WE sit at separate tables, keep largely to ourselves, count people of our own group among our closest friends. Whether Black or white, we all realize that race still matters in some intangible way, though its effects are real. The tensions evidence themselves in small ways--the perception by Blacks of insensitivity by whites, the assumption by whites of special consideration for Blacks.

These tensions do not lead to brawls, as on other campuses. But neither do they seem to be fading away. More and more, it seems the differences are here to stay; the tables will remain separated.

During the last year, questions of sensitivity have dominated discussions on campus, whether they concern Blacks, women or gays. At The Crimson, our sensitivity has been challenged. Shortly after we had begun publishing last spring, the first complaints set in. For a What Is to Be Done issue on Black History Month, we profiled a Black playwright who considers the Black contribution to history to be largely worthless.

We apologized for running the piece, as we should have. It was, in some respects, the equivalent of running a discussion of Dr. King's sex life on his birthday. But it was not a pleasant experience to have a Black law school student suggest that I was a racist or that our institution was racist for having printed it. The intent was not to offend, but the effect was to have done so. In addition to the apology, we ran a piece critical of the profile and challenging the appropriateness of having run it.

But I am sure that to those who believe The Crimson is insensitive, little was done to allay their concerns. The distrust is great. In a meeting early last spring with members of the Black Students Association, we discussed how we could attract more Blacks to The Crimson. We were told by some BSA members that we were a largely white institution, and were looked on as such by most Blacks on campus.

In short, it was as if there was a large "No Vacancy" sign on our front door. There was a desire on both sides to overcome that perception, to convince incoming Black undergraduates that it is worth their while to comp for the paper. But the level of distrust, on both sides, was high. Too high.

AND that is the case on campus generally. The complaints of insensitivity increase, but the level of dialogue does not. As concerns focus increasingly on language and attitudes towards race and gender, as opposed to discrimination, it seems that there is precious little in the way of talking or thought on the subject. We speak to ourselves.

For many this new demand for sensitivity is an unwarranted nuisance; it is the battle cry of the hyper-sensitive. The four-decade march towards a reconsideration of our attitudes towards racism and sexism has suddenly stalled. There is a reluctance, even a resistance towards those who want to subject private attitudes, and trivial public expression to the standards of civil rights and feminism.

The traditional means of overcoming racism and sexism has been through confrontation, a challenge to the morality of the accused. The effect was to force those accused of sexism or racism to confront their own attitudes, to determine for themselves whether they were in fact being offensive.

This was the meaning of Dr. King--to turn a nation in on itself, to confront its own conscience. As one writer has put it, Dr. King was successful because when Southerners "smote him--as they inevtiably must--they hurt them selves...In the end, it was the power of their own idealized vision of themselves as Christians, transcended into Blackness, personified in King and him, a seemingly loving and non-violent host, that shook them to the roots of self." But we are rarely shaken to such depths today.

The moral challenge, the cry of pain, no longer causes us to look within, to examine the morality of our actions. We have decided racism and sexism are bad. But that moral decision was painful enough, and further prodding is not appreciated. Those who do so with charges of insensitivity are annoying rather than challenging.

And this is the essence of the problem. We have created a new response to maintain vestiges of our atavisms, and it is condescension. 'Hasn't enough been given, will you people never stop complaining?'

PART of the reason for such complaints is the nature of the demands. It is one thing to be outraged by the events of Forsythe, Ga., but to equate such behavior with the kind exhibited by The Crimson or by a history professor lecturing on slavery strains credulity.

Every slight is said to draw its source form the same collective unconsicous of racism and sexism. The implications of the challenge are severe.

And in response many grow cynical. Indeed, our generation is not so much greedy or apathetic as it is cynical. It is the difference between Carson and Letterman.