"D" Is for Dysfunctional
Kerry's sister, Edwards's daughter, and their disabled, gay, Native-American brothers and sisters.
6:30 PM, Jul 26, 2004 • By KATHERINE MANGU-WARD
A New York city councilman speaks, saying that New York and the Democratic party are "working for disabled people because we know there is no such thing as a disabled person." At least one person seems unperturbed by this apparent contradiction. Miss Wheelchair America, who is wearing a sash with her title and an impressively sparkly tiara, was also at the Native-American caucus. She was pleased, she said, to find that the two events were across the hall from each other. But not surprised. "We're all one big family here," she says with a smile. Clearly she got the memo, too. Miss Wheelchair is interrupted by the high-pitched wail of audio feedback. Something has gone wrong with the taped statement from Kerry, and those with hearing aids wince, looking like they're about to fall to the floor and writhe in pain. After a few more squeaks, the Kerry video statement is finally up and running. It's the usual pro-ADA boilerplate, and the only person who looks less enthralled than the delegates with the speech is the video presence of Kerry himself. But when it's over, he gets a raucous round of applause--complete with deaf claps, which involve holding both hands in the air and flashing them open and closed.
BACK AT AFSCME, Gerald McEntee, the president of AFSCME, is resplendent in a Kelly green T-shirt, green and white scarf, and matching straw hat. He asks his union "brothers and sisters" to welcome Kate Edwards, oldest daughter of the vice presidential candidate. She has clearly been briefed in advance about appropriate sartorial choices, and is much lauded for her stylish green blazer by a vocal woman sitting behind me. Kate cuts to the chase, saying those magic words "y'all are important." She is then offered a bag of rice, which she hurls at the Cheney cutout without a second of hesitation.
The Women's Leadership Forum luncheon is in the Back Bay Ballroom next door. They've got cheese, crackers, a passel of female senators and John Kerry's older sister. Alice Germond of the DNC introduces Peggy Kerry. "Sisters," she says, "I will be brief." And, blessedly, she is. Peggy commits her "little brother" to a whole slate of "woman-friendly" policies, including a litmus test for judges, and instant revocation of the "global gag rule" upon taking office.
Sen. Maria Cantwell of Washington takes the stage to note that the WLC is also on the No CARB diet. Since "women in America know about dieting," she says, this should be an easy concept for them to comprehend. The audience munches on its crackers and nods.
IN ANOTHER PART of the Sheraton, the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Caucus meeting is underway. There is notable overlap with the Firefighters Union and (oddly) the Puerto Rican delegation. Barbara Boxer was the opening speaker, but many of the volunteers are too busy handing out buttons in the back to listen to her speech. The hardest job in this conference room is the delicate business of handing out the "I'm a Transgender Delegate" buttons. The speakers refer variously to the gathered crowd as "brothers and sisters," but nearly everyone seems to respond to the label "sister." This is the most orderly of the caucuses, though the specter of the Bush administration is raised to satisfactory boos across the board.
All of these caucuses pale in comparison with the Veterans Caucus. More rally than caucus, James Carville is already so angry he could spit (correction, is spitting) by the time I make it into the back of the packed room. He is introducing Max Cleland. Cleland "will be avenged" by Kerry's election, says Carville. As Cleland takes the stage, he is interrupted by the Veterans for Peace who are shouting unintelligible slogans from the back of the room. But he quickly regains the audience's attention to tell them that John Kerry understands the true meaning of (wait for it) "being part of a band of brothers."
The one-armed Native American photographer looks on a pair of women reach out to hold hands in the row next to me. Several disabled veterans sit in the aisle with "Veterans for Kerry" signs in their laps. They all watch as Carville rants and raves, and there's a warm glow in the room. They are, after all, just one big, happy, completely dysfunctional family.
Katherine Mangu-Ward is a reporter at The Weekly Standard.