OWEN TAYLOR: DEMOCRATIC CONVENTION FROM THE OUTSIDE >>>
OK, kids, sit down and shut up. Thus far the Democratic National Convention here in Denver is giving me a greater headache than the one I received after the keg of Sam Adams we drank last night at La Boheme. La Boheme, a Gentleman's Cabaret, touts itself as home to only the “Sexiest Democrats,†and it won our unanimous seal of approval last night. I retired to its extremely comfy confines to nurse a bruised chest from the nightstick of a law enforcement professional with my good friend The Mac, who was fresh from painting a mural on the side of the building.
Here’s how it went down yesterday on the streets of Denver. I had been making my way over to see the mural when we witnessed several dozen cops running toward the Sheraton. Defying a "lawful order" to not cross the street, we moved 10 feet and then jaywalked, moving around a small building toward the scene of the commotion. Upon reaching the steps of a neighboring office building, we saw a wall of mounted police blocking the street and protecting the backs of about 300 officers, who had completely surrounded what looked like 50 to 60 protestors on three sides backing them into a wall. They were then given the order to disperse, which seemed like a complete joke as they were surrounded without an exit route and the cops were not moving.
About a hundred people had gathered on the back side of the police and
were chanting several slogans, most of which kept coming back to "The
Whole World is Watching" and "Let Them Go!" This definitely spooked
some police as more officers came pouring in from all directions to
hold back the swelling crowd. It was at this point that I was
cross-checked in the chest like I played for the Pittsburgh Penguins
while trying to help a photographer who had fallen off of the railing
we were both standing on and had gotten his leg stuck. We were herded
like the cattle we are off the steps of the building and back into the
street, where I nearly backed into the Aurora police's Mobile Rescue
Unit, or big-ass tank looking thing, complete with fully armed officers
on the roof peeking out of the gun turret. This was when they decided
to "disperse" the surrounded protestors with rubber bullets and mace
cannons, which ended up looking like the worst mosh pit I've ever been
in â€" without the camaraderie of thrashing metalheads. I decided it was
time for La Boheme â€" beer and naked women.
Wondering aloud over comped beers, we were joined by renowned West
Coast artists Sam Flores and David Choe. We all mused on whether the
security organizers for the convention were smitten with the futuristic
look of RoboCop when they blew $18 million on new equipment for the
police. The streets are overrun with the Men in Black, and I mean
thousands upon thousands of riot gear clad storm troopers waiting to
pummel any dissent with the utmost prejudice. The cops are everywhere
in downtown Denver, and they are bored out of their skulls and itching
for anything to do. Outside the front of the club last night I saw
seven officers arresting a drunk who kept slurring "Why is this
necessary?" They have nothing to do and nothing but time to do it.
The "protests" mostly have been unorganized whimsical gatherings of
anarcho-minded crust punks looking to piss off authority because of
their dad issues and the leftover remnants of an era that waved
good-bye to both reality and effective protesting long ago. In the
days to come I feel we are going to see only lackluster rallies
designed more to make the participants feel good about themselves for
being "antiauthoritarian" and less about actually making a difference
in the political arena. I am certain now that only the status quo will
be protected, and freedom and justice are available only to those with
a qualifying FICA score. The American Dream is on its last legs, and
all of the knuckleheads trying to dry hump it back to life are not
helping.
Case in point: The Convention Marketplace or, as I've taken to calling
it, the Swap Meet of the Damned and Upper Median Income Level. There
is nothing like seeing a family of Hawaiians slinging barbecue next to
a stall of Marxists who are convinced that they can make a difference
if only they were actually listened to. Perhaps if they had a
marketing plan like the rhinestone bejeweled denim Obama vests and
teddy bear wholesalers sandwiched between "Princess" belts and two for
$10 knockoff Gucci sunglass vendors, they wouldn't be such a damn joke.
We all want to believe that our voices and opinions can be heard, that
all is fair, that eventually they'll open the debates and let Ralph
Nader in and he'll dazzle us with his Paul Tsongas/Kermit The Frog
voiced wisdom and all will be right with America again.
I’ve got news for you, kiddo â€" we're all screwed. Whoever, "they" are,
well, they're winning, and the machine like grace of the muted robots
in the militaristic movements that are controlling downtown Denver
right now are not going to be messed with. So when you're trying to
fight back with common sense and logic, it's like watching a midget
throw hay makers at Yao Ming, who's just holding him back by his head
and laughing. This is the tragicomedy of the new American landscape.
Better get used to being a good little barcode.
Tomorrow I'm going to try and sneak into the "free" Rage Against the
Machine show, which is free for the 9,000 people who got tickets, and
then I have to run over to the really big party at the Manifest Hope
gallery and finish my interview with Shephard Fairey, who just called
me to say that he's out of jail after getting caught bombing his OBEY
posters a little too close to downtown last night.
Here's to all the hope and change they're cramming down our throats. I'm chasing mine with a beer.
Throughout the DNC, Owen Taylor â€" a freelance writer from Olympia â€"
will be posting updates from the many protests planned in Denver over
the next week. Unless he gets thrown in the Freedom Cage, you should be
hearing from him often.
LINK: Tacoma at the DNC
LINK: Democratic National Convention Web site
LINK: Weekly Volcano's preview of the DNC
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