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In the Shadows of the Shadow Convention: Stuck Inside A Green Room With A Giant Frog Again August, 2000 Inside "the green room" at the Shadow Convention in downtown L.A. a large green frog blocked the view of devotees straining to connect with all-around cosmic guy Ram Dass --author of 60's consciousness bible "Be Here Now" and pioneer of the deep meaningful Stare Of Enlightenment--who was slouching in a wheelchair, right leg shaking, no doubt from a recent stroke, though perhaps also from childlike glee as he sat absorbed in licking a Ben and Jerry's "totally nuts" ice cream cone, while jovial Ben Cohen, the bearded co-founder of Ben and Jerry's, was being pestered to kiss the giant frog. The frog's web site would then donate money to the Shadow Convention for every kiss the frog received (better than the dreaded "PAC money" was the assumption). Meanwhile, net guru, Esther Dyson--the least relaxed, least approachable, and certainly least understood of all the liberal superstars in attendance--was exiting for the downstairs barbecue and no doubt safer pastures away from the maddening crowds of hairy sandalistas, Sol Alinsky acolytes, and Internet startups seeking advice in lieu of the recent web content bloodbath, the swooning NASDAQ, and all the hype and anxiety she's unwittingly enabled by her presence on practically every dotcom board of directors from Santa Monica to Budapest. Tall, coifed Brentwood goddess Arianna Stassinopoulos Huffington had just entered the green room and coaxed Dr. Gail Gross, "a friend of 20 years" from George Dubbya's Texas, outfitted in big black hair and smart black dress--who looked like she'd do anything Arianna commanded though she probably preferred shopping on Rodeo Drive--to escort the prim and schoolmarmish Ms. Dyson to the rib and chicken chow down below in the Patriotic Hall cafeteria. I quietly introduced myself to Ms. Huffington, who knew me from an interview I did with her for Monk (www.Monk.com) and from a fabulous book party she threw at her Brentwood home for a faux upper crust, yet oddly entertaining author named Sugar Rautbord. But here at the Shadow Convention, at her latest and greatest photo-op on her determined rise up the American ladder o' fame, charming Ms. Huffington had no time for chit-chat. The polite but dismissive look said it all: "you are not currently anyone I need to know." I knew that already, since I hadn't been invited back to Arianna's Brentwood "place," no doubt because I'd pushed a copy of "The Mad Monks' Guide to NY CD-ROM" onto an agreeable Larry King and his tall, blonde, 7th wife at the Rautbord fete--an unthinkable act of brazen chutzpah at another author's book signing, though I have to admit to taking cues from the doyenne of unabashed self-promotion, Ms. Huffington herself, a ubiquitous talk show pundit who really knows how to attract, or, in the eyes of some, "poach" big time publicity and backers (read: former husband, Texas oil man turned sweater queen Michael Huffington). Strangely, it is "big money" that the wealthy mother of two has made public enemy number one (just don't ask how she got hers). Though reporters were repeatedly upbraided for skirting the "real issues," inside the Patriotic Hall auditorium one couldn't help but notice the audience having fun with Arianna's heavily accented lilt. This was oh so serious politics, but wasn't it a kick that Zsa Zsa Gabor was up there leading the charge. Los Angeles was Arianna turf--a town ruled by entertainment that loves a big star wannabe. And Arianna filled the vacuum at the Shadow Convention with stature, poise, and a campy noblesse oblige, drawing a reflected glow to herself from the cadre of intellectual, political, and, in Ben Cohen's case, literal heavyweights, that graced the Patriotic Hall stage. Arianna understands that celebrities, no matter how egalitarian the gathering, still want to be treated like celebrities. One of her favorite pets, Bill Maher, cantankerous host of "Politically Incorrect," delivered his humorous bromide about the difference between a trivial lie ("you know who, got a you know what, you know where") and a big lie (Shell Oil buys votes), then, in a masterstroke for the smirky talk show host, donned a jacket emblazoned with patches from some of his own favorite sponsors--the implication being that politicians, like race car drivers, should visually disclose their backers too. Other speakers included the tall