Excerpts from Time Magazine
[Americans who were young in the 1960s influenced the course
of the decade as no group had before.]
(January 6, 1967)
The young have already staked out their own minisociety, a
congruent culture that has both alarmed their elders and, stylistically
at least, left an irresistible impression on them. No Western
metropolis today lacks a discotheque or espresso joint, a Mod
boutique or a Carnaby shop. No transistor is immune from rock
'n' roll, no highway spared the stutter of Hondas. There are
few Main Streets in the world that do not echo to the clop of
granny boots, and many are the "grannies" who now wear them.
What started out as distinctively youthful sartorial revolt
drainpipe-trousered men, pants-suited or net-stockinged women,
long hair on male and female alike--has been accepted by adults
the world over.
The young seem curiously unappreciative of the society that
supports them. "Don't trust anyone over 30," is one of their
rallying cries. Another, "Tell it like it is," conveys an abiding
mistrust of what they consider adult deviousness.
Sociologists and psychologists call them "alienated" or "uncommitted."
In fact, the young today are deeply involved in a competitive
struggle for high grades, the college of their choice, a good
graduate school, a satisfactory job--or, if need be, for survival
in Vietnam. Never have they been enmeshed so early or so earnestly
in society. Yet they remain honestly curious and curiously honest.
Despite their tolerance of quixotic causes and idiosyncratic
roles, the young reflect--more accurately than they might care
to admit--many of the mainstream currents in society at large.
In 1966, the young American became vociferously skeptical of
the Great Society. Though he retains a strong emotional identification
with the deprived and spurned citizens of his own and other
societies, he recognizes that the civil rights revolution, in
which he was an early hero at the barricades, has reached a
stage at which his own involvement is no longer vital. And,
as a letter to the President signed by 100 student leaders across
the nation showed last week, he has become increasing perturbed
by the war.
[Youthful Americans protested the rigidity and elitism
of their universities, and through their actions they expressed
the frustration, rage and alienation felt by many of the young
about racial inequality, social injustice, the Vietnam War and
the economic and political constraints of conventional life
and work.]
(July 7, 1967)
The hippies have emerged on the U.S. scene in about 18 months
as a wholly new subculture, a bizarre permutation of the middle-class
American ethos from which it evolved. Hippies preach altruism
and mysticism, honesty, joy and nonviolence. They find an almost
childish fascination in beads, blossoms and bells, blinding
strobe lights and ear-shattering music, exotic clothing and
erotic slogans. Their professed aim is nothing less than the
subversion of Western society by "flower power" and force of
example.
Although that sounds like a pipe-dream, it conveys the unreality
that permeates hippiedom, a cult whose mystique derives essentially
from the influence of hallucinogenic drugs. Unlike other accepted
stimuli, from nicotine to liquor, the hallucinogens promise
those who take the "trip" a magic-carpet escape from reality
in which perceptions are heightened, senses distorted, and the
imagination permanently bedazzled with visions of teleological
verity.
The key ethical element in the hippie movement is love--indiscriminate
and all-embracing, fluid and changeable, directed at friend
and foe alike. SUPERZAP THEM ALL WITH THE LOVE! proclaims a
sign in Los Angeles' Sans Souci Temple, a hippie commune.
Today, hippie enclaves are blooming in every major U.S. city
from Boston to Seattle, from Detroit to New Orleans: there is
a 50-member cabal in, of all places, Austin, Texas. There are
outposts in Paris and London, New Delhi and Katmandu, where
American hippies trek the "hashish trail" to get cheap but potent
hallucinogens and lessons in Buddhist love.
They are predominantly white, middle-class, educated youths,
ranging in an age from 17 to 25 (though some as old as 50 can
be spotted). Overendowed with all the qualities that make their
generation so engaging, perplexing and infuriating, they are
dropouts from a way of life that to them seems wholly oriented
toward work, status and power. They scorn money--they call it
"bread"--and property, and have found, like countless other
romantics from Rimbaud to George Orwell, that it is not easy
to starve.
Perhaps the most striking thing about the hippie phenomenon
is the way it has touched the imagination of the "straight"
society that gave it birth. Hippie slang has already entered
common usage and spiced American humor. Department stores and
boutiques have blossomed out in "psychedelic" colors and designs
that resemble animated art nouveau. The bangle shops in any
hippie neighborhood cater mostly to tourists, who on summer
weekends often outnumber the local flora and fauna.
San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district--a throbbing three-eights
of a far-from-square-mile--is the vibrant epicenter of the hippie
movement. Fog sweeps past the gingerbread houses of "The Hashbury,"
shrouding the shapes of hirsute, shoeless hippies huddled in
doorways, smoking pot, "rapping" (achieving rapport with random
talk), or banging beer cans in time to ubiquitous jukebox rhythms.
A major new development in the hippie world is the "rural commune,"
some 30 of which now exist from Canada through the U.S. to Mexico.
There, nature-loving hippie tribesmen can escape the commercialization
of the city and attempt to build a society outside of society.
© 1994 Time Inc. Magazine Company and Compact Publishing,
Inc.
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