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The Republicans vs. Anybody But Bush

Page Two

by Jo Freeman

 

Getting In and Around

The area around MSG looked like an armed camp; it was an armed camp. Jersey barriers and trucks blocked streets; steel fences kept people on the sidewalks, or off of them as the police dictated. Officers in black uniforms, some with dogs on leashes, were everywhere — at least half a dozen in front of each convention hotel. Police controlled the flow of pedestrians at the crosswalks with orange plastic fences that they moved back and forth on cue. Public buses were rerouted several blocks around MSG. The subways underneath weren't closed, but riders had to go up, down, and around to find a way out, or in.

Yet, there were openings. Penn Central Railway Station, on the same block as MSG, was not closed; one could walk from 32nd street across Seventh Avenue and down the stairs into the station; you just couldn't turn on to the sidewalk next to the street without proper credentials. And, unlike Boston, trash cans were left on the city streets.

The Farley Building, once NYC's main post office, was turned into a gigantic press room, with curtains marking the various press areas on three levels. The RNCC built a bridge across Eighth Avenue from the Farley Building to MSG for the press to come and go. That was the only entrance press could use to get into the convention itself. The press route into the Farley Building was halfway toward Ninth Avenue, past numerous police who checked credentials before admitting anyone to the fenced pathway in the street.

At the press entrance I spotted several different uniforms. The Fire Department was on call just in case. They were waiting there, I was told, rather than at their station, so they wouldn't have to go through security if they had to respond to an alarm. Two fire trucks were parked inside the security zone. Customs agents hung out while their dogs worked the crowd. Volunteers in red shirts directed the flow of press people, many carrying lots of gear, to different lines in the search tent.

At the metal detectors, searchers from the Transportation Security Administration (TSA), confiscated a variety of objects. Produce was prohibited on the grounds that it could become projectiles. So were bottles of anything that one could not drink. Unlike the Democratic Convention, potables were not prohibited, but one had to take sip in front of a searcher to show that it wasn't a dangerous substance. "Good Brooklyn tap water," I told the guard as I gurgled. "Drawn only this morning." Eech, she said.

Aerosol cans, containing hairspray or even just compressed air (used by photographers), were also confiscated. I heard there was a list of 22 prohibited items, but no one but the searchers seemed to know what they were. My bag of pins and buttons, each with a sharp point, was never noted. On Tuesday I brought in some posters, rolled up inside my backpack; on Thursday their equivalents were confiscated.

Once inside I found that the rule against fruit did not apply to the caterers. Apples, oranges, peaches and plums were available at the restaurant, in the various press rooms that fed their own staff, and in the Bell South Media lounge, which fed the rest of us. Hah, I thought, another stupid security rule.

I thought too soon. When time came to go to MSG I found still another bag search and metal detector for press to go through before ascending the bridge. There I was caught with dangerous objects in my backpack: one apple and one peach. My camera lenses, which are much heavier but not as round, passed without a peep.

Security elsewhere was not this cumbersome, but there was still security. The "Grand Old Marketplace" where vendors paid $2,500 each for about 60 spaces to sell Republican-related tschotschkes, was on the second floor of the Hilton Hotel. Something else must have been up there as well because guards wouldn't let anyone up who didn't have proper ID and pass a security check. Pity the poor self-employed vendors who thought their wares were available to anyone with money. Less important hotels were more readily accessible. In several of these the RNCC had its own vendors selling its own tschotschkes in each lobby. Business was booming, one of them told me.

In Pursuit of Republican Women

I scanned the 32-page Republican Master Events Calendar (MEC) for events specifically for, by or about women. I found several, but the MEC only listed names of locations, not addresses. I phoned the convention HQ switchboard to ask where to find exact addresses, only to reach a very irate young woman who told me that wasn't her job. She transferred me to a variety of connections (host committee, communications office) all of which were answered by tape recorders). Getting into the convention events clearly required a behind the scenes staff or inside knowledge.

Fortunately, www.rncnotwelcom.org had obtained the same list, and posted it on its webpage along with some of the addresses needed to get there. Monday morning I found that the Host Committee had a concierge service for the press in the Farley Building, run by staff from the major hotels. They recognized locations that were unknown to me and helped me to find my way. Getting in was another matter.

By the time I found this service, I had already missed the "Salute to Women Members of Congress" luncheon in the JP Morgan Chase Building (wherever that was), but there was still time to go to the Black Republican Women International Minority Forum and Reception at The Helmsley Hotel. But which Helmsley Hotel, I was asked when I requested directions. There are several, and since the MEC contained no contact information for the event host, there was no one to phone to find out.

At 4:00 the National Federation of Republican Women held a Regent's Reception at the Lotos Club. The NFRW is the largest of the women's partisan organizations, whose history I had summarized in my book, A Room At A Time. The concierge service knew the club's address. Forty-five minutes later I walked up the stairs of an elegant private club on Manhattan's upper east side only to be stopped at the top by a formidable Republican dowager. You're with the press, she inquired, eyeing my tags. "I'm so sorry, but the Lotos Club doesn't permit press on the premises."

