Civility Now

The Coffee Party wants to be the sober antidote to bellicose Tea Partiers.

by Holly Otterbein

Neal Santos CONVERSATIONAL POLITICS: Philly Coffee Partiers Helen Zartarian, Steven D. Mewha, Michael Fiore and Brent Groce (L-R) would like to have a polite discourse with you.

[ peace, love and understanding ]

It's a half-hour into the inaugural meeting of the Philadelphia Coffee Party, on March 13, and the 20 attendees have reached an impasse: They can't decide what to write on their protest sign.

A few people in the group, which is overwhelmingly white, educated and rounding the corner between midlife and old age, joke that the poster should read, "Yes We Can." "What about Coffee Party for health-care legislation?" asks a bespectacled, snow-haired woman. "Or something about campaign-finance reform?" asks another.

Or perhaps a more local statement? Or an apothegm about the state's primary election? Or a pithy motto on immigration?

Then, suddenly, the indecision over the sign, whose only raison d'être is to be a prop in a photograph of the Philly Coffee Party members, is forgotten. The conversation turns to more esoteric subjects, like the recession, campaign finances and whether fringe-liberal movements have been as historically pugnacious as their right-wing counterparts. At times it's a feverish, even ungainly discussion, with Coffee Partiers taking more dissimilar stances than one might imagine. A debate over whether the Coffee Party should aim to be more "civil" than the Tea Party is especially volatile, and one attendee's suggestion that allowing Republicans in the group would be counterproductive — even suicidal — also roils people.

In the midst of the discussion, three women announce that this is their last meeting. "I'm involved with other organizations that are more focused on what I want to accomplish," explains Magali Larson, a longtime Philly activist and former chair of the sociology department at Temple University. "The Coffee Party is new, and may have too many ideas for its own good."

Ironically, what Larson ranks among the Coffee Party's weaknesses — an openness to many different ideas — is exactly what the group bills as one of its greatest strengths. In early 2010, Washington, D.C.-based filmmaker Annabel Park founded the Coffee Party as an alternative to the Tea Party, the conservative activist group that nearly derailed health-care reform this March.

"It started as a personal desire to say, look, the Tea Party doesn't represent me," says Park. "But then it became a place to talk about issues in a way that isn't so ugly. Health care didn't have to be a polarizing issue. Immigration doesn't have to be, either."

Local Coffee Partiers say they joined the group because they were both frustrated with and in awe of the Tea Party. On the one hand, it had succeeded in creating a big tent for disaffected conservatives, which the left, fractured into countless niche movements, lacks. But then again, the Tea Partiers had done this though egregious means, Park and other Coffee Partiers argue.

"The first time I saw the Tea Party, they were holding signs that had photos of President Obama with a bone through his nose, saying disrespectful things about him, interrupting people's conversations," says Michael Fiore, who became the Coffee Party's regional coordinator for eastern Pennsylvania earlier this spring.

Brent Groce, a Philly Coffee Party member, adds that he wants to see the group become as populous as the Tea Party, but through a "more civil, reasoned voice. But will people respond to that in the world of sound bites? Honestly, I don't know."

So far, they don't seem to be. Though coordinators claim 250,000 Coffee Party members nationwide — Chicago alone with 1,600 followers — the bona fide membership in Philly is about 10. Conversely, several hundred Tea Partiers attended last year's Tax Day protest in Love Park, which took place less than two months after that group was conceived.

Without much evidence that the masses will sign on, Philly Coffee Party members are running with their modus operandi. At the group's first meeting, attendees signed a "civility pledge," which reads: "I pledge to conduct myself in a way that is civil, honest and respectful toward people with whom I disagree."

The Philly Coffee Party is so concerned about being tempered, in fact, that its work thus far has taken place largely outside the public eye. The members have held meetings in serene coffee shops and private homes, and when they met with U.S. Rep. Chaka Fattah, they did so in his Walnut Street office. Their civility pledge apparently extends to politicians, as well: Rather than criticize Fattah or ask him why Democrats didn't push for a public option on health-care reform, they simply thanked him for voting for reform at all.

Larson, the activist who dropped out of the Philly Coffee Party after one meeting, believes the members are good-natured, but naïve. "They think that if the left could only be nice and cooperate with the Republican Party, we would get things done," she says. "That's laughable. You can't cooperate with the Republican Party. This is a group whose base hates cities, hates blacks and browns, and hates the new America."

Though the Philly Coffee Party is as tame as a bake sale by most accounts, its next event will be its most showy yet. This coming Sunday, May 23, at the Ritz at the Bourse, the group will attend the 1:15 p.m. matinee of the documentary Casino Jack and the United States of Money, which tracks lobbyist Jack Abramoff's influence on politics. (Currently, the national Coffee Party is pushing its membership to crusade for campaign-finance reform.) Afterward, says Helen Zartarian, coordinator of the Philly Coffee Party, they'll set up a booth with fliers and business cards, hoping to attract prospective Philly members.

"I have to get business cards first, though," says Zartarian, bashfully laughing.

How much success the Philly Coffee Party has at this and future events could, in a small way, betoken something about whether or not a soft-spoken, big-tent, liberal movement is currently viable.

"I really hope we can have a quiet revolution," says Park, "where we're not just acting blindly, but we're really deliberating over the changes we want to see."

Park aims to achieve this through a national conference in Louisville, Ky., workshops on community organizing and even rallies come the fall. By then, she expects the Coffee Party will have a major say in the debates on campaign-finance and immigration reform.

One person who won't be by Park's side: Michael Fiore, who left his position as the Coffee Party's regional coordinator for eastern Pennsylvania last week.

He didn't respond to City Paper's calls asking why.

(holly.otterbein@citypaper.net)