I survived RNC 2016—but will my party?

by

On a beautiful evening in early July, I attended the Republican Party of Dane County’s annual “Night at the Duckpond,” at the Warner Park baseball stadium. As the Madison Mallards struggled toward victory, I commiserated with old friends and made a few new ones.

I was keen to learn how the local GOP grassroots are processing our party’s unusual summer. We were just about a week away from what was expected to be the weirdest major party convention since 1968. I would soon be heading to Cleveland to cover the festivities.

Whatever you might say about the Republican elite — the politicians and rich folks the media pay attention to — the activists and leadership of the local party are almost uniformly thoughtful, conscientious and civic-minded. They are party stalwarts, to be sure, but not slavish followers of GOP dogma.

The previous summer’s Duckpond event was on the same night as the first 2016 GOP presidential debate. Some attendees were paying closer attention to debate updates on their phones than they were to the ballgame. Hackles were raised when it came through that Donald Trump, alone among the debate participants, would not commit to supporting the eventual GOP nominee. His preemptive refusal to fall in line struck these faithful Republicans as insolent, or even disqualifying.

What a year it has been. Trump’s antics on the campaign trail have made that early transgression seem quaint. Ironically, they’ve made rejection of the Republican presidential nominee a perfectly acceptable position among the party grassroots. Though the majority of party members I spoke with at this summer’s Duckpond outing plan to vote for Trump, few seem to be looking forward to it. And none were in the least bit put off by me or others who flatly refuse to support our party’s candidate.

I have long hoped to see a shake-up within the GOP. But unlike some of my libertarian brethren, I do not wish to see the party shattered.

I set out to Cleveland because I believed that this convention would be a turning point for Republicans. Considering who the guest of honor would be, I had little hope that it would be a turn in the right direction.

I want to see change within my party, and I want to see it united. But not at the price of having Donald Trump as its leader.

In the weeks leading up to the convention, a vocal minority of delegates rose up in staunch opposition to Trump’s nomination. This “Dump Trump” movement gave me at least some hope that I was not walking into a fawning coronation. The faction’s efforts focused on the insertion of a “conscience clause” into the Republican National Committee’s rules. The clause would have explicitly “unbound” delegates who were pledged, by virtue of their state’s party rules and primary results, to vote for Donald Trump.

The effort was a long-shot. The clause was overwhelmingly rejected by the rules committee, which met just before the convention. And as desperately as I wanted anyone other than Trump to be our nominee, I recognized that the spirit of fair play precluded the de facto disfranchisement of 13 million Trump primary voters.

My hopes for the convention were fairly realistic. I wanted to see some concerted resistance to Trump, even if it were merely symbolic. If my party was going to lie down before a demagogic strongman, it should let America know that it was doing so grudgingly.

On July 18, the first day of the convention, the Republican National Committee finally posted the convention’s program schedule on its much-touted mobile app. As I rode into downtown Cleveland, some fellow train riders boisterously made fun of the C-list celebrities that were scheduled to speak. “Scott Baio? Seriously?” I was about to tell them that the program would feature a couple of soap stars, too, but they exited the train before I could get a word in.

The unusually late release of the convention schedule hinted at the disorganization that was to come. I thought I knew exactly where I was supposed to get my press credentials. The folks in charge had sent multiple emails amending the location and time of pick-up. But the last message, sent just the weekend before the convention, made the procedure seem straightforward.

I was greeted at the Cleveland Federal Building by a long and slow-moving line. It was, at first, kind of cool to be stuck waiting with a number of media celebrities. (I somehow thought they were above enduring such indignities.) But the wait became more and more uncool by the minute. My writing notebook and laptop were 14 floors below, at the security checkpoint. I left them there because I naively thought I would be back down quickly.

Once I finally made it through the process, I headed to the convention’s media filing center, where there was supposedly a desk waiting for me in an air-conditioned room. I was promptly told that my precious badge would not get me in. I found out that I would need a second set of credentials from an office almost a mile from where I got the badge. By the time I made it to the second office, it was closed for the day. I would be “on the outside” until at least the following morning.

This did give me the opportunity to join in the bitch session developing in the lobby of the second office building. I was far from the only member of the press who had been confused by the blizzard of emails that the credentialing crew sent in the lead-up to the convention. One writer from Los Angeles opined that this disorganization reflects the current state of the Republican Party. Tom Hauser, chief political reporter for KSTP-TV in Minneapolis, was fuming. “I have been to every national political convention since 2000. This is by far, not even close, the most disorganized media credentialing process I have ever seen.”

This was of course disappointing, but there really was plenty going on outside of the convention hall. On the banks of the Cuyahoga River, famous for having been so polluted in 1969 that it caught fire, a group called Citizens for Trump held an “America First Unity Rally.”

The crowd was dotted with people wearing “Hillary for Prison 2016” shirts. There was also plenty of “911 = Inside Job” apparel, likely because conspiracy hero Alex Jones was scheduled to speak.

