Tag: clinton

  • A Pair of Jedi Masters Become One With the Force

    "I feel a great disturbance in the Force, as if
    millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced.
    "

    Obi-Wan might as well have been talking about last night’s
    call by Hillary Clinton to nominate Barack Obama by acclamation. Even as cheers
    rang throughout the assembled DNC crowd, through the MPR broadcast it was easy
    to hear the anguished chorus of PUMAs and die-hard Clinton fans crying out as their personal Alderaan
    exploded before their eyes.

    Of course, it was too much for the Democratic party to ever
    expect Obama’s nomination to be accepted without rancor or dissention in the
    ranks. Ever since famed blogger John
    Scalzi
    revealed that Barack Obama does not, in fact, fart cinnamon-scented
    rainbows, Democratic officials and party members have realized how deeply
    divisive the last year has been for the party. And without the aforementioned
    sweetly-scented intestinal emissions, Democrats face a serious battle to return
    to the days when the party was united under Bill Clinton’s banner of Internet
    IPOs, kittens and abortions for all. For, if nothing else, one lesson they can
    take away from Star Wars,
    not to mention the last seven years in Afghanistan
    and Iraq,
    is that regime change is a cast-iron bitch.

    Make no mistake, last night’s speech by Bill Clinton was an
    abdication of power. For nearly two decades the Clintons have been to first Democratic
    family, with all the influence, fundraising clout and nubile interns such a
    position has to offer. Last night was Bill’s last dance. You could hear it in
    his voice as he reveled in the cheers of the assembled left-leaning masses
    yearning once more for the feather soft caress of the elder statesman to set
    their loins aquiver with his nimble tongue and folksy charm. Even as Bill
    cajoled the crowd into silence, you could tell he knew this time on the
    podium would be his last brush with the reverence accorded to a liberal savior.
    He may never again be able to coerce a young woman into inserting phallic
    tobacco products in inappropriate orifices, so any maudlin thoughts on his part
    are perfectly understandable.

    So as his speech began, making us all pine for the heady
    days when the Internet was a eldritch tube that channeled the unspeakable power
    of that which came before – making imaginary money and not just a masturbatory tool for
    douchebags, hatemongers and hormonally confused tweens
    , it wasn’t a
    surprise that much of it focused on his own accomplishments. But through the
    ego-stroking and fond reminiscences of economic booms, cordial relations with
    foreign powers, and perjured testimony came reassurances of Obama’s talent and
    capabilities – his readiness to lead and his preparedness to bring change and
    puppies to the hallowed halls of Capitol Hill.

    And his willingness to make those statements with his wife’s
    most ardent supporters just a few feet away still railing against this
    "perversion of democracy," calling for recounts, and demanding their hymens be
    returned to them, makes it all the more impressive. Whether he receives a
    cabinet position in the event of an Obama win or not, he closed the door on his
    own era. Few men can lay claim to that. Now if only he could alter time, speed
    up the election, or teleport us to England, where campaigns only last
    approximately four weeks, his place in history would be assured.

  • Calling For Mr. Franken

    Located on a hellish strip of University Avenue in St. Paul, the utilitarian structure sports the name of the candidate – a name which sparks equal amounts of love, hatred and a lot of stuff in between. The drab walls within, like those for any campaign headquarters, are sprinkled here and there with images of the contender, whose mug, for over thirty years, has graced TV screens, movie screens, book covers, placards, post cards, and, yes, perhaps, even mugs. This was as close as I would come to meeting Al Franken, during the several weeks I spent phoning Minnesota residents and raising support for his bid for the U.S. Senate. Thanks to the hours he spends each day traversing the state and meeting the people who really count – the undecided voters – he is seldom in the office that bears his name. I was, however, able to grill two key members of the corps known as TeamFranken, and Press Secretary Jess Macintosh forwarded some questions to Al that he answered via e-mail.

    Aware that his time was limited, I refrained from asking the former comedian and pundit about his show business past. This is a shame in one small way, because I always wished to have him elaborate on a memorably hilarious anecdote he related to Fresh Air host Terry Gross, about a brawl he once had with KISS bassist and vocalist Gene Simmons. Instead, I focused on more relevant issues, particularly the battle he is now waging to unseat incumbent Senator Norm Coleman. I figured that Coleman’s years as a shameless opportunist in the Republican party (after many years as a shameless opportunist in the Democratic party), and an eager licker of the boots of Bush and Cheney, was the impetus for Franken’s run.

