Alex Goes to the Midwest Republican Leadership Conference (OR How I Learned to Pose as a Congressional Staffer and Love Fred Thompson)

26Aug07

They’ll let just about anyone into these things.

A few days ago, Bill brought the Midwest Republican Leadership Conference occurring in Indianapolis to the attention of us radical youths. 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 direction 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 SCUMM 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 Alex Hanna; 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 Bradney, 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 Alex was going to support any Republican it’d probably be him) and go find a seat in the dinner room.

Love ‘merica Ballroom

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.

Fred Thompson + Tye Hill = BFF

Filed under: General, Politics   |  9 Comments