Next I went to the Women's National Republican Club, founded after the 1920 election to provide a meeting place for Republican women. It owns its own building in Rockefeller Center. The MEC said there was a reception going on there, but the man behind the desk said there wasn't.

Tuesday started out the same, but got better.

The MEC listed an 8:00 breakfast by the Women's Campaign Fund, which funds pro-choice women in both parties, at the WNRC. Since the desk man had told me it wasn't on his schedule, I skipped it.

I did get into the "Tribute to Laura Bush" luncheon, which required press credentials and a Secret Service screening, but no bag check or metal detector. Inside was a large camera riser, 75 feet from the podium, overflowing with cameras. The rest of the press were roped into a small area around and mostly in back of the camera riser. At the Laura Bush tribute at the 2000 convention the press were allowed to eat and mingle with paying guests, as well as get close enough to shoot a couple photographs with ordinary cameras. This time we couldn't see, we couldn't sit, we couldn't shoot, and we certainly couldn't eat. I left after ten minutes.

At 3:00 I was back at the WNRC, which was "Celebrating Leading Women of the Republican Party", the only event the desk man had on his schedule. The honorees were the four women (out of 28) Republican governors, plus Mrs. Giuliani, who was listed first. Proving once again that being a political wife, even the young third wife of a former politician who never did a political thing herself, qualifies one to be a Leading Party Woman. It's also a way to get her husband to come.

I did have a little trouble getting in; since I had not been pre-approved I was kept waiting twenty minutes before being questioned and allowed to pass. When asked for my card, I handed over my book flyer and told the woman assigned to vet me that I had done some of my research at the WNRC. "It's a history of Republican women," I said, half truthfully.

Next stop was a small restaurant reception by the Republican Women's Task Force (RWTF) of the National Women's Political Caucus. The NWPC was founded in 1971 as a bipartisan organization with a feminist perspective. It quickly set up Task Forces to lobby for women in both parties. However, Republicans were always a minority in the NWPC. As feminism became identified with the Democratic Party, the RWTF was denounced as disloyal to the GOP. The RWTF's role as the feminist voice in the Republican Party faded during the Reagan era and was replaced by the pro-choice Republicans (who would never publicly call themselves feminists). I was glad to see that the RWTF was back and happy that I had no trouble getting in.

After chatting with the real Republican feminists for a while I went to a reception sponsored by the Republican Majority for Choice at the Sky Club — an elegant, spacious private club for executives on the 56th floor of the Met Life building. While the anarchists who tied up the city streets were cooling their heels in a holding cell on Pier 57, along with some innocent bystanders and mere observers, I spent two hours living like a rich Republican.

The RMC is one current incarnation of what used to be known as the liberal wing of the Republican party, with roots deep in Teddy Roosevelt's progressives. After conservatives succeeded in stigmatizing the word "liberal" they called themselves Moderates. Most of the 650 guests bought $500 tickets to "Celebrate Their Moderate Voice" by honoring 40 elected officials who believe in "individual rights and privacy, the real Republican values." Co-host Libby Pataki (wife of New York's governor) said "I'm so proud of my party — the party of inclusion," while the other co-host, NYC Mayor Michael Bloomberg, said he was there because "I care about my daughters."

Unlike Ann Stone's group, these "moderates" are still inside the Party, but are marginalized. Organizers said that this event raised one million dollars to support a woman's right to choose. The RMC organized "Women for Arnold (Schwarzenegger)" during the California recall election and "Women for Arlen (Specter)" during the Pennsylvania Republican primary. Recently they endorsed Cong. Jim Kolbe, running for an 11th term from Arizona. Kolbe was outed in 1995, but managed to stay in Congress from his otherwise conservative district. Other Republican Members of Congress who have been outed or even rumored to be gay have not run for re-election.

In some ways this event highlighted what money can't buy. Although pro-choice Republicans include many moneyed elites among their numbers, who do open their wallets for the right causes and the right candidates, they can only elect their type of Republicans in a few, mostly northeastern states. Nationally, they've been sidelined by the better organized social conservatives. Even in supposedly liberal California, Arnold could not have become Governor if he had had to run in a GOP primary. None of the pro-choice Republicans could make it through the primaries to win the Republican Party nomination for President. Though some of their names are floated (e.g. Giuliani), their pro-choice position will keep them from getting close to the nomination.

My pursuit of Republican women ended with the WISH List breakfast on Wednesday, where I joined 350 others who came to honor Congresswomen Nancy Johnson (CT) and Sue Kelly (NY). Founded by Candy Straight and "a forward-thinking group of Republicans" in 1992, the WISH List — Women in the Senate and House — is a PAC that funds the campaigns of pro-choice Republican women at all levels. After Straight became the co-chair of the New Jersey Republican Party, Pat Carpenter took her place as President of the WISH List. She told me that the 5,000 people who paid the $100 membership fee are concentrated in the northeast, but there are large numbers in northern California and Arizona.

Page Three>>

At Berkeley in the Sixties: Education of an Activist, 1961-1965. Jo's history and memoir of being a student at Berkeley in the early 1960's is published by Indiana University Press.

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