Note: Shadow Convention websites: http://www.drugpolicy.org/
http://www.shadowconventions.com/

CONVENTIONS AND THEIR ENEMIES

REPUBLICANS and Democrats are not the only people who are feverishly
preparing for next month's conventions in Philadelphia and Los Angeles. For
the first time in American political history, the two main party
conventions will each have their shadows.

These are parallel conventions designed to highlight issues that the
establishment would rather sweep under the carpet -- above all, inequality,
money politics and the "war on drugs". The shadow gatherings are the
brain-children of an unlikely parent, a former Republican activist, Arianna
Huffington, and have attracted an equally unlikely collection of
supporters, including Peter Hirshberg, an Internet entrepreneur, and George
Soros.

Nor will these shadow conventions be the end of it. The motley crew of
protesters who exploded onto the political scene in Seattle last November
will be out in force.

They include members of the Direct Action Network, United for a Fair
Economy, the Ruckus Society and a host of other obscure organisations. This
second bunch have the same agenda as the first -- they want to fix
America's broken political system -- but they are prepared to go to much
more extreme lengths to achieve it. The police expect about 10,000 people
to turn up in Philadelphia and perhaps three times as many two weeks later
in Los Angeles, where there are no fewer than seven alternative conventions
on the cards, including a homeless convention and an anarchist gathering.

It is not hard to guess who will win the battle for the media spotlight.
This year's conventions are likely to be about as interesting as a software
manual. The "themes" for the Republican effort, for example, range from
"Opportunity with a Purpose" through "Prosperity with a Purpose" to
"President with" -- wait for it -- "a Purpose". No wonder the President
with a Purpose is not bothering to show up until the thing is almost over.

Party conventions have been declining as a political art form for 40 years.
Until 1960 they actually decided things, complete with platform fights,
back-room deals and occasional fisticuffs. Now all the key decisions are
taken during the primaries and every banal utterance is carefully scripted.
This year, it looks as if America is even going to be denied the one thing
that lends a little excitement to these dismal events: the candidates
unveiling their choice for vice-president.

Which leaves about 15,000 journalists looking for a story.

Arianna Huffington is a story in her own right.

A few years ago she was a hardline Gingrichite who goaded her (now ex-)
husband into spending $30m to run for the Senate from California. (He has
since come out as both homosexual and a Democrat.) Now, in her left-liberal
salon in Brentwood, she communes with Warren Beatty on the evils of
inequality. But she has also worked hard to provide the press corps with
red meat. John McCain will open the shadow conventions on July 30th with a
speech on campaign-finance reform. ("It's more than a slap in the face,"
says one Republican senator about Mr McCain's decision to speak at the
forum, "it's a thumb in the eye.") Gary Johnson, the Republican governor of
New Mexico, will discuss the drawbacks of drug prohibition. Celebrities
will put in appearances.

The radicals on the fringe plan to make their own news, with plenty of
topless dykes and giant puppets.

But what is really arousing interest is the threat of disorder.

The big fear is a repeat of the Democratic convention in 1968, when the
Yippies went to Chicago with the intention of producing, in Abbie Hoffman's
words, "a huge orgasm of destruction atop a giant media altar" -- and Mayor
Daley's policemen made sure they got what they wanted.

The police forces in both Philadelphia and Los Angeles are taking the
threat of disorder seriously (as is Al Gore, who has already decided not to
stay in the downtown Biltmore hotel). They are tapping the FBI to provide
details on radical organisations. They hope to be able to confine the
protesters to "protest pits" some distance from the conventions. Police
officials in Philadelphia are even planning to reopen the disused and
"dungeon-like" Holmesburg Prison to deal with a surge in arrests.

Should the anti-conventioneers be left in their protest pits and forgotten?
Or do they have something to say? The core of their argument is that
American politics is fundamentally broken: corrupted by big money and
managed to death by professional political handlers.

Money politics not only gives inordinate power to vested interests, they
argue, it also discourages ordinary people from exercising their democratic
rights.

In 1996, fewer than half of the eligible voters turned out -- and only a
third of those aged between 18 and 24.

This is overstated, of course.

Low turnout is not necessarily proof of alienation: a survey for the League
of Women Voters found that non-voters are no more mistrustful of government
than voters are. A new report published by the Pew Research Centre points
to a paradox.

Voters are more disengaged from politics than they have ever been in the
recent past. But they are also more satisfied with their choice for
president than in either 1996 or 1992, and less critical of the way the
campaigns are being conducted.

And yet it is hard to look at the process that is symbolised by the
forthcoming conventions without a feeling of unease.

The McCain insurgency showed that there are widespread misgivings about the
"iron triangle" of money, politics and influence.

And the influence of money has been more pervasive this year than ever before.

A recent Common Cause study suggests that politicians will raise a
record-breaking $500m in soft money (unregulated contributions) in the
current election cycle -- 80% more than in the scandal-ridden 1996 cycle.

The anti-conventions include more than their fair share of silly people,
from revolting students to over-exposed celebrities. ("The reaction we've
had at cocktail parties is that people are really excited," says Anne
Biondi Simonds, one of the organisers of the shadow conventions. "It's
like, Hey, you're concerned, so am I!' ") But America should pay at least a
little attention to what is being said outside the convention halls in
Philadelphia and Los Angeles. The oddest messengers can bear important news.