Hope, hate and hysteria: Donald Trump and the Republican National Convention

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Showbiz, of course, attracts a crowd, and the convention was unmistakably theatrical. Trump first made an appearance on Monday evening, appearing in silhouette and then walking on to the stage to Queen’s We Are the Champions in order to introduce his wife Melania as a speaker. Everywhere the slogan Make America Great Again! appeared on banners and official merchandise, although there was no more baseball caps, “buttons” (badges) and T-shirts than at the recent SNP conference. Outside the arena the paraphernalia was cheaper and more outrageous, one badge imploring Trump to "Bomb the Hell Out of ISIS".

Inside I spoke to Dr Barbara-Ann Smith, a delegate from Grand Junction, Colorado, although, like her party’s nominee, she originally hails from New York City. Unlike some naysayers and "Dump Trump" delegates, she has supported him all along. “I knew he was going to win the nomination,” she said proudly. “I told all my friends he would.” I asked about Hillary Clinton and her cheerful demeanour darkened. “I’ve studied her,” she replied. “She’s a criminal; she’s had people killed.”

This was not an uncommon refrain, indeed the crudely punning Hillary for Prison 2016 was an RNC meme, emblazoned on badges, banners and even a small plane circling the clear-blue skies above the city. Republicans hate Trump’s Democratic rival with the same intensity Scottish Nationalists reserve for former Scottish Labour leader Jim Murphy. Calling her Crooked Hillary, Trump’s favourite term for his rival, borders on affectionate so vitriolic is most anti-Clinton bile.

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Trump, by contrast, inspires a degree of affection, at least among some delegates. “I met him in grade school, we went to a dance together,” remembered Dr Smith. “This would have been in the late 1950s. He was my kind of guy: I love blonds – I married a blond – and I thought he was a real gentleman.” So he was handsome? “Absolutely! He was a straight arrow when I met him, he’s a straight arrow now.”

So for Dr Smith there was no contest. “It’s like spiritual warfare,” she declared, “evil against good.”

If you think Scottish (or indeed UK) politics is polarised, you ain’t seen nothing yet. It’s axiomatic in US politics that there are Republicans and Democrats and never the twain shall meet; each camp doesn’t merely dislike the other but can barely comprehend them. Think CyberNat meeting BritNat and quadruple it.

Speeches inside the vast convention arena, meanwhile, followed a similar pattern: a quote from Ronald Reagan (Republicans worship the former president like Conservatives do Baroness Thatcher), something about the American Dream, a strident personal attack on the Democratic nominee and a final declaration of "God bless America!” followed by rapturous applause. Rinse and repeat, ad nauseam. Discussion of policy is conspicuous by its absence, but then Trump, when asked by The Economist about his likely economic policy, simply said it’d be “something awesome”.

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Strikingly, many of those speaking from the podium didn’t exactly go out of their way to lavish praise on Trump, who was confirmed as the Republican nominee on Tuesday. Usually, a candidate will emerge from within the party ranks, an established senator or governor who is known to delegates. “The Donald”, however, is not that sort of politician. Rather the Grand Old Party (GOP) finds itself with an outsider as its runner for the White House, uncomfortably grafted on to an already dysfunctional organisation.

Thus the GOP is split between those genuinely enthusiastic about Trump (not an insignificant portion of delegates in Cleveland), those who didn’t want him as nominee but are backing him for the sake of party unity, and finally a number of party grandees who regard his emergence as a political catastrophe. This leant a fractious air to the RNC, with several observers noting a muted response to the formal announcement of the Trump/(Mike) Pence ticket.

Two delegates from Montana, Ron and Valerie Fick, fell into the first category in that they were genuinely enthusiastic about Donald Trump. “A lot of people are tired of political correctness,” said Ron, whose hat was covered with badges from previous Republican conventions. “He says things a lot of people would say if they weren’t afraid to do so. His views on immigration have also hit the spot with a lot of people, especially victims of crime perpetrated by illegal aliens.” Both had found speeches at the convention from relatives of people killed by "illegal aliens" “very moving”.

