The Conventions

There will be a virtual political convention this week for the first time ever. The Democrats will nominate Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. It will all be live-streamed and covered on the networks and many cable channels. I will read reports about what happened later but I won’t be watching. Whenever it’s the Republican’s turn, which I assume will be sometime later this month, I won’t watch that either. It’s not that I don’t care what goes on at these things. It’s not that I don’t think it’s important and all. The thing is, I just don’t have the stomach for it anymore. Whenever I see a high profile politician giving a speech at a high profile television event like a convention or, even worse, a debate, part of me really does want to watch. Sometime, I even start out watching. Then after ten or fifteen minutes I start getting sick on my stomach. Not throwing up sick, but more like a queasiness that you know won’t end in vomiting, but will still be quite uncomfortable. I find myself sitting there offering my silent objections after every third sentence or so...that’s bullshit...that was taken out of context...that’s a half truth...what a lie...that’s a deliberate distortion...and that’s just when the journalist are talking! Once the politicians start in, these silent objections become not so silent. My blood pressure starts going up, and before long my entire week gets ruined. So, no. I will not be watching.

Another reason I won’t be watching is that these things never—-and I mean never—change anyone’s mind. Political conventions are for the party faithful. It’s like a pep rally for the already converted. If I was a partisan Democrat or Republican, I would love a convention. What partisan wouldn’t, right? There you are surrounded by like minded people getting fired up about the man or woman you are convinced is the only person who can save the country. Back when I used to tune in, from about 1968 thru 2000, the delegates all looked like they were having a blast, well, except for the Dems in ‘68. Some of them would dress up in crazy patriotic costumes and stuff, parade around with huge elephant hats and carrying donkey shaped purses, all looking ecstatic to be there saving the world.

Then, there was the big balloon drop on the last night after the nominee’s speech. When I was a kid I thought it was so incredibly cool watching those red, white and blue balloons filling the arena, a sea of color and fun. It all seemed so magical. 

Now everything seems poisonous. Where once these events radiated a sense of joy and possibility, now they seem angry and out for blood and revenge. The other guys aren’t just wrong, they’re evil. They’re not just mistaken on policy, they want to destroy the country, strip us of our freedoms, turn us into a communist state, destroy the environment. It’s all so overwrought and pompous, their comportment about as self absorbed as it is possible to me. 

Somebody once described politics as the art of the possible. Nothing could possibly be further from the truth. There is no art, and the only thing possible is whatever we have enough votes to pass and then shove down the other guy’s throat.

Nope. No sale.