TO BE COMPLETELY up front about it, neither of us has regularly read Bloom County, nor do we plan to in the future. So we're probably not qualified to comment on the merits of the strip which The Crimson discontinued and then reinstated within a stormy ten days. But as Crimson editors, part of our responsibility includes closely observing the Harvard community. And the reaction to the removal of the strip that we observed was puzzling and a little disturbing.

The decision to pull Bloom Country, elicited, in both quantity and vehemence, a greater community reaction than any other Crimson article, editorial or policy since we have been at Harvard. Perhaps students finally decided to shed the "apathy tag" that has long been affixed to them. They could easily have picked a different time and issue to come out of the closet. A look back at recent Crimson's reveals coverage of some salient questions. Central America, the arms control debate, the Reagan budget, and national elections have all appeared of late in these pages. We find it difficult to believe that none of this was considered controversial or interesting enough to merit comment.

Granted, most of us have little direct stake in the "big issues" of the day. But what then are we to make of the relative lack of response to campus questions like the Core Curriculum, summer storage policy, divestment, and asbestos in University buildings? It is true that there are no guarantees that letters to The Crimson's page two will effect change in any of these areas. But the contrast with the fervent Bloom Country response is particularly striking.

There have been exceptions to the rule. The debate over financial aid to nonregistrants, for example, prompted a batch of articulate, well-informed letters. But even this issue brought in far fewer than the dozen-plus letters we received concerning Bloom Country--not to mention the phone calls.

Above all else, though, we were struck by the tone of many of the letters received. Some correspondents took the care to convincingly present their point of view in a straightforward manner, eschewing nastiness in favor of serious efforts to make us change our minds. But others--more than a few, in fact--were downright vicious.

Humor, of course, has its place in The Crimson and we hope and believe we can stand being poked fun at, when it is deserved. Yet some of the correspondence on Bloom County transcended humor, or even snideness. People seemed concerned more than anything to use The Crimson as a punching bag--a phenomenon that has not gone unnoticed in the past. One gentleman commented that "no one gives a damn what the Crimson's policies are," an indication of the slightly schizophrenic light in which the paper is seen: the people who say "nobody gives a damn" are the same ones who take the time to write in the first place, exhorting us to change our ways.

Taking a stand on issues opens The Crimson to charges of being self-righteous and self-important. Taking a stand on a cartoon strip prompted outright abuse. But the fact of the matter is that most of us are simply trying to learn some skills, publish six papers and a magazine every week, and enjoy ourselves at the same time. In that, we are no different than the campus' athletes, musicians, actors, politicians and community service volunteers. Obviously, we want everyone to read The Crimson and we value constructive criticism. But we don't force anyone to buy the paper, and those who truly "don't give a damn" about The Crimson are free to disregard it.

Bloom County proved grade-A material for this community's pundits. And for others, it was a good excuse to give us a kick in the pants. But surely everyone concerned would benefit more if, in the future. Harvard minds focused on what even Berke Breathed would probably consider more important issues.