Chelsea, the neighborhood closest to the Republican Convention, is definitely not Bush country. On New York’s electoral map, both the Penn South Houses, a nonprofit co-op dominated by elderly working-class Jews, and the Elliott-Chelsea projects across Ninth Avenue, stand out as several shades more Democratic than the rest of lower Manhattan. Below 23rd Street, Eighth Avenue is second only to Christopher Street as the main drag of gay New York. Six weeks before the convention opens at Madison Square Garden, the strongest sentiment in the neighborhood seems to be a wish that it would happen somewhere else. "I’m miserable. Can you imagine what’s going to happen?" asks a white-haired woman sitting behind her walker on a bench in Penn South, the six blocks of high-rises that line Eighth Avenue a few streets south of the Garden. "I’m a Democrat, so what do I want with the Republicans?" "Chaos!" exclaims a black woman with close-cropped gray hair waiting at the counter of a restaurant just across the street from the Garden. "Why couldn’t they have it somewhere else?" "People are very, very angry about the Bush agenda," says Estelle Katz of Chelsea for Peace, based on her experiences tabling in the neighborhood. "There are only a few people who say anything pro-Bush." The antipathy to Bush doesn’t necessarily translate into sympathy for the protesters, though. "Who wants Bush? I don’t want Bush!" exclaims a Penn South resident, but she dismisses The Indypendent as "that communist paper." Others worry that protesters will try to sleep on the complex’s lawns. In a nearby building, a goateed Puerto Rican man frets that "some blowhard screaming all night" will keep him and his family awake. Penn South management has already warned co-op members "if at all possible, to stay inside" during the convention, to carry photo ID in case police seal the area, and to avoid Eighth Avenue, which will be closed. [The city also plans to build a 12-foot fence around the perimeter of the co-op. Residents will be able to enter and exit the co-op at only two places in those two square blocks. They will have to provide photo identification and proof of residence.--See correction below] But many people seem to lump the hassles of a police state together with the demonstrations as "trouble." "It’s frightening," says a woman in her sixties, the youngest-looking one on the benches. "So many people expressing their hostility, us having to carry photo ID." Like the other women on the benches, she doesn’t want to give her name. Still, a random sample of Saturday-afternoon pedestrians in the area—people in the impromptu flea market of jewelry and old videocassettes outside Elliott-Chelsea; the aged bubbes sharing Penn South benches with their Jamaican health-care aides; and passers-by outside the Big Cup coffeehouse on Eighth Avenue, a popular caffeination spot for the kind of men George Bush doesn’t want to get married—finds more people who wish Bush dead than ones who say they’ll vote for him. "Bush should be tried for treason and executed," explodes a sixtyish white man standing outside Elliott-Chelsea. He took power under "false pretenses," the man sputters, and the Republicans coming to New York is "terrible and a disgrace." "Send ‘em back where they came from," rages Calvin, a fortyish, shaven-headed black man selling used jeans on Ninth Avenue. "The economy is messed up. I’ve been looking for a job for eight months. I’ve never been out of work for eight months in twenty-five years. It’s disgusting." However, he is not going to join the protests. "I’m not going anywhere near there," he explains. "You might get arrested for walking on the wrong block." About the most positive sentiment anyone musters about the convention comes from Mark, a 51-year-old Clinton resident, who opines that "it’s wonderful to bring all that money to town." He pauses. "I plan to be out of town that week." The protesters, he adds, should be allowed inside the Garden. The Republicans should "absolutely not" come to the neighborhood, says David, a thirtyish Asian-American standing outside the Big Cup. He asks if any of the protests will be "gay-affiliated." Many neighborhood residents, however, have minimal knowledge of what is happening with the convention and the protests. "There hasn’t been much reaction," says Gloria Sukenick, a Penn South resident and longtime housing activist. "All I’ve heard is mild irritation. People don’t want to be inconvenienced." She, herself, like several other neighborhood activists, has been focused mainly on trying to stop Mayor Bloomberg’s plans to pack Chelsea and Clinton with office towers, luxury high-rises, and a new stadium. "The younger folks are the ones who are really coming out. The older folks are tired, they’ve struggled, and a lot of them are not well," says Estelle Katz. "Most people are opposing the war now, but they haven’t woken up to that their voting rights might be taken away. There are a lot of spokes to the wheel." And in a Penn South laundry room one night, a middle-aged man wonders what his rights are. "If the FBI comes to my door," he asks, "can I tell them to go fuck themselves?" CORRECTION: Due to an editing error in the latest issue of The Indypendent (#53), references in the p. 7 Chelsea story to a 12-foot-high fence being built around the Penn South co-op were inserted without attribution. The information came from an email that has been circulating on various list serves and has not been substantiated. The information was inserted without the reporter’s knowledge. The Indypendent apologizes to its readers and the reporter, Steven Wishnia.