10 Reasons the Virtual DNC Worked (and what we can learn from it)
It was full of theater, the good kind.
Going into this week, I was worried that the virtual Democratic National Convention would be a polished, but essentially stale, conservative, de-risked event with a bunch of talking heads. Instead, the Dems pulled off a relevant, weird, moving four-day prime time virtual convention that we can all learn from.
Early in the pandemic, Aaron Z. Lewis tweeted, “Social skeuomorphism — tfw you try to copy/paste IRL social activities into a digital context without making any alterations. Digital dinner dates, movie nights, etc. often makes you feel *more* distant by highlighting all the subtle differences b/w the virtual and the physical.” When trying to figure out how to move a canceled IRL event online, he says, it’s easy to think: “How do we take what we’re used to and put it on the internet’?” Instead, ask: “What can we do in digital spaces that’s impossible to replicate IRL?”
The DNC did exactly that: Instead of trying to replicate a traditional IRL convention on TV, they re-imagined it. And we are all the better for it.
Why did the virtual DNC work so well as a gathering?
They opened with us, and stuck with us throughout. There were real people grounded in specificity within five minutes of the opening. When Eva Longoria asks, “How are you doing?” and we see a farmer in a pink collar talking about soybean tariffs and how difficult Covid has been on his family business in his living room, and a nurse talking about figuring out schooling for her kids in front of her plaid couch, we are looking not only at them but at us. Throughout the four evenings, every 30 or 40 minutes, the focus of the gathering would go back out into the country. Again and again, they asked us to answer the questions: Who are we? And who do we want to be?
They made disputable decisions that weren’t for everyone, but had a reflective filter (Joe). To some, it felt overtly Christian with ministers (and a nun) opening with prayer. To others, there were one too many Republicans or former Trump voters. And yet, each choice reflected the candidate: “That’s Joe,” I kept hearing people say. Joe is religious. Joe believes in reaching across the aisle. Joe is really good at holding a nation in grief. There were real decisions being made based on who the candidate is. (I believe that’s a legitimate decision filter because voters should know who they’re voting for and what their actual values are.)
They didn’t hide that people weren’t all in the same place; they highlighted it. “I’m reporting from my hometown of Atlanta,” Sally Yates says. “I greet you from Black Lives Matter plaza in DC,” reports Mayor Muriel Bowser. Pete Buttigieg spoke from the site (a furniture factory-turned-events space) he and Chasten got married. And of course, the Roll Call was the embodiment of letting us see where people actually are around the country – cue the Rhode Island beach-side calamari man.
They re-imagined what a Roll Call can be. The Roll Call was powerful because it did what an actual roll call is meant to do: help us see each other and understand who is part of the ecosystem and whether each part is present. By allowing people to choose a location in their home state, speak simply and personally, and be themselves, they transformed a mundane routine into a fresh and meaningful ritual. One of the greatest challenges of governing this nation is its size and diversity. In reading Jill Lepore’s incredible book, These Truths, I was reminded again and again of how at different moments various founding fathers fretted the nation was becoming too big to govern effectively and feel like one people. This Roll Call — seeing a herder in Montana surrounded by cows talking about the difficulty of Zooming when you don’t have strong wifi or a meat-packing worker in Nebraska wearing a mask saying, “They call us essential workers, but we get treated like we’re expendable” or Matthew Shephard’s parents in Wyoming — reminded us of the enormity of who we all are in rapid, human succession.
They broke form and used a mix of formats. While the Roll Call deservedly got the most attention, they broke form in all sorts of ways. The hosts didn’t just stack a series of speakers hour after hour. They had Biden “facilitate” virtual group conversations with people around the country on a specific real topic (the health care crisis, Covid). They hosted a Zoom “family reunion” of the previous Democratic rivals rehashing their favorite Joe moments. They invited musical interludes, from John Legend and Common to Billie Eilish to aerate the convention without over-relying on entertainment to keep people watching.
There was a coherent throughline that tied Biden’s story to our national story. It’s time to restore the soul of America and Biden can do it. He can do it because he intimately knows loss and grief and brokenness. He can do it because he’s a decent man. His struggle with his own stutter gave him an empathy that helps him actually see people as individuals. And then additionally, Jill Biden’s role in helping his broken family become whole again was an extraordinary metaphor for what the country needs.
They fussed over the transitions. They had a talented, relevant host every evening to create a unifying experience, but they didn’t over-rely on them. We saw people around the country collectively clapping (in real-time) after a keynote, which, though it didn’t work every time, allowed for the natural response that would otherwise have come from the crowds in the stadium. It was very pandemic-esque.
It was just-enough polished and just-enough awkward. There were no moments of major tech snafus, and yet witnessing the slight delays during the transitions allowed us to also see the breathing, nervous (read: real) Jill Biden waiting in the school hallway to start her maiden live speech.
They closed strong, each night. Basically, just always close with Michelle Obama and you’ll be fine. Endings matter. Night after night, they understood the power of the close.
They worked to transform us. We’ve been conventioned. To have a gathering be transformative, you are simply taking people from one state to another state. How will people be different because they experienced this gathering? Yes, we are technically taking Joe Biden and Kamala Harris from the presumed nominees to the actual nominees, but in so doing, we each are shifting as well. From cynical or fearful to hopeful or open. From worried and resigned to worried and in-motion. From checked-out to checked-in.
The purpose of any of these conventions is to rally us.
Was it perfect? No. Was the time allocation across speakers what I would have suggested? No. Did they lose some steam by Night Four? Yup. Could they have involved us on our couches in more participatory ways? Sure.
And yet, given that this was on a national scale with very high stakes, they got the job done, creatively, innovatively, and humanely.
On the third evening, @CAMONGHNE tweeted: “This convention has done something for me. Glad for it.”
I’m glad for it, too.
Inspirations
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Earlier this summer, I had a conversation with the inimitable Meg Rapinoe on Reset the Table. Check it out.
Clever: Learning During a Pandemic
Thank you to AOG reader Isata Yansaneh for putting us onto Clever’s Ep.123: Learning During a Pandemic. It’s a conversation between Amy Devers and the Presidents of RISD, MICA, and ArtCenter on sustaining art and design schools through...learning during a pandemic.
