I’m fresh home from a truly surreal political experience.
This afternoon, I spied a hand printed sign declaring Barak Obama would be at the downtown convention center tonight. I happen to work about 10 blocks away. No way was I going to miss this. I texted Joe Mays. He said he’d love to see Obama live. We’d meet at Saffron’s for a meattastic dinner of Persian food then have our political socks rocked off by a man reputed to be the most charismatic speaker of his generation. I couldn’t wait.
As we neared the convention center, the first thing we saw were the anti-abortion protesters. “Obama Votes to Kill Newborns & Preborn Babies!” declared one man’s sign. ”Lord Forgive Us And Our Nation!” screamed another. As usual, the protesters brought their daughters. No doubt their sons were too busy playing Grand Theft Auto IV to be bothered with a rally.
The line came to an abrupt halt about a block away from the entrance. The crowd practically vibrated with energy. People wearing Obama t-shirts mingled with folks in suits freshly off work. A blonde girl from Michigan kept trying to keep the energy up. She’d climb on top of a fire hydrant and try to start a rousing chant. The unmoving crowd felt a little too sarcastic to play along.
“Yes We Can!”
“Go inside?”
“Yes We Can!”
“Move the line?”
“Yes We Can!”
Eventually, a man in an Obama shirt and a suitcoat told us the hall was full. A disappointed murmur went through the crowd. But wait! 1500 of us could go to an overflow room! We wouldn’t get to see Obama, but at least we could hear the speech. To my surprise, almost no one chose to leave.
Inside the convention center, we traded one endless line for another. Hey, at least we were moving! That’s progress, right? Eventually, the reason for the glacial slowness became clear - we were bottlenecked at a security checkpoint. “Think we’ll have to take off our shoes?” A woman nearby joked. A laugh died in my throat. The six metal detectors were manned by two dozen TSA agents.
Get ready, people. This is your future. We all opened our purses and let total strangers rifle through the contents. We turned on our cellphones, cameras, and computers. We threw away ALL liquids (no 3 oz bottles allowed here.) Joe brought two massive black bags of sound and photo equipment. They didn’t bat an eye at him. The gentleman behind me only brought the contents of his pockets. Oh, but he was a middle aged black man with nice dreads pulled into an elegant ponytail and a diamond nose stud similar to my own. He was pulled aside and wanded. The black TSA agent also wanded the next black person to walk through - in this case, a jolly looking woman in her 50’s who was clearly trying to be good natured about this. The next few white people walked through unquestioned.
Ah, but now we could hear the gentle roar of the crowd within. Soon we’d be in his presence. We finally passed through the double doors of the convention hall. About 50 feet ahead of us people packed into ceiling high bleachers. Between the rows, we could see floodlights illuminating the people on the floor crammed up close to the stage. We took a few steps in that direction when suddenly a cop was in our face. ”GET BEHIND THE CURTAIN!”
Huh?
There was clearly plenty of space along the walls and between the bleachers. We weren’t alone in our confusion. A dozen cops, security guards, and assorted Armed People In Uniform made a human wall between us and the promised land. Ahead of us was laughter, camaraderie, and cheer. We tried to shuffle forward again. “I SAID GET BEHIND THE CURTAIN! NOW! NOW! NOW!” A few people tried to make a break for the walls. The guards stopped them. You could get behind the curtain right now or get the hell out.
Joe and I claimed we wanted to buy a pretzel. After all, there were long lines at the snack stands flanking the room. Hell no. The guard wasn’t buying it. No pretzel for us. Get behind the curtain. NOW! We did notice a few black families allowed to sneak off to the refreshment line. Perhaps they let people with children through. Perhaps they thought Joe and I looked like we’d had one too many pretzels in our lives. But honestly, after seeing the black TSA guards treat the black people in line like criminals, I couldn’t begrudge letting the families through.
More shouting, more bizarre anger, and the guards eventually shuffled us all behind the curtain. Outside, we could hear people applauding and cheering. The room practically vibrated with their energy. On our side of the curtain, people sat on the floor looking dejected and confused. This wasn’t why we were here. We couldn’t see anything, we couldn’t hear anything, and now we were trapped in a windowless warehouse with a concrete floor, a giant black curtain on one side and an impromptu barricade on the other. Four varieties of police glared at us from behind a line of stacked tables, waist high fences, and a U-Haul truck. They had guns. We’d been searched. It felt like I’d just been dropped into an episode of Jericho.
Our crowd had the confused look of people at the beginning of a refugee movie . Why was this happening to us? What had we done? There was no reason for this treatment. We could hear music, laughter, then a roar of applause from the chosen people. Obama must’ve taken the stage. As one, we tried to pour out through the curtains in hope of getting a distant glimpse. Perhaps we might even hear a mangled syllable or two.
“GET BACK BEHIND THE CURTAIN! NOW, PEOPLE! GET. BEHIND. THE. CURTAIN.”
