Republicans gather amid turmoil and protests
REPUBLICANS GATHER AMID PROTESTS, POLICE DEATHS AND GLOBAL TURMOIL
The crowd gathered Sunday just before 4 p.m. on the lawn of an old Masonic temple outside downtown. They were there for all causes: Palestine, Black Lives, legalized pot. But they were all opposed to one thing: Donald Trump.
As their numbers swelled — first dozens, then scores — they began to march, surrounded by police but not fighting them, chanting and cheering, heading toward the arena where Trump will be crowned the U.S. Republican nominee for president.
“No justice, no peace, no racist police,” they chanted for a time, as officers on bicycles kept them on route.
All around Cleveland’s downtown core, the signs of the coming convention were impossible to miss this weekend. There were streets barricaded with steel fencing and concrete blocks. Armed officers patrolled the roads. Helicopters circled the sky.
But even with all the protests, the controversy and the global turmoil, Cleveland on the eve of the Republican National Convention did not feel like a city under siege. The march Sunday, the first big one of the week, was long and loud, but as it wound toward downtown, it stayed peaceful and unopposed.
For the moment, Cleveland feels more like the host of a massive Model United Nations conference — everyone in lanyards and Oxford shirts — than it does a city on the brink of something wild. Any large political event creates its own biodome, of course — a hermetic world where people who all look alike talk to each other about the same things. But the fact this one feels so normal, for now, is its own kind of surprise.
All of that could change at any minute.
The convention, perhaps the most controversial in a generation, doesn’t officially begin until Monday. Dozens of protest groups have signed up to march. Others have hinted at plans to demonstrate outside the official city-sanctioned zones.
Inside the convention hall, anti-Trump forces haven’t given up on the possibility of a last-minute coup. The speakers’ list, meanwhile, gets weirder by the day. (The latest: Tim Tebow is out, Scott Baio is in.) And of course, Trump brings his own brand of chaos wherever he goes.
It wasn’t until the evening before the convention was set to begin that GOP officials released a full list of speakers, or said who would speak when. The party said the first night’s theme would be Make America Safe Again, followed by a focus on jobs on Tuesday. Monday’s headliners include Trump’s wife, Melania, and retired Lt.Gen. Michael Flynn, while Trump’s children Tiffany and Donald Jr. will speak on Tuesday. Trump’s running mate, Mike Pence, will speak on Wednesday.
But the fears here aren’t so much about rambling speeches or even Trump being Trump. With the news Sunday that three police officers had been shot and killed in Baton Rouge, La., the worry of real violence — either against or by the police — has become impossible to ignore.
On Saturday night, Calvin Williams, the Cleveland police chief, walked quietly through the Public Square, in the heart of the city where a speaker’s corner will be set up for protesters during the week. He said he’s ready for the convention to get here and for it to “get gone.”
Republican Ohio Gov. John Kasich rebuffed a request by the head of the Cleveland police union to suspend during the convention the state law that permits the open carrying of weapons, The Associated Press reported. Kasich said he doesn’t have the authority to “arbitrarily” alter laws and constitutional rights.
Volunteers from the National Lawyer’s Guild were watching the protest Sunday. The group has set up a website with how-to’s on everything from what to do if your friend’s in jail, to how to preserve evidence of police brutality or misconduct.
But all of that, for now, remains theoretical. On Saturday night, signs of strife were few and far between. In the Public Square, a woman laughed loudly to herself while she built a pro-life sign.
Outside the media centre, three girls posed for a photo beside a concrete and steel blockade. In lieu of “Cheese!” one said with a sunny lilt, as the photo clicked, “Welcome to the apocalypse.”
Hanif Phelps arrived late for a protest earlier Saturday. At least that’s what he thinks. He admits there might not have been a protest at all. So instead of marching with a crowd, Phelps stood by himself on a street corner, waving a homemade sign.
“U matter to me,” it said.