The Port Huron Statement of the Students for a Democratic Society Primary Source eText

Primary Source

Tom Hayden testifies before the President's Commission on Violence in Washington D.C., on October 23, 1968. AP/WIDE WORLD PHOTOS. REPRODUCED BY PERMISSION. Tom Hayden testifies before the President's Commission on Violence in Washington D.C., on October 23, 1968. AP/WIDE WORLD PHOTOS. REPRODUCED BY PERMISSION. Published by Gale Cengage AP/WIDE WORLD PHOTOS. REPRODUCED BY PERMISSION.


By: Tom Hayden and Students for a Democratic Society

Date: June 1962

Source: Hayden, Tom, and Students for a Democratic Society. The Port Huron Statement of the Students for a Democratic Society. New York: Students for a Democratic Society, 1962. Available online at (accessed April 2, 2003).

About the Author: Tom Hayden (1939–), born in Royal Oak, Michigan, is one of the best-known student radicals of the 1960s. He was the cofounder of Students for a Democratic Society (SDS). In the 1980s, Hayden decided to change the United States from within the political system. In 1982, he was elected to the California Assembly. Ten years later, he was elected to the state senate. He served until 1999, when he had to step down because of the California senate's term-limit regulations.


The 1960s witnessed the first active student movement since the 1930s. In part, this movement was attributable to the demographic patterns following World War II (1939–1945) and the rise of the baby boomer generation. In 1940, only 15 percent of all youth between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one attended college. In contrast, between 1950 and 1964, this number more than doubled.

One reason that a significant segment of this generation was receptive to radicalism is that it had been educated by New Deal liberals. From grade school through high school, baby boomers were taught that the role of government was to regulate the economy, redistribute the wealth from the rich to the disadvantaged, and protect the personal liberties of all citizens. This was important because when baby boomers matured in the 1960s, they blamed the government for failing to live up to its responsibilities. They wondered how a country as rich and powerful as the United States could not eradicate poverty and racism and end Cold War militarism.

At the 1960 Democratic Convention, the New Frontier rhetoric of John F. Kennedy (served 1961–1963) inspired and galvanized baby boomers. Though his political platform presented an extensive list of domestic social reforms, his administration's commitment to these ideals was thwarted by foreign affairs and the lack of support from southern Democrats. Consequently, hundreds of thousands of baby boomers became disillusioned with "traditional" politics and turned to radical alternatives.

In the winter of 1961, Tom Hayden, a twenty-year-old University of Michigan student, met with sixty fellow radicals from several other universities in Port Huron, Michigan. Together, they established the SDS. To distinguish themselves from the "Old Left," a mixture of communists, socialists, and anarchists of the 1930s and 1940s, they dubbed their movement the "New Left." They also penned the Port Huron statement. By articulating a thoughtful radical agenda, they sought to unify student radicals into a mass movement.


Influenced by the aggressive, confrontational tactics of the civil rights movement, the SDS staged marches, sit-ins, and other grassroots demonstrations on college campuses. In 1964, it helped organize the first major student protest, the Free Speech Movement, at the University of California, Berkeley, after college officials banned students from distributing leaflets and other political activities. In April 1965, the SDS launched a massive protest against the Vietnam War (1964–1975), recruiting twenty thousand people for a rally in Washington, D.C. Afterward, SDS chapters were organized on more than three hundred campuses.

That same year, Hayden went to Hanoi, Vietnam, in protest of the war. While his visit resulted in the release of three American prisoners of war, his overt support for the Vietcong was viewed as traitorous by many Americans on the home front.

The rapid growth of the SDS created chaos and division within the movement, so much so that it collapsed in 1969. In October 1969, Hayden organized the remnants of the SDS into the Weathermen, a small revolutionary terrorist group that called for a "war of liberation" against "Amerikkka." That fall, the group rampaged through Chicago for four days, overturning cars and smashing store windows.

When the clash finally ended, six members of the Weathermen had been shot and sixty-eight had been arrested. When no popular support was ensured for their Marxist ideology, the terrorist group went underground. Between 1970 to 1975, the group was implicated in approximately twenty bombings. Although the Weathermen disbanded in 1976, individual members continued their destructive actions into the early 1980s. In the mid-1970s, however, Hayden himself became involved in mainstream politics. After an unsuccessful campaign for a U.S. Senate seat in California, he was elected to the state assembly as a Democrat.

