIONS AND OTHER STRIFE

handsome profit. There were the traditional dramatic and satirical skits, a big 'ballet' number, and a final thirty-minure opera, which took much time in rehearsal.11 But the revue in 1966, like that in 1964, was held to have been a flop. lt lost about $1,000, pardy on tour. In 1964 seven Cambridge students and graduates came from England with the new satirical style of the 'Cambridge Circus'. This was a huge success and taught the students to choose the actors first and write their skits to suit rhem.12 Some of the <;tudents-and staff-founded a 'Five nnd Nine Club' to emulate the Cambridge students. They included Roger Simpson, Stew Ross, and the historian, Nicholas Tarling. Their new 'intimate revue', first put on in 1966, but not for 'capping', was very successful and eventually it replaced the old 'extrav' performances. Among the more memorable was the very funny 'Was 1969 really necessary?' which included Michael Noonan and Phi! Thwaites and Darien Takle as well as some of the earlier actors. Another innovation, in 1964, which persisted at least into the early nineteen­ eighties, was the annual production of an open-air Shakespearean play in the Univer­ sity grounds. Generally this was performed on the grassed quadrangle outside what used to be the men's and women's common rooms in the Old Arts Building. Ics gloomy, gothic walls, arches, :md balcony provided a splendid setting for ghosts and murder most foul. Some of rhe staff, notably Professors Musgrove and Tarling, becnme regular actors or producers in these plays. Craccum, which at some periods of its history had imitated the cruder forms of tabloid newsp:1pers, became for a time a serious journal; carrying articles on topics such as the alleged torture of prisoners in South Africa or United States policy in Vietnam, drugs, morals, or sexual permissiveness. It published reviews of art exhibi­ tions, books, architecture, theatre, and new films. lts editors came to demand a relatively high literary standard and some of the contributors, like Bill Holt, Richard Nnrthey, and Chri!-> Smithyrnnn became good journalist�. Its circulation in 1959 wa� about 1,000. Ten issues were published in a year.11 During the early sixties Kiu·i published work by some promising young writers such as Vince O'Sullivan, Max Richards, Albert Wendt, and K. 0. Arvidson, as well as art work by Don Binney, Suzanne Goldberg, and other artists. Its literary impulse was, however, faltering. Kiu•i did not appear in 1964, but was replaced by Cwcible. [rs editors felt that the name 'Kiwi' was 'an inadequate symbol for creative writing'. Kitei appeared again for its sixtieth anniversary in 1965. The editors claimed that it was 'an expressionistic magazine rather than a literary one'. In 1966 the editor was the young poet lan Wedde. He found that the flow of copy was a mere trickle and feared that 'the creative sphincter of the University was slowly and irrevocably seizing up.'14 After this the Kiwi became extinct. Crrccible appeared again in 1966-7 and twice more, becoming vaguely internationalist but feeble in literary merit. At the end of the sixties there was a literary revolution which the critic, C. K. Stead, has written might be seen as compnrable in significance ro the appearance of Phoenix in the nineteen-rhirtics.15 A new group of young poets, almost all of them Auckland gr<�duates, established a new literary journal. Freed (they had freed the word), ro publish verse in various modernist modes, inspired by such poets as Pound, Creeley, and Olsnn. Freed was published by the Students' Association for

