I just returned from the Democratic National Convention in Denver, attending the last night not as a delegate, but as a private citizen. That day, I endured a five-hour car ride, a 2½-hour plane trip, a flat tire in the rental car and a bomb threat on the light rail. Then I stood for over two hours in a line a mile long to enter the venue. As I walked slowly across the Colfax Street bridge, an elderly woman remarked that it reminded her of when she marched to Selma; I did not complain. While waiting, I observed a vast array of people, young and old, rich and poor, fit and infirm. Despite the wait, none of them turned back. There were also many entrepreneurs hawking their souvenirs, with a multitude of protesters expressing their opinions, and I realized that this is all part of the American way.

Inside gathered 84,000 people, the largest crowd ever to attend a political convention. The sold-out stadium was abuzz with an electricity that intensified with time. People laughed, cheered, hugged and cried. Mostly, they shared their stories about a purpose for being there and their excitement about trying to change things in their country, for themselves and their fellow citizens. It was the 45th anniversary of Dr. King’s “I Have a Dream” speech; he would have been proud.

 

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