Democratic National Convention Update

By Sé J. Reed
Summer Forty-Niner

Inside the Staples Center

Cristian Vera Aleman and I finally find some seats where we can see the speakers' podium and sandwich ourselves between Teri Brown, spokesperson for the Rep. Richard Bryan of Nevada, and the set-up for the Tribune Media TV news reporter and her crew. They aren't seats as much as they were the concrete stairs in the aisle, but they work.
 
We hear speeches from numerous elected officials, including California Governor Gray Davis and Sen. Dianne Feinstein, between  short films showcasing random working-class Americans.

A film honoring Jimmy Carter gets a standing ovation for almost five minutes, while the ex-president waves and smiles at the adoring crowd.

Some of the speeches are all positive, with nothing but glowing accolades for Al Gore and his contributions to the current state of the country. Others take well-scripted pot-shots at the

Republicans, like U.S. Secretary of Labor Alexis M. Herman who chastises the Republicans for calling the last eight years a lost opportunity.

 "Opportunity loss?" she asks. "Let's try memory loss."

 Needless to say, the crowd loves that.

Then Hillary Rodham Clinton takes the stage, articulately giving a well-rehearsed, but a tad monotonous, speech. She slips in a comment about her bid for the New York Senate seat, after saying that she and Bill were moving on to new chapters in their lives, to which she gets resounding applause and a standing ovation from the New York delegates.

 During Hillary Rodham Clinton's speech, Teri Brown nudges me and says, "Isn't she a great speaker?"

 I told her I thought it sounded like Hillary Rodham Clinton was merely reciting without bothering to pause for the crowd's cheers.

 Brown shrugs and said, "Yeah, a little. But it's still good."

A video highlighting Bill Clinton's presidency is met with rowdy cheers from the delegates. The video features leaders from across the world commending Clinton on a job well done, including Tony Blair and Nelson Mandela, whose picture incites a huge roar of applause.

Then, the drum roll -- a live camera shows the president walking down the hallways to the stage as the crowd screams and stamps their feet.

The applause is deafening as Clinton walks onto the stage. He hugs people on stage and waves to the crowd for what feels like forever, before beginning his speech.

Outside the Staples Center

Earlier that evening, while exploring the rest of the center, I had seen the crowds surging in the street waiting for the Rage Against the Machine concert to start. The security wouldn't let anyone onto the patio to watch, as there was an invitation-only party, but I convinced a guard to let me look for a few moments.

The crowd was huge and packed in very tightly. The Rage Against the Machine concert was set to start at the same time as Clinton's speech.

Knowing that something big was bound to happen with all those people at the concert, Cristian and I leave halfway through Clinton's speech.

As we exit the Staples Center at about 8:15 p.m., I stop a policeman who is speaking into his radio and ask what is going on outside.

"They've declared an unlawful gathering," he says. "They're dispersing the crowd."

Cristian and I run to the edge of the perimeter -- a crowd of hundreds is walking away from the area where the concert was.

"What's going on?" I ask the people close to the fence.

They tell me the police turned off the lights on the stage and told people to leave immediately.

Suddenly, I hear what sounds like fireworks.

A few seconds later I hear it again and the crowd starts to run.

"They're shooting rubber bullets!" protesters yell. "They're shooting at us!"

The police on our side of the fence tell us to get back from the fence, so we move parallel with the protestors as the crowd slows to a walk again.

I stop a few of them to ask what happened, while snapping pictures with my disposable camera.

"They told us to leave, but they didn't give us enough time!" says a protester who tells me his name is Aric Henry. "They just started firing!"

One man pulls up his shirt and shows me a huge red welt.

"I got hit," he says. "That hurt!" The shots start again and the crowd again begins to run.

"Walk!" some protesters shout to the rest of the crowd. "Stop running!"

I stop a girl who looks upset. She tells me her name is Violet McKeon, and that she is a reporter for the website  thirsty.net.

As she rubs her back she tells me she was prodded in the back with a Billy club and almost got trampled by a policeman on a horse.

"This is crazy," she said. "I'm a reporter! The horse stepped on my ankle!"

Shots are still being fired as the crowd moves at a run-walk pace. Many protestors with bandanas tied around their faces walk backward slowly, facing police with their hands in the air.

"Stop shooting!" they yell. "We're moving!"
Some of the protesters come up to the fence and scream at the policemen on the side with most of the media.

"We're not doing anything!" they yell. "Stop shooting at us, you mother fuckers!"
I stop a few more protesters who give me one of the rubber bullets the police were shooting and tell me their version of what happened. Most don't know why the police started shooting. They say that Rage Against the Machine had played first and that the police had turned off the stage lights during Ozomatli's set.

Eddie Desreau, an older man with a "Gore 2000" shirt, tells me he was a vendor selling pennants near the protesters.

"There was no reason for what they did," he says. "They didn't give people a chance. They just turned off the lights. They pushed me with a stick. I just lost a thousand dollars of merchandise.

They wouldn't let me pack it up!"

The crowd keeps moving back, shouting "Our streets! Our streets!"

Police continue to fire rubber bullets. I see the wall of police, in full riot gear, as they march closer to us. The front line of police is sighting through their shotguns, pointing them directly at the crowd. They keep firing as they walk, sparks flying out of their guns.

The throng of police is the width of the four-lane street and at least 20 deep. As they move past us, I see the police cars following with another batillion of police on foot and on horses behind them.

We try to get to the other side of the fence, but the police won't let anyone through.  Cristian is rubbing his eyes: he caught the tail wind of some of the tear-gas that was deployed.

Later we catch up with a few of the protesters walking back to their cars. They tell us that the crowd just dispersed into the city and there was no use trying to protest any more that night.

They promise, though, that they are mad and that they will be back on Tuesday.