Politics is a Riot

Watching the conventions take place over the last two weeks was quite the experience. There were many memorable moments, not the least of which included Obama’s speech from INVESCO Field and Tina Fey’s speech from some denial-filled parallel universe where the former mayor of New York City makes fun of someone for being too cosmopolitan. NEW YORK FREAKIN’ CITY!

However, the best part about watching the conventions was all the memories it brought back. See, by some strange twist of fate and a large stroke of luck, I was able to attend the first day of the 2000 Democratic National Convention in Los Angeles.

The entire day was amazing. I saw presidents, senators, journalists, celebrities and people acting so bizarre I was convinced they were mentally ill (I later learned these people are called “delegates.”)

I saw Wolf Blitzer, who in 2000 was so bottom heavy his shadow looked more like that of a bowling pin than a human. I saw Jimmy Carter, who for some reason always looked like he had that old man crust in the corners of his mouth even when he didn’t. At one point I panicked because I thought I saw a manatee lumbering towards me in the hallway, but it just turned out to be Rob Reiner, who bears a striking real life resemblance to the noble "sea cow.”

I thought the highlight of the evening would be seeing Bill and Hillary Clinton speak, and up until the moment I left the Staples Center, it was. Hillary and all the female Democratic Senators did a little tribute to governmental girl power, which was both poignant and chilling at the exact same time. Bill, who was filmed slowly walking through the backstage area on his way to the stage with low pitched percussion hype music playing like he was Bill Goldberg on the way to the ring to defend his title, gave a stirring speech that would no doubt have shot a quiver up Chris Matthew’s ever-tingly leg.

When Bill’s speech was winding up, my father and I decided we would sneak out a few minutes early to beat the crowds. This would be a move forever known as “our first mistake.”

As we walked through the maze of television trucks and trailers, we heard the distant beat of bongo drums (which I know now to be the battle cry of the hippies) and the breaking of glass. We had known there were protests by those weird fringe hippie groups going on outside, including a free concert by professional convention protest whores Rage Against the Machine, but the police were out in force and we figured it was nothing to worry about. If only we had known that the police had just moments earlier prematurely shut down the Rage concert, angering the scalawags to the point they started throwing bottles at the police and making bonfires outside the building. If going to college taught me one thing, it was this: you can mock them, you can challenge their beliefs, and you can even put meat in their vegan burritos, but don’t you ever dare mess with a hippie’s music or you will face the wrath of God.

We walked out the main gates (a large chain link number which had been rigged up especially for the convention) and found ourselves in the middle of a large group of rabble-rousers climbing up the fence being pepper sprayed by the cops. This was not a good sign.

“Maybe we should get out of here…” I said to my father.

“Nah!” said my dad (who is the kind of guy who literally walks towards burning buildings) “Let’s hang around and see how this plays out.”

Suddenly, one of the policemen started yelling “Lockdown! Lockdown!” I didn’t find this encouraging.

Then the police started putting on gas masks. Around this time, I began to realize something was definitely very wrong. The rubber bullets and tear gas they began to fire shortly thereafter only reinforced this belief.

I ran over to the gate and begged to be let back into the convention, but apparently “Lockdown!” actually means “Lockdown!” and they weren’t letting anyone in or out, no matter how pathetically they begged. At this point I caught a glimpse of KNBC news anchors Paul Moyer and Colleen Williams standing behind the fence atop a golf cart watching the action and, while I can’t be 100% sure of this, I think I saw Paul Moyer laughing at me.

It was then that the cops on horseback came in to move the crowd from the protest area onto Olympic Blvd. The only problem with this was that there were concrete barriers all along the street that people had to jump over in order to leave the area, and the cops were pushing faster than the people could move. I heard the guy directly behind me yell out in pain and turned around to see a horse literally using its own head as a weapon (who knew they did that?!?) to beat this unfortunate dreadlocked fool to the ground.

As we approached the barriers, I discovered the reason we were having trouble getting out was that several of the protestors had decided to stand up to the cops and had formed a bit of a human blockade along the barriers. Now, usually I’m a peaceful man who avoids conflict, but I was about to be stampeded by a horse whose cranium doubled as a club (to say nothing of the policeman on the horse holding an actual club) and I wasn't about to stop moving forward. Luckily for me the link in the human chain that was directly in front of me was about six inches shorter and 100 pounds lighter than I was, allowing me to attempt my very best Patrick Willis impersonation. As I found myself sailing over the barrier with this poor fellow who smelled like cloves onto the hard ground below so I could avoid being trampled by a headbutting horse, I thought to myself about how this wasn’t exactly the way I expected my first Democratic National Convention to turn out.

Here's some neat footage of how it all went down:



Long story short, once my father and I cleared the barrier, we decided that perhaps we had overstayed our welcome and it was time to leave. We sprinted until we were well clear of the action, found a taxi and went home. With the exception of my dad taking a rubber bullet to the leg (which I’m proud to report he handled in a rather manly manner) we left the whole ordeal injury free.

As I removed my sweat stained jacket in the cab, my father apologized for saying we should hang around and wait. I told him no apology necessary. In the course of several hours I had rubbed elbows with celebrities and politicians, heard the President of the United States speak to an electrified crowd, experienced a hippie riot from the eye of the storm, tackled a complete stranger, got shot at with rubber bullets, and did a four minute mile in a suit and loafers into the heart of Downtown Los Angeles. Behind the night I lost my virginity and the first time I ever tried waffle fries, it was the greatest night of my entire life.