259 A HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF AUCKLAND

the literary Society. The new poets included Jan Kemp, David Mitchell, lan Wedde, Murray Edmond, Arthur Baysting, and Bill Manhire, all of whom were to continue writing verse after their student days. Freed appeared five times in the years 1969 to 1972. It was edited by AI an Brunton, Russell Haley, and others. There were other student literary journals in the fifties and sixties, including Nucleus, but none survived into the seventies. Other more conventional journals of student writing, such as the Auckland Student Geographer, the Auckland University Law Review, and the Historical Society Annual did, however, persist. Many aspects of what had seemed unchanging traditions were changing and to change, so that, in the next decade, the University would be almost unrecognizable to staff or students before, say, the late nineteen-fifties. In the early nineteen-sixties some of the civic leaders reacted strongly against the customary annual pre­ graduation day 'procesh' and capping book. A few of the 'floats', that is, displays mounted on trucks, were usually excellent. One year, for instance, South-east Asian students constructed a superb Chinese temple. But there were always numerous 'lavatory', sexist, and similar juvenile jokes. In 1961 the mayor, D. M. Robinson, and the Anglican and Catholic Bishops protested against the grave affronts to public decency and morals. Senate insisted on censorship in 1962. Craccum reported that bureaucratic control had led to a dull and ineffective 'procesh': if this situation were to continue the procession should be abandoned. There were further complaints in the later sixties: students threw 'flour-bombs' at policemen. There were frequent com­ plaints about the 'dirty' jokes in the capping books. In 1971 the Students' Association decided to abandon 'procesh'-seventy-one years after the first. A principal, perhaps main, influence on this decision was not 'civic' disapproval, but the fact that the interest of students in horse-play and the obscenities of 'capping mags' was fading. 61 This point deserves some emphasis, for the attitudes of the young were in a phase of rapid change. There is no doubt that many citizens disapproved of the generally loutish and drunken capping revels. In 1961, when 'procesh' was under fire, a Council member, the Reverend 0. T. Baragwanath, suggested that there should be an academic procession back to the University following the capping ceremony in the Town Hal1. 17 This idea eventually caught on. In 1967 the staff were asked their views on having an academic procession. They voted 170 to 90 against, but Council wanted to have it, and felt there was enough support to go ahead with a procession down to the Town Hall before the graduation ceremony.1 8 The Students' Association wanted to try it too. So the riotous fancy-dress 'procesh' was succeeded by the dignified and be­ gowned graduation procession. Auckland experienced nothing like the student explosions in Western Europe and North America; nevertheless, the sixties was the decade of the greatest student agita­ tion in the history of the University. The decade did not begin with demonstrations but with the usual complaints about student apathy. For instance, in 1961 only 600 out of about 4,500 students signed a petition against the spread of nuclear weapons. 19 In 1965 there was a big demonstration by 400 students at the Easter show-they were protesting, not on political grounds, but at the inadequacy of government bursaries and delays in the University's building programme. 20 In 1964 there were protest meetings against French nuclear tests in the Pacific,21 but, in general, political activism came in the later sixties.

260 STUDENT DEMONSTRATIONS AND OTHER STRIFE

At first some of the staff were more radical or more outspoken than most of the students. The first 'teach-in' on the issue of sending New Zealand troops ro Vietnam was organized by students early in 1965. The next, in Auckland, was organized by a staff and student committee on South-east Asia. The most active members were an historian, , and a philosopher, Roberr Nola. The 'teach-ins' included informative background speeches, political speeches, and protest speeches. At the Auckland 'teach-in' a number of staff spoke, as did Sir Waiter Nash and the Hon. ]. R. Marshal!. The large audience was strongly opposed ro the . Or Bassett and Or Nola published the speeches in a booklet, New Zealand and South-East Asia (Auckland, [1966]). They also published a pamphlet.22 There is no doubt that the 'teach-ins', as well, of course, as news of similar protest movements overseas, served to politicize the students who were 'looking for an issue'. Or Bassett later said that 'the place came alight'. 21 This committee, however, was soon out-flanked on the left. One of the first student demonstrations, armed with placards, slogans, and shouting, led to one of the most sensational episodes in the hisrory of the University; for a time it was under heavy political fire and menace. Oavid Godfrey had for ten years been a police superintendent in Jamaica. He had then joined the New Zealand Security Service: it was said in that he had been trained by M.I.S. He used ro wear a movie detective's raincoat, with shoulder pads and a belt, like Harry Lime in the film, The Third Man. He had a characteristic presumably unusual with security police: he told a number of people at the Univer­ sity, where he enrolled in 1962, what his occupation was.24 In the years 1962-4 he passed several 'units' of political studies and history and also enrolled for a paper in Russian. He told his history tutOr about his occupation which she kept to herself. In 1966, however, when he was enrolled for a third-year course in political studies, his activities on campus began ro cause considerable tension in his class. His occupation became widely known. Some of the students had radical opinions, or at least opinions different from his, on issues such as race relations and feared that if they expressed them in front of him it would jeopardize their careers if ever they wished to join the public service. In early May a student journal, Outspoke, published a front­ page article, 'OUR MAN IN PRINCES ST', revealing that he had attempted 'to spy on two visiting Russian students'.25 The Vice-Chancellor, K. ]. Maidment, immediately rang the head of the Security Service, who confirmed that Godfrey was one of their officers. After some enquiries it became clear that Godfrey had made attempts to gain information from students about other students. Maidment told the Security Service that these activities were causing uneasiness and must cease, and he published a statement that the first responsibility of any university authorities was to ensure that full freedom of speech and discussion was enjoyed by both students and staff. It was proposed that in future Godfrey could attend formal lectures but not tutorials or seminars where discussions rook place. Instead, he would be given private tutorials by the political science staff. 26 It was hoped that this would allay student alarm but this was not the case. On 31 May 1966 fifty or so students demonstrated outside the Political Studies Department. This was the first demonstration of the sort at the University, and it produced the most dramatic, indeed lurid, results.

