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[This is hilarious.--DC]

(en) US, Indianapolis, Anarchist Report Back from the Midwest GOP
Convention - They’ll let just about anyone into these things.
Date Mon, 27 Aug 2007 12:22:23 +0300

A few days ago, an anarchist friend brought the Midwest Republican
Leadership Conference occurring in Indianapolis to the attention of us
radical youth. A few of us pile into the car (with the necessary
supplies, of course: banners, spray paint, and a respectable-looking
suit) and make a b-line to the Indiana Convention Center. Upon arrival,
we survey the Center, as well as the adjoining Westin Hotel where the
Republicans are staying. The Westin is filled with booths promoting
things from Reagan memorabilia to a campaign to “Draft Condi” for 2008.
Lovely. As for the Convention Center, we scope out the areas where the
festivities are taking place. Conference attendees wear a very visible
pass that touts their Republicanism with pride (and allows them to
actually attend conference events). We needed a plan to make ourselves
visible and to disrupt the festivities.

It shaped up as follows:

1) I put on my suit and try to get into the convention either by
i) finding a pass lying around
ii) haggling with the door people and making up some excuse about why I
don’t have a pass
iii) bribes (they’re politicians, right? should work.)

2) Upon entrance, plan a way for the rest of the group can get to the
dinner in which Fred Thompson is speaking.

3) Cause a ruckus that gets live C-SPAN coverage

I suit up back at the car and we split ways, me heading towards the
Westin, the anarchists heading to the conference vicinity to await
further directions for getting in. I enter the Westin, head up to the
upper level, and look at all the booths. I stop at the booth with Reagan
memorabilia and make my first Republican remark of the night, “Yeah. Our
country needs a president like Reagan again. What a commanding figure!”
A little of me died right there. The guy manning the booth agrees, and I
say my dad would really like some campy framed picture of Reagan donning
a cowboy hat. I started to write down a bogus address and phone number,
but decide against it. More exploring and no dice for a pass. So I begin
to head over to the conference via a skyway, chatting with a Party
photographer, feeling out the entry situation. In my conversation, my
stereotype of Republicans is confirmed. Cronyism goes unabated here: I
ask how he got to be a photographer with the Republicans, and he remarks
with a straight-face, “Well, it’s a lot more of who you know rather than
what you know.” I hope the State Rep’s son can take pictures.

Now I’m at the entrance. There’s a table lined with Fred Thompson
stickers and buttons. I pocket a few and later put one my lapel. The
registration table is crawling with Repub’s, so I just try to walk past
them. But I’m stopped. It’s like a SCRUM where I need to say the right
things. Good for me I played nothing but Indiana Jones and the Last
Crusade for years.

R: “Is this the first time at the conference, sir?”
A: “Um, yes.”
R: “What’s your name?”
A: “Oh, it’s… Joe Hill.”
R: (riffling through some spreadsheet printouts) “Tye Hill?”
A (TH): (surprised) “Yeah, that’s me. Joe’s my middle name.”
R: “Okay, here you are.”

You received a Republican Conference pass! Wear it with oligarchical pride!

I had also worked out a back story with this name. I was Tye “Joe” Hill,
a mild-mannered yet charismatic and hardworking staffer for Congressman
Steve Buyer’s Lafayette office (I found out later that Buyer doesn’t
even have a Lafayette office. But no one called me on it). My job down
at the convention was to hang around and hear Fred Thompson speak, as
well as make a few connections. So I was keeping a low profile while
being very attentive to whoever spoke with me. I would also be very
busy, since the Congressman is going back to Washington after next week,
and the office always has things to work out. I should note that
watching C-SPAN for at least 12 hours a week and dating a Senate staffer
prepared me superbly for this role. Tye Hill didn’t really have many
different traits from myself; he was just more acute and charming (by
necessity), but filled with good ol’ Reagan-esque conservative values.

It’s around 5 o’clock now, and the dinner doesn’t start until 6. There’s
a smaller reception room which I wander into and start to pile a few
veggies onto a plate. A rather handsome man in his 40s walks up to me
and introduces himself.

S: “Hi, I’m (somebody), sheriff of (some county).”
T: “Hi, Tye Hill, from Steve Buyer’s office.”
S: “Really? I know another Tye Hill at this conference.”

And here is the point where my heart absolutely drops. They’ve figured
me out already and sent the sheriff after me. How can I respond? Only in
disbelief.

T: “Really now?”
S: “Yeah, isn’t that a coincidence? She’s actually a woman from (some
county)”
T: (WHAT? He thinks it’s just a coincidence! Very much now relieved)
“Yeah! How crazy is that!”

That was the only point at the conference I thought I had been figured out.

I make my way out of the reception room, shaken up and sweating. I sit
down and text one of the outside crew, coordinating more of the plan. At
this point I’m extremely frightened. Look at all these Republicans! And
I’m able to walk in their midst with no problem! The guy next to me on
the bench starts to mutter about how Ron Paul supporters are hoodlums. I
solemnly agree (Tye Hill agrees; if I was going to support any
Republican it’d probably be him) and go find a seat in the dinner room.

