CHICAGO — Of the many clarion calls for sustainable agriculture at the Rolling Thunder Down Home Democracy tour last Saturday, none was as endearing or confused as the one given by a young man dressed as a giant carrot. "Organic cropping is a whole lot more work, but 50 years from now, we'll be in better shape," said the sentient vegetable. After a gust of wind scattered his pamphlets, he tried to recover his poise.

"Look at the Chinese. In 1949, there was a huge famine. The king gave the land back to the people to farm, and they survived." As another zephyr dispersed his literature, the Carrot somersaulted in hot pursuit on the lawn of Union Park, fetching applause from an audience more eager to lend him a hand than ask whether or not the Chinese Communists actually abolished hereditary monarchy.

So went the day at Rolling Thunder, part political convention, part revival meeting, part Teach-In for the plethora of political causes grouped under progressivism's patchwork banner. Volunteers from the Peace and Jobs Petitioners danced around in pseudo-medieval garb singing an adaptation of Cinderella's "Bibbidi, Bobbidi, Boo." Carnival games staffed by members of True Majority included "Knock a Nuke, Build a School," and "Dunk the Lobbyist," the latter featuring a decidedly unlikely politico with gargantuan sideburns decked out in an ill-fitting, sopping wet black suit. Sweet Pea's Studio Family Yoga Center and Unitarian Universalists for Social Justice vied for attendee's attention with mounds of literature. The Democratic Socialists of America even produced some original scholarship by their Honorary Chair and Princeton's new star, Cornel West. Score one for Larry Summers: the article, "Toward a Socialist Theory of Racism," was a re-issue of a pamphlet produced in the 1980s.

For an event lacking in coherence what it produced in diversion, the most visible activists at Rolling Thunder were those fighting for food and water purity. Strangers to the progressive cause are often surprised by what "progressive" actually means. Of liberalism's usual suspects — including choice, gun control, healthcare and housing — all but labor took a back seat to a vast array of activists pushing Free Trade Coffee, locally bottled water, chemical-free farming and vegetarian dietary alternatives. Vendors offered nary a meat product in the city that once was America's stockyard; the closest hungry fair-goers could get to historical accuracy in this regard was a "Not Dog," a soy cylinder infused with an aftertaste eerily reminiscent of the hot beef injection itself.

Above the murmur of concerned Socialists and lefty para-psychologists, celebrity voices droned on into the warm Chicago afternoon, followed by scattered folks sitting on the straw-strewn grass, smoking and noshing on Not Dogs. Jesse Jackson Jr., took the stage sweating through his white tee-shirt, repeating that familiar refrain: "I have a dream" But this time, the ghost of the civil rights struggle lent its support to broader calls for social justice. Jackson proposed an up-to-date version of the Equal Rights Amendment and a 29th Amendment guaranteeing adequate public education for all citizens. Responding to critics who would address the difficulty of mounting a Constitutional change, Jackson retorted theologically: "I believe in a man who parted the Red Sea. I believe in a man who walked on water. I believe in a man who healed the sick. I believe in the impossible."

It was an oddly confessional moment at an event whose participants couched their idealism in more local, less Biblical language. The Illinois Green Party amended the rhetoric of 2000 presidential candidate Ralph Nader to address the burning issue of Chicago's deep tunnel project, a public works patronage-fest advocated by the city's Commission on Water Reclamation. Citing the corruption of the city's political machine, the Greens have their sight set on scrutinizing the process by which excess rainwater will be diverted into Lake Michigan. The Greens also collected signatures to get local candidates on Congressional ballots, none of which appeared to advocate the sweeping Constitutional changes proposed by the steaming Jackson. It mattered little, apparently. When Jackson left the stage, one of the Green party's volunteers smiled and asked for my support: "Isn't this so cool?" she asked, pen in hand.

Perhaps not for everyone, since compatibility between the national efforts of prominent liberals and the microdemocratic grassroots didn't always cohere on Saturday. Take the example of Dave Kraft, who directs the Nuclear Energy Information Service. Advocating against creating a nuclear waste dump at Yucca Mountain in Nevada, Kraft sounded positively Nader-esque in criticizing the Democrats for failing to adhere to the progressive agenda on nuclear issues: "There will be some organizations saying that if the Democrats can't do the job, we cant support them. We will give them as much grief as possible." One of his volunteers added that if the Republicans adopted a sensible posture on nuclear waste, she would even consider voting for them.

The exchange prompted one suspicious passerby to note that "A working person voting Republican is like the chicken voting for Colonel Sanders." Internecine conflict still haunts progressives, where calls for organization often reflect a measure of disorganization largely missing from well-heeled opponents on the right.

Labor poses an even deadlier problem for concerned progressives: Courted at the national level by a Republican administration eager to recapture enough Reagan Democrats to ensure reelection, liberal union members see their leadership risking a sordid compromise. Paul Rausch, of the United Steel Workers of America, smiled ruefully when asked if he though President Bush had done the right thing by raising tariffs on imported steel. "We have to applaud what Bush did," he said. "But we can't be blinded into thinking he loves us. That's why I'm here and not at a Republican fundraiser. It shouldn't take 30,000 people on the Ellipse [in front of the White House] to get the attention of our government," he added.

While self-described "normal agitator" Jim Hightower congratulated Jackson on his speech, proposing that perhaps the civil rights scion might consider a Presidential run, the activists and their audience were coming to terms with the difficulty of broaching the mainstream without star power. In a packed tent devoted to representatives of the progressive media including editors from Mother Jones, UTNE Reader, In These Times and The Nation — the discussion seemed bleak. "Most reporters and editors think the stuff you care about is boring," said The Nation's Washington correspondent, John Nichols. "Bottom line, you have to recognize that they live in their world. For the left, the best thing is to be funny."

But for every self-satirical gadfly collegially lampooning the left's tendency to take itself too seriously, Rolling Thunder produced a cadre of serious, if marginalized, idealists. Catherine Griffiths, who collected e-mail addresses to bind the progressive community closer together, didn't worry too much about following Nichols call for levity. When asked why she participated, she answered with a straight face: "The event is more about issues that are less mainstream. Where does our food come from? Our bottled water? The public has rights to air, water and food."

Jackson didn't try to elicit any laughs with his speech, either. "The South Side of Chicago should be like the North Side of Chicago," he thundered. "We're here not just to enjoy ourselves, but to work."

The sincerity of his religious overtones reflected the event's competing calls for both irony and earnestness. And while God-talk may be de rigeur populism, it remains to be seen whether the left — home to the few remaining advocates for secularism and irony in wake of Sept. 11 — can risk resources promoting all of the cacophonous voices of Rolling Thunder without undermining itself.