The Clinton Molehill

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DENVER--Talk about a time warp.

Judging by the early chatter out here in Denver, you'd think this year's Democratic nominating convention was happening in 1992. Why? Because everyone's obsessing over the Clintons. Reports that Hillary "wasn't vetted" for the veep slot have spread like wildfire, spurring a small but vocal posse of disgruntled Clintonistas to wail that Obama is not doing right by her, and never has--nevermind that she asked to skip the formal process, or that Team Obama had more than enough info after 17 months of oppo research to evaluate her alongside her fellow finalists. This gnashing of teeth and rending of garments has in turn encouraged the McCain campaign to release a pair of troublemaking ads questioning why Obama didn't pick Clinton, including its latest, "Debra," which features a Clinton delegate saying "a lot of Democrats will vote McCain" because he's the only "one with the experience and judgment to be president." Smelling drama--or at least the illusion thereof--the press has pounced, producing a flurry of breathless reports on the tensions that either a) "boil between the Obama [and] Clinton camps" or b) "linger as some Clinton supporters are left frustrated." Others have opined that with Hillary speaking Tuesday, Bill speaking Wednesday and Hillary's name being placed into nomination Thursday, Team Obama has effectively let her steal the show and undermine that whole purpose of the convention (that is, to launch Obama's candidacy in earnest). Either way, the convention, according to the chatterati, is shaping up to be a Clinton-Obama cagematch.

Please. Anyone who thinks that a roll-call vote and some sad silver-medalists constitutes a controversial convention probably didn't pay much attention in U.S. Politics 101. "By historical standards the Clinton nomination is totally mild," says Costas Panagopoulos, professor of political science at Fordham University and author of "Presidential Nominating Conventions in the Media Age". "Looking back historically, conventions have tended to be hotbeds of controversy, and this year simply won't compare." The most extreme example of conflict, of course, was the rioting at 1968's Democratic convention in Chicago-think window smashing and police beatings. But a convention doesn't need armed combat to qualify as controversial. In 1860, the Democrats were so divided over slavery that they held two conventions, eventually convening in Baltimore despite the absence of the entire Southern wing of the party, which was boycotting the nomination of Stephen Douglas. In 1896, 36-year-old Nebraska Congressman William Jennings Bryan wasn't even considered a presidential contender upon his arrival--until his fiery speech calling for the free coinage of silver so electrified delegates that they spontaneously awarded him the nomination. In 1924, it took the Dems 103 convention ballots to settle on hapless nominee John Davis, and 28 years later they drafted Illinois governor Adlai Stevenson after three divided votes--even though he'd said repeatedly that he didn't want the job. Even the supposedly "controversial" decision to place Clinton's name in nomination is hardly unprecedented--runners-up Ted Kennedy (1980), Gary Hart (1984) and Jerry Brown (1992) all received the same treatment, and they won far fewer votes and boasted far fewer delegates than the former first lady. Given that Clinton herself has frequently emphasized unity--even going so far as to deploy a 40-person floor team meant to keep her supporters in line--the chances that she'll deliver an off-message speech (like Pat Buchanan in 1988) or give Obama the cold shoulder (like Kennedy did to Carter in 1980) are exceedingly slim. "At the end of the day, the convention will go smoothly," says Panagopoulos. "The Dems realize there's a high price to pay if it doesn't, and no one--not Clinton, not Obama, not vast majority of the delegates--is willing to take that kind of risk."

Still, don't expect that to stop the press from reporting on this year's festivities as if war had broken out in Denver. Even though nominating conventions have become almost completely newsless affairs in recent years--notice how the whole "choosing a nominee" part of the process has already, you know, happened--the MSM is devoting more money, more bodies and more space (primarily online) to covering them than ever before.  In theory, that's dandy; in practice, it totally skews the signal-to-noise ratio. While the demand (if not the audience) for convention coverage has presumably increased, the supply has drastically declined. To fill the growing void with the stuff of news-that is, conflict--the media is content to make ever-bigger mountains out of ever-smaller molehills. And this year's molehill is the Clinton controversy. "No offense to your profession, but there will be 15,000 journalists in Denver seeking to make any minor differences seem like a major controversy," says Panagopoulos. "They'll be reading between every line to detect notes of disunity." Ultimately, scrutiny will help Obama as much as it helps the networks--as Panagopoulos notes, the "nice thing about the appearance of controversy is that it attracts attention and pulls in viewers who would've otherwise not watched the convention." (And remember: the Clintons will be singing Obama's praises on stage, and her supporters would've been a lot angrier had they been denied a roll call vote. That's more unity, not less.) As for the rest of America, though, hyperbole isn't particularly useful. So while you're watching Wolf Blitzer and Chris Matthews jabber endlessly about this year's soap opera, just remember what real conflict looks like--and adjust the volume accordingly.