Texas was pulled into one of President Donald Trump’s Twitter negotiations this weekend, and it spawned a bad idea that needs to be squelched before it gets any traction.

Trump is seeking assurance from North Carolina’s governor that his Republican nominating convention will be allowed to gather at full attendance in late August, and he threatened to move it to another state. Vice President Mike Pence soon followed by suggesting Texas as a possible alternative.

Normally, we’d be receptive to any large convention that wants to bring tens of thousands of visitors (and their millions of tourist dollars) to the area. We want the world to know about our hospitality, our great restaurants and entertainment options. We have two world-class venues, AT&T Stadium and the brand new Globe Life Field, either of which would be ideal for a convention where delegates could spread out.

But this is not something Texas, or the Dallas-Fort Worth area, needs right now. Not just because of the coronavirus, but let’s start there.

Scientists have recently focused on the idea that a key way to stop the virus is to ban “super-spreader” events — essentially, mass gatherings where people are packed inside together. Every delegate, activist and reporter who came to the convention would risk carrying coronavirus back to their hometown.

And convention delegations typically include a lot of older people, the kind who have spent years working in party politics, and thus more people vulnerable to serious illness from COVID-19.

That said, no one knows what the state of the pandemic will be in August. It’s possible that by then, gatherings will seem safer, particularly with a good plan to insist upon social distancing. But even under the best circumstances, some precautions will be necessary. And throwing together a political convention in three months would be a logistical nightmare that no city or region should attempt.

Conventions typically take at least two years to plan. Security is the foremost concern. Federal, state and local agencies spend months planning for every possibility, and blocks around the convention site are locked down for days.

To accommodate visitors, thousands of hotel rooms must be secured and doled out to state delegations, media outlets and others. Transportation must be arranged, and that means packing people into buses, trains and other mass transports.

Tons of volunteers are needed, too, and they must be recruited and directed. And then, there’s the money: When Dallas sought to land the 2016 Republican gathering, it promised $60 million in local funding — collected over a couple years, not three months.

There’s also the issue of so much uncertainty with the rest of business amid the pandemic. Will restaurants be able to operate at full capacity? What about other activities? If the major sports leagues are back up and running by then, scheduling conflicts could be an issue.

Besides, if any year was ideal to test whether the parties can get by with significantly scaled-back conventions, this is it. The conventions have largely been pre-packaged messaging operations for years, even if 2016 saw some internal dissent rise up in both parties and make for more drama than usual.

Pushing away convention business isn’t ideal, and we hope it won’t last long. Cities rely on hotel and rental-car tax as a revenue stream, and the economies of Fort Worth and Arlington benefit mightily from visitors. Our cities could play an important role in starting up convention business again.

But not now, and not with this massive undertaking. Let’s hope Trump and North Carolina work out their differences — and that by 2024, our region is ready to invite either party to town.

This story was originally published May 26, 2020 at 4:43 PM.