261 A HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF AUCKLAND

For some reason the outside door of the Political Studies Department, an old house, was locked, but one of the political scientists, Dr Ruth Butterworth, came out and did not close the door behind her. W. F. Mandle was lecturing to the quite small class which included Godfrey. There was so much noise that they retreated upstairs to his office. The demonstrators entered the building and went upstairs shouting, 'We want Godfrey' and 'Smoke them out'. At this point Mandle rang the police, an event without precedent in the history of the University. The police arrived promptly and, with Mandle's permission, removed the students, in some cases vigorc•usly, dragging one young man, for instance, down the stairs. Many if not most of the demonstrators were women. The group was not one of semi-professional demorstrators, but included the student president and the women's vice-president, at least a> observers. 27 The Vice-Chancellor denounced the demonstrators who had disrupte1 t teaching in an endeavour to embarrass or to victimize an individual. 28 At the satne time the Deans Committee resolved that the University would tolerate neither such victimiza­ tion nor one student spying on other students. It was now formally resolved that

The 'Godfrey case' was one of the most sensational episodes in the histOry of the University. Minhinnick's version Nf..W 7EAI.AND HFRALO

-1.1.2.�1-';·72.

262 STUDENT DEMONSTRATIONS AND OTHER STRIFE

because Godfrey was a disturbing influence on normal teaching he should be given separate teaching. It was hoped that his employers would soon withdraw him from the University.29 These events were seen by members of the Government as a group of left-wingers, including some staff, persecuting an innocent public servant. The University of Auckland Amendment Bill was before the House and the debate provided oppor­ tunity for some intemperate outbursts. The ministers thought it was 'insufferable' that Godfrey should be excluded from ordinary classes and given individual tutorials. T. P. Shand described the demonstration as a 'riot' against a boy! In fact the students' resistance to the police had been quite passive. ]. B. Gordon thought that Ruth Butterworth should be sacked. He spoke of 'Communist or near-Communist activity .. . jeopardising the freedom of individuals'. He described R. M. Chapman, the Professor of Political Studies, Ruth Butterworth, and another lecturer, J. F. Sattler, as 'peaceniks and vietniks'. Chapman was denounced because of newspaper reports, which were quite untrue, claiming that he had spoken in front of his class of Godfrey as a 'spy'. Dr Martyn Finlay, a Labour M.P., defended the University by saying that Godfrey had attempted to persuade students to report on other students and that his presence in the class 'inhibited free discussion, and the free interplay and exchange of ideas which are basic to a university education'. 30 The Prime Minister made dark remarks about Communists on the university staff. He had not, it seems, been fully briefed by the Security Service, for he said that Godfrey had carried out only one assignment on campus-to watch two Russian student visitors.31 This was very far from the truth. The Vice-Chancellor went down to Wellington for a long interview with two ministers, T. P. Shand and J. R. Hanan. lt became obvious to him that they did not accept his assertion that the University had done nothing wrong and he told them chat the University would request a public enquiry and that if any blame were attached to the University authorities he would resign. At the University's request the Government ordered a Commission of Enquiry. 32 The Commissioner was a retired judge, the Hon. ]. D. Hutchinson. The Commission sat for several days. It became clear from the evidence of Godfrey and others that he had, in fact, been very widely active on the campus, making twenty-five or thirty 'enquiries', including investigations of two lecturers with European connections. Some of the evidence was up to B-movie quality. One g!rl testified that he tried to induce her to become secretary of the left-wing Peace Council and to report on it. She was taken to the Domain by a man in one car, and then whisked off in Godfrey's. The judge found that the political scientists had done no wrong. The decision to give Godfrey private tuition was probably the best decision that could have been made in the circumstances. The police had not used excessive force. He was, however, critical of the demonstrators for refusing to leave the building when asked to do so by the lecturer. He recommended, what the Security Service, the University, and the students all agreed to, that in future a Security Service officer enrolled as a student should not be called upon to enquire into security matters on campus. 33 In the end the episode seemed almost a storm in a tea-cup. One of the legal counsel said that it was rather like opening a walnut with a mallet.34 But for the University administration, and even more so for the political scientists, it was a traumatic experience.