    “No.” Al writes back, ”My impetus for running is my desire to change the disastrous direction we’ve been going in the last seven and a half years. It’s nice that Bush is going, but for us to make real progress, we’ve got to get rid of his enablers too. And Norm Coleman is either at or near the top of that list. But every day I have a new impetus, with every conversation I have around the state.”

    The conversations I, myself, had over the phone with the same independent voters he is courting varied from enthusiastically supportive to disturbingly hostile. One woman, who initially sounded interested in the pitch for Al that I read from a script TeamFranken provided, waited for me to get to the part where I discussed Coleman’s record of voting 90% alongside the Bush Administration, before snarling, “Well, Franken’s got his problems, too!” She then hung up.

    “Look, Al was a comedian for thirty-five years,” says Andy Barr, Communications Director for the campaign, “He wrote a lot of jokes, not all of them were funny, not all of them were appropriate, some of them were downright offensive and people can legitimately be offended. But this campaign’s going to really be about the issues that are affecting people’s lives.”

    This certainly applied to the delegates I rang up the first few weeks I wielded the cell phones the Team provided. All of the persons on my call lists were slated to attend the nominating convention on June 8, where Al eventually received the Democratic party’s endorsement. Though none of these folks exhibited the vitriol expressed by some of the indies, many did say they were thinking of supporting the contender’s then-remaining rival, Jack Nelson-Palmeyer. Nelson-Palmeyer, an Assistant Professor of Justice and Peace Studies at the University of St. Thomas, and author of numerous books on politics and theology, may one day be a strong candidate for the Senate. But, as the convention approached, his name recognition was still far too small to compete effectively against Norm Coleman, and his fundraising was no match for that orchestrated by TeamFranken, which exceeded levels predicted by even their most optimistic supporters.

    This is thanks to the large and diverse group of volunteers I often saw in that sun-baked building near I-94, who were led for eight months by former volunteer coordinator (now coordinator for the second district), Elizabeth Newman: “We’ve had people as young as four – not on the phones, of course – helping us, in addition to phone banking by people in high school, people who are unemployed, people who have left their jobs or who are retired.” Though direct mail and door knocking are pursued, phone canvassing is the key to the voter-outreach kingdom. “Door-knocking is persuasive,” continues Elizabeth, “But, especially in the Minnesota winters, it can take a long time for people to go from house to house, while you can immediately dial one number after another. We try to reach voters on a variety of levels, but on the phone is when we can really talk to people about why Al is such a great candidate.”

    One house I’m glad I did not knock on the door of – not because of chilliness but because I’d probably still be standing on the front stoop listening to its owner – belonged to one delegate I called who was actually leaning towards our man. His support, though, did not allay his concerns about the upcoming nominating convention. Y’see, at the last one he went to, the food was lousy, the service was bad, he couldn’t find a decent place to park, nobody told him that wives could attend, and when Hillary and Barack were in town there were too darn many people, and then there was the time when Hubert Humphrey stopped by in ‘72 and …

    Many of the delegates, though, even if they were considering pledging for Jack, recognized Al’s desire to continue the liberal tradition of the late Senator Paul Wellstone. “To tell you the truth, I think Paul was right on some things I’ve been wrong on, ” Franken writes in response to another e-query, “I thought NAFTA would help Mexican workers so they wouldn’t have to come to the United States, and that a North American trade agreement would be good for everybody. Paul was against it and he was right. In the lead-up to the war in Iraq, I was torn. I didn’t have to vote on it, Paul did. I thought then that his vote (against the war) was courageous – and now I know it wasn’t just courageous, it was right.“

    While Franken did not cut his teeth in the callings Wellstone and most other politicians traditionally pursue, he has been an invaluable public servant as an author of several classic books (with overly long titles) of political observation and satire, and commentator for radio and television. His biggest success has been the awareness he’s raised about the myth of the so-called “liberal media”, and other disinformation spread by right-wing talk radio, network and cable TV news and, most of all, that monstrosity known as Fox News.

    Andy Barr, who worked as producer on The Al Franken Show for part of the three years it was on Air America, explains, “Anytime you bring someone to the Senate who is not a creature of Washington, you bring a whole new perspective – unlike Norm Coleman, who’s been a politician his whole professional life.” When I ask him if Al will be observing the Republican National Convention at the Xcel Energy Center in September, much as he did the 2004 RNC in New York City, where he had duels of wits (at his end, at least) with right-wing belchers Sean Hannity and Michael Medved, Andy admits, “We’ll probably just let Norm Coleman hang out with the Republicans, and let him stand up and take credit for his part in that.”

