In most of the country, these are bleak times for the American left. After seven years of a Democratic president's triangulation, many liberals feel sold out even in their own party. College students, among the most energetic fighters for radical causes in days past, have tuned out politics in record numbers.

The galaxy of left-wing causes has dissipated: Backers of affirmative action and abortion rights, gay activists and Greens, feminists and labor leaders have little to say to each other, still less to do for one another.

Most of the country, that is, except for Berkeley, the city that invented the Sixties. This university town across the bay from San Francisco may be the only place in America where a cry of "power to the people" isn't hopelessly outmoded and ironic. Berkeley's storied liberalism is still in evidence: On the campus of the University of California, for instance, a marker on Sproul Plaza declares the spot "shall not be a part of any nation."

Telegraph Avenue, the city's most famous thoroughfare, is dotted with used bookstores and homegrown coffeehouses. A block east is People's Park, originally a vacant lot seized from the university, so sacred to radicals that even the idea of the construction of a small volleyball court in 1991 led to accusations of tyranny, sit-ins and arrests. The city's parking meters refer to "Indigenous People's Day" rather than Columbus Day.

It isn't surprising, then, that the newest battle for Berkeley's left may provide an inspiration for liberals nationwide. In recent weeks, an escalating controversy over KPFA, the Bay Area's pioneering non-commercial radio station and a Berkeley institution, has rallied the far-flung factions of activists under a single banner. That newfound unity proves that the left can have a powerful voice, if only those factions attempt to speak as one.

KPFA was founded in 1949 by a Bay Area pacificst a way to disseminate radical ideas ignored by traditional mass media. Over the years, the station provided a critical tool for emerging political groups-including the anti-war, environmental and gay rights movements-to reach a broad audience in the San Francisco area. In the days before fax machines, cable television and the Internet, radio was the most efficient way to mobilize large crowds for protests and to make new converts through consciousness-raising. Activists say that despite new technologies, KPFA is still a vital element of their work. Its eclectic programming ranges from Noam Chomsky to hip hop.

The station is owned by the not-for-profit Pacifica Foundation, which operates four other left-wing radio outlets across the country. In recent years, the individual stations have increasingly clashed with the foundation about autonomy and appeal to broader markets. That clash came to a boil in March, when Pacifica fired KPFA's popular station manager, Nicole Sawaya. When veteran DJ Larry Bensky questioned that firing on the air, he was fired too. Listeners lodged complaints, Pacifica hired armed guards, and on July 13 KPFA's staff found themselves locked out of their own building, a broadcaster pulled off the air in mid-sentence. Rumors swarmed that the Pacifica board planned to sell the station's bandwidth.

The response from listeners was electric: Within hours of the shutdown, staffers and supporters set up camp outside KPFA's barricaded offices. For three weeks, protesters kept a 24-hour vigil outside the studios, picketing during the day and sleeping in tents in the middle of the street at night. Unlike more narrowly targeted actions, the KPFA demonstrations attracted a diverse lot-lifelong activists and aging hippies mingled with working professionals, neighbors and students, black and Latino as well as white. For decades, KPFA had supported everyone's movement, so when KPFA was in trouble, everyone came.