I dragged my ass out off of the floor in a cheap motel room that holds twice as many people as it should, which would later lead into a fight and threats of arrest from the owner of the cheap motel we were staying at. I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep all night, having arrived at around 11pm the night before and trying unsuccessfully to sleep on the floor. I button up a white shirt and some pants that belong to a suit, attempting to appeal to Mitt’s Mormon sensibilities and hopefully make him feel comfortable with me when I’m in a crowd, clamoring to ask a question. In one bed was piled Caesar, Erika and Eddie, familiar faces from DC Dream Act lobbying, and in the other, Alan and Surgio, two new Dreamer volunteers (Dreamers are people who would qualify for citizenship under the Dream Act, a bill he promised he’d veto if the opportunity arose as President). This is the primary trail in New Hampshire: bring a jacket.
We arrive at the Radison Hotel, hours before the Romney rally with the New Hampshire Chamber of Commerce was supposed to begin. We wander into the ballroom, surprised to find ourselves the only people in there besides a bit of security and a few Chamber of Commerce volunteers who hurriedly herd us over to the waiting area after explaining us that it was reservation only, with the waiting list available if there’s a cancellation. There wasn’t. We all waited outside in the hall, with only Erika getting in after she charmed her way into Univision’s entourage by speaking some Spanish with them, a notable feat in New Hampshire. I managed not to notice, as my attention was currently being diverted by the Ron Paul group which had showed up with signs to discuss (if not confront) the Romney supporters outside. While there was some rather playful attempts to block each others signs, with the Paul guys doing way better because they brought signs that were five times the size, overall they were just talking with each other civilly. It wasn’t until a woman with a catcher’s mitt-style foam hand that read “MITT ‘08” started chanting that it all went to shit, and soon everyone was yelling at each other, as though they could force their comments to be more true or more weighty through the sheer force of their will and power of their vocal cords.
Later that night, we headed to yet another Romney event, this one being a small rally at a local high school; the guy knows how to play the small town game. Walking towards the high school, there were a dozen or so Ron Paul supporters, demonstrating one of the two things he’s really got going for him: 1) his ideological consistency, which has been, in the words of the late, great Walter Matthau, “straighter than a grizzlies dick,” and 2) the most dedicated followers, willing to venture out into the sort of chilling New Hampshire night that can freeze a man’s butt-cheeks together to wave a sign and chant. We made our way past and into the high school, and, to my surprise, were stopped momentarily while security told me I had to take off my hat. When asked why, the guards responded that they’d had problems with Occupy. Considering how I had been teargassed by the cops at Occupy Oakland and was wearing a black Oaklandish hoodie and black hat, leading to my friends creating the nickname “Occupy Ryan,” it’s understandable, though I’m still not sure how denying me the use of my hat was supposed to change my political affiliations.
Once inside the half-full gymnasium and reunited with my hat, I looked over my shoulder to see a friendly looking 50-something-ish man in a red baseball cap and jacket light enough that you could tell he was a local. We talked a bit of politics, along with several other people around us, and they seemed unanimous in their agreement that Romney would blow out the rest of the candidates for the nomination, with most accurately predicting Ron Paul in second and one or two with enough insight to predict that John Huntsman would have a surge in this state (and yes, for him, getting into third place at 17% qualifies as a “surge”). I found myself speaking with a German citizen who had come out to see the American political process, and was trying to explain the absurdity that is the delegate system when a woman in an obnoxious pink blazer that vaguely gave her the appearance of a bottle of Pepto-Bismol took the microphone.
Miss Pepto explained that she was a state senator, giving a brief Romney spiel and then giving an introduction for the next speaker, Tim Pawlenty. The group was growing in energy, now nearly at a fevered pitch, applauding Tim Pawlenty (the man whose true political Achilles heel was the fact that he was boring) as though he were Mick Jagger on tour and they were all back stage Betties; they would have applauded anyone who was “their guy” it seemed, as though they were rooting for a sports team or cheering on their favorite reality tv star. The loudest the crowd got was when a few members of Occupy had snuck in, reminding me of a loud Boston bar berating a lone Yankees fan.
Finally, the Mormonator 5,000 himself came out to a round of applause that could be described as “frantic,” as though a long dormant survival instinct had been suddenly and horribly awakened within the quasi-monkey brains of everyone in the room, and they were all as desperate to clap as a drowning man is to breath. Romney had his usual button down, nigh Mormon missionary look to him, clean cut and handsome as a president is in everyone’s mind, introducing a family which I must say looks as beautiful as it seems functional. His posture was impeccable, his hand gestures spot on, his pronunciation perfect; now if only he could be a little less robotic, which I honestly think is an acquired political survival skill or his reaction to crowds and cameras from years of political experience and not his actual personality.
