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Republican Convention: Diary from New York

September 3, 2004

A 'Disingenuous Filmmaker' Stirs Up the RNC

Michael Moore reacts to being called a "disingenuous filmmaker" by Sen. John McCain during the Republican Convention in New York, Aug. 30, 2004. · © Reuters

By Tamara Robinson
On Monday night, my multi-tasking skills were lacking when Michael Moore managed to make his way inside the convention. In the midst of printing scripts and sending emails, I'd barely noticed the commotion that literally took place in front of my face.

As Senator John McCain took the podium, one of the editors, Beth Donovan, tapped me on the shoulder. "What's going on down there?" she asked, her hand bouncing around on her wrist and signaling to the crowd below. "Run downstairs and find out what's going on."

I cursed the genes that gave me short legs as I hustled downstairs to figure out the excitement. But my short stature came in handy as I squeezed to the front of at least 65 people to see what had happened.

Gums were flapping wildly about who was causing the disorder. Everyone was whispering to each other, "Michael Moore is here. Michael Moore is here."

To nobody in particular, I asked how Moore got inside the Republican National Convention. And, nobody in particular replied that Moore had press credentials. He was there to write an opinion column on the convention for USA Today.

"Ah," I thought, "so that's why Moore would voluntarily enter his personal hell."

Secret Service was everywhere, holding people back. Even though Moore is, well, a big guy, we could barely see him because of all of the agents surrounding him. Apparently, they were not buying the notion that Moore was a member of the press, which made it hard for him to get to the press section of the floor.

Meanwhile, agents were screaming at journalists with cameras, notepads and minidisks clamoring for Moore's attention. "Look people, there's nothing to see here, okay? Move back!" Of course, no one moved, making the agents more frustrated.

Finally, Moore got past security and to his seat. As the mass of journalists followed him to ask questions, I overheard a delegate remark, "He's such a slob." Sidenote: the reader should interject a not so flattering expletive before the word "slob."

Yes, Moore looked lovely as ever in a baseball hat, jeans and a sweatshirt. He was a walking contrast to the black and dark blue suits that dotted the arena.

The highlight of Moore's appearance, however, took place when Sen. McCain mentioned a "disingenuous filmmaker" who would have Americans believe Iraq was only a step below a resort in the Bahamas.
The crowd cheered wildly and all turned toward Moore. Thousands of bodies turned left, some turned right, and others turned completely around to look Moore in the face and say "Four more years! Four more years!" Many pumped and flashed four fingers at Moore while they chanted. According to wire reports, Moore smiled and laughed, saying "two more months."

Moore was scheduled to be at the convention all week, saying he wouldn't let a few boos deter him. Delegates have been looking for him, too, though not to give him a few kind words. Upon leaving the arena on Tuesday night, a chubby-cheeked young woman from Arizona gabbed to her cell phone buddy that she was "glad that disgusting liberal" didn't show his face again. Any other day this young woman would be mistaken for a day care center volunteer. It made me wonder what the sweet, chatty, little old lady walking next to me was really thinking.

Regardless of the reason behind Moore's absence, it's safe to say that he won't be present for tonight's speech by President Bush. Security is a little tighter due to yesterday's floor protests, and the Bush camp doesn't want anything or anyone to take away from the president's spotlight. But Moore can at least say he made a mark on the convention, if only for one night, a mark that will probably be considered a great moment in convention history years from now.

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September 2, 2004

The Art of the 'Spinja'

Texas delegate Pat Peale wears a purple heart band-aid on her chin on the first day of the Republican Convention in New York, Aug. 30, 2004. · Reuters

The Democrats have set up their war room in a building owned by the union UNITE! · Mike Pesca, NPR

Signs adorn the Democratic war room in New York. · Mike Pesca, NPR

By Mike Pesca
A dozen opposition researchers sitting at a dozen lap tops working on a collective dozen hours of sleep couldn't have invented anything juicier than what was handed to them by Virginian delegate Morton Blackwell on day one of the Republican National Convention.

Blackwell thought that a good way to illustrate his belief that John Kerry exaggerated the severity of his war injuries was to make adhesive bandages with little pictures of hearts on them. The hearts were purple. Get it? Purple hearts.

