They took the risk. The police entered and created the shock that the demonstrators had not been able to provide by themselves, the force needed to affect the "consciousness" of the majority. Student activists are going to remember this lesson for a long time. Once you get in, it's a bummer to get you out. So will President Kirk, wherever he's going to be in a year.

II.

THE VIOLENCE used by police on Tuesday morning, only too familiar to veterans of civil rights and peace demonstrations, quickly created a campus united behind the demonstrators' original six demands. The atmosphere on Morningside Heights combined the French Commune and Remember the Alamo with Samuel Beckett. Interspersed in the lazy groups of students lounging on sunny lawns or arguing in tense knots by the steps of some now-famous buildings were about 200 students who looked like they'd fallen off a medium-sized building, or been in a prize fight or a bad automobile accident. There were many closed purple swelling eyes and dirty head bandages and arm casts. Signs were posted on all the bulletin boards: witnesses to police brutality please go to room 311, Ferris Booth Hall, the Strike Steering Committee office.

For three days after the violence, disgusted policemen flooded the campus. They dangled their Billy Clubs and to pass time they played the delicate yo-yo games with the little baseball bats which they had learned in many years of dawdling before and after action.

Pictures of Columbia's 12 top administrators were thumb-tacked on a large bulletin board in the office of Columbia's student newspaper, the Daily Spectator. A hand-lettered sign above them read, "Look at these men carefully, they may not be around much longer."

The third floor of Ferris Booth Hall was commandeered by the Strike Steering Committee and friends to serve as the nerve center of the anti-mobilization. The floors were filthy, marked by hundreds of crumpled-up leaflets. The rooms were temporary kitchens with loaves and loaves of bread and hot plates to heat canned spaghetti. Specially-appointed press agents handled snotty newsmen. "They can sure as hell wait until we're ready to talk to them, and be sure and keep them off this floor without appointments," Mark Rudd instructed them.

The esprit of the hundred students on this floor and the 600 other people who were arrested in the bust--and the rapidly increasing number of Columbia's moderate students--is matched by their open hostility to any member of the establishment, educational or political. A message is written on the door of the Spectator in red magic marker: "We hereby announce open hostility toward the cretins who form the bulk of the working national press. Your insensitive mis-representation will receive no aid from this office--the editors.

In the men's room on the third floor, a newcomer from out of town, an Outside Agitator, advised one of the veterans from the liberated buildings. "I've seen this kind of strike before. It'll never work, that's for sure. You'll never hold it. Kirk will leak the story that the Selective Service is going to draft all strikers and that seniors aren't going to get their diplomas. Don't stick your neck out. What you need now is an honorable withdrawal. Peace with honor, you know?" The veteran, who hadn't changed his clothes or slept more than 15 hours for a week, turned to leave. "Yeah, I know. Thanks for the advice. Hope it doesn't snow."

III.

THE HARD part of the Columbia experiment came after the violence united the student body against the administration. "Any dumb action, like Kirk's, can alienate a lot of people," said Jay Bernstein, on leave of absence from Trinity and a member of the original strike coordinating committee. "We must educate beyond