August 5, 2016
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I noticed a fellow die-hard Bernie Sanders supporters personal account of his adventure at the DNC during protests and supporting the Bernie delegates. I sent a friend request on FB and requested permission to post this as an Editorial. I felt it was well written and gave an awesome outside view of how things went down and how someone felt about the whole fiasco. Thanks Quint for the permission. I added some images to give the vibe as he says it. I hope they are fitting. Let’s not delay:
My experience at the DNC
by Quint Lynch on
By Day 4 in Philly this was what every Berner felt. So if you were wondering what Philly was about, what it was really like, This was it.
We had heard by this time what our delegates had been experiencing. They were not allowed a voice. They were threatened with their credentials, their political careers. No dissent, no signs, no discussion. Fuck Robert’s Rules of Order. Fuck Democracy.
If you weren’t there you might think that it was the intensity and camaraderie of the marches with thousands of Berniecrats marching together as one. Marching chants not heard for years with that many voices. “A people united will never be defeated.” Or “ Whose streets? Our streets.” Echoing through the streets of Philly. The urban Canyonlands ringing with the passion of our movement, our love, our commitment. Or some chants all our own. “Hell No DNC we won’t vote for Hillary.” “Jill not Hill.” It was awesome, inspiring and I personally will never be the same. March after march. Day after day. Rally after rally. For those who don’t know me, I have a big voice so I helped lead a few chants. We do what we can. But seriously, I couldn’t believe the feeling. It didn’t seem real. So as much as I wanted to lead more by Day 3, I had lost my voice. I left it all on the streets. So others led. Others let their voices be heard. Shared their passion. We not me.
People of all shapes and sizes, colors and cultures…… Americans. Maybe the only real Americans left in the whole damn country. Those people and people like us. You and me. The last Americans who know what this country, this movement is really about. Or maybe it just seems that way. But I don’t think so. Dark days, friends, but we Bern bright.
On one march there was one young man just in front of me. You could tell it was his first day there. He still had his voice. And he was really clean. “Show me what democracy looks like.” He cried loudly. “This is what democracy looks like,” the crowd nearby chanted back. He picked up the chant again and boomed “ SHOW ME WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!”. “THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!!!” the crowd, catching his passion, thundered back. I watched as he got goose bumps all over his body. The energy he generated in the crowd came flowing back to him. And I thought, it is real. That energy, that power, I hadn’t imagined it. We are real. SHOW ME WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE! WE ARE WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE! Don’t forget it.
We marched through the Philly heat, which reached approximately WTF° with about OMG% humidity. We got drenching, booming flashing thunderstorms. Thunderstorms you were pretty sure were rigged by the DNC 😃. During the first day’s marches, none of us may have survived but the city of Philly, the city of Brotherly love turned on the fire hydrants. To cool us down, and keep the Bern alive. Otherwise this part of the revolution may have died in the streets. Or at least melted a little 😃.So we marched and chanted and felt the BERN. Felt the movement flowing through us. We felt you.
If you weren’t there you might have thought that it was about being on the fences. Chanting and banging, telling the delegates “A vote for Hillary is a vote for Trump.” Or “Election Fraud, Election Fraud.” “Shame, shame, shame.” That first day the delegates could feel our voices. Feel our very life’s breath. They saw us. They felt us. People of every shape, size, age and color. One of the proudest moments of my life was watching my sons, 9 and 11, on the fence that first day. My sons caught the eye of more than one scared delegate. And a salute, a wave of a few stalwart Sanders delegates. It’s good they all saw how deep this goes. By day two, the fences grew out, by day three, the fences moved out again. They know we are here!
If you weren’t there you might have thought it was the rallies, That BEAUTIFUL SOUNDING tractor trailer style horn on the Black Men for Bernie bus, in one long call to arms ringing across the city every time we were together. Or hearing all those amazing people speak. Our people. People who gave me the chills, people who’s names I’ll never know. And others I’ll never forget. Like Lee Camp, Greg Palast, Tim Black, Chris Hedges and the venerable Dr. Cornel West. Dr. Jill Stein, everybody, the most powerful person in politics right now! Watching with my own eyes the leaders and activists coalescing behind her, was nothing short of inspiring.
Or you might think it was the protest at the Boat House with the delegates. The delegates having a Sit In in the Media tent. Or perhaps the way our delegates fought so valiantly, beautifully, brilliantly to be heard and seen on your behalf. On behalf of democracy and the whole damn planet. Against overwhelming odds, oppression. Fighting against something less than democracy. Which I will never forget, ever. And we should all be forever grateful for.
I was getting information from the “inside”. This was the post I wrote the night $ec ¢linton was crowned. “So the final report from the floor. The oppression was everything you’ve ever dreamed about and more as the nightmare it was. Actors paid $50 bucks a day to fill the seats of delegates who couldn’t or wouldn’t take it anymore of this Potemkin Convention. Those who chose to stay witnessed Kabuki theater not seen since the last Emperor. (All) After four days that sounded more like Stockholm, than the City of Brotherly love.” I stand by that post. The person inside described it like “ being at a rally for Hitler”. I believe it.
You might have thought Philly was about the heated, emotional and sometimes angry discussions had on street corners, hotel lobbies and platforms. Inside subways and trains. Between Progressives and DNC loyalists. Discussions, that for my part at least, became louder and more intense as the week went on. We on the streets realized we were the voice of our delegates fighting so brilliantly and brave. Who couldn’t say anything. Not a word, not a sign. Or lose their credentials, be thrown out. So we told them.
We told them. A vote for Hillary is a vote for Trump. We told them, we didn’t want or trust her. We told them you can’t steal our vote!! And expect our support in November. We told them only Bernie could beat Trump. (Bet there is a video of me somewhere. LOL.) But we were angry, the proof that the primary election was a fraud was everywhere.
But by Day Four, the day of the nomination, this picture was what we all felt in Philly. This was what Philly was about to me. We marching for them. They speaking for us. We chanting for them. They fighting for us. Us, and the whole damn Earth. Them trapped inside the system, us on the outside. Both realizing fully the unimaginable forces we are up against. But we were together. We are together. That we would never stop fighting for each other. For everything we love.
Our Revolution continues…