    Franken will probably be too busy anyway, continuing to make his case to the people of Minnesota that he shares ma
    ny of the same values as his political heroes: “My political heroes are FDR, who inherited a horrible situation and saved the country (there are actually some parallels to today); Hubert Humphrey, who was a champion on so many fronts – civil rights, social justice, poverty, crime-fighting in Minneapolis, labor. As long as we’re talking Minnesotans, we’ve had such a legacy of progressive heroes, people like Gene McCarthy, Walter Mondale, Paul Wellstone.”

    Words like these might have softened the hearts of the continually grouchy independents I rang up. Admittedly, one consistent problem was that I was calling when folks were either driving home, slipping into bed, or settling down to other important functions of daily life. “I’m in the middle of dinner!” snapped one woman before slamming down her end of the line. Noting my wince in reaction to this rejection, another volunteer, a bearded, academic gentleman in his sixties, said, “Well, you know, Casanova, one of the world’s great lovers, got a lot of ‘no’s’ before he got a ‘yes.’” This historical aside reminded me of that brawl the candidate had with another self-styled Casanova, which I had wanted to ask him about in my e-mail but refrained out of deference to his busy schedule. Besides, I have a pretty strong memory of what he related to Terry Gross, who had recently survived her most infamous interview, with one of my favorite rock-and-roll artists.

    In 1982, during a five-year break between stints on Saturday Night Live, but still residing in New York, Al Franken was waiting for another player at a racquetball court. In walked Gene Simmons, looking for trouble, whom the comedian didn’t recognize because Simmons was naturally not sporting the Kabuki-monster makeup that made him and KISS household names. Simmons – who claims to have bedded as many women as soldiers have been killed in the Iraq war he is an avid supporter of – challenged Al to a game. When Franken politely explained he was waiting for somebody else, the man who was the voice behind “Calling Dr. Love," “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” and many other Top 40 hits, growled, “I’ll kick your ass!”

    Annoyed, but ready for a challenge, the comic agreed to a match. He then proceeded to beat the egomaniacal, and, in one respect, impotent rocker, in a matter of minutes. Furious, Simmons demanded another opportunity to “kick (Al Franken’s) ass!” By then, Franken’s racquetball partner had arrived and the SNL veteran said he would have to do without his adversary’s pleasant company. The heavy metal fire-breather then used his historically long tongue – which, in addition to being an important part of his stage act also has what he describes as a “spin-and-dry cycle” for interested ladies – to make chicken noises. Not believing his ears, Al grudgingly agreed to another round, but only for a $500 stake. This caused the multi-millionaire headbanger, whose appetite for female flesh is exceeded only by his lust for making and keeping money in as many ways as possible, to finally fly the coop.

    The lesson of this incident is that where most mortals would either take a swing at this one-time grade school teacher (!) or be intimidated to the point of being beaten by him in a game he has no evident skill in, Al Franken found a way to disarm his opponent with humor and the ability to quickly spot his weak points. And this was before he found out who his opponent was, whom he thought was just some creep who liked to pick fights at racquetball courts, until his partner blurted out, “That was Gene Simmons!”

    Brushes with greatness (?) like that aside, there is no doubt that Al Franken will withstand the Republican attack machine – not to mention a certain persistent local blogger – and lead his historic race for the Senate to a victorious finish. More importantly, he will be a responsible and dedicated member of that body, and is enthusiastic about working with everyone in it, Republicans and Democrats alike. “There are some great leaders in the chamber right now,” he writes in conclusion to our e-interview, “I think so many people on both sides of the aisle are pulling for Ted Kennedy, who’s been a real lion. Senator Durbin, Senator Clinton – I’ll have the honor of calling some of my role models colleagues. And although I disagree with him on many issues, I’m really looking forward to working with Senator McCain.” He then hastens to add about the presumptive Republican nominee for President, “As a colleague. In the Senate.”

  • Signed, Sealed, and Delivered

    We deserve Barack Obama.

    That is tonight’s message.

    And Obama has arrived!

    The crowd roars — everyone on their feet, so many of them smiling, laughing, a few even silently crying. Is this the message of change?

    He can barely be heard above the din. For three whole minutes the crowd roars, only getting louder before they finally leave their voices in Obama’s care.

    "Thank you…"

    And the crowd roars again.

