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V E R G E | Student Kane
Which Side Are You On?
A rookie reporter covering the GOP Convention gets swept up by the revolution
by Nicholas Morehead
I consider myself the luckiest intern
on the face of the earth.
Sorry to bite off of the Iron Horse’s
famous outgoing speech, but it’s true - I’m a lucky dog. My boss, fresh off
of letting me tie one on at the White House annual press picnic, brought me
along to help cover the Republican
National Convention in Philadelphia.
It was a wonderful blend of surrealism
and history in the making. Strolling the media pavilions, sitting in on the
keynote speeches, bumping shoulders with the likes of Larry King and James
Carville (both of whom look way odder in person than on television). Just being
there as it all went down is - pardon the clich” - something I’ll tell my
grandchildren.
But the gala and glitz of what was
shown on television was not without its polar opposite. To me, the other extreme
revealed itself in the face and words of a 50-something-year-old protester who
dropped a bomb of profundity on me, making me reassess what the hell it’s all
about.
When I think about it, this guy was a
logical crescendo to my wide-eyed rookie coverage of the big, scripted party.
Monday had us around the vast media pavilions covering the formidable presence
of online
publications covering the convention. Tuesday, fresh off the rousing
speech of Gen. Colin Powell, it was the Shadow
Convention 2000 and its examination of America’s drug
policy. Wednesday it was the streets of Philadelphia - scrambling to catch protesters
committing senseless acts of vandalism, and police committing oppressive acts of
brutality.
The end of the day brought me to
Franklin Square Park, where a small but hardened group of protest leaders
gathered to assess the day’s protests, plan for future direct action and check
the status of recently jailed comrades. It was a heavy scene, and I mingled
awkwardly among some of them in hopes of getting a feel for the issues that
drove them - in some cases across the country - to risk injury and incarceration
in an effort to get their voices heard. The answers I got ranged from the
environment and the death penalty to the two-party system in general and the
need to free Mumia.
Across the park, I noticed one man
sitting by himself just outside the circle of elders, so to speak. He was
looking at me with a Dubya-esque smirk on his face, so I meandered over to him
to see if I could get some more ideas for a story. Before I could even identify
myself as press he held up his hand and said, "Let me ask you some
questions for a change."
He didn’t want to know whom I worked
for or what I was doing or what nerve I had to try to understand what he was
doing. He simply wanted to know one thing: "If the revolution started
tomorrow," he asked, "would you be on the side of the establishment or
the revolutionaries?"
Jeez, I just wanted to get some good
quotes.
So I took the bait. I looked at the
rag-tag band of ill-dressed protesters squatting in a circle before me wondering
where they would find food and shelter for the night. Then I looked at the two
dozen or so police officers assembled across the street, ominous and impressive
in formation.
"I’d probably be on the side of
the establishment," I said, "I’d be too chicken shit to be a
revolutionary."
Appreciating my honesty, he smiled in
such a way that signaled an open floor for some friendly debate. After we both
agreed that there are some serious problems in this country, he wondered how I
could side with the establishment. I countered that as a child of the
establishment, I knowingly lacked the courage to give up what I have been
provided with to fight for problems I’m not entirely convinced I believe in.
We stopped talking and watched as the
protesters somberly discussed whether to stay in the park after curfew and risk
arrest, or leave before dark.
Then almost without thinking, I said,
"I guess that’s why I’m a journalist, so I don’t have to take a side.
I can do my part and hopefully get all sides heard, let the truth rise to the
top, and let the people decide for themselves." (Well, it might not have
come out as rhythmically at the time - so sue me).
"Ah," he said, "you’re
going to work your way in from the establishment and then join the
revolutionaries. Good idea."
"Well, no, I don’t know if it’s
exactly that," I said. But it was too late. He had stood up and was about
to walk away. Before he left he turned and took my hand.
"You’re doing a good
thing," he said. "Don’t give up."
I knew when I headed to Philadelphia
that there would be many things to write about. As I sat waiting for Dubya to
give his
speech, feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl, I felt compelled to write about my
strange, almost seductive encounter with a scraggly old protester whose name I
didn’t even get.
This much is certain: The real problems
are not tax subsidies for married couples. The real problems are the things that
keep us up at night, that haunt us and scare us deep down. The real problems are
things like inequality - economic, social, racial. When the time comes, I hope I
have the strength to do the right thing. On the eve of the revolution, I hope I
can sleep well, knowing that I have done my part to see to it that the good guys
win.
For now, though, it’s finding a way
to get to Los Angeles for the Democratic
National Convention.
Hey, you gotta start somewhere.
Nicholas
Morehead is finishing his
master’s degree at American University and is currently reporting for Wired
News. Student Kane appears here on most Wednesdays. Click here to read the
previous column.
Sites Mentioned
- Republican National
Convention
- Democratic National
Convention
- Protests in Philadelphia
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