263 A HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF AUCKLAND

The 'Godfrey ca�e· had a sour and illiberal consequence which is difficult to under­ stand unless one bears in mind the fears and hatreds of the McCarrhy era, the 'cold war', and the disastrous Vietnam war. During the depression of the thirties it was the radical group that felt threatened, but in 1966-7 the University itself was under a strong political attack, the motives or aims of which were not clear. How far, the University authorities wondered, was the Government willing or intending to go? Senior administrators and staff members, once the Commission of Enquiry was over, had little wish to investigate this question further. Partly as a result, the 'Godfrey case' was followed by the 'Milner affair'. Ian Milner had been at the Waitaki Boys' High School, where his father was the rector, with James Bertram, the editor of Phoenix, and Charles Brasch, who was one of its contributors. Waitaki was modelled on some of the English public schools, being at once spartan and intellectual. ln the thirties Milner had written for the Auckland students' journal, Phoenix, anJ later for the left-wing journal, Tomorrow. In 1945-6 he served as a temporary officer in the Australian Department of External Affairs and then in the United Nations Secretariat. Later he went to live in Prague, where he taught English at Charles University. He was married to a Czech woman. ln 1967 Milner was invited by the University of Canterbury as a visiting lecturer for a term. A similar invitation followed from Auckland.35 The two Universities were to share the expense. Shortly afterwards a sensational weekly newspaper, Truth, claimed that he was an 'ex-spy' who was 'known to have passed information to Russian agents'.36 The wife of a Russian defector in Australia, Petrov, had alleged that Milner had leaked secret information. He was one of many who were 'smeared' during the subsequent Australian espionage enquiries. He indignantly denied the allegation but he was never officially accused and had no opportunity publicly eo clear his name. The Auckland Star did, however, publish his statement in his defence. 37 The word 'spy', the mere thought of 'security', alarmed the Auckland University authorities, who felt that the University could not afford another public scandal. After consulting, it seems, one or two senior academics, the Vice-Chancellor decided to cancel the invitation to Milner. The Registrar wrote a letter to him claiming that the lectures he was to give could now 'conveniently' be delivered by staff members. Furthermore the Truth report 'would, if you visited New Zealand, be likely to cause emharrassment both tO you and to the University itsclf.'38 At Canterhury rhe invita­ tion was debated by the Professorial Board which voted ro cancel it. So far and so soon had the Universities forgotten academic freedom of speech. Both the Auckland branch and the Canterbury branch of the Association of University Teachers protested at these decisions. The former regretted that the University had been intimidated by a Truth article.39 Milner had already obtained leave from his University and sub-let his apartment. He was, naturally enough, angry as well as embarrassed. The Auckland Council sent a slightly apologetic letter saying that it had not intended to reflect upon his academic standing 'as a member of a distinguished European University'. It paid him the money he was to have received for his lectures. Canterbury eventually recompensed him too, but only under threat of legal action.40 To its great credit, in 1970 the Univer�ity of Otago made some amends by offering Milner a visiting position. Truth again attacked him,41 but this