In case delegates missed the Voltairian political wit, a message accompanying the bandages read, "It was just a self-inflicted scratch, but you see I got a Purple Heart for it."

If war reveals character, the immediate and overwhelming response to the band-aid affront revealed the character of the modern political war room. Bright young Democrats saw the purple hearts on TV and called out to Charlie Rangel, the Democratic representative from Harlem and Korean War Purple Heart recipient to denounce the band-aids. CNN ran with it. The president's press secretary was questioned about it. Soon Republican chairman Ed Gillespie had a nice chat with Blackwell and an end was put to the adorned adhesive bandages.

This is how opposition research works -- when it works. The "war president" on the Republican side and a war hero who's "reporting for duty" on the Democratic side each have "war rooms" doing their bidding. The war rooms, a subset of the "rapid response teams," are made up of mostly twenty-somethings who've memorized impressive swaths of the Congressional Record and also have, as they say, the gift of Google.

These warriors of wonkery, these stealthy "spinjas" fight it out in the media trenches mostly by hissing like wounded game cats at the slightest hint of offense. In Boston, the bloody shirt was waved, lowered to half mast and then waved some more over what the Republicans called anti-Bush "hate speech;" or what anyone who's ever rented "Sister Act II: Back in the Habit" might call a moderately unfunny Whoopi Goldberg joke.

A month later and band-aids weren't simply bad attempts at prop comedy that only a few hundred Americans would have known about -- they were "outrageous and disgraceful" according to Democratic Party spokesman Matt Bennet.

But while both the Democrats and the Republicans war rooms are on a desperate mission to find umbrage wherever it may lurk, there are telling differences between the two.

The Democrats have set themselves up in a sprawling space in a building owned by the union UNITE! There's a 25-by-75 banner adorning the building that announces the presence of Kerry loyalists inside (note to Republican war room: I checked -- the banner was installed by union workers). But in Boston, the address of the Republican war room was a secret shared with reporters only off-the record; giving the place the feel of a Dick Cheney-undisclosed-location starter set.

The main purpose of the Republican war room in Boston seemed to be to hold news conferences and issue a nightly press release rebutting the major points of each evening's speakers. Here in New York, dozens of volunteers pack the halls, t-shirts and posters are handed out, and almost a hundred workers busily crank out the responses.

Then there's the signage. The Republicans went Spartan Chic: big posters on the walls with the claim that John Kerry was the most liberal senator. A ranking of all the other liberal senators hung to the right of Kerry. (For a war-room type rebuttal of the relevancy of this claim click here. )The Democratic war room, on the other hand, had as many talking points on the walls as there were planks in their platform: war casualties, unemployment figures, gasoline prices… I think I saw Rocky Colavito's lifetime fielding percentage up there. Then there were the little details, like computer home pages. About a third of the computer screens at the Republican shop were on the Drudge Report; the Democrats seemed to all be on Hotmail, or some other email home page. The Republicans handed out fake dollars with pictures of George Soros. The Democrats, just like with the band-aids, showed the good judgement to leave the prop comedy in the capable hands of Carrot Top.

A lot of what I saw in each war room fit in with the so-clichéd-it's-true stereotypes: Republicans as models of button-down, perhaps even relentless, efficiency; Democrats as more loosely organized. Democratic spokesman Matt Bennet said he expected to get less media attention for his war room than the Republicans got for theirs in Boston, but he was pretty fair about his analysis.

He reasoned that in Boston, the Republicans' rapid response team was the only alternative story to the convention. Here in New York, protesters clashing with police have pushed the Democratic war room that much further from the front page. Speaking of which, yesterday the NYPD released video of a suspect assaulting a policeman; and protestors have been posting video of the police on line. It seems that a form of opposition research has reached that conflict as well.

September 2, 2004

Side Notes from the City that Doesn't Sleep

By Brian Naylor
New York is a city where studied nonchalance is an art form. The Republican National Convention competed for attention with U.S. Open tennis and two major league baseball teams (there was more talk in the tabloids Wednesday about the Yankees' 22-0 loss the night before than over the speeches at Madison Square Garden). The city's 37,000-member police force was more than up to the task, its leaders say, and there was certainly an astonishing amount of security in place. At NPR's convention hotel in midtown, next door to where the president stayed, there were groups of cops on every corner. Large city dump trucks filled with sand were parked along the curb, presumably to deter car bombs or perhaps set for an impromptu beach volleyball match.