Ron and Valerie were also angry about media coverage of Trump’s wife’s speech, particularly the claim that long sections had been plagiarised from a speech by Michelle Obama at the Democratic National Convention back in 2008. “To quote Shakespeare,” Ron told me, “it’s much ado about nothing, a red herring. Why would she plagiarise someone else’s speech? It just helps create some controversy, gives the media something to write about.” Again, such cynicism was widespread. Even the sidewalks of Cleveland were emblazoned with signs saying Don’t Believe the Liberal Media!

So where did that leave Hillary, I asked with faux innocence. “Behind bars!” replied Valerie. “She has such a chequered history, with the Whitewater controversy [a real estate investment scandal], her emails, legal practices – some are really on the borderline.” I asked what they made of the standard criticisms of Trump, chiefly that he was needlessly offensive and a bully. “Nobody’s perfect,” was Ron’s careful response. “The last perfect person got nailed to a cross.”

Cynthia Bartholomew, a “alternate” delegate and estate agent from Texas, fell into the second category. She supported Ted Cruz during the primaries but was philosophical about Trump. “He is our nominee,” she told me. “He got all of his electoral votes fair and square, and voters will like him or not.” She honed in on his business experience as a reason he’d make a good president, although I got the impression she didn’t fully believe this herself. “Yes, he may not say things very diplomatically,” she conceded, “but I’m not going to be one of those 'Dump Trump’ people."

This was a reference to moves to “unbind” delegates through some procedural chicanery, enabling them to back a candidate other than Trump (although who the alternative would have been wasn’t altogether clear). It failed, and although Kelly Procter-Pierce, a first-time delegate from Arkansas, was careful to acknowledge that those opposed to Trump had “the right” to stage that last-ditch attempt to halt his candidacy – “it’s part of being an American” – she reckoned they were only a “small minority” within the GOP.

“But I do think it’s time we moved on,” she said firmly. “We’re past that point, we need to get behind Donald Trump and move this engine forward.” Why did she think he was the best person for the job? “Because he loves America! He’s a leader! He’s going to lead Americans to make changes to make us safer and put us back to work. And he’ll do this in a unified way instead of dividing the country like Hillary. She’s much more of an elitist – ‘I know what’s best ... We’re going to do it my way.'”

This perception of Trump as a unifying force was repeated by several speakers, and would obviously strike many as lacking in empirical evidence, for his demographic challenge is well known. The main problem is that the group who offered him the most support during the primaries were white men without a college degree, who make up much less of the November electorate than it does Republican voters.

It’s also a group – often pejoratively termed Angry White Men (AWM) – that’s been declining as a percentage of the electorate for quite some time. Realising this, following the 2012 election the Republicans put together a plan to broaden their appeal beyond non-white voters, but of course Trump has blown that out of the water with his widely-publicised remarks about banning Muslims, building a wall on the Mexican border and casual misogyny. Tactically, therefore, many believe he can only hope to win by boosting support from that declining group of AWM.

This seems unlikely, although of course so did a Trump candidacy just a few years ago, much like Jeremy Corbyn’s rise as Labour leader. Nevertheless, last week’s RNC was clearly making concerted efforts to tackle certain preconceptions about the Republican nominee’s unpopularity. Charlie Kirk from an organisation called Turning Point USA was almost convincing in declaring “we are the party of youth and diversity”, citing prominent elected younger, female and Hispanic Republicans across the US. I even saw a sizeable group called Chinese Americans for Trump.

On Tuesday evening the former golf pro Natalie Gulbis cited Trump as an inspiration in combatting her “frustrations about being treated unfairly as a woman”, particularly when she tried to launch a business career. The aim was self-evident, for the Republican nominee faces a wide gender gap among voters, a recent poll showing him trailing Hillary Clinton by double digits. But while this might be a considerable problem among the wider electorate, none of the female delegates I spoke to believed there to be any problem.

