This is how democratic socialism dies: not with a bang, not even with a whimper, just a bunch of confused hippies lying in the grass. Inside the border wall of the Democratic National Convention, red-baiting has become fashionable again, as sniveling Clinton courtiers and paid Mexico shills freak out over a White, Christian, conservative country possibly influencing the presidential election. Outside that big, beautiful wall, hundreds of spurned Bernie Bros watch their hopes and dreams die in real time.
Last night, as part of my intrepid exploration of the DNC, I ambled over to FDR Park, where angry Leftists have set up camp to protest the coronation of Hillary Clinton. I was hoping to see something exciting. Instead, I basically wandered into the middle of a Rainbow Gathering, sans the filthy hippie sex. The Berniecucks have transitioned into the final stage of grief—acceptance—with a minimum of tantrum throwing.
I arrived at the park around 7pm, after navigating the Byzantine maze that is the Broad Street Line, Philadelphia’s hilariously nonfunctional and primitive north-south subway. The southernmost station on the Line, where the Sports Complex (and DNC) are located, are technically behind the convention walls, but because SEPTA is too incompetent to have police check credentials beforehand, you can actually ride straight into the convention unmolested.
I disembarked at the Oregon stop and walked the last few blocks to FDR Park, which is located directly west and adjacent to the convention; indeed, you can walk up to the chain-link fence separating the beautiful people from the filthy, unshaved Untermenschen. Along the way, I saw Democracy Spring—one of many impotent Left-wing groups shaking their fists at Hillary Clinton this week—getting ready for a march in Marconi Plaza. Sound and fury, my friends: sound and fury.
The entrance to FDR Park was blocked off with Jersey barriers and occupied by a giant “FOOD NOT BOMBS” banner. Inside, the park resembled an #OccupyWallStreet squat, with two tent camps and an assortment of skinny Whites milling about. Near the front, the Green Party had set up a booth and were shilling for Jill Stein; behind the baseball diamond, a stage had been set up, where a godawful musician was singing off-key to an mostly empty audience. Around me, hipsters carried signs with delightful slogans such as “Hillary is a Lying Cunt” and “Harambe’s Killer Walks Free.”
My security guy showed up around this time, as I was broadcasting for Red Ice (see our coverage here). As I wrapped up with Henrik and Lana, I filmed Democracy Spring as they marched into the park, chanting “DEMOCRACY SPRING SIT-IN, SIT-IN!” We then circled around back to the stage, where the Sharon Van Etten wannabe had given away to a series of speakers. The motley crew included a Bernie Sanders delegate from Tennessee who had walked out of the DNC, a hysterical Jewish lesbian who called Hillary’s victory a “coup,” and a Black DNC employee in a “Bernie 2016” who was clearly there to shill for the Lizard Queen herself. As we left FDR Park, we were confronted with an anti-DNC bike ride going in and Democracy Spring marching out.
If one word sums up the whole gathering, it’s this: “sad.” Bernie Sanders, for better or for worse, had stirred up a genuine populist revolt against the Wall Street-owned mandarins of the Democratic Party. Had he stood his ground and refused to play ball with the party, he could have become the leader of a Ron Paul-style insurgent movement. Instead, he chose to become the DNC’s court eunuch, leaving his foot soldiers without a general. Even as the speakers exhorted their audience to keep Sanders’ revolution alive, it’s clear they were beaten-down and defeated.
While there was some action later that night, with Leftists trying to break down the fence to the DNC, it’s clear that there will be no Leftist Spring in Philadelphia. Hillary’s coronation will proceed unhindered, and the human driftwood that have been feeling the Bern will either amble into the Green camp or stay home on Election Day. A future to believe in, a future that never will be.