Baby Bills, continued

by Dan Kennedy

It's not hard to see why the Gore campaign hoped it could find magic by choosing LA. Unlike the First Union Center, the concrete tomb on the outskirts of Philadelphia where the Republicans held their convention two weeks ago, the Staples Center is located in the heart of LA's downtown. The adjective "glittering" is not inappropriate. The best feature is a huge courtyard with palm trees and, this week at least, dancing balloon figures, food stands, and free concerts. And though the Democrats have tried to keep the protesters away, let the record show that one reggae band dedicated its final song to celebrity cop-killer Mumia Abu-Jamal. Try doing that at a Republican convention.

Thus far, the convention has focused like a laser beam on the proposition that the presidential contest should be about issues, not personalities. As veteran political journalist Elizabeth Drew noted this week on Voter.com, "The Republicans are running against Clinton's personal approval ratings, which are low, and the Gore campaign is trying to get the contest on the level of the job-approval ratings, which are high." The result has been a relentless -- and, to my eye, reasonably effective -- assault on the recently concluded Republican convention, with its inclusive rhetoric, troglodytic platform, and willful attempt to gloss over real differences on the issues.

Sure, parts of the Democrats' response have been as boneheadedly dumb as anything the Republicans came up with, especially Monday's Oprah-like panel shows featuring former welfare mothers, beneficiaries of the family-leave law, and victims of gun violence. After one particularly sappy video about an ex-welfare mother named Mary, Louisiana senator Mary Landrieu chirped, "Aren't we all so proud of Mary? From Shreveport, Louisiana, she's one of a kind. But she's not alone." I would like to have hurled.

But much of the convention has involved old-fashioned substance -- that is, speeches by important, recognizable Democrats, starting with Hillary Clinton's well-written (though robotically delivered) talk, followed by Bill Clinton's masterful performance and, the following evening, rave-ups by the Reverend Jesse Jackson and Senator Ted Kennedy that were right out of the pre-television era. Kennedy's was entertainingly archaic; even his voice sounded thin and tinny, as if it had been pulled off one of those CDs of historic speeches. "Fight for Al Gore because he is fighting for you!" he bellowed, chopping his arms in the air and looking for all the world like his grandfather, John "Honey Fitz" Fitzgerald, in one of those daguerreotypes from the early 1900s. He was followed by Bill Bradley, who -- contrary to expectations -- did not let the air out of the room but actually delivered a passionate performance. And unlike John McCain, who acted like a neutered lap dog when he spoke at the Republican convention, Bradley was not afraid to bring up campaign-finance reform -- the issue that Gore, despite his rancid personal history, says he will make his first priority if he's elected.

For my money, though, the most effective speech of Tuesday night was by Elizabeth Birch, executive director of the Human Rights Campaign, the country's largest gay-rights group. The party had already signaled its commitment to equality for gays and lesbians with Melissa Etheridge's performance the evening before, but Birch filled in the details. And she neatly stuck the stiletto into Dick Cheney, whose daughter's lesbianism wasn't even acknowledged at the Republican convention (privacy, you see, as though it were something to be ashamed of), and who, despite having what is by all accounts a good relationship with his daughter, compiled a shockingly anti-gay voting record when he was a member of Congress. "It is not enough to love your own child," Birch said. "We must love all children and heal the family called America."

Take out the LAPD (please!), and this week has been as good a build-up as Al Gore could have hoped for. He's close in the polls, he's got a respected running mate, and the Clintons, even while indulging their narcissism, nevertheless went out of their way to acknowledge that it's his week.

But the sense of foreboding won't go away because Democrats know that Gore, even when given every advantage, remains a distant, vaguely unlikable figure. His last speech at a national convention -- a floridly emotional description of his sister's death from lung cancer -- turned out to be an embarrassment when it was revealed that he'd continued to take tobacco-industry money for several years after her death. Gore is supposedly writing this week's speech, the speech of his life, all by himself -- news that is not likely to put any of his supporters at ease.

"I think people who are warmly disposed to Bill Clinton are more likely to be Gore supporters than Bush supporters," former Clinton press secretary Mike McCurry told me. If McCurry's talking about political activists, that's undoubtedly true. But if he's talking about the vast middle of the electorate -- the people who maybe watch the presidential candidates' acceptance speeches and the debates, but otherwise pay little attention -- then McCurry may be whistling in the dark.

Thanks to Bill Clinton's triangulations and George W. Bush's squishy rhetoric, the Republican and Democratic Parties appear to many people to be just as much alike as Ralph Nader says they are. Gore now has to make the case, once and for all, that it's not true -- that Clinton really did stand for something more than a warm smile and a strategically bitten lower lip.

No doubt voters will still find Bush more likable than the slashing, pandering, truth-shaving Gore. But if Gore can convince them that he is the true inheritor of Clinton's legacy, that may be enough come November.

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Dan Kennedy can be reached at dkennedy[a]phx.com.