Harvest Time

In a Hyatt meeting room, 20 or so have gathered for the women's caucus meeting. In this portion men are not allowed. The women begin with introductions; each gets to speak for a minute; rules are tightly enforced. What they say is not personal, in the usual sense, as in "I'm from California and have two kids."

"I'm interested in how the system works to disenfranchise women" is a common intro. Medea Benjamin talks about how President Bush keeps women scared as a way to justify the war on terrorism. Terri Baum, who ran against Rep. Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.), says, "As a lesbian I feel isolated."

To be called on, people do not raise hands but twinkle their fingers. One woman requests to go beyond the agreed-upon minute. "Can we get consensus for one more minute?" someone asks. "A second?" "Any objections for another minute?" By that point three minutes have gone by. There are lots of "points of clarification for the minutes."

Morgen D'Arc, who is running the meeting, prowls the room, her eyes shaded by masses of curls gone gray. The real drama seems to be taking place outside. There is, of course, a splinter group. Some women say D'Arc has usurped the group's leadership, that she has banned them. They have printed up fliers to this effect. "Not Enough Democracy!" they say, although there couldn't be more.

The room is full now that men have been allowed to join. Sitting in the back, humbly obscured, is the Green Party's other candidate for president, David Cobb.

"Hey, I know you," he says to another reporter. "You slept on my futon, man," and sits for an interview.

Cobb is what counts in the Green Party as Clintonian; he grew up in a shrimping village on the Texas Gulf Coast in a house with no flush toilet. People here say he speaks like a preacher. He wears khakis, stained with coffee, and an open neck shirt; once this weekend he put on a tie.

He describes himself as a "male feminist, white anti-racist ally." He reminds himself often that "white privilege exists and male privilege exists." For a running mate he considered only women, and chose Patricia LaMarche.

Cobb ran Nader's campaign in Texas in 2000 and speaks highly of him. "Nader has done more to influence my life than any human being who's not related to me. He's a public icon and one of my personal heroes," says Cobb. "But it's a question of institutional self-respect."

Cobb has developed a strategy he calls "smart growth." In safe states, those that are locked up for Bush or John Kerry, he tells Greens to vote Green. In battleground states, he says, "Vote your conscience," which is understood to mean hold your nose and vote for Kerry.

"John Kerry is a corporatist militarist, but George Bush is a genuine threat to the planet," he says.

Saturday morning in a conference center near the hotel the voting begins. It may be a convention but there are no balloons, no music, just a video of the ocean and a thumb stroking some flowers. There's one flag but it has a peace sign where the stars should be. About half of the guys onstage sport ponytails; none is wearing a suit.

Over three days the fight between Cobb and Nader and all their proxies has gotten nastier. Cobb's people pointed out Camejo had once run on a Socialist Party ticket. Nader's camp accused them of red baiting. Each accused the other of secretly shilling for Kerry. Nader finally did call Friday night, and on a speakerphone broadcast to his supporters described the choice as one between "fear and fortitude."

But on this final morning a truce has been reached. Whatever happens, both Camejo and Cobb promise to leave the convention hall "arm in arm."

States come up one by one to announce their votes. The delegates introduce their states opposite from the usual way, listing points of shame instead of pride. "Tennessee, the first Superfund site." Or Utah, "where you can have multiple wives." Sometimes they mention obscure ecology projects in the works, to great applause. Someone in the Minnesota delegation votes for Eugene V. Debs, the socialist hero, also to great applause.

In the first round no one gets a majority. In the second round, the candidates have narrowed and Cobb's votes are ticking up. California, the mother ship of the Green Party, gives him 22 more votes. That's when his supporters know and start cheering wildly. The honors are saved for Texas, his home state, which puts him over the top.

The meaning is clear to everyone; the Greens have picked one of their own.

"The Green Party has gotten out from under the shadow of the man who casts a larger shadow than any other American," says Cobb.