The crowd became a bit louder only when a few members of Occupy got in and they were smothering them in chants of “MITT MITT MITT!!!!” The police were moving to kick them out when Romney said something that I truly admired, waving a commanding hand, his palm demanding silence from his loyal followers: “Let them speak.” It was hard to hear her over the murmurs of the crowd, but a woman from Occupy, waving a gray trash bag with “Get Money Out Of Government” written on it in black marker said something about wars and spending. Romney instantly took the ball and ran with it, like a rugby player who scoops up a ball after spitting out a tooth from a cheap shot from an opposing forward, and charged forward denouncing Obama’s increase of the national debt as the crowd obscured her screams of “but I don’t support Obama!”
To me, the single most telling quotes of the night were “Are you ready to not be embarrassed, to not apologize for being an American” by the T-Paw, followed up with “What would you replace America with?,” “Free enterprise will make you free,” a comparison with failing European economies and threats of socialization like Greece and other European countries, and, like most Romney events, reciting a few lines of America the Beautiful. This, in addition to the biggest applause line of the night being “I will not apologize for America, the greatest nation on earth,” painted a somewhat ominous political portrait of “rally round the flag” syndrome that we had suffered from so badly after 9/11, used to push any piece of shit legislation (i.e. the Patriot Act, which failed to pass Congress in a non-emergency, pants-crapping scenario) to “prevent the terrorists from winning,” which often involved sending federal counter-terrorism money in places which terrorists had never heard of and have no interest in.
In this spirit of lamed patriotism, Romney drew differences between himself and Obama, completely forgetting that he still had to defeat the rest of the Republicans vying for the nomination, and that he had only been through one caucus and zero primaries so far. Given his weak competition and the fact that Romney polled at over 40% in New Hampshire, crushing the biggest selling point of opponents like Gingrich who were harping on the fact that 3/4 of the Republican primary voters were voting against Mitt more than for anyone, however, he can pretty much coast to the finish line barring a heart attack or rapture that sends all Mormons directly to heaven.
Because of the lack of competition, it’s obvious that, at this time, he wants to avoid all controversy and stay away from the actual issues, throwing freedom fries and conservative candy (i.e. tax cuts and deregulation) to the starving dogs who have been desperate to “take their country back” since a Democrat was elected. The crowd was talking as though everything were being spoken in a hidden basement about a foreign, invading army, cooking up their own Gunpowder Treason to get rid of the traitors who haven’t appreciated having the gap between the rich and poor expanded for the past 30 years as the taxes on the richest Americans and corporations has consistently fallen, inevitably making us all less free. At one point when he said that “well-planned retirements are being replaced by minimum wage jobs,” I wondered if he was taking into account the retirements that were wiped out by corporate mergers that allowed retirement funds to be treated like any other asset, and then using them to finance million dollar CEO bonuses. At the end of the speech, I was able to mosh my way through the crowd and get in for a handshake. I gripped his hand and asked him “what is your policy on immigration,” to which he replied “check my website, it’s up on there.”
After we left the high school, making our way past the still-freezing Ron Paul supporters, we talked over logistics and caught our usual 3 or 4 hours of sleep before morning came. We made our way to yet another rally later on in the evening, this one at a University in Manchester, making our way past a dozen or so protesters again, these guys holding “MONEY OUT OF POLITICS #OCCUPY” signs. Soon after arriving, I made my way around the crowd, curious about what makes them tick.
I wound up engaging Don, a short, stocky asian man with a bit of an upturned nose and easy smile who was a 3rd generation American, and Dave, a comfortable looking, round, white guy in a sweater who looked like he belonged in New Hampshire more than any man I had seen before. They were waiting on line to get into a small room which even the state representatives weren’t able to get into sans reservation, and friendly enough to keep a conversation going with someone who obviously didn’t share their values. When they did occasionally try to turn a cold shoulder to break up the conversation, they were dragged back in by their New Hampshire politeness and a New Yorker’s stubborn refusal to stop facing them and expecting an answer.
Don was a restaurant owner who told me about how he paid $5,000 and had to wait 5 years for every foreigner whom he sponsored to bring into the states to work, along with informing me about a few other ways people can gain citizenship through business. He was a man who obviously had a sort of practical experience with immigration that I myself had not yet had. I told him about my friend Alina, a beautiful, patriotic young lady who was denied an opportunity to accept full ride scholarships to ivy league schools alongside an opportunity to serve in the Marines because she was, unbeknownst to her until the age of 17, brought across the border when she was 6 months old. Don replied, somewhat uncomfortably as he shifted his weight a bit, that she should be deported because she was never supposed to be here in the first place, and that it was unfair to the guys who he imported at 5K and 5 years a pop. I could appreciate that, but went on to explain that there was no magic wand to undo her move, and we had to deal with the practical realities of her being here. The conversation on this aspect got a bit deep, with me throwing a couple “what if’s” that completely threw him for a loop: what if her parents died in a car crash, and, when she was being put into foster care, it was discovered that she was undocumented (or “illegal” if you want to be a dick) and then was deported to a country which she had no memories of and no contacts in with only the clothes on her back? Much like the 14 year old American girl that was recently deported to Columbia when she used a fake name that happened to be the same as a 20-something undocumented immigrant the police were looking for with the same name was dropped off in the middle of Columbia, cheers to the dumbasses at ICE.
