Well, I was not in the first wave of hippiedom (I started first grade in August of the Summer of Love), I was definitely a pot-smokin’, Grateful Dead followin’ freak flag flyin’ granola cruncher in my day.
I’m not denigrating the counter-culture of the day, but I’m not going to let you play revisionist historian without a rebuttal. And let’s be honest here–hippies didn’t call themselves hippies, but “freaks.” They dug on love and peace and for a moment the movement was beautiful–to groove to Bird on a cloud of lysergic love, to see the universe in a grain of sand and eternity in an hour. Sure, there were attempts to live in egalitarian harmony, like the Diggers and the Family Dog did.
But by the time the Human Be-In kicked off the Summer of Love in '67, all that was dying. Speed and heroin moved in, loser kids from around the country stareted to emulate the trappings but not the ethos of the freaks, and it all went south very fast.
What’s worse, the groovy love and cosmic groove of the hippie transformed into the superstitious New Wave garbage infesting popular culture. All of the chakra/atrology/crystal nutjobbery is your lot’s doing. You’re also responsbile for inflciting toneless New Age music on the world. Your generation spawned Yanni and Windham Hill, and for that alone you should be embarrassed.
Cry me a river, grandpa. Hippiedom didn’t do dick to affect the civil rights movement or the peace movement, and it was positively retrograde in regard to feminism and gay rights. That’s not stereotypes, that’s history.
OTOH, you did give us the Dead, so all is forgive.