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Daily Nebraskan
Monday, December 16, 1985
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inety-seven percent of the 289 Nebraskans questi
oned in a recent Daily Nebraskan poll said they
believed in the worth of a college education. Sixty
four percent said they would give more of their tax
dollars to improve the quality of the university.
Of those questioned, 56 percent said they oppose the $3.3
million NU budget cut.
Yet, the NU Board of Regents Saturday approved a $3.3
million midyear budget reduction mandated by the Legislature.
The cut means that about 70 class sections at UNL and 100
at UNO could be cut. NU also will lose $742,867 for equipment
and $170,697 for repairs and maintenance. Many classrooms
. will be colder because of utility budget cuts.
It appears that NU has the support of the state, but not its
representatives.
UNL's budget already is 9 percent less than that of compar
able universities.
The latest budget cuts follow a 3 percent midyear reduc
tion in 1981-82, a 2 percent reallocation of 2 percent in
1983-84 and an increase in state aid of less than 1 percent in
1985-86.
Unlike some state legislators, Nebraskans value the univer
sity and realize that its benefits are far-reaching. They realize
the benefits of county extension agents, research projects and
the School of Technical Agriculture at Curtis.
Through research and agriculture programs, the university
invests in the state's future.
State legislators are elected to represent the people of the
state and decide what is best for the future of the state.
State senators who supported the NU budget cuts failed to
reflect most constituents' views and are not providing for the
state's future.
It's up to Nebraskans to remind state lawmakers of their
support for higher education and to make sure legislators
earmark some money from the 1 percent income tax increase
and the 5 percent cigarette tax increase for the university.
Editorial policy
Unsigned editorials represent official policy of the fall 1985 Daily Nebras
kan. Policy is set by the Daily Nebraskan Editorial Board. Its members are
Vicki Ruhga, editor in chief; Jonathan Taylor, editorial page editor, Ad
Hudler, news editor, Suzanne Teten, campus editor and Lauri Hopple, copy
desk chief. t
Editorials do not necessarily reflect the views of the university, its
employees, the students or the NU Board of Regents.
The Daily Nebraskan's publishers are the regents, who established the
UNL Publications Board to supervise the daily production of the paper.
The Daily Nebraskan
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Vkki Ruhga, 472-1763
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Suzanne Teten
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Jonathan Taylor
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Lauri Hopple
Chris Welsch
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I Alien
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Gene Gentrup
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Daniel Shattll
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True meaning lies in a stable, not in a store
Remember the Star Trek episode
where Spock was in heat? It was
really neat to watch this paragon
of dispassion and logic crumble into a
babbling, senseless brute, all for the
irrational desire of a beautiful yet con
niving woman. It is the theme from
which great literature has been made
for millenia. Well, this time of year I
always identify with the poor Vulcan.
James
Sennett
Eleven months out of the year, I
pride myself on my calculated dis
tance, my trained cynicism, my ability
to transcend the moment and hold the
events around me in proper perspec
tive and judgment. Then comes Christ
mas. During December I go totally ga ga. I
buy cutsy little stocking stuffers, sing
inane songs about jolly old elves and
electric reindeer and generally make a
sentimental fool of myself. And I offer
no apologies.
Christmas is the one season of the
year when I am given permission by
society (and myself) to be a sap. I don't
have to think rationally. I don't have to
watch out for consistency. I can shed
the veneer of respectability and explore
the untrimmed corners of humanness. I
can be a kid. I can believe in Santa
Claus. I can know that Jesus wasn't
really born on Dec. 25 and yet that
doesn't have to stop me using this sea
son to hope just one more time that His
inspiration will somehow make a dif
ference in this troubled world. I don't
even have to be afraid of using cliches
like "this troubled world."
Christmas is our last stronghold
against, the dehumanization of the
Western World. For a few brief days at
the ehd of the year, we can drop our
callousness and remember what it is
like -to care. We can say, and truly
meanf "Jt is more blessed to give than
to receive." We can remember the pure
joy of childhood Christmases, and recall
that we took as much delight in
Grandma and Grandpa visiting as we
did in the toys they brought. We can
smile at people on the streets without
worrying that they'll think we're weird.