    He dedicates the evening to his grandmother.

    And the crowd roars again. MN for Change. Women 4 Change. Students for Obama. Aarp for Obama. Vets for Obama. Even Christians for Obama. They’re all here.

    "Our primaries season has finally come to an end," he declares.

    And, of course, the crowd roars again. We all know what this means.

    "I will be the Democratic nominee for president of the United States."

    There it is people. Yes you can.

    And I think I’m deaf now.

    Obama continues. He sings Hillary’s praises, claiming to be a better person because of her, from running against her.

    He addresses those that say the Democratic party is weaker now because of their campaign. He brings up the millions of Americans who have cast their first votes. Judging from the crowd in here, he is right about this. Sure, there are folks of all ages — but so many young ones. Folks of all races, ethnicities, cultures, even countries. Folks of all kinds. And I wonder how many of these — even I — might vote this year were it not for him. For this campaign. And I wonder how many other — who might not even vote for him — might vote because of him. And I can’t help but think that this is good. That this is something.

    Something is happening here. Oh, I hope — whatever it may be. Something is happening here.

    More applause.

    "We may call ourselves Democrats and Republicans, but we are Americans first."

    The crowd roards again, and a man, far back in a third-row seat, stares dumbfounded at the screen as we wipes his eyes.

    People believe this guy. They believe in him. And they believe that he believes in them.

    "America, this is our moment. This is our time to turn the page on the policies of the past."

    Do they really believe this is going to happen? That we will care for our sick? That we will provide jobs for all? That we will stop destroying our planet? They sure seem to. And I must say, it’s a beautiful, beauitful dream.

    Before he waves good-bye, he hugs his wife. And she says, "I love you." I’m pretty sure she’s not the only one.

  • Inside the Press Area

    7:28
    Inside the press area

    Obamamania takes no prisoners. The bloggers, who never entertained the pretense of objectivity, are the first to fall. One writer for local blog MNpublius is pacing the press area looking for a way out.

    "We are quarantined here!" he tells me.

    "It is morning in America. I wanna be cheering," he bellows to another writer, and then he turns and heads for the nearest gate. "I’m gonna go see if I can go to the risers…with the people. I don’t wanna miss this!"

  • Not with a Bang, But a Whimper

    This is the way the Democratic Primary season ends, not with a bang but a whimper.

    The presidential campaign that started with a listening tour designed to state the obvious — that people wanted Hillary Clinton to run — will end the same way, with people telling her it’s time to hang it up.

    Earlier in the day, McCain’s speech got the attention of the crowd. Two hours later, as Hillary addresses supporters in New York, there is not even a mention of the event inside this venue.

    Hillary Clinton is speaking in New York. She looks more relaxed than she has looked throughout her entire campaign, but gives the same speech she has been giving all along. Nothing new. Even now. Nothing new.

    "This is a long race, and I will not be making any decisions tonight."

    There will be no concession this evening, my friend.

    She asks the viewers to visit her website, as if somehow raising her traffic numbers will win her the race.

    She thanks. And she thanks. And she thanks her family, of course. She thanks Bill, of course.

    And she tells us of a woman in South Dakota, a woman who wants health care, and woman who — like everyone in this country — should have health care. And she is right. But we all know this.

    "There is nothing we all can’t do, if we just start acting like Americans again."

    She’s right. We’re not acting like Americans. Thank goodness.

    And yet… aren’t we?

    Here in the Xcel Center, no one is hearing this speech. Here we are all listening to Stevie Wonder and watching ourselves cheer on the overhead screen. Here we are clueless, except for those with laptops and portable devices.

    Here — down in the press area — we are worshiping our gods. Thomas Friedman is passing again, my friends. And Hill is done.

     

  • Turn It Down

    Press access to the general public has now been cut off. The only way out of the press area is through the tunnel.

    According to Tim Russert, Obama’s people are negotiating Hillary’s withdrawal. Hillary insists she should be offered the VP position, so she can turn it down and withdraw with dignity. Obama’s people are game, as long as she puts it in writing that she will not accept.

    At this point, it’s hard to say what speech to expect. How long before the Democratic nominee can gloat a little?

    Tom Friedman just walked in surrounded by cameras. Biggest star treatment yet. Thomas Jefferson arriving in Paris.

    8:25 p.m.

    The Xcel Center is filled to capacity, the crowd high on caffeinated drinks, fried foods and nachos are getting restless. We’re told the Xcel administration cut the crowd off at 20,000, but the center continues to fill with people, even behind the press risers, where the view, if any, is very limited.

