I saw my favorite bumper sticker at the state Democratic convention last weekend. “Well-behaved women seldom make history.” I’m not normally a bumper-sticker person, but this is one I’ve considered buying.
I commented on this to my companion. Then I caught myself. “Oh, that’s the Hillary table.”
My companion and I were both Barack Obama delegates.
Not that I’m down on Hillary. My husband, who’s still on the fence about who to vote for, has griped about the nasty things Obama supporters post on his Web site about Hillary. To me, this sort of discourse isn’t representative of what Obama stands for.
But there are some with legitimate gripes. On the chartered bus I rode with the Larimer County Democrats, I spoke with a woman who did public relations for Bill Clinton and Al Gore. A front person who set up and researched talking points in foreign venues like Bosnia and Israel, Dorian described the disenchantment she felt when after all her efforts and that of fellow staffers the questions at press conferences all centered on Monica Lewinski.
If Bill acted like that when he was president, Dorian asked, imagine how he’d behave with time on his hands.
The Fourth Congressional District was slated to hold its assembly and convention on Friday evening at 8 p.m. But that was contingent on CD 5 getting in at 4 p.m. and CD 3 at 6 p.m. I got in line with my credentials to register at 2:30, a line that stretched most of the circumference of the Doubletree Hotel in Colorado Springs. I registered around 4:30 or 5, partly because they kept moving CD 5 and 3 delegates to the head of the line.
I got to know a lot of people in that line.
When it became clear CD 4 wouldn’t convene until 10 p.m., the Obama and Clinton campaigns gathered their delegates from that district together to hear speeches by surrogates that would have been held during the district convention. The Obama campaign emailed delegates earlier asking us to support former Denver mayor Federico Pena as superdelegate. Pena spoke, describing how his wife had asked him when he was going to make up his mind to support Obama.
Afterwards, as I shook hands with Pena, I said, “Now, if only I can talk my husband into supporting Obama.”
“You keep after him,” he said, jabbing me in the arm with his left forefinger.
At the CD 4 assembly, Peggy Markey, who’s running against Marilyn Musgrave gave a rousing speech. A few people were grumpy, which may be understandable given the late hour. But I kept noticing a man wearing a turban who I believed worked with a microbiology professor at CSU I’d spoken with in line. Every time I looked, the man in the turban had a smile on his face. I imagined that he was from a country that didn’t have a democratic government. Perhaps his involvement in the political process was one of the most exhilarating experiences he’d had in his life.
I got back to my hotel room shortly after midnight, feeling fortunate to be a delegate. Fourth District alternates didn’t get seated and finish voting until 1:30 a.m.
One of the first items in the state assembly the next day was the approval of the party platform. It was rather lengthy, and I’d been busy finishing up my classes at CSU, and thus had only read the synopsis. Someone circulated a minority plank that proposed encouraging Israel and Palestine to settle their differences, which had been voted down by the state committee. The minority report got voted out on a voice vote, though from where I sat in Larimer County it sounded like most favored it.
A man sitting near me commented that he’d heard that state senators Ken Gordon and Andrew Romanoff attended the same synagogue. Their rabbi was liberal on social issues, but conservative when it came to support on Israel. Though Gordon and Romanoff have both mentioned being Jewish in emails I’ve received from them, Jews have often been loyal Democratic voters. Between Jews on the left and Christian Zionists on the right, Israel is an untouchable subject in American politics.
Toward the end of the convention I noticed a man who looked like one of my husband’s business partners across. I was surprised. My husband’s business partners are Generation X-ers, seemingly disinterested in both religion and politics. Even so, I waved, figuring if it wasn’t Nels he wouldn’t wave back. It was Nels, and an Obama supporter at that. We sat together and got caught up on what was going on with our kids.
While standing in line with Nels at the end of the convention, I bumped into the man with the turban. His accent sounded Indian or Pakistani. My husband and I once had a friend from India. A Hindu, Devin hated Muslims with a passion. It’s not wise to ask questions like, “Are you from India or Pakistan?”
The Clinton line was pretty well cleared out by then, but the Obama line was still long. If I’ve learned anything about conventions, it’s that you should wear comfortable shoes. Announcements over the intercom assured Obama delegates an earlier announcement they’d run out of ballots meant they’d only run out of ballots on the floor and not upstairs.
The man in the turban said he’d registered as an Obama delegate for the national convention and asked if I’d vote for him. I told him I’d also registered to be a national delegate. He said he’d vote for me if I’d vote for him. I agreed and handed him my business card.
Neither of us had a chance. There were around 1500 delegates to the Democratic National Convention in Denver. I’m not a self-promoter by nature, and couldn’t bring myself to campaign for the slot. Though I’d asked a few friends and acquaintances like Nels to vote for me, it wouldn’t have been near enough.
