Summary

Since WordPress.com does not give you the option of displaying posts in reverse order, here’s the recommended reading order:

1. About
2. The Arrival
3. First Impressions Fizzled
4. Caveats
5. Obama
6. The Former President
7. Hillary
8. Edwards
9. The Return (Polls Closing)

The Return (Polls Closing)

We touched down in Baltimore at 11pm Sunday night. One day separated us from the polls. When we’d arrived in New Hampshire 4 days earlier, Hillary led the Democratic crowd, but her advantage had evaporated, leaving behind only a significant deficit. During that time, most of the Republicans and all of the major Democratic candidates had blitzed through the state searching for that coveted undecided voter.  I’m glad I wasn’t one: I’d only had three and a half days to canvass the candidates, but I couldn’t pick a favorite for all my efforts.

We’d tried to see the Republican candidates, for the record, but they didn’t seem to be fighting with the same intensity as their Democratic counterparts. Romney, Giuliani, and Thompson’s websites were either poorly navigable or lacked lists of upcoming events. Moreover, they were, for the most part, living in a different reality. At the Saturday night debate, most of the Republicans were convinced that the economy was going swimmingly, Bush’s policies were unquestionably wonderful, withdrawing from Iraq was a sop to terrorism, there was nothing wrong with healthcare, and taxes were simply too high. Obviously, they’re pandering to their base, and as a Democrat, it is difficult for me to empathize with their perspective. But I find it telling that the only two Republican candidates with serious momentum (besides Ron Paul, which is an entirely different phenomenon) were Huckabee and McCain: both had web sites that were easy to navigate and clearly and prominently showed upcoming events (accordingly, they were the only ones we got close to seeing). They were, of course, startlingly different; Huckabee had cast himself as an economic populist, whereas McCain’s image was that of a tough prosecutor of the current administration’s corruption and protector of the country.  The ‘change’ buzzword that Romney repeated like a mantra was indeed an expression of the vision of the populace, but most of the Republican candidates acted as if it was October, 2001.

Democracy, according to legend, functions best in small spaces: Athens, for example, or an Israeli kibbutz. New Hampshire is a small sandlot that should fulfill that conventional wisdom. And in a way, it does: the major cities in the Southern part of the state are easily accessible to each other, allowing the candidates and voters to actually engage in discussion over the issues. Each candidate is so desperate for votes that they usually will take the time to allow any people they encounter to evaluate their character as well (with some notable exceptions, like Fred Thompson and Rudy Giuliani, who seemed to be non-existent).

But can the micro make decisions for the macro? Even if a significant majority of New Hampshire’s fine folks have taken the time to truly evaluate the candidates, the state is a poor representation of the country as a whole. Traveling through the state, the lack of color in the faces was unnerving to a white kid who grew up in a 30/30/30 white/black/Hispanic town. The cities are small, and, while charming, cannot elicit the same challenges and solutions as New York or Chicago.

Nor were the people as engaged in the election as I’d expected. Maybe I’d had a romantic, naieve view of the situation, but I imagined 1800′s French saloon-type discussions everywhere. A few people were willing to share their views, particularly at the events, but many, many people were disengaged. On Saturday night, when ABC was airing live back-to-back Republican and Democratic debates, not a bar in Portsmouth was showing it. In DC, election season is titillating; major debates spawn viewing parties for a range of political persuasions, bars advertise drink specials.

Maybe that lack of public engagement is a good thing. Elections are too much about the horse race in DC, the minor shuffles and gaffes that provide ammunition for newspaper columns and the cable shows. This trickles into the rest of the country, where campaigns dissolve from real concerns about the future to the immaterial and immortal question about who to best share a beer with.  The Hillary town hall we attended, for example, only reached the general public as a story decrying her inability to fill a high school gymnasium as a sign of her electoral doom.  Nary a drop was spilled about what she said; of course, the reporters covering her could probably recite her answers for her thanks to sheer repetition.

