- The major parties' political conventions are bloated, absurd, insular displays of hyper-partisanship.
- Yet for all their ridiculousness, they're still a vital part of the American political process.
- The coronavirus pandemic could make the conventions go virtual, and that change could be permanent.
- At a time when Americans are reaching for anything that resembles normalcy, the quadrennial ritual of late-summer political showboating would be a meaningful talisman of normalcy. Losing them would hurt.
- This is an
opinion column. The thoughts expressed are those of the author. - Visit Business Insider's homepage for more stories.
The 2020 political conventions could become a casualty of the coronavirus pandemic, or they could become another battle in the partisan culture war.
The
By contrast, the GOP says "the show must go on," as
The conventions no longer break much
Should the coronavirus make this year's scheduled live political extravaganzas untenable, each party would almost certainly hold a streamlined virtual convention.
But the loss of the live conventions would be a loss for the country.
I'm serious.
For all their obsolescence, these bloated dog-and-pony shows have become totems of the American democratic process. And in a time when anything resembling normalcy is desperately needed, these ridiculous conventions can serve an important purpose in the national healing process.
The conventions' nominal purpose
Officially, the conventions exist as formal gatherings for the party faithful to heal divisions after bruising primary battles, and gear up for the final push toward the general election.
Delegates who supported failed candidates get their moment to jockey for influence on the party's platform and the next nominating cycle's rules. Activists get their moment to push the party further towards their desired policy goals. And the winning candidate's supporters get their moment to bask in the glory.
But the scrum of thousands of delegates and journalists ping-ponging off of each other on an arena floor is an archaic way of accomplishing much of the mundane procedural work, especially since party platforms are nothing more than non-binding wish lists.
"The procedural part of the convention can be done virtually," Moe Vela, a former senior advisor to Joe Biden, told me. "The real cost of a cancelled convention," Vela said, is "the deprivation of the chance to build that momentum that comes from a convention."
"You leave the convention fired up and pumped up because you can have three or four nights of cheerleading and rallying and cohesiveness and connectivity and a passion and the excitement builds and it's like a rocket," Vela added.
The conventions "give people a reason to go out and campaign their hearts out in the last 100 days," longtime Republican pollster Frank Luntz told me.
The conventions are absurd, and yet they still matter
Over the years the conventions have evolved into absurd, self-satisfied orgies of conformity and journalistic navel-gazing. Their fealty to party orthodoxy is practically a commercial for abandoning (or at least resisting) the two-party system.
Few moments have ever encapsulated convention lunacy quite like Clint Eastwood talking to an empty chair as though it were then-President Barack Obama at the 2012
In making his pitch for Mitt Romney to the nation, one of America's most celebrated actors and directors insinuated the president told Romney to do something inappropriate to himself, then mockingly called then-Vice President Joe Biden "the intellect of the Democratic Party."
Did it cheapen the true seriousness of the political process? Probably, but Eastwood's mess of a bizarro speech was helpful in accidentally revealing how the unseriousness of the conventions' overbearing self-seriousness.
When it comes down to it, they're shows. And less is more when it comes to the economy of entertainment.
But for the truly politically active — the activists, the delegates, the donors — the conventions are more than a pageant, they're a place to be heard and seen before a national audience.
They're a "social event as much as a political event, a chance for people to celebrate together every four years," Luntz said.
That's absolutely true, even if some of the celebrants are barely a shade removed from football fans who paint their bodies in the team color then go shirtless on a freezing Sunday afternoon.
But there have been steady signs that the national relevance of the conventions is waning. Broadcast TV networks — which even in an era of "cord-cutting" retains the largest overall viewership — have substantially scaled back their coverage from what had typically been at least three hours a night to as few as one. While cable news networks will offer more daily convention coverage, they remain the B-team for reaching the most viewers.
And the element most relevant to the general election — the "convention bounce" in poll numbers — has been diminished. The historical average of such a bounce is about five percentage points, according to Gallup. But what's more instructive is that the bounce usually doesn't last. You have to go all the way back to 1992's
And yet despite their grotesque excesses, the conventions still matter. That's especially true in this year of lockdowns and the shock of massive unemployment.
"It's still part of what it is to be American," Luntz said. "It's still part of the political process. If you don't have the convention, it will signal that America's still not back on its feet."
The post-coronavirus future of the conventions
Even in a post-coronavirus world, it might take a while for social distancing to truly recede to pre-2020 levels. The close, chaotic quarters that are an inherent part of convention life might not survive.
"To socially distance all the delegates in California could take up a third of an arena," Vela said.
The impact of the "live show" on the general public also can't be discounted.
"People will tune in, make no mistake," Luntz said of the prospect of a nationally broadcast convention-by-teleconference. Though he added, "virtual does not have the emotional power that live on the big screen does."
"What you're going to be missing is that live applause, the live connectivity with your audience. That is what translates through the television screen or your laptop screen. That will be lost, that energy," Vela said.
The new normal, whatever and whenever it reveals itself, might make the conventions as we once knew them a thing of the past.
So what replaces them?
"I'd call Hollywood and say, 'We need a great 90-minute movie. ... and start thinking about this now,'" Mike Murphy, a veteran advisor to numerous Republican campaigns, told Politico. "Hollywood people know how to do this better than political hacks."
There could be something to that.
Presidential and vice presidential nominees have been pre-determined for a half-century. The nomination roll-call at the conventions is theatrical. It's all unnecessary.
Instead of a week-long media-made festival of partisanship and glad-handing, perhaps a single night where the ticket is officially crowned could serve the same purpose for a fraction of the cost and hassle.
Rising party stars could still get their opportunity to leave their mark. Primary also-rans could still get their chance to advocate for the policies that couldn't win them the nomination. And dignitaries could still get a chance to induce nostalgia in the hearts of the faithful.
They probably need to evolve, modernize, and streamline, but the political conventions are a part of the American political experience.
And in a time when Americans are reaching for anything that resembles normalcy, the quadrennial ritual of late-summer political showboating would be a meaningful talisman of normalcy.
The conventions might be dead, long live the conventions.
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