One-Ring Circus

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And on the third day, the Libertarian Party rose again, and ascended to the stage, to sit at the right hand of the party chair. From there they shall judge whose campaign is living, and whose is dead.

OK, maybe not. But it was a day of judgment. And Jesus did appear to the masses. But all that in good time.

The morning session saw leftover platform material from the night before; in particular, a motion failed to delete the party’s longstanding, 10th-Amendment-inspired “Omissions” clause: “Our silence about any other particular government law, regulation, ordinance, directive, edict, control, regulatory agency, activity, or machination should not be construed to imply approval.” Additionally, the LP passed, for the first time in Party history, a platform plank calling for the abolition of the death penalty. The other morning diversion was a William Weld meet-and-greet that turned into a grill session, with Gary Johnson wading in to help out his floundering partner. (Sample of said flounder: asked what sort of threat the CIA might pose, Weld tried to joke about how his wife’s great-uncle Kermit Roosevelt helped orchestrate the 1953 coup against Mohammad Mosaddegh in Iran, thus making him “probably the wrong person to answer that question.”)

One outside media onlooker said that McAfee’s speech was “the most apocalyptic thing I’ve ever heard at a political event” — proving his total lack of familiarity with LP events.

Now, to Johnson’s credit, this was already far more engagement than was shown by 2008 candidate Bob Barr. But by the afternoon session, the LP Radicals, energized by their successes in the bylaw and platform portions, were even more eager to rattle sabres (or whatever the equivalent is for anarchist anti-warriors) against Johnson/Weld. As of the afternoon session, the delegate count stood at 907: half again as many as in 2012. Each delegate could cast a vote, or “token,” for one presidential candidate: 30 tokens would suffice for nomination, but it would take 86 to enter the evening’s televised debate. In the end, that meant six candidates out of the 16 potentials moved forward: the high-coverage trio Gary Johnson, Austin Petersen, and John McAfee; anarchist Darryl W. Perry; and rank outsiders Marc Allan Feldman and Kevin McCormick, with only the first four (at least initially) qualifying to debate.

The order of nominating speeches was determined by a favorite of both libertarians and the next-door MegaConners: a 20-sided die, which dictated that McAfee would go first. He was nominated by Derrick Grayson, a Ron Paul supporter and failed VP candidate from the night before; McAfee then went without a seconder in order to talk on the importance of supporting the grassroots and creating “a different definition of victory” within the party — something that would involve “derailing the train” that we are currently on. One outside media onlooker said that McAfee’s speech was “the most apocalyptic thing I’ve ever heard at a political event” — proving his total lack of familiarity with LP events.

Next was Gary Johnson, whose bona fides were established by Bill Redpath and seconded by one-time prez candidate Steve Kerbel, before the ex-NM gov. took the stage with the less-than-inspiring message that he was “not an old white guy” nor “a Republican-lite.” Afterward, though, everything was red meat for the libertarian soul, with even a Gandhi quote landing. I found myself confused, however, by his statement that, though he “doesn’t understand or articulate LP principles as well as some here,” nonetheless behind his lead “we can get this thing done.”

After a too-long rap video, the candidate urged attendees to “Vote for Marc Allan Feldman, nobody for president.”

Johnson then did double duty by speaking as a second for Feldman, as a means of encouraging delegates to get him the few more tokens it would take for debating privileges; all would end the night grateful for the maneuver. Despite a too-long rap video start (no, really, he rapped), he charmed by noting that he was running for president “because I can,” and urging attendees to “vote for Marc Allan Feldman, nobody for president.”

Austin Petersen’s nominator, Sean Haugh of North Carolina, said he used a “call my mom” test to decide which candidate to support — as in, which candidate most inspired him to call his aged mother and tell her to turn on the TV. (It’s a little Norman Bates, sure, but only a little.) The candidate urged everyone to gather together and counter “the armies of darkness [that] are on the march,” something that would involve ending the Fed, for a start. Petersen was also the only candidate to put down a clear anti-abortion platform (though, as he would clarify in the debate, not favoring criminal charges against women seeking such), earning him some boos from the crowd.

Darryl W. Perry was the first candidate not to speak on his own behalf, though whether this is because his nominating speaker went overlong — rattling on about Orwell and Ruby Ridge, before using the Platonic cave as an allegory for libertarian epiphany (unaware, one hopes, of Plato’s more explicitly political works praising tyranny and repression) — or because he made a strategic choice to save it all for the debate. Either way, Perry received a second from Starchild who, wearing a Wilma Flintstone number with matching leopard-print parasol, set off a cascade of press photographers getting social media snaps.

Last, in every way, was McCormick, who didn’t seem to have much reason to be there — he admittedly entered the race late; he didn’t have a nominator; he didn’t even speak in favor of his own campaign — his message instead was to encourage party unity come November. (He also asserted that this gathering was “the most diverse group of people ever at a political convention,” which just — no, dude. No.) Following this speech, LP chair Nick Sarwark announced that Feldman had indeed made the debate via late tokens; McCormick remained nowhere close to debating, but would still be in the mix as designated Round 1 casualty the next day. And after that, they adjourned (early!) to set up for the debate.

Austin Petersen's nominator said he used a "call my mom" test to decide whom to support — a little Norman Bates, sure, but only a little.

Let me preface this next statement by noting that I am comfortable with both the bizarre and the avant-garde. And I relish particularly the sort of oddity that pops up in gatherings of individualists, such as the LP. That said, John McAfee’s campaign reception was the weirdest scene I’ve come across while covering this beat. It’s not that it was that out there, more that there was just enough of the sheer mundanity of the convention reception — standing tables, too-large room, cash bar, people standing about awkwardly — to underline the strangeness of the rest of it and turn the whole thing into a screeching car-crash. The room was semi-dark, with strobing lights and projected visuals like butterfly wings, with tech-company Euro-trance playing over the PA. There were two women standing on chairs dressed as architecture swaying gently to the tunes. The MC, a man in a tuxedo T-shirt, came in to play live, amplified violin over top of the recorded music while a woman in a cat costume cavorted onstage behind him. Later an acrobat draped herself across a large ring in the midst of the room, while gossamer-winged women on stilts stalked through the crowd and the aforementioned Jesus spun round slowly, parading himself on stage. All this happened, and we hadn’t even yet hit the debate.

Part two of this report to follow Sunday, with election report and convention wrap after. For up-to-the-minute coverage, follow @libertyunbound on Twitter.



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