New Hampshire’s primary, which will end in a few hours, will have a disproportionate impact on the country. If the polls are accurate, the media will anoint Obama nominee. McCain, Romney and Huckabee will either praise or dismiss the results, then run to South Carolina, hands locked tightly around each others’ necks. But life will continue in the state after the cameras and candidates escape. The snow will slide off trees and rooftops, melting into streams and bays. People will go back to work, traffic finally uncongested again. The trees in New Hampshire will continue to stand contemplative, their branches weighted with snow. Occasionally, a wind from a passing truck will dislodge some of the frozen powder, and it will sigh to the ground in a cascade of white dust. And all that will remain of the millions of dollars spent here will be a few neglected Ron Paul signs, half buried in a snowbank, yellowing with age.

Hillary

Hillary Clinton was holding a town hall meeting and rally at a high school gymnasium the following morning. With her candidacy thus previewed, we headed to the small town of Penacook to see if we could be half as impressed as her husband claimed.

The gym was crowded, but, according to media reports, it didn’t necessarily need to be. The stage was located 3/4 of the way down the basketball court, with the very back of the bleacher and curtain props situated somewhere near, I imagine, the top of the key. Maybe the campaign was concerned about the image of empty seats – which the press surely would have trumpeted; maybe they simply didn’t expect many people to show up (which in itself is a bit sad – last week’s frontrunner didn’t expect to attract more than 500 people on a Saturday morning). Either way, it gave the Senator an opportunity to show her problem-solving skills as she interrupted her stump speech to find seating for everyone. At the same time, though, it seemed disingenuous, like a planned failure that she could easily solve publicly.

She answered questions on nearly every issue imaginable. More importantly, she didn’t dodge any of the questions, but addressed them completely and thoroughly – first by explaining the issue to anyone in the audience who didn’t know about it, and then by explaining exactly what she was going to do to resolve it. No Child Left Behind was a perfect example. She briefly, but effectively, enumerated a number of problems with the law and its implementation, starting with Bush’s broken funding promises and continuing with a clear explanation of the trap it has laid for gifted and disabled students alike. Her solutions involved more math and science, more room for creativity, and testing that looks for improvement instead of an arbitrary standard.

Her answers to questions about healthcare were also intriguing, because she took several (5 or 6) questions relating to the topic at once before explaining her position and plan. Though she did miss one of the questions (about stem cell, which she addressed later) her ability to answer several distinct questions while still explaining the key components of her health care proposal – itself a complex issue – showed a tenacity of intellect that was surprising given the insane hours the candidates were keeping.

In general, her answers were in line with modern mainstream Democratic thought: bring troops home responsibly, institute universal health care, provide for better education opportunities, and allow the tax cuts on the rich to expire. None of this was much different from Obama, Edwards, or DailyKos.com, despite her reputation of triangulation. Similarly, she did not exhibit the cold compassionless persona that the media has wrapped her in. Instead, while talking about children, for example, her heart seemed open.
While I was impressed, others were not as enthused. Perhaps the wonkishness of her answers bored people. Maybe the length of the exchange – approximately 2 hours – reminded them that the day was slipping away. And, of course, there’s always the possibility that she said something they couldn’t stomach. Either way, by the end of the event, there was a steady, albeit narrow, stream of people making for the exit. As people around us left, they didn’t grumble with displeasure, or anxiously check their watch. Instead, sleepily, (and respectfully) they shuffled down the bleachers until they were out of sight.

Isn’t this their responsibility, though? New Hampshire’s first in the nation status is predicated on their vaunted ability to thoughtfully weigh policy prescriptions, to take the time to really grasp the intricate details of each candidate’s stances. According to this argument, New Hampshire’s voters were by and large unswayed by cults of personality or media distortion. Not all the voters in the crowd left early. But enough did that questions about the underpinnings of New Hampshire’s privilege lingered.

On the other hand, I left her rally impressed with her intelligence and warmth. My girlfriend was converted, but I remained undecided: I still had difficulty believing that Hillary could convince enough Independents and Republicans to establish the mandate she would need to govern into the next decade. She showed that she knew the ins and outs of all the relevant issues, but not that she could defeat the ‘vast right wing conspiracy’ ready to be let loose. I eventually came to the conclusion that Bill Clinton was only half correct: Hillary may very well be the best President if elected, but she was far from the best candidate.

