On any other day, the mass of cars doing middle-of-the-street U-turns on West Hacienda Avenue would've caused a ticket-writing frenzy. And as few as five years ago, the protest in front of the Venetian might have led to terse orders and pat-downs by Las Vegas police. But it's no normal day when the president comes to town, as George W. did last Tuesday morning to pad a campaign war chest that will easily top the New York Yankees' payroll.
It began Tuesday morning at Spring Valley Hospital. As stone-faced Secret Service agents and Army fatigue-wearing Rambos in combat Jeeps stood sentinel, Metro cops directed motorists, sometimes forcefully and often loudly, to alternate routes as men in black secreted Bush into the hospital for a Medicare talk to an invite-only crowd.
By 9:15 a.m., the north parking lot was hog heaven: motorcyles side by side in single-file lines with cops on top or leisurely leaning on them. The most dangerous thing about the event was, on normal days, the most mundane: The sidewalk that stood between the police and protesters.
Or, rather, the Sidewalk of Death.
"You step on that sidewalk and you will be shot … they [the FBI] were already on one guy," a lady, who'd thought the Bush address was public, told a nurse coming in to work and headed toward the Sidewalk of Death.
Inside the hospital, an elderly lady warned a couple seeking entry that things could get terminal if they tried to get an audience with Bush: "They will shoot you."
Outside, a Metro officer reiterated the message to pesky inquirers: "Whatever you do, do not set foot on that sidewalk. It might be the last thing you ever do." (Metro failed to return a call for comment on their apparent policy for shooting sidewalk scofflaws. A Metro cop at the Venetian expressed disbelief—"No way!"—when told of the sidewalk death threat).
Medical personnel, the people with the skills to save lives, certainly heeded the word, taking smoke breaks far from the Sidewalk of Death.
Later, at the Venetian
The Venetian's sidewalks were decidedly less dangerous but a heckuva lot more crowded. While Bush collected $1 million-plus at his noon fund-raising luncheon, some 800 protesters, herded into gated areas fronting Las Vegas Boulevard, whooped and hollered about the many things the prez has flubbed on, from Yucca Mountain to Iraq, Medicare to the economy. No stone-faced feds this time, only hotel security with Secret Service-like earplugs working overtime to look stern, and real Metro cops to keep the security guards from unleashing any pent-up insecurities. And no threats of being shot. However, a couple of demonstrators did expound on America's fate if Bush and veep Dick Cheney get another four years in office. It rhymed with "Deer Bucked."
And that's the way it stood. Metro police were cool, collected, even getting a firm "well done," from ACLU onlookers. And the protesters stayed within their little fenced pen near the front entrance, chanting and garnering horn blasts from passing semis.
Then the ACLU was on the move.
"When the main protest broke up, there were some other protesters who were told to move to a designated area by Venetian security," said Allen Lichtenstein, American Civil Liberties Union of Nevada general counsel. "They told some protestors the sidewalks were private property, and they couldn't demonstrate on them.
"I walked over there with a Metro officer and informed Venetian security of the protesters' rights. The security folks said they didn't know about any court rulings and would go to their lawyers."
Again?
The Venetian has already spent what some estimate to be millions trying to keep the public sidewalk in front of their casino private. But in recent years, courts have affirmed the public's right to congregate there. The U.S. Supreme Court and two federal courts have upheld the rights of preachers proselytizing on Fremont Street, leafletters on the Strip and Culinary Union members protesting on the Venetian's sidewalk. The sidewalks in front of the $2 billion casino are as free as the sidewalks in Pahrump.
"We keep hearing reports about the Venetian and other hotels … when the ACLU is not around, they tell people to get off the sidewalks because they are private sidewalks," Lichtenstein says. "The casinos don't want to hear that they are not private sidewalks and will continue harassing people until they are forced to comply with the law. I hope it doesn't take going to court—because then there will be sanctions and it will get nasty and ugly."
The Venetian's vice president of brand marketing, Scott Messinger, tells it differently, noting that protestors had their own area so as to avoid conflicts. He says security didn't alert management to any problems. "As far as we're concerned," he said, "there's no story."
Still, at least one observer among the 200 or so gazing at the throng from the Venetian balcony and bridge, beamed at the thought of Venetian owner Sheldon Adelson looking down at the protest and fuming. "This has got to just gall him," she said.
Messinger declined comment on the casino's stance regarding the sidewalks and whether the protests upset Adelson.