The Democratic National Convention was originally billed as a boring affair—a calm counter to the crazy of the Donald Trump sideshow that was last week's Republican convention in Cleveland. But despite the hype around Trump's volatile rhetoric, the open-carry demonstrations, and the social unrest over American's recent shootings, the RNC ended up being a relatively uneventful affair. Surprisingly, however, Hillary Clinton's coronation in Philly now seems to have a contentious air around it. As soon as I stepped off the plane, I can feel the heat of the city. It's hot. Like real hot. Houston hot. And there's way more protesting here than I saw in Cleveland.
When I get to the 7-Eleven at Broad and Diamond, I see a couple hundred people on the steps of Berean Presbyterian Church. I am in the heart of the Temple University campus. The first people I see are observers from the National Lawyers Guild and Amnesty International. They're on site to monitor police activity. Dozens of demonstrators have already been arrested, so they're busy. Both groups were in Cleveland, but they have their hands full in Philly.
I hear an organizer tell everyone to "bring it out in the street," and then the protestors line up with signs and flags raised. And just like that, the intersection is blocked and traffic comes to a halt. Motorists from from all directions blare their horns as they realize these protestors are about to fuck up their afternoon. I feel bad for the people riding with no A/C. It's so brutal out here, they've got their heads hanging out of their windows, trying to catch a breeze. An angry guy has to turn his truck around because of the protest traffic and screams "fuck black pride" as he speeds off.
Several Black Lives Matter signs rise into the air along with a few black anarchy flags. A black organizer then asks for all the white people to get to the back of the march, because it's a black resistance protest—that goes for "white media" as well. They say they are not afraid to kick people out of the march.
A lot of people are confused about this notion, especially the white anarchists. But the lady with the mic won't budge. This splits the march in half. It seems this decision comes from a concern of the black protestors that the anarchists will co-opt their march and movement. The speaker says, "This march is to protest the Democratic Party for taking advantage of communities through the Temple University expansion." The march's mission is to preserve the community and stop that intrusion.
As I walk through the crowd, I'm greeted warmly by organizers of the protest. A couple of artists hold up paintings of President Barack Obama and Minister Louis Farrakhan. A black man strolls by and says, "Fuck Obama!" They confront him about it—not physically but in a debate. He says he's against war and warmongers. The artists counter that Obama only inherited the conflict he's presided over. It's heated at times, but the conversation never crosses the line. As soon as the march starts, they all take their respective places.
The usual protest chants begin. "Everywhere we go? People wanna know! Who we are! So we tell them!" You've probably heard some version of this at your high school pep-rally. All of sudden, I see a rubber boot on someone's head in the crowd. It can't be! Yes it is. Vermin fucking Supreme on Broad Street.
We snap a picture together, and then the performance artists and activists try to hit me up for convention passes. "Sorry buddy, that's above my VICE paygrade." As a ghetto bird flies overhead, I realize this march is running late. It was supposed to end at city hall, but it hasn't even left yet. I need to catch another demonstration, so I call an Uber and head across town.
I get dropped off right in front of city hall. I've been to pretty much every major metropolitan city in the States, and downtown Philadelphia has some exceptional architecture—the city hall is no exception. The building is beautiful. I hop out on Broad and JFK, right next to a PT Cruiser with a "Black Men for Bernie" wrap around it. I see a guy with a free hugs sign. Nothing new. Par for the course of protests. Another guy has a sign that says, "The Police killed Jesus." Now that's a new one.
As I walk through the courtyard area, I see a few people with signs and banners. The biggest contingency here is Animal Liberation Now. Ten Guardian Angels walk past me in their custom red jackets. I had no idea they still existed. Good for them. I walk through to the south side where the an anti-DNC march is about to start on South Penn Square. The crew here is motley. I spot not one but two ukuleles. Black activists mixed with pacifists mixed with anarchists, plus a few #BernieOrBust people. The march is delayed because they're waiting for the people from the march I just left. Great. They start the chant "Hell no DNC! We won't vote for Hillary!" to pass the time. They set up the PA system because the megaphone is getting drowned out by the sounds of traffic. Once the mic is hooked up, and they announce they will commence the march at 5:15 PM when the Black Resistance March arrives. It's only 4 PM.
