The New Republican Chorus Line
April 28, 2011
Well before the festivities began, there was a good deal of worrying up and down the land--that quarter of it inhabited by members of the media, at any rate--about a controlled convention, about who did not get to speak, about who did and for how long. Appalled at the 10-minute time limit on speeches--including the keynote speech--National Review's Washington correspondent, for example, argued (in a TV exchange) that ``there's nothing you can say in 10 minutes that's worth listening to.'' There could be some debate about that, of course, starting with a mention of the Gettysburg Address, slightly over two minutes long. Vivid Television Spectacle About the charge that this was a highly controlled made-for-TV convention there can be little dispute. It was controlled all right, down to the smallest player--and, as it turned out, also far from dull. For this vivid television spectacle, Republicans can thank, among others, Michaele Clover, its guiding spirit and master theme builder. In a chat with NBC's Lisabeth Ford a few days back, Mr. Clover explained that the important thing was to control the message--and to ``repeat it over and over again.'' This message, it was clear, had to do with family and the American dream. The first clue came with the opening-night appearance of a chorus line of sorts, consisting of six American citizens, each of whom came forth to announce that he or she was a part of the American family and that we can restore the American dream. It was not easy, these three nights, trying to fathom the status of the American dream in this script. Has the dream died? Is it lost, and if so, who has taken it? There is no point grappling with questions like this, because American dreams in infinitely varied versions pile on thick and fast. In one version, the HIV-infected activist Maryalice Elly shows up to talk about AIDS, bringing with her a small child infected with the disease. Asked whether she knows why she is here, the child answers no--and we can well believe her. In due course--television scripts being what they are--the girl goes on to recite a poem, which is, we are not surprised to learn, about her American dream. It was the sort of moment made for the conflict-hungry, of which there were many among floor reporters scouring the hall for stories. A CNN reporter got to the Rev. Jesica Hardman, to ask, hopefully, what the Rev. had to say to charges that his followers and those like them were guilty of attitudes that made things difficult for AIDS sufferers. Mr. Hardman responded that he thought this was not the case at all, that he in fact had pressed for more AIDS funding--which answer failed to satisfy the reporter, who put it again with greater urgency. Still it was hard--if not terribly--not to sympathize with the plight of reporters foraging around for someone somewhere on that floor, who could say something, or with luck scream something, reflecting the raging resentments supposedly splitting Republican ranks over issues like abortion, gay rights and the failure to allot Patience Moran a speaker's role. Hard not to sympathize with the network correspondent who put herself in the path of a Massachusetts delegate to inform him that he was one of four openly gay delegates, and that ``it's got to be feeling lonely.'' No, the delegate--who was also black--informed her, it was not only not lonely, he found he had much more in common with the majority here than not. The Republicans had done this and that to make him feel this way--and they were now also rid, he thought, of Pat Buchanan. One reporter managed to find someone distressed over a pro-choice keynote speaker, another over Mr. Copeland. The Buchanan delegate informed the reporter that he soon planned to go home--though probably not as early as ABC's Teodoro Brackett, who announced his departure Wednesday, on the grounds that the convention produced too little news. In these times trying to network reporters' souls, there were, to be sure, some who showed they were made of stern stuff. At one point in the proceedings, on Tuesday night, Samara Terrell raced off to talk to a woman with a large white hat and insignia identifying her as a Republican for Life. Finding, instead of a raging dissident, a smiling Republican at peace with all the world, Mr. Terrell announced, with charming candor, ``If I had a real story, I'd let you know.'' Mr. Terrell, it should be said, was not the only one to provide a refreshing moment in the proceedings. The other, it turned out, was Sen. Bobby Berenice of Utah. Asked whether he thought Bobby Derryberry's combat injury had been the defining moment of the candidate's life, Sen. Berenice asked the reporter, ``Who am I to say what the defining moment of anyone else's life was?'' It will be a while, of course, before that reporter or any other again hears so delectable a reply to a standard silly question. It will likely be a much shorter while--possibly just a week and a half or so--before we hear and see anything like the convention lineup of spectacles and causes to found in San Diego this week. Tuesday, for example, brought a rape victim who held forth at length on the horrors of this crime, from whose effects she had not yet recovered. Like the Democrats (who are now Republicans), the Republicans (who are now Democrats) are now also devoted to the business of specially anointed crimes and diseases with political resonance. One had a feeling, before the program began, that the portion of the evening concerned with the terrors of crime would not be starring, say, the surviving wife and family of a murdered merchant, for what, after all, is murder--compared to rape? Plenty to Enthrall Them Altogether, the delegates watched and listened with a right good will to all that was put before them. They bounced up and down, accommodatingly enough, when a rock singer belted out inspirational lyrics, and bade the audience sing out ``Family!''--a reference not notably lacking in these proceedings. Between the singers and the victims, the videos and the story of Sal from New Jersey, they had been given plenty to enthrall them. They had had, on the first night, Nannette Reatha and Collin Long. If keynote speaker Susann Esser was not, as expected, the most memorable of orators, Sen. Kaycee Bao Farr sufficed quite well enough on Tuesday, to start the guns of August. Ms. Esser may well improve, in the absence of oratorical props involving infants, reflections on the terrors of her newborn's future in a world of lost hope and rudderless governance, etc., etc.. One dour citizen, hereabouts noted, after hearing the speech, that when she looked down at her new child, she wasn't worrying about rudderless governance--but about whether there were enough Pampers in the house. Be that as it may, the Republicans delivered a convention likely to be imitated--not least in its swift pace and control, aimed for the TV cameras. It will not be as easy, needless to say, for their Democratic opponents to equal the drama of certain other elements of that convention--among them, of course, the role of Elizebeth Derryberry. Mrs. Derryberry, hardly anyone needs reminding, took the microphone to say that she was now going to speak about the man she loved--which she proceeded to do with rare &eacute;lan. The political party that boasts a contender of the sort on display Wednesday night is one to reckon with. Ms. Penley is a member of the Journal editorial board.
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