It is a lovely city for a stroll, especially on a perfect late summer's day. Street vendors sell tacos, falafel and pulled-pork barbecue sandwiches. From the wooden sidewalks of the Brooklyn Bridge, heading into Manhattan at dusk, the buildings of midtown are bathed in the soft, pale light photographers love. But the poetic scene is made a bit incongruous by a Fuji blimp floating in the sky. It's the police again, peering down over Madison Square Garden, providing aerial views of potential demonstrators.

My favorite celebrity sighting here this week occurred alongside ground zero. At the tall iron fence surrounding the site there was an elegantly dressed 20-something man, wearing a striped dress shirt and natty vest, peering intently into the ruins. A TV crew followed him, and I thought for a moment he was a delegate. Then I noticed the beefy bodyguard, and soon a gaggle of young people. It was Andre 3000 of the hip-hop duo Outkast. He's preparing to vote this year for the first time, and a documentary crew followed him as he apparently familiarized himself with the issues. An aide couldn't say who Andre is leaning towards, so candidates take note: another swing vote is up for grabs.

September 1, 2004

Protests Then and Now

The "Greene Dragon" protestors gather before the convention, Aug. 31, 2004. · Jim Kane/Greene Dragon

By Margot Adler
I have covered political protests for 35 years. I was in Chicago in 1968 during the Democratic Convention, running through tear gas, seeing people beaten and bloodied. And through a complete fluke I ended up in Berkeley on that day in 1969 when James Rector was killed during the protests over People's Park. Perhaps that's why, last week for four nights in a row, I dreamt of hundreds of people being arrested.

But the protests here at the RNC have been -- at least until the huge number of arrests on the second night -- different from the demonstrations of those long-ago years. Today's protesters use satire creatively and with a sense of fun that I do not remember from the protests in the 60s. Perhaps I was a lot more earnest in those days as well.

Members of an anarchist group from Florida and South Carolina carry pink anarchist flags, twirling them to the exuberant beats of a drummer. They have great voices, total coordination and the precision of a good cheerleading squad. Just the idea of anarchist cheerleaders is something to ponder.

Then there were the ACT UP activists who disrobed in front of Madison Square Garden. The way Mayor Michael Bloomberg took the incident in stride made it tens times funnier. Asked by a reporter for a comment, he said: "Naked people on 8th avenue, in New York City. What's your question?"

The sheer number and inventiveness and variety of the groups have been overwhelming. But my absolute favorite is Greene Dragon. It's named for the pub where the Boston Tea Party was planned. Members dressed in decorative versions of American revolutionary garb, three-cornered hats and all. They rode down Lexington Avenue on "horsicles" (bicycles with cardboard horse heads). And they rang bells and shouted "one if by corporate jet, two if by SUV, the Republicans are coming, the Republicans are coming!"

Yet the tone is different in a small graveyard at St. Mark's Church in the Bowery. There, every night, artists and activists read the names of the dead in the Iraq war. Not just the U.S. servicemen and servicewomen, either: names of coalition soldiers, U.N. employees, and Iraqis -- soldiers and civilians alike.

Satire may wake you up and make you think. Sometimes a somber event stays with you longer.

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August 31, 2004

Historic Milestone... or Footnote?

Sen. John McCain addresses the GOP Convention at Madison Square Garden in New York, Aug. 30, 2004. · © Reuters

By Ken Rudin
There is something surreal about covering a national political convention. I say this not as a novice but as someone who has attended conventions for the past 24 years (and who has watched every one since 1968). But when you're standing in the middle of thousands of cheering delegates, there is the tendency to think that you're in the middle of something significant. Sometimes, you are. Sometimes, you won't know until much later.

My first convention was the Republicans' in 1980. Ronald Reagan was alternately described as a dangerous right-wing extremist or a dunce, but in any event someone the Democrats relished running against in November. But I remember standing there on the convention floor in Detroit, listening to Reagan's acceptance speech, thinking that this guy was for real, and that Democrats should belittle him at their own peril. Ultimately, that judgment was correct.