Among the event’s sponsors was Bikers for Trump, an organization founded by Christopher Cox. He spoke with reporters as the event was underway. “We need a commander-in-chief...who is going to be able to bring jobs back to America. We have ghost towns all across Pittsburgh and upstate New York. I’m here for the working man.” The Bikers were not in Cleveland merely to show their support for the jobs magician. “We feel like it’s open season on police officers. We will be there to help serve and protect [them].”

Corrogan Vaughn spoke at the rally. He is a senior adviser for the National Diversity Coalition for Trump. He is also running to unseat Elijah Cummings, longtime Democratic congressman from Baltimore. Vaughn held court at the side of the stage after his speech. A reporter asked why he, a black man, would support Donald Trump. “Mr. Barack Hussein Obama has been the most, the most, divisive president of the United States,” he said. Vaughn also praised the judge who had, that morning, found Baltimore police Lt. Brian Rice not guilty in the 2015 post-arrest death of African American Freddie Gray.

Milwaukee native Tom Ertl was selling Trump paraphernalia at the America First rally. He is the national media director for Christians for Donald Trump.

I asked Ertl what he says to those who observe that Trump has embraced a decidedly non-Christian lifestyle. Ertl addressed the allegation that Trump owns a strip club. He pointed out that Trump no longer owns the casino at which the club is located. (Trump lost it in a bankruptcy proceeding, soon after the strip club opened.) “We [Christians] see a lot of tremendous personal character attributes in [Trump] that are really important for a leader. He’s got all those male characteristics that God...intended for men to act like. For the last two generations, we see around us everywhere...men that have been feminized.”

As I made my way back to my exurban hotel that evening, I heard that the anti-Trump faction was causing a stir in the convention hall. Former Virginia Attorney General Ken Cuccinelli had gone so far as to throw his delegate credentials to the floor in disgust when the anti-Trump faction’s demand for a roll call vote on the rules was ignored. The insurgency appeared to be at a procedural dead end.

But I remembered that the Dump-Trumpers had been pronounced dead any number of times over the previous month. This burst of tenacity fueled my hope that significant resistance to Trump’s nomination was still in the works.

After (finally) sorting out my credentials the second day of the convention, I wandered around downtown to soak up the pageantry. Whatever threat free political expression might be under in America generally, it flourished fully in Cleveland during convention week. The Revolutionary Communist Party held what looked to be an impromptu march, dozens strong, straight down crowded “media row” on East 4th Street. Everyone just kind of made way for them, politely accepting their fliers, titled “Time to Get Organized for an ACTUAL REVOLUTION.”

Dr. Cornel West appeared in the street, seemingly out of nowhere. He was in town to lead a late-afternoon rally to “Protest Murder by Police.” I asked him if he worries that his refusal to support Hillary Clinton will help Donald Trump become president. He said no, adding, “I’m unconvinced by her case.”

Tuesday’s convention proceedings were not scheduled to start until early evening, so I went to the downtown Hilton to visit with a couple of Madison-area delegates. Scott Grabins of Verona is chair of the Republican Party of Dane County, and a friend. I asked him about the procedural dust-up that had occurred on the floor the previous afternoon. Grabins was not part of the faction, but said, “I was not opposed to the roll call vote. We’re here to work out issues. Everyone should have a voice, so that when the convention ends we can be unified. Let people get it off their chests.”

Delegate Roger Stauter of Monona thinks he knows why the anti-Trump forces had to be “steamrolled.” “This is typical of Trump and [campaign manager Paul] Manafort. Manafort likes to say things like ‘we crushed them.’ They make no effort to bring opposition into the fold. Twenty percent of the delegates are trying to convince themselves to support Trump, but they are getting no help from his campaign.” Stauter is, as you might have guessed, an adamant anti-Trumper.

I made it to the convention floor shortly before the evening session was gaveled in. The first person I sought out was Beau Correll, a Virginia delegate who was pledged to vote for Donald Trump in the imminent nomination proceedings. Earlier in the summer, Correll brought a federal lawsuit to unbind himself.

The judge in that case ruled that the Virginia law that bound Correll is unconstitutional under the First Amendment. But at the rules committee meeting just before the convention, a party rule was put in place affirming each delegate’s bound status. Legally speaking, the Republican Party is a private organization, and so not subject to First Amendment constraints.

So where did this leave Correll? I asked him what he would do when it came time to vote. “We’ll see how this plays out,” he said rather mysteriously.

The roll call of states proceeded with virtually no drama. When Virginia’s results were announced, they were completely consistent with the pledged counts.

And with that, the ‘Dump Trump’ movement finally succumbed.