Primary Source: The Port Huron Statement of the Students for a Democratic Society [excerpt]

SYNOPSIS: The Port Huron statement, which was the founding manifesto of the SDS, provides a reflective analysis of the Cold War and the materialistic apathy of postwar American culture. Its main thesis calls on students to engage in "participatory democracy," meaning the transfer of political power from democratic institutions to individuals and communities. Though the pamphlet was not formally published, the organization made twenty thousand copies and sold them nationwide for thirty-five cents each.

We are people of this generation, bred in at least modest comfort, housed now in universities, looking uncomfortably to the world we inherit.

When we were kids the United States was the wealthiest and strongest country in the world: the only one with the atom bomb, the least scarred by modern war, an initiator of the United Nations that we thought would distribute Western influence throughout the world. Freedom and equality for each individual, government of, by, and for the people—these American values we found good, principles by which we could live as men. Many of us began maturing in complacency.

As we grew, however, our comfort was penetrated by events too troubling to dismiss. First, the permeating and victimizing fact of human degradation, symbolized by the Southern struggle against racial bigotry, compelled most of us from silence to activism. Second, the enclosing fact of the Cold War, symbolized by the presence of the Bomb, brought awareness that we ourselves, and our friends, and millions of abstract "others" we knew more directly because of our common peril, might die at any time. We might deliberately ignore, or avoid, or fail to feel all other human problems, but not these two, for these were too immediate and crushing in their impact, too challenging in the demand that we as individuals take the responsibility for encounter and resolution.

While these and other problems either directly oppressed us or rankled our consciences and became our own subjective concerns, we began to see complicated and disturbing paradoxes in our surrounding America. The declaration "all men are created equal … rang hollow before the facts of Negro life in the South and the big cities of the North. The proclaimed peaceful intentions of the United States contradicted its economic and military investments in the Cold War status quo.

We witnessed, and continue to witness, other paradoxes. With nuclear energy whole cities can easily be powered, yet the dominant nation-states seem more likely to unleash destruction greater than that incurred in all wars of human history. Although our own technology is destroying old and creating new forms of social organization, men still tolerate meaningless work and idleness. While two-thirds of mankind suffers undernourishment, our own upper classes revel amidst superfluous abundance. Although world population is expected to double in forty years, the nations still tolerate anarchy as a major principle of international conduct and uncontrolled exploitation governs the sapping of the earth's physical resources. Although mankind desperately needs revolutionary leadership, America rests in national stalemate, its goals ambiguous and tradition-bound instead of informed and clear, its democratic system apathetic and manipulated rather than "of, by, and for the people."

Not only did tarnish appear on our image of American virtue, not only did disillusion occur when the hypocrisy of American ideals was discovered, but we began to sense that what we had originally seen as the American Golden Age was actually the decline of an era. The worldwide outbreak of revolution against colonialism and imperialism, the entrenchment of totalitarian states, the menace of war, overpopulation, international disorder, supertechnology—these trends were testing the tenacity of our own commitment to democracy and freedom and our abilities to visualize their application to a world in upheaval.

Our work is guided by the sense that we may be the last generation in the experiment with living. But we are a minority—the vast majority of our people regard the temporary equilibriums of our society and world as eternally-functional parts. In this is perhaps the outstanding paradox: we ourselves are imbued with urgency, yet the message of our society is that there is no viable alternative to the present. Beneath the reassuring tones of the politicians, beneath the common opinion that America will "muddle through," beneath the stagnation of those who have closed their minds to the future, is the pervading feeling that there simply are no alternatives, that our times have witnessed the exhaustion not only of Utopias, but of any new departures as well. Feeling the press of complexity upon the emptiness of life, people are fearful of the thought that at any moment things might thrust out of control. They fear change itself, since change might smash whatever invisible framework seems to hold back chaos for them now. For most Americans, all crusades are suspect, threatening. The fact that each individual sees apathy in his fellows perpetuates the common reluctance to organize for change. The dominant institutions are complex enough to blunt the minds of their potential critics, and entrenched enough to swiftly dissipate or entirely repel the energies of protest and reform, thus limiting human expectancies. Then, too, we are a materially improved society, and by our own improvements we seem to have weakened the case for further change.

