From where I was sitting in the hall at the Republican National Convention on Wednesday night, the most cinematic moment was a strange omen. Halfway through Ted Cruz's speech, the Jumbotron behind him began to malfunction. A black window opened at the edge of the screen, nicking the right shoulder of the Texas Senator's two-story image.
After a few tense moments, it seemed like the problem was fixed, for light beamed forth again from the precinct of pixels. It didn't last long, however. The Jumbotron wouldn't cooperate, by turns blinking and blurring before it finally blacked out, altogether. It was a fitting metaphor for the man who stood before it, for he wasn't very cooperative either. Refusing to publicly endorse the Republican nominee, Cruz stunned the convention by telling the delegates (and the millions watching at home) to "vote your conscience," a suggestion directly at odds with a four-day affair planned precisely to tell Americans to vote for Donald Trump.
Precision in aim hardly guarantees precision in execution, and with regards to the latter, the execution of this convention, in the words of one GOP operative I spoke with, is "worse than the worst case scenario." Before it even began, the event was so severely strapped for funds that the RNC turned to publicly cajole Shelden Adelson to help them cover a $6 million shortfall. The speaker line-up was clearly assembled at the last minute, with at least one big named guest, Tim Tebow, apparently uncanvassed as to his own interest in attending the event before it was announced he would address it. The speeches, themselves, seem to have been barely vetted for interest, length, or consistency of message, with one speaker, Dr. Ben Carson, discoursing at length on Tuesday about Hillary Clinton's connection to Lucifer. And for hours on end during prime time television coverage, the convention hall has looked as if it has roughly the same number of attendees as a minor league hockey game. As one former Rubio campaign aide said glumly to me, gesturing to the ceiling, "I hope the balloons will work."
They did, of course, but the chaos of the convention is undeniable, and it serves as both a metaphor and a manifestation of the civil war that is brewing in the GOP. Assembling a four-day national convention is a delicate and demanding exercise under any circumstances, but when a significant portion of a political party refuses to play ball with its presidential nominee, the task seems ripe for disaster.
For my own part, the chaos puts me in mind of a warning I provide students whenever I teach a course in leadership. I tell them that what we discuss in class will lend itself to the soft skills of being a leader--how do you inspire people? how do you demonstrate the qualities of power and authority?--but any lessons must be complemented by the technical expertise afforded by a comprehensive course in management.
Whatever else you might say about Donald Trump, in the primaries, he impressed upon Republican voters that he has the strength, decisiveness, and sheer moxie for leading the country. After this convention, however, one wonders what they will make of his aptitude for managing it.