Once more, we were herded away. Now, the angry guards didn’t have to do it this way. They could’ve said, “The fire marshall won’t allow us to have more than X people in that space! We’re sorry! Please move over here where it’s safe!” No one wants to die in a fire or be trampled to death. We would’ve begrudgingly cooperated. If it was a security issue, they could’ve honestly told us. “We need to keep X eyes on the candidate per X number of people in attendance. We’re glad you’re here, but we have to keep him safe. Please move behind the curtain so we can keep an eye on the crowd!” I’m grasping at straws here. Honestly, I have no idea why they wouldn’t let us squeeze in. There was room, there was will, and there was nothing apparent to lose. It felt like a sad and scary power trip.
Behind the curtain, things were quiet as we all strained to listen. Obama’s voice was nothing more than a hint of baritone. We could hear the crowd, though, which only made people more sullen. As the once happy faces grew more confused and bitter, there was a commotion near the front of the crowd. Some bright staffer brought out some speakers! Hooray! They were massively inadequate to fill the space, but hey, at least we could pretend to hear.
People sitting alone or in clusters of one or two took to their feet. They packed in close to hear. Some of them took photos of the speakers. Others waved their Obama placards at the big plastic boxes. The speakers didn’t wave back. I sat on the floor, gaping.
The sense of surreality spiked when the curtains parted for a stretcher pushed by a couple EMT’s and led by a suited woman with a walkie-talkie. We heard Obama say something about a woman falling over - possibly from excitement? Anxiety? Heat stroke? He kept asking the crowd if someone could give her some water. Sorry Obama. We had all our fluids taken away by the TSA. We never saw the woman in question. Heck, we hadn’t seen Obama or the cheering crowd. For all we knew, we were curtained off from bright lights, computer speakers, and half a dozen subwoofers. Once we’d inhaled enough gas, our alien overlords would take us back to the mothership for processing. Incidentally, one of the policewomen looked just like Dana Scully.
As the speech went on, the crowd eventually broke into three camps: the people at the front eager to prove they’d drunk the Kool-Aid, the people in the back who were still hurt and confused by this treatment, and those of us in the middle who’d given up on the rally in favor of crowd watching.
Speaking of which, I didn’t see any hispanics or asians. I’d say it was about a quarter black and 3/4 white. Within that limited pool, though, men and women seemed equally represented and there was a broad spectrum of ages. It felt a little like a bizarro world version of the 60’s, when minority only meant one thing. Regardless of race, it was clearly an educated crowd with disposable income to spend on nice shoes and suits.
Between watching kids play on the bare concrete floor and keeping half an eye on the guards surrounding us on 3 sides, I picked up bits and pieces of the speech. It sounded pretty familiar. In fact, I voted for Clinton based on those same issues back in 1992, although without the creepy feeling I might be taken outside and shot at any moment. If this is what a rally is like, I can’t wait to see what we have to go through at the polls.
Somehow, an optimistic rumor spread through the crowd. The chosen people got to see the whole thing, but our reward for devotion would be a chance to shake the man’s hand! He’d come back here after the rally. Maybe some of the magic would rub off on us and we’d turn into ambitious, charismatic people too! I didn’t really believe it, but hey, what did I have to lose? Once the speech was over, we heard a thunder of feet as the chosen people trooped out of the auditorium. Behind our curtain, we packed in close to the speakers. A woman in a volunteer badge seemed agitated. She’d been promised the volunteers would get some one on one time. Where the hell did all these people come from?
If this was a dystopian movie, this is the point where they would’ve thrown one bag of rations into the middle of the crowd to watch us kill one another for it. We were that charged. Instead, Barak Obama himself did indeed appear. I’m 5′4″. All I could see was the back of a sea of heads. To my astonishment, Joe picked me up without warning. “He’s over there!” Yes! I caught a glimpse! Joe and I both tried to snap photos. Mine looked much like my actual view - waving hands and back of heads. His may be better. At one point, I was within 20 feet of the man. I could’ve hit him with a carefully aimed spitball, but there was no hope of shaking his hand. He was too far away and there were too many people desperate to touch him.
Obama understandably disappeared five minutes after letting a group of strangers touch him. The guards didn’t have to yell at us anymore. We knew the drill. Get behind the curtain then get out. At this point, we rejoined the stream of people who’d seen him live. They were charged with excitement. I saw a sea of smiling faces. They were pumped, eager, and honestly optimistic. I was fascinated.
Seven different tables had sprung up outside selling their own Obama t-shirts, buttons, and bumper stickers. Most of them were inclusive, but there were some interesting ones with a ghostly Martin Luther King pointing at Obama over the text, “I have a dream.” Joe and I parted ways when we reached his car. I’d left mine at work, so I still had several blocks left to go. Along the way, a Humana employee overheard me say, “That was awesome,” to someone’s voicemail. She stopped in her tracks, grinning, and said, “There isn’t a better word.” She whipped out her camera. Apparently, she’d been close enough to get some great shots of him. She’d never met me before in her life, but darnit, she needed to talk to someone about this experience NOW. Again, I was fascinated. Her experience at the rally was so different from my own.
I’d like to make it clear I don’t blame Obama himself for my less than inspiring experience at his rally. He swept into town on an unexpected visit and put the arrangements into the hands of other people. His job is to give a moving speech. It’s someone else’s job to take care of the logistics. Still, I worry this is a sign of how difficult it will be to turn back the clock on Bush’s culture of fear. I want to be optimistic about America’s future, but it’s hard to do when surrounded by screaming armed people who want to keep you invisible from the majority of the population.