Some would have us believe that Americans feel contentment amidst prosperity—but might it not better be called a glaze above deeply felt anxieties about their role in the new world? And if these anxieties produce a developed indifference to human affairs, do they not as well produce a yearning to believe there is an alternative to the present, that something can be done to change circumstances in the school, the workplaces, the bureaucracies, the government? It is to this latter yearning, at once the spark and engine of change, that we direct our present appeal. The search for truly democratic alternatives to the present, and a commitment to social experimentation with them, is a worthy and fulfilling human enterprise, one which moves us and, we hope, others today. On such a basis do we offer this document of our convictions and analysis: as an effort in understanding and changing the conditions of humanity in the late twentieth century, an effort rooted in the ancient, still unfulfilled conception of man attaining determining influence over his circumstances of life.


Making values explicit—an initial task in establishing alternatives—

• is an activity that has been devalued and corrupted. The conventional moral terms of the age, the politician moralities—"free world," "people's democracies"—reflect realities poorly, if at all, and seem to function more as ruling myths than as descriptive principles. But neither has our experience in the universities brought us moral enlightenment. Our professors and administrators sacrifice controversy to public relations; their curriculums change more slowly than the living events of the world; their skills and silence are purchased by investors in the arms race; passion is called unscholastic. The questions we might want raised—what is really important? can we live in a different and better way? if we wanted to change society, how would we do it?—are not thought to be questions of a "fruitful, empirical nature," and thus are brushed aside.

Unlike youth in other countries we are used to moral leadership being exercised and moral dimensions being clarified by our elders. But today, for us, not even the liberal and socialist preachments of the past seem adequate to the forms of the present. Consider the old slogans; Capitalism Cannot Reform Itself, United Front Against Fascism, General Strike, All Out on May Day. Or, more recently, No Cooperation with Commies and Fellow Travellers, Ideologies Are Exhausted, Bipartisanship, No Utopias. These are incomplete, and there are few new prophets. It has been said that our liberal and socialist predecessors were plagued by vision without program, while our own generation is plagued by program without vision. All around us there is astute grasp of method, technique—the committee, the ad hoc group, the lobbyist, that hard and soft sell, the make, the projected image—but, if pressed critically, such expertise is incompetent to explain its implicit ideals. It is highly fashionable to identify oneself by old categories, or by naming a respected political figure, or by explaining "how we would vote" on various issues.

Theoretic chaos has replaced the idealistic thinking of old—and, unable to reconstitute theoretic order, men have condemned idealism itself. Doubt has replaced hopefulness—and men act out a defeatism that is labeled realistic. The decline of utopia and hope is in fact one of the defining features of social life today. The reasons are various: the dreams of the older left were perverted by Stalinism and never recreated; the congressional stalemate makes men narrow their view of the possible; the specialization of human activity leaves little room for sweeping thought; the horrors of the twentieth century, symbolized in the gas-ovens and concentration camps and atom bombs, have blasted hopefulness. To be idealistic is to be considered apocalyptic, deluded. To have no serious aspirations, on the contrary, is to be "toughminded."

In suggesting social goals and values, therefore, we are aware of entering a sphere of some disrepute. Perhaps matured by the past, we have no sure formulas, no closed theories—but that does not mean values are beyond discussion and tentative determination. A first task of any social movement is to convenience people that the search for orienting theories and the creation of human values is complex but worthwhile. We are aware that to avoid platitudes we must analyze the concrete conditions of social order. But to direct such an analysis we must use the guideposts of basic principles. Our own social values involve conceptions of human beings, human relationships, and social systems.

We regard men as infinitely precious and possessed of unfulfilled capacities for reason, freedom, and love. In affirming these principles we are aware of countering perhaps the dominant conceptions of man in the twentieth century: that he is a thing to be manipulated, and that he is inherently incapable of directing his own affairs. We oppose the depersonalization that reduces human beings to the status of things—if anything, the brutalities of the twentieth century teach that means and ends are intimately related, that vague appeals to "posterity" cannot justify the mutilations of the present. We oppose, too, the doctrine of human incompetence because it rests essentially on the modern fact that men have been "competently" manipulated into incompetence—we see little reason why men cannot meet with increasing skill the complexities and responsibilities of their situation, if society is organized not for minority, but for majority, participation in decision-making.

