This kind of angry confrontation was easy to come by on August 29th. Nearly everywhere Republicans held an event, protesters were waiting for them outside to shout that the delegates were baby killers, heartless, brainless, and hated; that the Bush regime has ruined the country and has begun to work on the world. From the theaters in Times Square to Alice Tully Hall in Lincoln Center, Republicans entered and left events with the same message shouted at top volume: you are not welcome here. Marveling at the scale of effort and energy required to pull off the largest convention protest in American history causes me to wonder about the protester’s goals. It seems unlikely that the visitors will be swayed after being called fascists, that Bush supporters will take a step back and review their positions after hearing the chant “The time has come Republican scum.†After all of the middle fingers I’ve seen and blood-curdling accusations I’ve heard, I can’t believe that the intent is to change minds or initiate new members into the ranks of independents and Democrats. If the goal is to make the Republicans here for the convention as uncomfortable as possible, we can take pride in our collective success. Regardless of how much you may enjoy Aida, you enjoy it much less if hundreds scream that they hate you while you step outside for intermission. The direct confrontation of protesters and the side effects of inconvenient checkpoints and spooky scenes of helmeted police wielding clubs has made things unpleasant for our red state friends. But is discomfort the best we can hope for? Many delegates made a point of smiling and waving to the angry protesters, apparently not at all bothered by the unwashed masses held securely in place and safely at bay by burly officers. We’re winning in numbers, and the legions of anti-Bushies give each other hope and energy, but the protests seem like a losing battle. The happenings around the city are a metaphor for the larger situation in America. The rich and powerful dine in beautiful settings and enjoy elaborate entertainments in air-conditioned theaters, while the hungry, hot, and dehydrated majority wait in the sun for a chance to voice their frustrations. The powers that be have learned many lessons over the years, and there will not be any Selma-like images of police raining down billy club blows in teargas smogged streets or demonstrators being pinned to walls by high-pressure jets of water from fire hoses. The oppression we face as the poor, hungry, and uninsured come in smaller chunks over long periods of time. You can’t photograph children being brought up in under funded public schools, only to face unemployment and the impossibility of medical care once they achieve adulthood. These tragedies don’t have the same power on television or the internet that a single photograph of Selma still has. It’s not enough to intimidate our opposition in this class war. We need something to rally behind, something easy to understand that will win the hearts of our oppressors, much the way the public was moved to support civil rights by the brutality against African Americans during the civil rights movement. If the people in power will not and cannot see the damage that is being done to the rest of us, only a bloody and terrible revolution will save the United States. The powerful will not relinquish what they have willingly unless they come to believe that what they’re doing is wrong. And so, for now, while we await our chance to declare our anger, hot and hungry, America’s elite enjoy their meals on the waterfront and don’t think too much about the low din outside the restaurant. They toast to George Bush and hope for four more years of quiet comfort and luxury as the people that serve their drinks and sweep up after them die a little bit every day, much too slowly to be captured on television.