So, how’d we do? Well, we did good. Over time, of course, we’ll know how good. A key business expansion here, a relocation there would certainly be validating. The direct economic-impact will be significant, even if nine figures’ worth is debatable.
But for the immediate short term, context and candor–so blatantly absent, for example, in the convention remarks of vice presidential candidate Paul Ryan–are required.
Priority one: The security plan, for all of its military-occupation ambience, worked.
Chicago can come back from the notorious “police riot” of 1968 because it’s Chicago. “Ground zero” has morphed into a patriotic icon because New York won’t play the victim. New Orleans can survive killer hurricanes because it’s the country’s only “Big Easy.” But had Tampa 2012 become a synonym for chaos and political devolution, then Tampa, an ambitious second-tier city, would have seen its potential blindsided. We’d be pleading with Jon Stewart to please come back and parody our humidity, insects and lap-dance entrepreneurs.
Let’s start with what nobody officially gave voice to. We knew we were gearing up for First Amendment-exercising “protesters.” And we knew we were girding for nihilistic, property-trashing “anarchists.” But nobody wanted to play the paranoia card about planning for would-be “terrorists.”
Worst-case scenarios plausibly passed the possibility test.
We are uniquely symbolic to America’s enemies. The war in the Middle East is fought out of MacDill AFB, right down the road from the convention. Plus, the party that was convening here was the very one that went to war in the first place–and still thinks it’s a good idea. They also consider saber rattling a form of foreign policy.
But motivation is not the Secret Service purview. Logistics are. As in air space, a bay and channels, and a crush of people from somewhere else. As in a “dirty bomb,” a suicide driver, a bogus-credentialed blogger.
If the price to pay to thwart terrorism and pre-empt a jihadi pep rally is turning the Forum and Convention Center area into an x-ray-and-wanding Checkpoint Charlie, so be it. If the price to pay to deter mayhem in downtown is to give it the off-putting look of martial-law lockdown, then it will be paid–in concrete barricades, 8-foot-tall fences and high-profile troops.
The implementation, of course, was largely up to Floridians, about 4,000 strong and seemingly omnipresent. The sheer show of law enforcement manpower–on foot, on bikes, on horseback, in jeeps, in boats, in helicopters–was logistically deterring as well as psychologically jarring.
But also in evidence: protocol training. Security personnel–even while looking like storm troopers–still managed to talk softly while carrying big assault-rifle sticks.
If MVP awards were handed out, they would have been parceled among TPD Chief Jane Castor, Assistant Chief John Bennett and Hillsborough County Sheriff David Gee. They were avatars of their own orders for discipline and dignified demeanor. There were no orders to shoot, but there were orders to bring food and cold water to the designated protest area.
Security forces were also beneficiaries of advanced scouting. Notes were taken on what went wrong, such as faulty communication, in St. Paul in 2008. As a results, uniform (khaki) uniforms and radios were adopted to facilitate coordination as well as communication. In addition, sweeps were done to search for–and ultimately confiscate–various forms of contraband. It wasn’t all Guy Fawkes masks.
Of course, it really helps when law enforcement–ranging from TPD cops and Sheriff’s deputies to national guardsmen and Secret Service members–outnumber those they are policing. Tampa benefited from a perfect security storm: the combination of Tropical Storm Isaac uncertainty, oppressive humidity, inconvenient geography and well-orchestrated, advance notice of serious security preparations. We may also have benefited from a protester element a bit too easily dissuaded by the prospect of discomfort. The net result: only two convention-related arrests. St. Paul had 400 times more.
Mayor Bob Buckhorn, who was highly visible, unfailingly accessible and the ideal point man for the city on its biggest-ever stage appearance, nailed the bottom line for Tampa.
“I’d rather over-prepare, over-train and over-deploy and put an overwhelming show of strength on the streets,” he explained. “Had we not done that, and had we had incidents that the entire world would see over and over again, we would have lost in the long run.”
The Trade-Off
Any event that requires an “overwhelming show of strength” is going to, perforce, have a downside besides intimidating atmospherics. It’s called local business. As in up-close-and-personal local. If you’re a restaurant, for example, and your name isn’t Bern’s, Columbia or Mise en Place, you likely didn’t see a windfall–unless you had a catering connection.
If, for example, your name is The Metro–just steps away from Police Headquarters on the 500 block of Franklin Street–you saw your modern American cuisine business–execs and lawyers for lunch, condo-and-apartment dwellers for dinner–fall off a cliff. The Friday before convention week The Metro had 175 dinner-reservation cancelations. In place of reservations: misgivings.
Everyone stayed away in droves for a week. None of it was compensated for by visitors. Political convention sorts don’t wander off the itinerary to establishments such as The Metro.
According to The Metro’s co-owner, Bill Nelligar, lots of locals either left town or just hunkered down. “They told us they were afraid to come out,” said Nelligar. “That it had the look of an unfriendly, intimidating scene. They said–and a lot of them posted it on line as well–that they were afraid that they would say the wrong thing or look the wrong way. They told us they heard it was a war zone.
“Then we heard some delegates–the few who wandered by on the off-day (Monday) but didn’t come in–say that this area looked like Beirut,” he added. “It looked boarded up and had a martial-law feel.”
And Nelligar was hardly alone among local restaurateurs. Anecdotes of angst and anger surfaced from downtown to Channelside.
“This should not happen to a city,” said a clearly exasperated Nelligar as he surveyed his empty, late-lunch-hour restaurant and looked across the street at the newest incarnation of what used to be Beverly’s Card & Gift Shop: now an RNC gift shop. A Barack Obama punching bag was prominently displayed on the sidewalk. He sighed audibly–and empathetically. “We want the RNC to go away worse than Isaac.”
If there is a lesson to be learned, perhaps it is this: If you’re a bricks-and-mortar entrepreneur in the shadow of a political event requiring the Secret Service, national guard, concrete barriers and POW-camp fencing, expect the worse. Think vacation. Perhaps the host city and host convention committee could manage expectations better–and not hint that opportunity may await, as if the Shriners were hitting town.