Wherein I learn first-hand the risks of blogging...
Well, it appears my services are no longer required as a volunteer for the Republican National Convention. No e-mails with my assignments for next week, and seemingly blocked access to the volunteer-only web forum. Gee, you think this had anything to do with it?
I'm not bitter. No, really. Well, okay -- I really did want the free tennis shirt. What upsets me, however, are 1) the feeling of violation -- that someone read my snarky little post and went through the trouble of tracing it back to my personal e-mail address that I had provided to the Host Committee staff, and 2) the inference that I, as someone who is unalterably opposed to our Dear Leader, would intend some sort of mischief.
I make no bones about my dislike for George W. At the same time, however, I hold a certain reverence for this country's institutions and their attendant processes. Perhaps it's from my training as a lawyer, or my interest in American history, but I get tingly every four years as I watch our country engage collectively in the electoral process that has served us for 225 years and counting. Through war. Through economic depression. Through times of fear, uncertainty, and doubt. Democrat or Republican, Whig, Anti-Federalist or Know-Nothing, the beauty of the parties (as I, an unrepentant Dean supporter have grudgingly come to realize) is that they are an imperfect funnel for myriad beliefs, an opportunity for all of us to raise our hand and shout "Wait a minute! What about [fill-in-favorite-cause/issue]?"
This is why, regardless of my feelings toward Bush or his Republican Party, I would never try to subvert the convention. And I resent that the Republican convention planners would transfer their manifest willingness to make mischief with our constitutional exercise to me and assume that I, if given the chance, would do likewise. Because even though our imperfect democracy may mean shit to them, it means everything to me.