Once upon a long-ago time, the two competing festivals, bazaars, mosh pits and numbers rackets held every four years--aka the national party conventions--actually featured . . . news! For most of this nation's history, reporters could find the most interesting things at political conventions. And it didn't take much digging. You could hang out at the bar. Many reporters did.
The Whig party has died! Long live the next Whig party! Will ol' Bill Seward be strong enough on the first ballot? Which candidate will gain the Free Soilers and Know Nothings--if they don't abandon the new Republicans altogether? And on the third ballot, some man named Abe Lincoln has won the nomination! Talk about home-cookin' in Chicago! Quick, somebody telegraph New York!
One needn't go all the way back to pre-Civil War times to find news at party conventions. Ted Kennedy was still trying to take the nomination from Jimmy Carter--a sitting president!--in 1980. Ronald Reagan, you'll remember, ran for president three times. He almost pulled it off in 1976 against another sitting president, Gerald Ford.
A fun time is had by all at these conventions. Except for the vast majority of those Americans watching from home.
Anymore, there's no news at these conventions. Not real news. Oh sure, sometimes a surprise guest like Clint Eastwood will show up to say something crude in a bizarre improv comedy scene that's more improv than comedy. But party leaders and all their PR staffs don't want to make news in the summer. That's too iffy for modern campaigns. Everything must be scripted, from the opening prayer to where the confetti falls.
The nomination scene might be entertaining for those who are there, shouting their regionalistic emotionalisms under their silly hats. But these days, if the nominee and the veep pick aren't selected before the convention, the party bosses would consider it a disaster in the making. The sign of a weak party. A divided party. Heaven help them in November.
This year, this strange year, the president of the United States and leader of his political party is making noises about canceling the Republican nominating convention in North Carolina. Or moving it. Of course, this president is always making noise, and famously his own staffers suggest people take his words seriously, not literally. But if President Trump not only suggests moving the GOP convention, but canceling it completely, he'd be on the road to a seriously good idea. Literally.
Little happens at these conventions. There are hours and hours--days and days, nights and nights--of nothing happening. And everything is duly documented on all three networks and several cable shows: The requisite but dispensable video of the candidates' youth. The parade of pols and former pols who must get their time before the cameras. The advocates and lobbyists--er, "staff attorneys for nonprofits"--and politically connected bands and actors with the right viewpoints, and spouses of the nominees. They all get a few minutes until a production assistant gives the cue to play music.
Why do We the People put up with it?
The same argument can be made about the State of the Union address given most years. There is nothing required in the Constitution for this interruption of our football playoff seasons. Our founding document says the president must, from time to time, give an update to Congress on the SOTU. But until TV came along, it was given mostly in writing. Now it's a two-hour ad for the party in power. Or at least for the party holding the White House, which is often enough only half the power.
This year, few doubt that Joe Biden will win the nomination of the Democratic Party. This year, even fewer doubt that President Trump will be re-nominated by the Republicans. Why do Americans need four days for each party to gyrate before their fellow man?
Perhaps political conventions have become perpetual assemblies in which like-thinking folks can celebrate themselves and their ideas, and even rub elbows with somebody who's regularly featured on television. And boost a certain big-city economy by snapping up hotel rooms and boosting the overlarge button shops in the vicinity. Who knows, there may even be constructive fellowship involved.
But the rest of us don't need to see it every night for the better part of a week. Twice. Sometimes three times when an H. Ross Perot comes along.
The president could start a trend, and use the covid-19 crisis to stop the silliness. Talk about a legacy.
Editorial on 05/28/2020