We can drop money in a Salvation Army
bucket without feeling used. And we
can cope once again that everyone
really-does have the best interests of
others at heart.
It is from this perspective that the
crass commercialization of Christmas
really takes on its most sinister facade.
It is not simply that we have made
Christmas into just another opportun
ity to manipulate and pillage the buy
ing public. Rather, the unblinking
prostitution of this festival of sanity
reveals that we are changing from the
inside out. Currently, we can surface at
Christmas time and exercise the part
of us, that still rebels against total
materialization. But the remnants are
slipping fast.
Every Christmas it gets harder and
harder to defend a return to traditional
celebrations. Each year brings new
ways.to turn Christmas into the ulti
mate xelebration of our surrender to
the aiiimality of consumerism. We are
what we own, and at no time is that
evident like the Christmas season.
Of course Christmas was not origi
nally a. Christian holiday. Anyone who
has ever taken one of those "Christmas
Trivia" tests in Reader's Digest
knows that. But it did reach us as the
ultimate celebration of worship to a
deity who (like it or not) played a major
role in making this civilization what it
is. It was the natural culmination of a
devotion that permeated theyear. From
there it deteriorated into the last ves
tiges of a forgotten ideal.
Now the holiday has once again been
transformed into the worship of a pre
dominant deity. And with each sacri
fice on the altar of pecuniary gratifica
tion we bury further the last hint of an
existence free from fiscal anxiety. Once
again, our celebration of Christmas is
the natural culmination of a devotion
that permeates the year. But in so res
toring the continuity of the holiday's
reflection of our lives, we are systemat
ically severing ourselves from the final
hint that there is more to life than what
we can charge on a Visa card.
So go crazy this Christmas. Watch
Miracle on 34th Street (in black
and white) and cry unashamedly at the
end. Stand in line to sit on Santa's lap
at the hometown department store.
Purchase your gifts with your loved ones
in mind, rather than with an eye to
what its extra vagance will say about
you. Above all, believe those stuffy old
preachers and incurable romantics
when they tell you that the true mean
ing of Christmas lies in a smelly Judean
stable, not in an electrically heated
four-bedroom split-level.
There is something inside us, some
thing fully human and begging to be
expressed, something in danger of
eviction for reasons of irrelevance
that something must be aired or lost.
This season is our only chance to rec
over and restore to preeminence a view
of life which is truly sacred. When it
goes, our humanity goes.
Listen.do you hear sleigh bells?
Sennett Is a UNL graduate student In
philosophy end campus minister at the
College Career Christian Fellowship.
Yuletide woes and Christmas spirit
A Modern Miracle on 19th Street
The day aggravated me so that I
could not even view its end with
relief. Things could only disinte
grate further.
Chris
Welsch
It was a day of frozen car doors, new
snow, bitter cold, tests and unfinished
research papers. Work at the office was
done, yet I still had a long way to go
before sleep.
A friend had received a case of wine
from California, and I had agreed to
ft V
takeohe of the half-cases home for her.
After that I was going to Beatrice to
help a friend move from an apartment
to a trailer.
As I packed my books away and
lifted1 the wine, I noticed my faithful
friend and former lackey Geoff stand
ing in the corner of the room, his head
tilted forward, sniffles leaking out of
his forlorn face. I asked him to join me
on the trip to Beatrice nothing like a
road trip to chase off those holiday
blues, I assured him.
Then a co-worker asked for a ride
home; and I assented grudgingly. The
night grew longer with every minute.
The three of us trudged off into the
bitter-cold December night. The sick
ening, sweet strains of Christmas Musak
pervaded the air. I cursed it under my
breath and wondered why the cold
didn't stop the stuff from pouring into
my ears.
We walked in silence to my Pontiac,
parked at 19th and R streets, each of us
lost in our own Yuletide woes, each
wishing to be warm.
I put the wine on the roof of the car
and opened the driver-side door. The
passenger door was frozen. We piled in
and made our way to the co-worker's
house, We sat staring straight ahead.
Geoff was feeling the anticipation of
the road trip and tried briefly to cheer
us up with a discordant rendition of
"Santa Claus is Coming to Town." I
weakly joined in, and we all had a warm
feeling about humanity that lasted
about 50 seconds.
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