Editor’s Note: While NYU Local wasn’t able to send anyone to the Democratic National Convention, we lucked out when Media Crit blogger and Opinion section alum Jessica Roy decided to make a stop there on her summer road trip anyway. Here are her impressions.

There are two things I learned about Denver and the DNC, respectively. One: The air really is thinner, and it will make you dizzy, exhausted and inexplicably thirsty, and two: Democrats look a hell of a lot like Republicans.

Sure, there were more races and ethnicities represented, and maybe the hemlines on the skirts were a little shorter, but being swarmed by power suits and perfectly coiffed manes and men in wire-rimmed glasses was disconcerting. These were, of course, the professional Democrats: the Senators, wives of Senators, and mistresses of Senators (hence the shorter hemlines). The unaffiliated Democrats who came just to support Obama differed from Republicans in their own minor ways: they were a little more wild-eyed, a little smellier, and a lot more outraged. They roved the streets of Denver with their posterized Obama t-shirts proclaiming “Change!” and “Hope!” They dressed their babies in anti-Bush onesies and stayed in fancy downtown hotels with open bars called creative things like “The Mile High Bar.”

I arrived in Denver on the first day of the convention, Monday August 25th, exhausted from having driven from Philadelphia to San Francisco and then on to Denver. There was a palpable energy infused in the air that made the city feel like a cross between New York and DC. That night we wandered the streets amongst distraught Hillary supporters and men selling Obama pins. My friend’s neighbor scored us passes to an exclusive post-convention party, but we were turned down at the door for not being 21. We returned to our Motel 6 on the outskirts of the city to watch Michelle Obama’s impressive oration. That night we slept fitfully with prostitutes, bedbugs and a bloodstained carpet.

The next day we ventured to the Free Speech Zone, a specific area near the city capital zoned off to allow protests to take place freely. My impression of America is that the entire nation is a Free Speech Zone but ha! Who am I to judge? The zone consisted of several types of people:

1.) Jesus freaks with pictures of bloody, aborted fetuses on them screaming about how we are all sinners.

2.) Hippies and socialists decrying the government and whining about peace.

3.) Anarchists with tattoos and piercings smoking unfiltered cigarettes screaming things at the Jesus freaks and the hippies.

One of the most obvious changes to Denver during the convention was the immense police presence. There were fully uniformed SWAT teams at every corner, prepared with plastic handcuffs, pepper spray and guns. They mostly manned the Free Speech Zone to protect innocent civilians from the above mentioned folks.

My friends and I were disappointed to discover that first night that you could not get within a quarter mile of the Pepsi Center without a convention pass. The next day, after much hoop jumping, I managed to score an arena pass to see Tuesday night’s convention happenings. It was the night Hillary Clinton was speaking, and so it felt very appropriate that I attend. I am a liberal feminist but I have always been severely anti-Hillary, going so far as to write numerous pieces for both my personal blog and NYU Local essentially condemning her candidacy. If I hadn’t seen Clinton throw her support behind Obama with my own two eyes, I probably wouldn’t have believed it. My pass only allowed me access to the area surrounding the floor, but towards the end of the speech I got to sneak down and watch Clinton finish. It was a terrific speech, and much-needed, considering the deep divisions in the Democratic party. Interns passed out signs that read “Unity” on one side and “Obama” or “Clinton” on the other. I gratefully chose an Obama one and waved it while Clinton finished her speech. Afterwards, an Australian reporter asked me what I thought of the event. All I really had to say was, “finally.”

Throughout the two days I was in Denver I had witnessed a number of disgruntled Hillary Clinton supporters mulling around the various neighborhoods with faces like clay sculpted into angry smirks. I drove by a Hillary support parade and tried not to shout things out the window. Two acquaintances of mine, Colin and Emily, were closely involved in the Clinton campaign: Colin had taken a semester off to work for her campaign in New Hampshire, and Emily was a New Hampshire delegate. At an after party held at Johnny Rocket’s for the New Hampshire delegation, which included NY Governor David Patterson and various state senators, I asked Emily if the delegation was going to take the advice Hillary had doled out and give Obama their votes. “We haven’t decided yet,” she replied shakily, and ate another onion ring.

This enthusiastic and blind support for a candidate who is, um, no longer a candidate, truly baffled me. I shot her a death glare, finished my milkshake, packed my Obama sign into the car and headed towards Iowa to complete the rest of our road trip.

Photo by Jessica Roy for NYU Local.

This post was submitted by Jessica Roy.