264 STUDENT DEMONSTRATIONS AND OTHER STRIFE

time no one took any notice. When he came he was again invited to lecture at the University of Auckland and did so. The most disturbed years in the history of the Auckland students were the late nineteen-sixties, the final years of service of the first Vice-Chancellor. He was not, of course, the cause, and scarcely even a cause, of the problems; indeed, he was very good at cooling heated issues. For instance, he was responsible for setting up joint staff-student consultative committees in every department. These worked well and ensured a new level of co-operation and consultation. On the whole readers may conclude that the Vice-Chancellor emerged from the heat of battle, not quite unscarred, but at least with dignity. Despite a rare error of judgement, he had become a master of his task. In those days there were few applicants for university Presidents' or Vice-Chancellors' jobs. For the first time, the students were sufficientlynumerous to constitute a significant minority group in the community and to have some social impact. Some of their leaders had exaggerated ideas about the extent of their political clout, but few people would doubt that the anti-Vietnam demonstrations had important political effects in some countries. In the U.S.A. they worked against President johnson. In New Zealand they undoubtedly helped to minimize the number of New Zealand troops sent to Vietnam to fight. In this respect the demonstrators were strengthening the Government's ability to resist American pressure for a greater contribution.42 It must be added that not all the demonstrators were students, but certainly they played a key role. This was the first occasion in New Zealand history when foreign policy became a significant political issue. In this respect, the 'teach-ins' and 'demos' were signs, not merely of undergraduate radicalism and exuberance, but of a growing national maturity. In I 967 there was a protest against the visit of Marshal Ky. The first large protest march seems to have been in 1968. The United States had a secret Omega base near Blenheim, possibly for satellite-tracking equipment, which seemed tO provide a target important enough to attract nuclear rockets in the event of war. In July, 2,500 students and staff marched down Queen Street in protest.43 The student 'demos' became more urgent and vigorous for two or three years, at least in part because of the appearance of a demonstrator, protester, and showman born, it seemed, to these roles. In Bullshit and Jellybeans Tim Shadbolt wrote his own colourful account of some of the events of the time. 44 In 1968 he and a handful of other students started Ausapocpah: the Auckland University Society for the Active Prevention of Cruelty to Politically Apathetic Humans. He writes that they only numbered eight, but they certainly enlivened debates at the 'Forum', the 'quad' between the student union buildings. They wore bowler hats, or floppy hats, and red and black capes. They were flamboyant, 'anarchistic and libertarian'. 4s Shadbolt was an extremely good student orator, indeed demagogue. But they did not get everything their own way. On one occasion, he records, a peace march was disrupted by engineering students, always the right wing on the campus. Some of the Ausapocpahs were elected to the Students' Association executive, bur their antics, such as fighting to establish a brothel on campus, won them little support, and they were soon pushed off the executive.46 It is not always clear who was behind the numerous marches and other 'demos', for there were a number of organizing committees, including the left-wing Peace for

265 A HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF AUCKLAND

Vietnam Committee, and the Progressive Youth Movement, but students, including high-school students, played a prominent and noisy role. There were large protests against the proposed South Africa rugby tour of New Zealand, which was to be stopped in 1973 by the Prime Minister, . In 1969 HART was set up to oppose this tour. ln the same year there was a 'sit-in' in the United States Consul's office. A number of demonstrators, including Shadbolt, were arrested and twenty-six were finedY This episode led to a protest by about one hundred students outside the University Law Library when the American Ambassador was presenting a collection of American books and records to the University. There was a brief brawl between demonstrators and law students. The 'demo' was organized by the students' Socialist Society.48 In mid-January 1970 there was a serious disturbance at the University itself. The American Vice-President, Spiro Agnew, was staying at the Hotel Intercontinental which is across the road from the Old Government House part of the campus. The boundary was lined with trees, shrubs, and bamboo, which would provide excellent cover for anyone intending to hurl or fire projec­ tiles into the hotel entrance. New Zealand was an ally of the United States in both the Australia-New Zealand-U.S.A. pact (1951) and the South East Asia Treaty Organisation (1954) as well as in the war in Vietnam. Obviously vigorous measures were necessary to protect the Vice-President. The flamboyant Tim Shadbolt in cape and The University authorities thought floppy hat that the main problem might be non­ student demonstrators entering Old Government House grounds and the Vice­ Chancellor arranged with the police that they would prevent unauthorized entry and would patrol the boundary of those grounds from the inside. 49 In the event this arrangement proved quite inadequate. The police could not identify staff or students; large numbers of police were rushed in without being briefed in terms of the agreement. 50 The result was dramatic. On 16 January the police were preventing both staffand students from entering the Old Government House grounds. Some 300 demonstrators gathered outside the hotel-and the campus opposite-next day. Some staff members joined the demonstrators. According to , a newspaper not noted for being a critic of the police, they were warned to leave and then attacked by 150 to 200 police who pushed them to the ground, kicked and hit

