I’m eating an Isaly’s chipped chopped ham sandwich on a bench outside a convenience store in Pittsburgh. A racist sits across from me. We are both from the Midwest, yet thousands of miles distant in terms of worldview.
By Anna Limontas-Salisbury Two members of Food Not Bombs were [...]
Meeting up with a couple non-media, non-RNC-affiliated locals for a pre-dinner drink, I asked for their first impressions on the circus. As a steady parade of politically costumed outsiders streamed
Old Stone Church, 10:15 a.m. Thursday. A banner on the front door reads, “Exhale Love!” Exhale. But not yet. Old Stone Church, 10:15 a.m. Thursday. It feels as though the entire city is waiting, holding its breath.
Video: Talking to a Street Vendor at the RNC
I arrived in Cleveland convinced the RNC would be the death of me. There is not a drop of hyperbole in this statement. And it’s true what they say: when people think they’re close to death, they do crazy things.
Video: A Walk in the RNC
“I’m here to see my hero, Milo Yiannopoulos. I’m a 58-year-old straight guy in love with a dangerous faggot. Milo speaks the truth.”
Search for downtown Cleveland on Google Earth before Friday and a giant, pixelated blob of commemorative Trump-themed swag will appear before your very eyes.
As it turns out, even after a lifetime of stupid questions, there are still more to be asked. I learned this on day two of the Republican National Convention, when I went around asking one: “How do you define the American Dream?”
Donald Trump is a clown; a buffoon; a fool. The 2016 election in general and the RNC in Cleveland in particular is a circus. Just ask Comedy Central, which has trucked in its own Daily Show sideshow for the occasion, and whose alum, Steven Colbert, crashed (or “crashed”) the stage of the Q Sunday evening tricked out in his blue fright wig. But a circus is supposed to be fun, and clowns are supposed to be funny. And as a group of Cleveland clowns maintain, in this instance, none of this is the case.
“If you walk down any protest line, there’s no discourse. It’s just yelling,” says Eric Helms, plausibly the only Clevelander to put up his own billboard in anticipation of the arrival of the Republican National Convention. “No one is listening to each other. Discourse is dead.”