In the 50s Lundagård was dedicated to picturesque student journalism. During the 60s, “the rag” turned into a fighting publication.
Lundagård started out jauntily and ended in irate provocation. The first four editors of the 60s continued the 50s tradition of “the spirit of Lund” satire, skepticism and gossip. With Nordal Åkerman (1966-67) came the shift towards radical politics, which was carried on by Lars-Ola Borglid and, perhaps, culminated with me (Per Gahrton) during the years of the student uprising in 1968-69.
Lundagård was of course a reflection of the surrounding world, the walls around the shielded student life cracked, and both foreign and domestic politics poured in, from the Vietnam War to the poverty of developing countries and student reforms. We distanced ourselves from the apolitical term “student-as-such”, criticized the union swindlers and their benefits, campaigned against the influence of the business sector at the University and acted in favor of increased student influence.
Sometimes, the pitch of our voice probably reached falsetto, for example when the cover of issue no. 15/68 consisted of a drawn instruction on how to make a Molotov cocktail, together with the phrase: “So let there be a battle then…”
In the age of terrorism Säpo would probably have been upon us, but in 1968 it was mostly professors and union tycoons who became upset.
The reason for the fury was that Olof Palme (at that time Minister of Education) had launched a trial operation of student influence and asked for the opinions of the universities and student unions.
In Lund it led to a total collision between Konsistoriet (the University Management at the time) and the Student Union, which resulted in Lundagård’s conclusion: “The institutional dictators will evidently not sacrifice their power voluntarily. So let there be a battle then”.
It should be added that there also were some students who became upset with us. They did not like that a newspaper they financed with mandatory union fees acted as an agent of revolutionary agitators, which is understandable to a certain extent.
The democratically chosen conservative Union Board wondered if it was reasonable that their own newspaper acted as their own worst adversary. The question is how many students cared. Despite all the talk of “the red Lund” there was, much like now, a rather big portion of the students who spent more time on studying and attending dances rather than revolting.
My last editorial (10/1969) conveys a certain air of disappointment as I turn to “the regular student who betrayed” urging: “Everyday life is political, you cannot escape it!”
At the same time I praised the betrayer: “The old reactionary ‘student-as-such’-type is disgusting. The new supposed revolutionary ‘student-as-a-class-warrior’ is repulsive. The only reasonable one is the everyday-student”, provided that she or he does not evade political issues.
The harshness of my words leaves me stunned. “Disgusting”, “repulsive”.
But, such was the spirit of the time. In a report in Populär Historia from last year (no. 9/14), regarding the left-wing wave in Sweden at the end of the 1960s, it says: “Despite that the parliamentary successes were not forthcoming, the ‘68s’ contributed to a fundamental change of the country.”
There was no left-wing revolution; instead we were faced with decades of right-wing backlashes, from neoliberalism to xenophobia. However, there was also an upswing in environmental and women’s movements. And not least: the old obedience morale capsized.
Since the 1960s, disobedience and protest against injustices have become such an obvious part of everyday life that it is no longer seen as a revolt. The development of Lundagård during the 1960s, from a jaunty satire paper to provocative fighting publication, was a part of that development.
Text: Per Gahrton, Public Debater, Editor 1968-1969
Translation: Elise Petersson