266 ABOVE The demonstration against Spiro Agnew, which led to prolonged protest, discHssion, and reflection. RIGHT Ngahuia Volkerling leads a women's liberation 'day of mourning' A HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF AUCKLAND them. A number of staffmembers signed statements to the same effect. Students were manhandled off campus into the street. There is no doubt that there were many examples of police roughness and violence. Moreover, it was clear that the Vice­ President's Secret Service officers, armed with revolvers, were present, to the surprise and alarm of unarmed New Zealanders. 51 A number of young people were arrested. Needless to say, this incident led to prolonged protest, discussion, and reflection. In the end the University resolved that no organized group activities would be permitted, without the Vice-Chancellor's permission, in the grounds of Old Government House.52 The more obvious solution, however, was not to place such overseas visitors as Agnew in a hotel just off campus, a point apparently taken by people in authority since then. These events led to events unprecedented in student history in New Zealand. Some of the demonstrators, including some students, began a campaign of bombing, usually with dynamite, various military and other bases. They began emulating the redoubtable Hone Heke, who had repeatedly cut down the flagstaff at Kororareka in the eighteen-forties, by blowing it up. Over the next year there were several bombing attacks on military, Air Force, and other targets. No one was killed. Eventually some of these students received lengthy prison sentences. In his Bullshit and Jellybeans, Tim Shadbolt wrote that most of these students were 'well above average in their studies'. 53 Few of the leaders of the protests, in fact, fitted that description at that time; their academic records were repeatedly marked, 'Did not sit', 'Ceased studies', 'Withdrew', usually with a pass or two and some failures. This is recorded, not as a critical comment on student activists, but as a relevant comment on student life at rhat time. Demonstrating was more exciting than study­ ing the deeds of Charles V: Shadbolt described himself as 'a second year Arts dropout'.54 In the 1970s a number of the demonstrators became successful members of the community in various ways. Some of them returned to the University and graduated. Many of the more moderate activists, who were also serious students, have become successful diplomats, teachers, academics, journalists, too; much of the noise arose from serious thought and was not to be wasted. The final stage of the demonstrations was the 1971 'mobilisation' against the war. This was apparently, in part, originated by the Trotskyite Socialist Action League in Wellington, although a leader of the movement disputes that. ln Auckland the idea was adopted by a Mobilisation Committee which was non-doctrinaire and drew together numerous anti-war groups. On 30 April 10,000 or more people marched up Queen Street.55 1972, which saw President Nixon visit China, and the election of a Labour Government under Norman Kirk, effectively marked the end of the demonstrations. But new kinds of protest were already beginning. By mid-1970 two women's libera­ tion groups had been formed at the University, the Women's Movement for Freedom and the Women's Liberation Front, and were pressing for new objectives.56 In 1971 Susan Kedgley was writing such articles as 'The phenomenon of femininity'. There was a National Women's Liberation Conference, addressed by her and Ngahuia Volkerling and others. In September a day of mourning was held dedicated to the memory of the early suffragists.57 The atmosphere of the University campus changed enormously during the sixties;

268 STUDENT DEMONSTRATIONS AND OTHER STRIFE as rolls and buildings went up it began to look like and to fe el like a large university. There were now quite new problems-the ready availability of drugs both on and off campus, for instance. This was the decade of the 'stoned'. In 1969 the students voted in fa vour of legalizing 'pot', but rescinded this vote shortly afterwards by 1,158 ro 1,037.58 Yet this mood, like the commitment to political demonstrations, was to change as rapidly in the seventies as it had in the sixties. This narrative has necessarily emphasized the disturbances, relatively mild by world standards, on or near the campus during the sixties. Yet such an account may leave a fa lse impression. On the occasion of his retirement in 1980, Professor Sydney Musgrove remarked that he had almost always fo und the University a civilized and humane place. He thought that the existence of a physically open university, five minutes' walk from the main street of a large city, with no railings nor lockable gates and with no 'campus police', was testimony to the good sense and good nature of its mhabitants. This was said in more peaceful times than the sixties, when the thought might not have occurred to many people.

269