professorial grandmaster of socio-politico funk, "Brother" Cornell West (still preaching his convoluted socialist comeuppance for "Jim Crow Junior" and his malevolent posse of "pig-men-to-crats"), the Falstaffian Cohen, who pushed a platform of defense reduction using oreo cookies as visual aids, the squeaky clean Tom Campbell, a Republican Congressman who delivered such a heartfelt message of radical campaign finance and drug policy reform that one wondered what made him Republican, and Paul Wellstone, a true firebrand of the left, whose rousing call for "progressive" change resonated deeply with an audience stacked with poor white Naderites, who had as much in common with Arianna's Brentwood mien as Julia Butterfly does with Weyerhaeuser. Which brought up the interesting aspect of this trans-political shadow convention. It was ostensibly created to call attention to issues that crossed party boundaries ("we are not trying to build an alternative party," writes Ms. Huffington), but the inescapable conclusion was that a party would be needed to push through the reforms being discussed. And invariably that party will have to draw up platforms, take stands, forge compromises. Invariably those compromises will disappoint some vital constituency, who will righteously denounce the party for disavowing the party's core values, and threaten disaffection and dissolution (see Reform Party shenanigans in Long Beach for blueprint). While Ms. Huffington is on paper a "recovering," and one might add guilt-ridden, "Republican," this gathering was largely comprised of left-wing Democrats and Socialists, who got a continual rise out of the packed Patriotic Hall audience by uttering worn catch phrases like "social inequality," "social justice," "redistribution," "coalition building," "economic racism," and "fat cats"--never mind that liberal fat cats like George Soros were helping underwrite the event--along with new rallying cries like "dialing for dollars," and, my favorite, "PAC crack." The convention's purportive unifying theme of an end to big money in politics (from right to left wing, big oil to big unions) got overshadowed by lefty demands for radically more government spending to solve a range of social ills: poor housing, poor education, drug addiction, unemployment, and "the growing wealth gap" (which seemed pretty sizable when contrasting Huffington in her designer duds with her blue jeans constituency). The frugal and fair side of my nature eventually got a little peeved by the imbalanced rhetoric on display at Patriotic Hall. There was no countervailing voice calling the left on its own bankrupt thinking. The conclusion seemed to be: take money from here (defense, the war on drugs, prisons) and place it over here (health, education and welfare). No one calling attention to the fact that billions of dollars for rehabilitation did not significantly decrease drug abuse or crime in this country. Over a trillion dollars spent on public housing did not end homelessness. Trillions of dollars spent on AFDC and food stamps never made a significant dent in the welfare rolls. But let's not trifle over policy specifics. In Arianna Huffington's preposterously big tent, the focus is on castigation, on naming and describing "the problem" in new and colorful ways, and from a whole host of demographic and demagogic perspectives. Let's not bother with divisive reminders that the sort of reforms postulated by the likes of Kozol, Feingold, Hightower, Hayden, Waters, Hitchens, Vidal, and other "progressives" at the shadow convention have all failed miserably. And that the reason for the rise of Democratic Centrism, which is really what has got the left's gander up, is just the sort of rhetoric being tossed around inside Patriotic Hall on Figueroa in downtown L.A. No, like other sideline reformers--Jesse Ventura to Ross Perot--let's just stay focused on "the critique." Because when it comes to critiques, "the shadowers" make some good points: the war on drugs IS misguided, and we spend unseemly amounts on defense. Problem is: there are going to be battles over how that "rescued" fundage is spent. And this is where the Arianna Huffington's shadow coalition breaks down, and the necessary evil of a political party, and that party's concomitant need for structure, marketing, oligarchies, and, yes, MONEY, whether it be from goofy green frogs, seductive Brentwood beauties, or earnest white liberals, begins. |
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