I coulda been a Delegate!

To even be considered, you had to agree that you would support the nominee – no matter who it was. And I refused.

I grew up in the 70’s, back when we only had 3 TV channels. As Jeff Foxworthy said “And if the president was on,  your night was DONE!” So, I was forced to watch the party conventions every 4 years. I was fascinated by them. The goofy people dancing on TV. The role call of the states. The balloons falling down as the nominee was named. Those people looked like they were having a lot of fun. “That would be cool. Maybe when I grow up, I can be one of them.” What can I say? I was a nerdy kid.

Nicolas Pinault, Voice of America, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

In 1988, the Democrats held their convention here. I was in college, and they were recruiting volunteers. I wanted to go so badly, but my father had just died, and I was working and taking Summer classes. It was not to be. (Probably just as well. I might have run into Rob Lowe.) Twenty years later, I attended my first Republican party meeting. I managed to work my way onto the delegate list for the county, district and state conventions (after some arm twisting. I’ll write about that another time.) I asked someone how the national delegates were chosen. She snorted and told me “Oh, you have to EARN that!”

I don’t know how the rest of you do it, but Georgia Republicans treat delegate slots as a sort of lifetime achievement award. It’s always the state party leaders, the governor, other high ranking officials. Each district gets to select 3 delegates. There’s an interview process. It’s expensive and each delegate must pay their own way. They wanted a resume. You had to list how many in state conventions you’ve attended, how many campaigns you volunteered for, how long you’ve been a member. It was an inside joke among my friends how many of the old timers would brag “I voted for Barry Goldwater!” Dude, that just means you’re OLD! At my last convention, one speaker declared that SHE had voted for Eisenhower! (One of my friends turned around and made the “drink” sign.) I never bothered to apply, because I knew I didn’t stand a chance.

In 2016, I REALLY wanted to be on that list! You might remember that when the primaries started, we still had HOPE! Maybe we could nominate a REAL conservative this time. Maybe we could beat back this barbarian horde that had invaded our party. Our last line of defense would be the delegates, so it was very important that we picked the right people. The REAL Republicans. The ones who would refuse to make a reality show clown the nominee of the party of Lincoln and Reagan. (Spoiler alert: they failed miserably.) But we didn’t know that when we gathered at the district convention to hold the vote. Any election, whether for delegates or party leadership, required an interview by the nominating committee. The committee would then present a “slate” of candidates that the committee recommended. The slate was normally rubber stamped by the attendees. Which isn’t very Democratic, and it’s one reason that the “establishment” was so despised. By that time, I had been a member for several years, had volunteered on some campaigns, and was president of the county women’s club. My plan was to run for chair of the county party the following year. I had a lot of friends. Maybe, just MAYBE, I could achieve my lifelong dream.

There was just one problem: they wanted me to sign a pledge. To even be considered, you had to agree that you would support the party’s eventual nominee – no matter who it was.

And I refused.

In hindsight, I should have just gone Chris Christie and promised them whatever they wanted to hear. I mean, how would they even know? We still have a secret ballot in this country, right? (Last time I checked.) Even if I publicly renounced my pledge, what would they do? Arrest me? Send me to MAGA reeducation camp? But I was always taught that lying was bad. “I can’t do it. If HE’s the nominee in November, I’m not campaigning for him. I’m not even voting for him.” My friend on the committee was sympathetic, but unless I signed the pledge, they wouldn’t even interview me, much less nominate me. I figured my chances were slim anyway, so why sell out.

When the convention day arrived, I got there early to help with check in. It was a nightmare. The Trump people didn’t know how the whole process worked, so they just showed up. When I told them they wouldn’t be allowed to vote, and would have to pay $25 just to be present as a guest, they were outraged. One lady literally screamed in my face. Big shout out to former Senate candidate Derrick Grayson, because he saved me from an ass kicking that day. He stepped in and calmed down the crowd and offered to help pay for entry fees. (Some of you in Georgia might recognize the name. The rest of you can Google him. He attended my candidate forum displaying his weapon in open carry, if that gives you any idea.)

Anyway – the committee presented the slate. One nominee was the district chair (and the friend who asked me to do check in.) Of course she was at the top of the list, even if she was a big Cruz supporter. I forget the 2^nd nominee, but the third was the former chair of a neighboring county. Her delegation immediately erupted in protest.  She was one of those Goldwater voting achievement candidates. Being a national delegate had been her dream longer than it had been mine. But she had used her position as chair to keep the new, young, Ron Paul supporting people that had joined her party off the state and district convention lists by instituting a merit system, requiring delegate to earn points by activities in order to qualify. Never mind that it was against the state party rules. When the people who had followed the rules and been duly elected as delegates had been denied their credentials, they staged a protest at the state and district conventions they should have been admitted to. The party leaders ignored their own rules and denied these young people their seats at the convention. But things had changed since 2012. Now the young upstarts were in charge of that county party – and they would let hell freeze over before they let this woman represent them in Cleveland. Debate ensued, a vote was taken, and the woman was denied her slot. Karma’s a bitch.

So, that opened the floor to nominate another delegate in her place. More debate ensued (I hope to never hear the words “Robert’s rules of order again.) According to the rules, only candidates who had been through the vetting process in advance (and signed the pledge) were eligible. And only one guy present met the criteria. So, the delegates voted and he was headed for Cleveland.

Afterwards, a friend sadly told me “you would have won. Nobody even knows who he is. You have friends here.”  I agreed. It was sad. That was probably my best opportunity and I blew it. Stupid integrity.

Turns out I dodged a bullet. I watched the Cleveland convention from home in absolute horror. The Bushes and McCain’s refused to attend. Alex Jones and Roger Stone were there, and they were ecstatic. (Always a bad sign.) The movement to unbind the delegates failed. Ted Cruz told the delegates to “vote your conscience” and was booed. Peter Thiel declared himself a proud gay man, and the evangelicals applauded. There were dueling protests. Disgusting merchandise was hawked by the vendors – buttons displaying the “KFC Hillary special.” Hillary For Prison shirts, a nutcracker. It was all just – GROSS.

This year, I don’t even have the stomach to watch it. I looked over the list of Georgia delegates. I recognized several names. Some of them used to be my friends. One picked a fight with me while a guest in my home. I guarantee you none of them voted for Barry Goldwater! They’re all giddy because they know they’re going to win. Last night, a former stripper with a tattoo across her forehead spoke. (Barbara and Nancy must be turning in their graves.) Katie Britt filmed another hostage video. I’m just not a good enough actress to feign enthusiasm for Vivek Ramaswamy. Given the opportunity, I would love to punch him in the face.

I wash my hands of this whole spectacle. Not my circus. Not my elephants. Not anymore.

Merrie is on the site formerly known as Twitter: https://x.com/ConservaCatGal

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