Don’s retort at this was “you can’t plan for a plane crash,” however, he had less to say when I reminded him that we know a certain amount of planes will crash and plan for what to do with the plane parts and bodies recovered, and we can predict that a certain number of undocumented immigrants would, even if eventually, fall into this category. It was at this point that he fell into the Republican undocumented immigrant catchall, throwing his hands up in the air and dismissing the fact that things like his ideas on small government and family values were completely at odds with Republican immigration policy, throwing his hands up in a shrug and saying with a bit of frustration: “They’re illegal, they’re not supposed to be here in the first place.” It’s at this unfortunate point that you know you may have won intellectually, but you may never get them to change their mind. Although we found ourselves at an impasse, the crowd was being reasonable considering where I was and what I was talking about. It made me hopeful that we could move beyond this point where Republicans need everything they ask for, or they’ll light congress up with filibusters left and right.
After a botched attempt to sneak into the main floor where Romney was currently speaking, we were directed to an enormous gymnasium, the location of a second speech, and were the first few people to arrive. There was a giant screen with FOX News being broadcast, one of the many women they retain that look as though they walked off the cover of Victoria’s Secrets (in this case, Mygan Kelly) giving the broadcast, helping to predict Romney’s victory with about 20% or so of the votes being counted already. The room filled up over the next hour or so, with my friends having a front row center seat. I turned around to talk to an overweight guy who looked like every college Republican, well dressed with a button down shirt, tie and perfectly groomed hair that gave the appearance that he was really 2/3rds of Christopher Christie that had escaped the rest of his chunk. He claimed he was in the Tea Party before it was cool. When asked about possible cooperation between the Tea Party and Occupy Wallstreet, he said that it wouldn’t happen because George Sauros was behind Occupy. Considering how I hadn’t seen any benefits from Sauros at Occupy Oakland, and the extensive backing of the Tea Party by Dick Army and FOX News, I found it a bit misinformed if not completely one-sided, but he was sharp nonetheless. He talked about how Occupy would splinter (which I agree with) and maybe some of the factions would be pure enough for the Tea Party to work with, though I still think that the cultural divide, that horrible hangover from the progressivism and blowback thereof from the 60’s, will probably prohibit it; if it isn’t George Sauros, it’ll be something else that will prevent this guy from knowingly shaking a dirty hippies hand. One thing’s for certain though, if those groups were to get together and figure out how the establishment was fucking all of them over together, the Daily Show would have far less to work with. I brought the conversation over to why he was excited to vote for Romney, and after a few seconds, he replied “Executive experience.”
The Mormonbot 2.0 came out, freedom fries blazing, again introducing his beautiful family, again perfectly poised, again reciting America the Beautiful; the guy was pretty well rehearsed, like a broadway dancer belting out the same line every night. The biggest difference this time was, after the somewhat charismatic if unsubstantive speech, there were 5 Dreamers (people who would qualify for citizenship under the Dream Act, a bill he promised he’d veto if the opportunity arose as President) in the front row. When he went to shake Caesar’s hand (available at http://www.youtube.com/...), he was informed that they were Dreamers, that they loved their country and wanted him to pass the Dream Act. He dropped his political armor for just a moment, giving an awkward expression that could only be described as “micro” as it was washed away in a split second as he didn’t miss a beat and directed his attention to the next photo to autograph, 2/3rds of Chris Christie clamoring for his John Hancock. Erika, standing next to Caesar, shouted out after him “You’ll need the hispanic vote in Florida.”
The trail turned out to be exactly what I expected: cold an somewhat uneventful. I learned that Mitt Romney is the political equivalent of a zombie: tough, lurching endlessly forward, ignoring injuries the likes of which would turn a seasoned combat veteran green with nausea as he slowly but steadily keeps moving unspectacularly until he cannibalizes his next opponent, all the while with that same, handsome smile he forces so hard it looks painful. It would have been great if we could have forced Romney to elaborate on his immigration platform, but he’s got nothing to win: if he reminds hispanic voters that he’s doing everything he can to deport their cousins to look good to the Minute Men element within the Republican party, he’ll lose more of them, but if he says otherwise, he flip flops, becoming a less consistent conservative, the biggest point his opponents can make after him being unpopular with the base. With Romney, he’s been a political goalie that he’s been slapping cheap shots out away from the net for months now, there’s just no way he could be drawn out to say anything of substance that could possibly piss someone off enough to lose his vote. Let’s face it, in politics today, where any 30 seconds on someone’s mobile can lead to a scandal that dislocates half your voter base, honesty has become the weapon of the desperate (like Jon Huntsman) or anyone else who isn’t financed either their party and giant corporate monsters (with the notable exception of Ron Paul); if they have a legit chance, they get all they need to run a campaign, in exchange for their souls and allowing a few lobbyists to tweak some language here and there.