I'm in Atlanta, for the Democrats, in 1988. Michael Dukakis, the governor of Massachusetts, has, by convention time, no significant roadblocks to the nomination. But the delegates are having a wonderful time mocking George Herbert Walker Bush, Reagan's vice president. It's a successful convention, with great speeches, and I'm thinking, Bush is in big trouble. Ultimately, he wasn't. In the end, Bush wins 40 of 50 states.

Fast forward to 2004. Now, after one day of the Republican convention, I don't know what to think. Are voters going to reward President Bush for his stewardship following Sept. 11, or will it be Iraq and the economy, stupid? Do you win over undecided voters by questioning Kerry's military service, or do you give him his due and move on from there? One conversation I had with a delegate yesterday centered on Vietnam. Some at the convention had handed out Purple Heart band-aids, a sarcastic shot aimed at Kerry's medals, and this delegate was livid. "This is so stupid," he said over and over. Why mock combat service, he wondered, when President Bush spent the Vietnam era in Texas and Alabama?

Then again, how does one explain Bush's apparent gain in the polls in the past week? Are the gains temporary, as they were for Dukakis in '88? Or is something else happening here? So here I am, in New York, and I have more questions than answers.

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August 31, 2004

Convention Pins: The New Currency

South Dakota delegate Gordon Pederson bedecked in pins and buttons at the convention in New York, Aug. 30, 2004. · © Reuters

By Lizzie O'Leary
There's a booming business backstage at Madison Square Garden: pins. Commemorative convention lapel pins issued by news organizations, corporate sponsors and even the electric companies that wired the media center are apparently the currency of those in the know.

They come in gold, silver and, often, various combinations of red, white and blue.
And a certain subset of the backstage population has taken to trading them with the zeal of fourth-graders at recess.

Here's how it works: the pin-hunter sets his or her sights on a media tent in the Garden. They then pop their heads into the various workspaces with a winning smile. Like most everything at a convention, there seems to be a script. "Hi," works for openers. "I really love your (choose one) newspaper/show/magazine/network, etc. Do you have any pins? My (again, take your pick) husband/wife/son/daughter would reeeeaaaally love one."

The quest for pins is so constant backstage that one TV network guard has taken to describing his job as "Security/Swag Coordinator." And the Boston Herald, clearly annoyed, hung a sign outside its workspace that reads, "No Pins."

One media center electrician, who declined to be named since he was still very much on the pin-hunt, dished on the various pins and their suppliers. He displayed his very decorated ID lanyard, pointing out his pins. NBC? "Good." ABC? "Good, with two options -- one election-related, one not." CBS? "Well," he said, "they are actually kind of stingy with their pins." The Eye network is apparently not looking out for the electricians.

He went on. "The AP has cool ones. So does C-SPAN."

But the most coveted pins? "The RNC Secret Service has got the hottest commodity." In fact, the Secret Service has at least four different pins, and is apparently quite friendly about distributing them, if asked in the right way.

And what about a certain radio network? "Oh... the word on the street is that NPR pins are very cool."

I gave him two.

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August 30, 2004

Republicans... or Cops?

Protesters against President Bush march on 7th Avenue in front of Madison Square Garden, Aug. 29, 2004. · © Reuters

By Lizzie O'Leary
Well, Sunday's big protest march is over, and the anticipated fireworks didn't really happen. Lots of demonstrators carried an astonishing variety of placards (in addition to being a place to protest the convention, 7th Avenue is apparently also the spot to rally against Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez and advocate more union overtime), but they stayed in the prescribed march route, and sweltered along peacefully under the sun. Yes, there was yelling, yes there were arrests, but the much-discussed anarchists didn't wreak havoc, and things seemed to go off fairly smoothly.

Some of the more incongruous moments came from inside the journalistic throng at the head of the march. Press, press and more press. Press covering the march, and even press covering the press. Democracy Now radio host Amy Goodman was trailed by a camera crew marking her progress through the crowd, and New York tabloid photographers were shooting the TV cameras, who were shooting the marchers (incidentally, TV cameras are nasty weapons when swung quickly, and you best duck when they come your way).