Still, there was something exhilarating about seeing my own name on a ballot, and marking an “X” in the square.
I commented on this to my companion. Then I caught myself. “Oh, that’s the Hillary table.”
My companion and I were both Barack Obama delegates.
Not that I’m down on Hillary. My husband, who’s still on the fence about who to vote for, has griped about the nasty things Obama supporters post on his Web site about Hillary. To me, this sort of discourse isn’t representative of what Obama stands for.
But there are some with legitimate gripes. On the chartered bus I rode with the Larimer County Democrats, I spoke with a woman who did public relations for Bill Clinton and Al Gore. A front person who set up and researched talking points in foreign venues like Bosnia and Israel, Dorian described the disenchantment she felt when after all her efforts and that of fellow staffers the questions at press conferences all centered on Monica Lewinski.
If Bill acted like that when he was president, Dorian asked, imagine how he’d behave with time on his hands.
The Fourth Congressional District was slated to hold its assembly and convention on Friday evening at 8 p.m. But that was contingent on CD 5 getting in at 4 p.m. and CD 3 at 6 p.m. I got in line with my credentials to register at 2:30, a line that stretched most of the circumference of the Doubletree Hotel in Colorado Springs. I registered around 4:30 or 5, partly because they kept moving CD 5 and 3 delegates to the head of the line.
I got to know a lot of people in that line.
When it became clear CD 4 wouldn’t convene until 10 p.m., the Obama and Clinton campaigns gathered their delegates from that district together to hear speeches by surrogates that would have been held during the district convention. The Obama campaign emailed delegates earlier asking us to support former Denver mayor Federico Pena as superdelegate. Pena spoke, describing how his wife had asked him when he was going to make up his mind to support Obama.
Afterwards, as I shook hands with Pena, I said, “Now, if only I can talk my husband into supporting Obama.”
“You keep after him,” he said, jabbing me in the arm with his left forefinger.
At the CD 4 assembly, Peggy Markey, who’s running against Marilyn Musgrave gave a rousing speech. A few people were grumpy, which may be understandable given the late hour. But I kept noticing a man wearing a turban who I believed worked with a microbiology professor at CSU I’d spoken with in line. Every time I looked, the man in the turban had a smile on his face. I imagined that he was from a country that didn’t have a democratic government. Perhaps his involvement in the political process was one of the most exhilarating experiences he’d had in his life.
I got back to my hotel room shortly after midnight, feeling fortunate to be a delegate. Fourth District alternates didn’t get seated and finish voting until 1:30 a.m.
One of the first items in the state assembly the next day was the approval of the party platform. It was rather lengthy, and I’d been busy finishing up my classes at CSU, and thus had only read the synopsis. Someone circulated a minority plank that proposed encouraging Israel and Palestine to settle their differences, which had been voted down by the state committee. The minority report got voted out on a voice vote, though from where I sat in Larimer County it sounded like most favored it.
A man sitting near me commented that he’d heard that state senators Ken Gordon and Andrew Romanoff attended the same synagogue. Their rabbi was liberal on social issues, but conservative when it came to support on Israel. Though Gordon and Romanoff have both mentioned being Jewish in emails I’ve received from them, Jews have often been loyal Democratic voters. Between Jews on the left and Christian Zionists on the right, Israel is an untouchable subject in American politics.
Toward the end of the convention I noticed a man who looked like one of my husband’s business partners across. I was surprised. My husband’s business partners are Generation X-ers, seemingly disinterested in both religion and politics. Even so, I waved, figuring if it wasn’t Nels he wouldn’t wave back. It was Nels, and an Obama supporter at that. We sat together and got caught up on what was going on with our kids.
While standing in line with Nels at the end of the convention, I bumped into the man with the turban. His accent sounded Indian or Pakistani. My husband and I once had a friend from India. A Hindu, Devin hated Muslims with a passion. It’s not wise to ask questions like, “Are you from India or Pakistan?”
The Clinton line was pretty well cleared out by then, but the Obama line was still long. If I’ve learned anything about conventions, it’s that you should wear comfortable shoes. Announcements over the intercom assured Obama delegates an earlier announcement they’d run out of ballots meant they’d only run out of ballots on the floor and not upstairs.
The man in the turban said he’d registered as an Obama delegate for the national convention and asked if I’d vote for him. I told him I’d also registered to be a national delegate. He said he’d vote for me if I’d vote for him. I agreed and handed him my business card.
Neither of us had a chance. There were around 1500 delegates to the Democratic National Convention in Denver. I’m not a self-promoter by nature, and couldn’t bring myself to campaign for the slot. Though I’d asked a few friends and acquaintances like Nels to vote for me, it wouldn’t have been near enough.
Still, there was something exhilarating about seeing my own name on a ballot, and marking an “X” in the square.
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