At my seat, I start to chat with a server who is extremely nice (or it’s
probably just that I’m a lot more comfortable talking to a working class
black woman than rich white dudes), and I drink some coffee to calm my
nerves. I get up to use the restroom and upon my return, four people
have joined my table. One is a man running for state representative in
2008, another is a county commissioner for a county which will go
unnamed, his wife, and his rather attractive daughter (I noticed very
early on that the daughter was giving me “the eyes” for the entire
night, but that is neither here or there). We talk, I make up random
lies about what I do and come off very congenial. They nod in agreement
with my views, laugh at my jokes, the works. This is what you learn from
four years of job fairs. At one point the candidate for state rep. and I
get into a mild debate about immigration. I did divulge that I am the
son of immigrants, from Egypt no less. Apparently, Mike Pence,
Congressman from the 6th District of Indiana (and a complete jackass, I
might add) was working on a proposal for immigration and presented it to
the conference. His proposal has a provision that immigrants need to
pass an English proficiency test. I did raise the point that this would
bias immigration towards Western and Eastern Europeans, as well as
people who have opportunity for education in their home countries (i.e.
higher class people). And they agreed! Amazing. The rest of the debate
is mired in the usual Republican tripe about illegal immigrants breaking
the law and whatnot.

In the middle of conversation, the good Sheriff comes by and walks me
over to meet a special someone. That’s right, the real Tye Hill. The
real Tye Hill is an excitable, happy Iranian woman (why why why why is
there an Iranian woman in the Republican party), and she is ecstatic to
meet another Tye Hill. And, you know, who am I to be a letdown? We take
a picture together, which I’m sure is going to show up in some small
town Republican party newsletter.

Before dinner, the Lieutenant Governor Becky Stillman gives the opening
prayer (during which I put my hands together and conclude with an “allah
akbar” while everyone else says “amen”), then the Pledge of Allegiance
to that huge goddamn flag in the middle of the room, followed by a very
Caucasian rendition of the National Anthem. I have to bear all these
while biting my tongue. Tye Hill is a Reagan-era conservative Muslim who
loves America, not an atheist Marxist humanist.

Soon after dinner starts, a reporter for the Chicago Tribune comes over
and starts to ask us questions about Fred Thompson. I say that he is a
charismatic Reagan-esque leader that’s going to be able to keep his cool
and be a stable leader in dire times. Then I describe the hierarchy of
franticness in the US Government, the House being the most disorderly,
the Senate being a little better, and the President needing to be “the
rock”. God bless the President. Expect a series of profiles on
presidential candidates in January, and look for a few quotes by your
pal Tye.

On a point of political commentary, another thing I noticed during the
conference and which aggravated me to no end was the seemingly
complacent role the women filled at the event. After the Tribune
reporter interviewed us, she asked us what we did. The men mentioned
their political offices, but the daughter of the county commissioner
said, “I’m just a girl.” Ack! She also remarked on her hobby in baking
for her husband, and how at first he was excited about it, but how he
had now not come to appreciate it. It pissed me off that this woman was
stuck in her situation and expected to stay there by “good Republican
values”. She was obviously in an unhappy marriage, but it would be
“right” by the conservative standards. Welcome to the goddamn 1950’s.

To my surprise, Steve Buyer gives the introduction for Fred Thompson. He
tells this ridiculous story about the impeachment trial of Bill Clinton,
through which I have to hold a fake mild smirk of admiration for my
“boss”. Soon after Thompson starts, I step out of the room. I call the
anarchists, who, to our dismay, have been told to stay away from the
convention center by state police since they looked “suspicious” (well,
I mean, they’re anarchists, of course they looked suspicious). We
surmise that they’re not going to be able to get into the conference and
don’t want to risk arrest. I walk back into the dinner hall as soon as
Thompson is giving his final remarks.

Now the plan is to find out where a majority of these people are going
and to cause a ruckus there. I hang around, talk to my sheriff friend,
ask my county commissioner family what their plans are, but to no avail.
Republicans can’t party, it seems.

I eventually drift over to the lounge in the Westin and find my county
commissioner family there having cocktails. I order a 12-year old scotch
on the rocks (as only a classy bastard like myself can) and chat more
with the family. At one point, the commissioner asks me if we ever have
protesters at the office. I laugh and remark that “of course we do”.
Most notably, there’s the anti-war group called the Lafayette Area Peace
Coalition. They have a rally every so often. Such an annoyance. The
daughter says she saw one protester out in front of the Westin (which
was probably one or more of our people). “You’re making a big
difference, buddy,” she chuckles. This is probably the time when staying
in character was proving most difficult. Dismissing politicians and
Democrats is easy, but trying to deride one of my main social identities
— that of being an activist — is no small task.

It’s getting late, so I say a few good-byes and leave them with my
contact information. And by contact information, I slyly leave them with
my riseup.net email address. I rendezvous with the anarchists, we stand
in front of the Westin with signs, then we go home.

On the way home, we encounter a Popeye’s and stop there immediately. And
let me tell you, a $6.50 3-piece fried chicken dinner at Popeye’s trumps
a $250 Republican dinner any day.

More:
Actions that were supposed to be in conjunction with this act were
compromised by the police presence for the Colts vs. Lions game.
Anarchists had apparently been monitored since the beginning, and
tracked by the police in all movements. Something makes one think that
it wasn't the football game, since said members were accosted by 3
undercover state police officers. Since they were acting "suspicious"
(translation: walking through the convention center and Westin hotel
once, then sticking to the sidewalks in the area). Asked to leave the
Convention center and not return, disruption of the Thompson speech was
halted, though picketing and other forms confrontation were employed.

Fun? Yes. Successful? Partially? This is what happens when there are 3
days to plan an event that would ideally draw about 50 people or more,
but only resulting in the presence of about 6. But that's opinion, not
necessarily the reality.
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Dan Clore

My collected fiction: _The Unspeakable and Others_
http://amazon.com/o/ASIN/1587154838/ref=nosim/thedanclorenecro
Lord We˙rdgliffe & Necronomicon Page:
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News & Views for Anarchists & Activists:
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"Don't just question authority,
Don't forget to question me."
-- Jello Biafra