The reporters, madly backpedaling up 7th Avenue to stay ahead of the march, were herded like misbehaving squirrels by Kevin Czartoryski, an NYPD detective wielding a bullhorn and a wry sense of humor. "News media," he repeatedly bellowed at the sluggish pack, "If you stop, the march stops." Perhaps not surprisingly, we were not very good at taking direction, either from the cops or from the march "marshals" who led the sea of protestors past Madison Square Garden.

One marshal pleaded with members of the press to change places with each other. "If you were at the front of the pack before," she begged, "please move to the back and give others a chance to shoot and record." No dice. One newspaper reporter chuckled. Everyone surged forward, elbowing others aside to get a better view of the demonstrators who had stopped in front of the Garden and begun to sing. "Nah nah nah nah....nah nah nah nah ... hey hey... goodbye," they chanted toward the Garden, an arena which has probably heard this tune before, though not, I'm guessing, in this context. The pack, too, turned toward the Garden, surveying an audience of about 100 on the sidewalk -- the only people wearing suits and ties we'd seen since 14th Street. "Are those Republicans?" somebody asked, "or cops?"

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August 29, 2004

'Billionaires' and Grannies Bring Humor to Protests

"Billionaires for Bush" protesters march down New York's Fifth Avenue, Aug. 29, 2004. · © Reuters

A "Raging Granny" protests President Bush in New York, Aug. 29, 2004. · Christine Arrasmith, NPR

By Nancy Solomon
Anyone who thinks irony is dead, wasn't at the anti-Bush protest in New York on Sunday.

I watched the scene for eight hours, and never tired of the humor, creativity and all-around good-natured attitude on display. A group of older women with funny hats called the "Raging Grannies of Rochester, N.Y." sang songs like "Georgie Porgie" and "Yankee Doodle Dandy," with altered lyrics, of course.

Then there were the "Billionaires for Bush." A bunch of elegantly dressed folks who strutted about calling for "Four more wars" and "1-2-3-4 we don't care about the war; 5-6-7-8 Halliburton is really great." I spoke with Fonda Sterling, dressed in a lovely blue gown, who said Bush has been very good to her, cutting her taxes and increasing profits.

As the main protest was winding down, I walked with the "Billionaires" to Times Square, where they hoped to meet up some real Republicans. While the hot, sweaty protesters were marching, singing and working their way across the city, Republican delegates spent the afternoon at the theater. So "Billionaires for Bush" wanted to greet them, and protect them from the rabble-rousers expected to be there.

But their good humor didn't last. As we stood in the center of Times Square, the police moved in, wearing riot gear and riding horses. A few less-well-dressed protesters tried to approach Republican delegates as they emerged from the theater and the police pounced. An already congested place turned scary, with the police hemming us in, the protesters getting angrier, and lots of tourists looking like they might get caught up in something they had no interest in. It took about an hour to diffuse, and eventually the horse-riding police backed away and rolled up their orange plastic netting that had created pens in the center of the square.

One of the challenges of reporting on an event like this is the tendency to focus on the outlandish. Whether it's black-clad anarchist kids or "Billionaires for Bush," we gravitate toward the dramatic or funny, always trying to keep our listeners engaged. And since the anarchist kids haven't smashed any windows yet, not a whole lot of time is going to be spent covering this demonstration.

It's a shame. Because there was a tremendous number of people there and they had a lot to say. It's lunacy to try to estimate the size of the crowd, but I can say this: The march began at 11:45 a.m. and filled a fairly wide Seventh Avenue. It didn't finish until after 5:00 p.m. People came because they feel President Bush has alienated the rest of the world and made America less safe. They're upset about a decrease in environmental protections. They oppose the efforts to ban gay marriage and abortion.

I wonder what the couple from Kansas City thought about it all. We met them first thing this morning and never did get to find out. They were tourists who just wanted to see what the protesters were doing and saying. I'll never find out whether it galvanized them against liberal northeasterners, or whether it became impossible to suppress a smile and see that, no matter one's politics, this city demonstrated enormous heart and soul today.

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