Tin Soldiers and Nixon Coming

The opening line of Neil Young’s Ohio, written about the National Guard shootings of students at Kent State University, forty years ago today. I was a bit too young to understand the emotion, the civil unrest, and the extreme bravery of the students that led to “four dead in Ohio”; I’ve only known the lyrics as a protest song with a bit of commentary added by a 7th grade teacher (hello, Mr. Cotton, wherever you are) who was a student on campus at the time. Kent State references show up across the entire artistic spectrum; Jon Anderson of Yes says that the “hot color, melting the anger to stone” lyric from Long Distance Runaround, is a reference to the boiling over at Kent State, rather than a paen to a failed relationship as some believe.

But it’s only in the context of a relationship that I came to understand what happened at Kent State. The relationship, strange as it seems, was the one conveyed in the book of Genesis, between Abraham and Isaac as Abraham’s faith is tested. Sculptor George Segal created his Abraham and Isaac piece for Kent State, but the work was refused on the grounds that it pushed too hard on a newly closed wound. In 1979, less than a decade after the shootings (or the same emotional distance we’ve travelled since the events of 9/11/01), the work was situated outside of the Chapel at Princeton University, where only a year later I’d pass it three times a week on my way to the engineering building.

The piece has always slightly weirded me out. First, Isaac is an adult. He’s roughly college aged, and the scene put the entire parent-child relationship in a different, more modern context. Second, the sculpture sits just outside of what was Woodrow Wilson’s office during his tenure at Princeton – Wilson is best-known among the orange and black crowd for his request to think of “Princeton in the Nation’s Service.” The Kent State massacre questioned, at a very deep level, exactly what the boundaries and shape of that service might be, seen by either the students or the National Guardsmen who fired upon them. Finally, Abraham has Isaac bound, hands in front, face to face, demonstrative of an act of extreme courage and devotion (and most decidedly love), not fear or terror. I’ve always been able to associate courage and devotion with the students on that May day in 1980; fear and terror came after.

The Torah portion containing this story is called the “Akedah”, literally, “the binding” – a reference to the actions leading up to the point at which Abraham’s action is deflected by divine intervention. Arguments abound over the intention and moral of the story. At a time when human sacrifice (including that of children) was not unhead of, a sacrifice is interrupted sets a new moral precendent. Conversely, how can the loving and compassionate divinity of the Jewish people even suggest an act as violent as the killing of a parent’s only child (a theme revisited in the Exodus from Egypt)?

Long before Facebook, Twitter, flash mobs, and dozens of daily requests to join causes and “Like” things, the students at Kent State took personal, courageous action. I’d hate to think that activism has been reduced to another label on a Facebook profile and writing the occasional check for a friend riding a bike, jumping rope or walking on behalf of a charitable organization, however strong and noble their causes. “In the nation’s service” was an imperative to act. Maybe we don’t always get it right, maybe we aren’t guided by full information, but actions beget more actions.

Conflicting views of an event that lasted for seconds and impacted generations to come. That’s what George Segal gave us; it’s what Neil Young sang to us; it set the musical stage for CSNY’s later sage advice: “Teach your children well.”