As I watched the nomination proceedings, I felt a bit sick to my stomach. I had, of course, known for some time that this moment was inevitable. But the sight of solid, respectable Republicans dancing around in “MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN” hats was nauseatingly surreal. Most of these same folks had, not long ago, agreed with me (and Marco Rubio) that Donald Trump is a political con man.

Watching the nomination on television would have been less affecting. I began to wonder if attending the convention was a mistake.

While Tuesday’s nomination proceedings hit me at an emotional level, the speeches that followed assaulted my intellect. The night’s supposed theme was ‘Make America Work Again.’ There was a little of that, but most of the night was dedicated to vicious attacks on Hillary Clinton.

I mostly agreed with the substance of the attacks. I am no fan of Hillary Clinton. But in its unrestrained, undignified descent into the mud, the Republican Party demeaned itself as much as it demeaned Clinton.

Chants of “Lock her up! Lock her up!” boomed from the crowd as New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie delivered a faux prosecution of the former Secretary of State. In a mob-like manner, redolent of France’s Reign of Terror, Christie incited the crowd to yell “Guilty!” after bellowing each count of his indictment.

Dr. Ben Carson, reportedly deviating from his prepared remarks, exaggerated Hillary Clinton’s relationship with the late radical Saul Alinsky. He then implied that Alinsky was in league with Satan.

Bringing Tuesday’s bacchanal to its logical conclusion, a Trump adviser called for Clinton to be “put in the firing line and shot for treason“ in a radio interview offstage.

There was a time, not too long ago, when rhetoric like this was confined to the fringes of the GOP. But my party was Trumpifying, right before my eyes.

Wednesday was supposed to be about vice presidential nominee Mike Pence. It was instead mostly about Ted Cruz.

Cruz held an offsite “thank you” event for his delegates in the early afternoon. It was really more a “Ted Cruz 2020” rally.

Some believed that Cruz would endorse Trump either during or before his convention address, which was to take place that night. But during his rally, Cruz tellingly asserted that “every one of us has an obligation to follow our conscience.” The line was met with cheers. Cruz’s use of the word “conscience,” which was an anti-Trump shibboleth during the erstwhile effort to free the pledged delegates, was a sure sign that no endorsement was forthcoming.

I spoke with state Sen. Duey Stroebel (R–Saukville), a convention delegate, at Cruz’s afternoon rally. I asked Stroebel, who was chair of Ted Cruz’s primary campaign in Wisconsin, if he himself planned to endorse Donald Trump.

“No one man is bigger than the party. We’re a conservative party. We have ideas and principles,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, we need to abide by those, and we need to see our candidate do that. If he does, great. We’ll see what happens.”

Later that night in front of all convention attendees, when Cruz repeated his mantra to “vote your conscience,” he was met not with cheers, but with loud indignation.

If Cruz overshadowed Pence on Wednesday night, he buried Wisconsin Gov. Scott Walker. Walker’s convention address roused the audience, especially the Wisconsin delegation. But I could hardly recall anything about it by the end of the night, and the media had no interest in reminding me.

I knew going into Thursday’s final session that Ted Cruz’s “conscience” gambit from the previous evening was the last glimmer of resistance I would see at the convention. By the time the evening’s program commenced, I had pretty much checked out mentally. And when, in the evening’s invocation, the Rev. Dr. Steve Bailey condemned incivility without a hint of irony, I strongly considered checking out physically, too. The last person I wanted to see at that point was Donald Trump himself.

But see him I did. For all the analytic ink that has been spilled over Trump’s address, I found it almost unremarkable. My favorite moment was when the ever-so-reasonable Donald waved his hands to quell a re-eruption of the “lock her up” chant, as though he had not just spent a year’s worth of rallies egging on exactly that type of behavior.

The overriding theme of the address was that heavy-handed government activism, in the form of Trump’s mostly unspecified actions and policies, can cure the nation’s many, many ailments. The speech could have been titled “Believe Me,” after the catch phrase that punctuated it, a favorite refrain of liars.

Judging from the reaction of the convention floor, the supposed small-government conservatives that dominate my party actually believed Donald Trump.

A national political convention is an ideal breeding ground for groupthink and the credulity it engenders. For delegates, the convention is a four-day political retreat. They rub shoulders with their political idols, perhaps getting a little star-struck by all the individualized attention. Maybe their congressperson is staying right across the hall, in their delegation’s sequestered block of hotel rooms. Add to this the dizzying spectacle of the massive convention hall, and you have a setting tailor-made to undermine skepticism.

I cannot say where, exactly, the Republican Party will go from here. But I am pretty sure its only hope of survival, in anything but name only, is a Trump loss. Once this perverse and perverting candidacy is in the rear-view, perhaps the party will commence a long-overdue period of recovery and reconstitution. A new batch of leaders, untainted by the mass capitulation I witnessed in Cleveland, might usher in a better GOP for the 21st century, one that eschews corporatism, avoids stupid and murderous wars, and steadfastly defends the rights of all Americans.