Men have unrealized potential for self-cultivation, self-direction, self-understanding, and creativity. It is this potential that we regard as crucial and to which we appeal, not to the human potentiality for violence, unreason, and submission to authority. The goal of man and society should be human independence: a concern not with image of popularity but with finding a meaning in life that is personally authentic: a quality of mind not compulsively driven by a sense of powerlessness, nor one which unthinkingly adopts status values, nor one which represses all threats to its habits, but one which has full, spontaneous access to present and past experiences, one which easily unites the fragmented parts of personal history, one which openly faces problems which are troubling and unresolved: one with an intuitive awareness of possibilities, an active sense of curiosity, an ability and willingness to learn.

This kind of independence does not mean egoistic individualism—the object is not to have one's way so much as it is to have a way that is one's own. Nor do we deify man—we merely have faith in his potential.

Human relationships should involve fraternity and honesty. Human interdependence is contemporary fact; human brotherhood must be willed however, as a condition of future survival and as the most appropriate form of social relations. Personal links between man and man are needed, especially to go beyond the partial and fragmentary bonds of function that bind men only as worker to worker, employer to employee, teacher to student, American to Russian.

Loneliness, estrangement, isolation describe the vast distance between man and man today. These dominant tendencies cannot be overcome by better personnel management, nor by improved gadgets, but only when a love of man overcomes the idolatrous worship of things by man.

As the individualism we affirm is not egoism, the selflessness we affirm is not self-elimination. On the contrary, we believe in generosity of a kind that imprints one's unique individual qualities in the relation to other men, and to all human activity. Further, to dislike isolation is not to favor the abolition of privacy; the latter differs from isolation in that it occurs or is abolished according to individual will. Finally, we would replace power and personal uniqueness rooted in possession, privilege, or circumstance by power and uniqueness rooted in love, reflectiveness, reason, and creativity.

As a social system we seek the establishment of a democracy of individual participation, governed by two central aims: that the individual share in those social decisions determining the quality and direction of his life; that society be organized to encourage independence in men and provide the media for their common participation.

In a participatory democracy, the political life would be based in several root principles:

  • that decision-making of basic social consequence be carried on by public groupings;
  • that politics be seen positively, as the art of collectively creating an acceptable pattern of social relations;
  • that politics has the function of bringing people out of isolation and into community, thus being a necessary, though not sufficient, means of finding meaning in personal life;
  • that the political order should serve to clarify problems in a way instrumental to their solution; it should provide outlets for the expression of personal grievance and aspiration; opposing views should be organized so as to illuminate choices and facilities the attainment of goals; channels should be commonly available to related men to knowledge and to power so that private problems—from bad recreation facilities to personal alienation—are formulated as general issues.

The economic sphere would have as its basis the principles:

  • that work should involve incentives worthier than money or survival. It should be educative, not stultifying; creative, not mechanical; selfdirect, not manipulated, encouraging independence; a respect for others, a sense of dignity and a willingness to accept social responsibility, since it is this experience that has crucial influence on habits, perceptions and individual ethics;
  • that the economic experience is so personally decisive that the individual must share in its full determination;
  • that the economy itself is of such social importance that its major resources and means of production should be open to democratic participation and subject to democratic social regulation.

Like the political and economic ones, major social institutions—cultural, education, rehabilitative, and others—should be generally organized with the well-being and dignity of man as the essential measure of success.

In social change or interchange, we find violence to be abhorrent because it requires generally the transformation of the target, be it a human being or a community of people, into a depersonalized object of hate. It is imperative that the means of violence be abolished and the institutions—local, national, international—that encourage nonviolence as a condition of conflict be developed.

These are our central values, in skeletal form. It remains vital to understand their denial or attainment in the context of the modern world.

Further Resources


Harrington, Michael. The Other America: Poverty in the United States. New York: Macmillan, 1962.

Hayden, Tom. Reunion: A Memoir. New York: Random House, 1988.

Horowitz, David, and Peter Collier. Destructive Generation: Second Thoughts About the Sixties. New York: Summit, 1989.


Hayden, Tom, and Dick Flacks. "The Port Huron Statement at 40." The Nation, August 5, 2002.

Zeitz, Joshua. "Back to the Barricades." American Heritage 52, no. 7, October 2001, 70–75.


"A Trip Through the Sixties: The Anti-war Movement." Hippyland. Available online at; website home page: (accessed April 2, 2003).

"WWW-VL: History: USA: 1960–1969." WWWVL The World Wide Virtual Library History: Central Catalogue, University of Kansas. Available online at; website home page: (accessed April 2, 2003).