Reporter's perspective from the Democratic National Convention
 

Lindse Berg is at the Democratic National Convention this week. She and photographers Cristian Vera and Dexter Bercero are covering the convention and the protests from a first-person perspective.

Day Two

On the street, late afternoon

The protesters are laying low. There is only a smattering of people across the expansive parking lot, a stark contrast to the hundreds who crowded the streets on Monday.

We stumble upon a small group of protesters standing outside the Flower Street exit, chanting at the DNC participants briskly leaving the center.

"Remember indigenous rights!" one young woman tells everyone that walks by her.

"Can I buy you?" asks Jonah Zern, a 22-year-old Cornell graduate, dangling a $20 bill in the path of the conventioneers. "Is your soul for sale, too?"

Florida delegate Robert Connors stops on his way out and engages the group in a debate on globalization.

"Come on. We are giving people a democracy, a chance to speak out, like you are," says Connors.

"That's a lie!" says Zern. "Globalization is hurting people.

"Go live in Vietnam, go see the world before you become an expert," says Connors. "Over-population is the biggest problem facing the world right now."

"The biggest problem is capitalism," Zern counters.

Watching their dialogue is interesting. Connors' dark suit is peppered with red, white and blue buttons.  His "Gore 2000" placard contrasts nicely with Zern, who is wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

They continue, but are just insulting each other.

Nearby, a man dressed like Jesus holds a giant cross on one of the concrete barriers. His name is Mitchell Fitzpatrick and 35 days ago he closed his business in Tampa and came out to L.A. "God told me to come to L.A. I am just following God's lead," Fitzpatrick says. He has no political message, he says. Just a message of salvation. And contrary to popular belief, he does not think he is Jesus.

As I am trying to find the two men who are rumored to be protesting breast-feeding (they claim it is erotic for the mother and gives children an oral fixation), I hear chanting.

"Hey, hey. Ho, ho. Homelessness has got to go."

A group of about one hundred is marching towards the Staples Center, most holding candles.

They are participating in the first annual Homeless Convention, being held just down the street from the Staples Center. They are staging nightly candlelight marches down Figueroa Street to speak on the open stage set up in front of the Staples Center.

Homeless Convention founder Ted Hayes, wrapped in an American flag, speaks to the crowd about the prosperity of America.

He does not condemn the Democrats, or the political process, he says, but instead wants someone, anyone, to implement a National Homeless Plan that will eradicate homelessness is 10 years.

"If we can put a man on the moon in 10 years," he says, "we can certainly put a man in a house in 10 years!"

The crowd cheers, but they look tired. The number of protesters on the street has dwindled to a stray few. Most of the delegates have left. The Democratic convention is over for the night, and so, it seems, are the protests.

Day Three

I get outside the Staples Center perimeter at 5:30 p.m., just after the police brutality march has left. I miss it by only a few minutes.

The protesters had planned to gather outside the center before continuing the march, but the police, apparently had other plans.

I am told that the police showed up, Billy clubs out, as soon as the march reached the intersection of Olympic Boulevard and Figueroa Street, prime DNC protesting real estate.

"This is an unlawful gathering," the police loudspeaker announces. "Get out of the intersection immediately or will we begin making arrests."

The hundred-odd protesters that hadn't continued with the march look stunned as the streets are suddenly lined with LAPD officers suited up in full riot regalia, yet again.

"Get out of the intersection before they start arresting people," a few protesters shout to the crowd through bullhorns.  "There are people two blocks up the street ready to move somewhere," they continue. "We don't know where, but somewhere. We have to stay united." People don't seem to hear them, and mill aimlessly up and down the streets. There is a definite feeling of indignation among the protesters.

"Look," one young guy scoffs sarcastically to his friend, "there's the Pantry. (Los Angeles Mayor Richard) Riordan owns that. Bet he doesn't have any money."

I head back to the Staples Center and run smack into the infamous "God Hates Fags" protesters, with giant "God Hates Sin" banners. One of their signs features a graphic picture of what is apparently an aborted fetus.

Other protesters are turning on them, yelling "God made marijuana, so go smoke some marijuana!" and "Stop the hate!"

A young woman dances around, repeatedly singing "Jesus loves the white male children; all the white male children of the world."

The pro-life group yells back, "God made poison ivy, so go smoke that!"

This analogy perplexes me, so I head back into the center. I want to see Joe Lieberman speak.
 
Daytime in the Staples Center
 
The mood at the Staples Center has changed. The media are still running about, but the smiles are strained. After being on constant alert for more than three days, there is an obvious disappointment at the lack of interesting things to report.

Even the interns' look exhausted; a stark contrast to Monday's bright-eyed demeanor.

"Ready for another day?" I ask a photographer I recognize from the day before.

"I am so over this convention," she says, listlessly picking up her Staples credentials. "I want to go home."

No one seems to like L.A. anymore. The heat and the traffic are wearing everyone out.

But behind the tired smiles, there is still a glint of excitement. Joseph Lieberman is speaking tonight and everyone hopes he will say something big or at least newsworthy.

And there is always the hope that the protesters will start more trouble.

The biggest news so far is the appearance of The Rock and Chyna. I see them walking through the Staples Center, with an entourage of men in black suits and media with microphones.

I also see Wolf Blitzer leaving the men's restroom.

Now that's excitement.