Gary Younge
The Guardian
Monday September 1 2008
'Some nations have a gift for ceremonial," wrote the future third Marquess of Salisbury, Lord Robert Cecil, after watching Queen Victoria open parliament. "No poverty of means or absence of splendour inhibits them from making any pageant in which they take part both real and impressive. Everybody falls naturally into his proper place, throws himself without effort into the spirit of the little drama he is enacting and instinctively represses all appearance of constraint or distracted attention."
What was arguably true for 19th century Britain (Cecil, as it happens, believed that Britain did not possess that gift) is no less so for 21st century America. As one party convention ends and another begins (hurricane permitting), we are halfway through a fortnight of ticker tape, talking points, balloons and bluster.
There was a time when these conventions meant something more than mere pageantry. They were the place where arguments were made, platforms thrashed out and delegates wooed with policy. But like British party conferences, conventions are now essentially media events at which the media enjoys neither particular access, information nor, for the most part, insight. The result is two weeks of propaganda rolled out like a well-choreographed marketing campaign and faithfully transmitted by supine outlets.
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