The snow-tipped peaks of the Rockies are visible in the distance toward the West, and a raging tornado touched down within a mile of my hotel soon after my arrival, but the most startling sight of the Democratic convention so far has belonged to George Bush’s idea of good government. Half a dozen policemen, in black riot gear, standing on the customized iron boards fixed to the sides of an SUV slowly sliding by the pavements crowded with delegates.

It’s quite a sight in the heat. The cops wear Kelvar vests and reinforced knee pads; they have pepper-ball guns strapped to their chest and a revolver at the hip; helmets, billy clubs, a cylinder of mace, are their other accessories; and, thin and shiny blue plastic, meant to tie the hands of those arrested, are coiled a little below the waist. These are the designer police, looking like oversized versions of a nine-year-old boy’s fantasy toys.

But there’s been hardly any protest: this isn’t the season of rage, only of hope. If not for a new future, then at least for a new T-shirt. The Democratic nominee’s face has been painted, printed, stenciled by Warhol imitators. Obama might be in Kansas today, but in Denver he is everywhere. In all colours you can imagine. In contrast, the right betrays a muted sense of colour. All the T-shirts I have seen the right-wing protesters wearing here—their backs proclaiming NOBAMA!—are the hue of deep mud.

Downtown Denver is overrun with delegates. But more than delegates there are the members of the press, nearly three times as many. And more than the press, there are the volunteers, twenty six thousand in all. In a T-shirt culture, this means that as a volunteer you get to wear an orange shirt and say “Welcome to Denver.” “Thank you,” I heard Ted Koppel say, over and over again, as he walked to the Colorado Convention Center this morning.

... contd.