In past years I've always watched the political conventions on television. The atmosphere on the convention floor invariably appears to be festive, with delegates resplendent in red, white, and blue, a series of speeches by familiar figures extolling American values, and broadcast media invested in the notion that their job is to humanize the nominee. Sunday night, I watched from my hotel room as CNN broadcast its deep dive on Mitt Romney. The piece had all the trappings of even-handedness. Neither compliments nor criticisms were broadcast without some balancing statement. The unstated bias was toward narrative biography, as if looking deep into the candidate's past would reveal the true character of the man behind the HD image machine.

What feels different, experiencing the RNC here at the actual venue, is the inescapable, visceral awareness of the sprawling establishment that surrounds the nominee and his running-mate.

On TV, it is easy to be taken in by the illusion that the candidate is in charge, that the speakers are all there to help introduce him to the country, and that if elected his personality, values and vision will reshape America. But here in Tampa, there are handlers, advisers, and campaign consultants. There are roving bands of reporters. There are exclusive lounges, like the National Journal workspace where I am typing these words, the Google lounge for media, where they're serving complimentary cold brew iced coffee, and other spaces that I've yet to discover, where the press is less welcome. There are countless events with corporate sponsors, delegates from all over the country, political professionals networking for future gigs, and a security infrastructure that really ought to be conveyed to America, because the fact that it's invisible to television viewers is a distortion of reality. On the ground, it is much clearer that the men on the ticket are but the most influential people in an establishment neither they nor anyone else fully controls. And though invisible on TV, the security surrounding the establishment is of great consequence, or so it seems to me after a day largely spent traversing it.

When I stepped off an Oakland to Phoenix to Tampa flight late Sunday to news that the RNC's day one events had been cancelled, I decided that Monday would be an opportune time to seek out convention protesters, many of whom traveled from cities across America to voice their dissent. Though I hesitate to generalize from my experience, cognizant that a savvier reporter might've found them more easily, my journey at least helps to convey how thoroughly they've been marginalized, partly because the reporter's journey to their vacant lot is damned unpleasant.

Here's how it went down for me.

Awaking at the Homewood Suites Tampa-Brandon, I availed myself of complimentary scrambled eggs and sausage, bypassed cheese-covered home-fries, and hitched a ride with Atlantic Media Company event staff down a highway flanked by light industry and strip clubs to Ybor City, where a lot of the socializing happens. If there is charm in this metropolitan area, this is where it resides: this small neighborhood zoned for cafes, bars, tattoo parlors, and restaurants, as opposed to used car lots and self-storage, which dominate other areas I've seen.



After a morning panel on social media sponsored by my employer, a colleague offered to drive me downtown in her rental car so that I could seek protesters. The police proved a formidable obstacle. One of many officers whose cars were angled across intersections, forcing traffic back toward Ybor City, told us that all routes downtown were closed for an indeterminate amount of time due to a protest march. With the sky clouded over and threatening squalls I decided against proceeding on foot, but neither did I give up. A streetcar runs from Ybor City to downtown. Several friendly Scientologists helped me purchase a ticket, and 20 minutes later I was bound toward the Tampa Bay Times Forum, or as close to it as public transportation would take me.