Two younger Republicans, Jay and Richard Gonzalez from Tallahassee, Florida, aged 13 and 12, were philosophical, telling me that whatever his faults Trump would be able to “destroy” Clinton and that was “all that mattered”. “Yes, he says dumb things, obviously,” conceded Jay, “but it’d be much worse if Hillary gets into the White House. She’s a liar, and we can’t afford what’d just be a third term of Obama.”

This was another common refrain, that a Clinton victory in November would simply continue Obama-ism by another name, something many delegates regarded as a damaging ideology akin to “socialism”. But given the polling and intemperate remarks, I asked several delegates, did they actually think Trump could reach the White House? “I think he’s going to surprise a lot of people,” reckoned Ron Fick. “A year ago no-one thought he’d be where he is now.”

Tom Moran, a part-time bus driver from Michigan, was so concerned about a potential Trump victory that he’d taken two days’ unpaid leave to mount a modest protest a few blocks from the arena. He’d been particularly appalled to hear him mock a disabled journalist during a press conference. “If it was any different Republican candidate I wouldn’t be here,” he told me, “but I work with people with disabilities, and anyone who’d make fun of them is not a person who’s fit to be president.”

I asked Moran why Trump had nevertheless managed to emerge as the Republican candidate and even lead Clinton in several polls. “He appeals to people on a simplistic level,” he replied. “It’s like people in your country who voted for Brexit: all those promises about more money for the health service and reducing the number of migrants – Donald Trump is making the same unrealistic promises the Brexit people did.”

He acknowledged “broader issues” in US politics. “One of the big ones is the economy. There are more jobs but they’re badly paid and lack benefits.” Those Angry White Men, in other words, have lots to be angry about. “No one president, however, can change that,” added Moran, “but Trump gives the impression he can do something about it – the world has changed and people are uncomfortable with change, but you can’t turn the clock back.” I asked how he’d feel if Trump won in November. “I’d be embarrassed to say he was my president,” he replied sadly. “I’d be embarrassed to say I was an American.”

Like many other Western countries, the United States has changed not just economically but socially. God, Guns and Gays has long been a refrain at Republican gatherings, but the party has an active LGBT group (Log Cabin Republicans) and the only overt homophobia I heard took place beyond the secure RNC zone. One protester in a red polo shirt and cargo shorts warned that both “Homosexuals and homosexual supporters will go to hell”.

Surprisingly, however, the LGBT community is virtually the only group of voters Trump hasn’t so far offended, perhaps betraying the fact some of his personal views are more liberal than those of mainstream Republicans. But a nursing student at Cleveland State University, who would only give his name as Brendan, remained wary. “He’s for guns, he’s against gays, he does not like us at all. He’ll stack the Supreme Court and overturn the marriage equality act. Hillary might be a little bit crazy, but she’s not going to take away my rights.”

It goes back to the oft-made point about culture wars: liberal Americans tend to fear what Trump represents, meaning the forces of populism and reaction. In Cleveland’s Public Square those opposing world views came face to face, with police officers, state troopers and soldiers – many dressed as if prepared for a terrorist attack – almost outnumbering the protesters. They were present in such numbers to avoid any clashes between Trump supporters and groups like the US Revolutionary Communist Party. "America Was NEVER Great!" screamed one of their banners in a riposte to the official RNC slogan, "We Need to OVERTHROW This System!"

Some moderate Republicans might have been minded to agree, but Trump’s candidacy is as much a product of decades of polarised US politics as economic and cultural wars. John Aron, an IT worker and native Clevelander, told me he reckoned America had been “on the wrong track since Clinton version one back in the mid-1990s” and, like many locals I spoke to during the convention, he didn’t much like either candidate in November’s election, disaffection regarding Hillary extending well beyond the GOP, albeit expressed in less strident ways. “But those,” added Aron wearily, “are the options we’ve been given.”