After about an hour of hanging around, the black resistance crowd still hasn't shown up yet. But the numbers here have tripled to about 200 protestors. In response, the cops have started blocking off streets with cars and are forming human barricades. The confusion is multiplied by the non-demonstrators, who are just starting to get off work and are forced to walk through the protesters. There's a guy here with a Communist flag. That's not something you typically see on the commute home.
Finally, I look and see the protestors from the march I attended earlier this morning coming my way. Only there are dozens more of them. Something like 1,000 black resistance protestors come barreling down Broad Street, headed straight toward city hall. They chant, "No good cops in a racist system!" The cops escorting them pay it no attention and do their jobs. As their crowd melds with the protestors waiting at South Penn Square, the chants get louder. The police contingency increases but stays calm and composed. I see several people holding up cardboard coffins with "DNC" written on the top, covered in dead donkeys. These guys are not fucking around.
The march is going from city hall to Franklin D. Roosevelt State Park. My knees won't make that. I get word of a DNC watch party hosted by Jesse Jackson and Vivica A. Fox. That already let's me know who the attendees will be. It's being thrown by the Florida Coalition on Black Civic Participation. I head that way. I didn't get credentials for this event beforehand, so I cross my fingers as I walk up to the Penns Landing Caterers Ballroom. I walk in with no trouble at all. I see a cash bar, and I am happy. Vodka and pineapple, please.
I enter the viewing area and make my way to the back. It's business casual, but some people are dressed in their Sunday's best. I see a seersucker suit that is actually pretty fly. Might need him to hook me up with his tailor, because in my camo shorts, I am severely underdressed—even for media. At least my photographer Pete Voelker had the decency to wear a long sleeve shirt. My shirt had long sleeves before I butchered them with my granddaughter's scissors.
I look up at the screen and see the American mothers of victims of police brutality and gang violence on the stage of the DNC, billed as the "Mothers of the Movement." The crowd at Wells Fargo Center starts to chant "Black lives matter" for them. The mother of Sandra Bland calms the crowd and speaks in support of Hillary Clinton. Lucia McBath, the mother of Jordan Davis, speaks about how Hillary isn't afraid to say that black lives matter and has never forgotten the children she lost. She says that the majority of police are good people who do a good job. That's a very important statement. Sabrina Fulton, the mother of Trayvon Martin, talks about not wanting to have the spotlight tonight. She leaves the crowd with what she says God has given them: strength, love, and peace. I pray for these women. This is visibly difficult for them, but they are focused and determined. As they exit the stage, appetizers get passed around and the buffet opens up. I spot Michael Blackson, comedian and actor, in his Giuseppe Zanotti sneakers with two plates looking for a table. Two plates? Greedy mothersucker!
I try the cheesesteak egg rolls while Lena Dunham and America Ferrara tell people to "love Trumps hate" on the TV screen. I have a few more bites and decide to head to the gates and check back in with the protestors. Before I can roll out, I see Vivica A. Fox enter the room. Of course, my Pete grabs a few shots.
Then I walk outside, hit a blunt, and call an Uber to head back downtown. I get dropped off on the far side of FDR park and walk to the gates in front of the convention. As you walk through the park, there's dozens of tents. A lot of Bernie supporters are camped here for the week. They don't have permits, but the cops are in a pickle because they can't legally arrest them. It's tricky.
When I get to the perimeter area, I start to see people. As I get closer to the entry and exit area, the numbers increase. The protestors are waiting for the delegates to leave, but the delegates won't leave until the protesters clear the exit. On the other side of the gates is a contingency of about 100 state police in riot gear. A gentlemen is at the gates with a bullhorn asking people to move back before there is a confrontation.
The demonstrators aren't moving. I see red flags and bandanas over faces. The anarchists are in the building. Shit is going down. The ghetto bird hovers overhead as protesters talk shit to the police. Guys argue about different 9/11 theories. I hear a saxophone in the distance. I'm not sure what the fuck is going on. It's confusing even to some of the protesters what's happening. Some activists are trying to send demonstrators back to the park. But most aren't budging.
Eventually, a few delegates make their way out with no problems. It's anticlimactic, but I'm not even mad at it. No activist wants to end their night staring down the riot police. And no cops want to face off against a horde of anarchists. Given the violent alternative, I'll take a clam convention any day of the week. Hopefully, the DNC will be just as tepid as the RNC, and everyone can live to take their aggression out on their ballots in November.
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