    Outside the stragglers and protesters are dispersing. Inside the music is blaring.

    Hillary Clinton is expected to speak to her followers in New York at any moment.

    In 39 minutes the final polls close, and this marathon of a primary will end.

    Tonight, the buck stops here.

     

  • MSNBC — Reporting from the Twin Cities

    The screams continue as the overhead screens show MSNBC reporting from right here, the Xcel Center. Ah… now I understand why news reports always show people cheering in the background. They’re just cheering themselves on. How quaint. Somehow, as a viewer, you always assume the cheers are for the politician. (I should have known better.)

    It’s 7:12 PM, and the entire front area of the arena — the only part from whence you can see the stage — is now full. My bad. I see about twenty seats in the upper far corner, all the way in back.

    O-BAMA! O-BAMA! The crowd chants.

    Really we’re just sitting here watching the news, only with more applause — and more traffic on the way here.

    7:44 — Watching McCain’s speech in Lousianna.

    7:56 — "Yes We Can" video playing overhead.

  • Eye of the Storm

    After the press is settled in, the doors open to the general public. It’s about 10 past six. The crowds file in, steadily, slowly, filling the arena. Is this an arena? I think it is. And right now, it feels like we’re the show — broken gladiators. I don’t see anyone turn to the crowd. Photographers line up on the riser before the stage. The rest of us sit at tables behind them, on computers, on phones, jabbering away with fellow reporters, documenters of the times.

    $175 for an internet connection. $175! There are two of us. One of us will Twitter from the phone. Awful. Just awful. $175! (So much for Minneapolis public wi-fi when you’re in St. Paul.) Sodas are $4. They banned me from the $2 soda machine, which I though was bad enough.

    About three sections of the Xcel Center are completely full. That and half the center area — with press folk, of course.

    The crowds will continue to file in. We will continue to wait. It’ll be a while before the Man arrives. But now, he appears on the overhead screens. The crowd roars.

  • When I say "O", You Say "Bama!"

    7:00 p.m.

    Out on the sidewalk, the lines of people snake around the block. A pack of Obama playing cards sells for $10.

    The Obama volunteers are warming up the crowd as they make their way into the venue.

    "When I say O," chants one Obama volunteer. "You say…"

    "BAMA!" the crowd yells back.

  • Meet the Press

    Finding the press area was hard enough. All the way on the other side. No, go back the way you came. Straight down there and to the left. Down by the loading area. Across the street. Down. Down. Really? We have to cross the street — away from the Xcel Center — to get in. You’re kidding me.

    No. It’s true.

    I’ve never been here before, you see. And I’m already overwhelmed. But… this is the press. This is underwhelming — albeit the Harley strapped on to the back of a truck station. That’s something.

    The press area — an underground tunnel across the avenue and into the Xcel Center — is packed with… well — press. Your typical press peeps, really. Lots of ties. Ties with jeans. Slacks. Cameras. Suitcase even. Fairly loaded all around. I’m traveling light today.

    The workers keep telling everyone to be patient. They’re letting in live TV, 5-o’clock news in first. Of course. Makes sense to me. So why are people complaining?

    At least an hour and half until the doors open to the public (the beautiful public). Two more hours, more like three, until Obama steps up to the plate.

    Why are people complaining.

    We talk to a freelance photographer who is also waiting to get in. She never made it outside. Here’s the press, corralled into an underground tunnel, as the stories form outside. What are we doing here.

    Finally, they take us one more stage in the journey that awaits us — about 50 feet forward, to another line. Really? Why do we have to stand in lines? We can’t work here. Can’t we sit off to the sides? Can’t we mingle? Ask questions? Explore? We stand in line.

    But first the people roar as they run — yes, run! — fifty feet to the line. Yay! Another line. You’ve got to be kidding.

    One line here. Another there. There are about four separate lines, all at cross-purposes. The volunteers apologies. They blame it on the dogs. The dogs are busy sniffing for explosives now. I wonderful what god-awful place I may have placed my bag recently.

    Members of the press grow inpatient. Volunteers apologize, keep it in control. Members of the press grow indignant. One man raises his voice, upset because they’ve held him back due to his heavy loads. The dogs need to sniff them for explosives — now more than ever.

    Why are the media folks just standing there? Why is not even a single one of the 30-or-so photographers snapping photos? Why? Why?!

    Meet the press.

    …off to the metal detector.