Protest: The Isla Vista Uprising

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For Californians eager to protect their children from radical influence at Berkeley, the University of California's branch at Santa Barbara has offered an attractive alternative. Known as "the country club" and "the campus by the sea," its surfing, suntanned students often seem more concerned with meteorological than political phenomena. Many occupy their own apartments in a two-square-mile enclave at Isla Vista. Their relaxed morals offend the Santa Barbara citizenry and law officers, who refer to Isla Vista as Sin City. For their part, students openly provoke the locals and call the cops dumb squares.

Diffused Reasons. Town-gown relations deteriorated further in January, when campus police and sheriff's deputies had to break up a protest over the firing of a popular faculty member. Last week students rose up for three days of insane violence. The immediate spark was the arrest of a young black militant, accused of using obscene language in public. As deputies tried to take him to jail, they were attacked by 50 of his sympathizers.

He was soon forgotten, and the reasons to riot became diffused—Viet Nam, pollution, the Establishment, a faculty dispute, the Chicago Seven verdict. That night, a mob of 400 attacked local realty offices, which, students claim, charge inflated rents. The rioters also broke every window in the Isla Vista branch of the Bank of America.

The atmosphere was still tense the next day, when William Kunstler, chief defense attorney at the Chicago trial, addressed the students at Campus Stadium.* Though Kunstler chided the students for acts of vandalism ("I had never thought breaking windows is a good tactic"), his manner and some of his statements were irresponsible and inflammatory. "The real violence occurs in the back rooms of police stations," he said. "The shadow of the swastika is on every courthouse, on universities, on Government buildings."

Ugly Mood. After the speech, a crowd of 500 gathered in a park to listen to student radicals. Many of the wholesome-looking youths, clenched fists raised, appeared to be out for a lark. But the mood suddenly turned ugly, and when police patrol cars appeared a block away, the crowd began hurling rocks.

With 1,000 students and street people shouting "Burn, baby, burn!" youths set fire to piles of debris and shoved them through the Bank of America doorway. Some of the students argued that the attack was senseless. The burners, unable to articulate their reasons, answered that the bank was a "symbol of corporate corruption."

Though outnumbered, state patrolmen and sheriff's deputies took the offensive. But after a ten-minute rock barrage, they retreated, leaving a patrol car behind. The students set it afire. Meanwhile, the bank burned to the ground—a $275,000 loss.

Tear Gas. The third night, despite a curfew and the arrival of some 300 additional state law-enforcement officers, the students continued their rock hurling. Police attempted unsuccessfully to break up unruly crowds, and from a hovering helicopter equipped with a loudspeaker ordered them to disperse. With only one known exception, the police kept their firearms bolstered, sometimes throwing rocks themselves when they ran out of tear gas. One cop was even photographed using a slingshot.