Edwards

Edwards’ final ad in Iowa featured a laid-off Maytag employee telling the story of Edwards promising his 7 year old son to fight for his job. It was a moving ad; just as much a celebration of the common man as it was of Edwards was himself. The town hall we attended was just as much of a celebration: dazzling lights, rock band in the corner, a festive energy, it was just streamers and champagne short of a New Years Eve party.

Like a revival preacher, Edwards bounded to the stage (on time, I might note – the only candidate all weekend with punctuality) with a million dollar smile and a fire and brimstone message. The devil, though, had taken the form of health insurance companies, drug companies, and all the other embodiments of corporate greed that loomed in the public eye. They were evil, he declared. And he was going to fight them, because honest people deserved the chance to succeed and to be treated with dignity.

I believe that a lot of corporations have spent the past 8 years pursuing profits at the expense of the common good. Examples abound: the pursuit of proven, ‘me too’ drugs instead of ones that can save lives, health insurance companies that deny life threatening or preventative care. The sweatshops of China and leaded toys they create need to be counteracted with safe, regulated toys produced by people who are not exploited in their creation.

Edwards’ entire appeal rests on the premise that the only way to fix the problems ailing America is to fight. His pugnaciousness is definitely appealing. It’s reassuring to know that there’s someone looking out for your best interests, particularly when you feel your livelihood being leached away by the greed of corporate elites interested in the bottom line.

But I don’t think his trumpeted approach, forcing drug and insurance companies into line, is feasible. Democrats, particularly the so-called ‘angry left’, have seen the success Republican anger has had at the polls and in Congress, and they want to replicate it. Unfortunately, attacking major corporations is not as effective as attacking the ‘entrenched interests’ that attract Republican ire. Unions, for example, are nowhere near as powerful as the corporations employing their workers, as the writer’s strike has shown. In contrast, the terrorist threat, while very real, is, on a day to day basis, nebulous enough that there will be no press conference response to any attacks.

Health care firms, on the other hand, will dig deep into their pockets to counter any assault – just like they did in the 1993 HillaryCare debacle. The moneyed status quo does not relinquish power at the first sign of a fight.

That’s not the entire issue, though. No matter how much of a political buzzword ‘change’ becomes, the general population grows concerned when new ideas become implemented. When that change is pushed along on a wave of anger, it is difficult to convince people of its effectiveness. The issues, in effect, become clouded by the rage. And when the path toward a better America falters, people yearn for the easier days of yesteryear.

Edwards’ speech and question answering was impressive. The unpolished moments, when the smile and charm slipped a bit, only humanized him. Furthermore, he cast himself as the underdog, the candidate the media ignored – too scared of the upheaval he would cause in the boardrooms. I doubt many in the audience left thinking he was just telling them what he thought they wanted to hear. His passion was just too convincing, even if the message was not.

Throughout the event, I tried to place the familiarity of his words. It shouldn’t have been difficult, though – he was channeling his inner FDR. His stump speech was reminiscent of Roosevelt’s famed 1936 Madison Square Garden speech decrying the plutocrats trying to unseat him. In that speech, he derided his opponents as dishonest, dishonorable, and tyrannical. Edwards’ words weren’t far off.

This was evident in the crowd as well. Obama drew mostly young people, and Hillary’s audience looked like a cross-section of New Hampshire. But most of Edwards’ audience self-identified themselves as union workers or environmental activists. Interestingly, Edwards’ town hall meeting was the only event where LaRouche supporters handed out flyers before the Edwards volunteers could even get you to sign in. The synergy was telling: Edwards did not espouse anything near to LaRouche’s paranoid ravings, but the passion of his populism made him the only Democratic candidate from which LaRouche could conceivably draw supporters.

Edwards, then, was the classic Democratic candidate: railing against big interests, angered by the plight of the working and middle class, and unapologetically ready to enact liberal policies if given the chance. This archetype is an important candidate in any race, because it keeps the interests of the disenfranchised in the debate. However, like the populist revolutionary who can wrest control away from the autocrats, I see it as an effective campaign strategy that translates poorly to good governance.

As someone passing by us afterward mumbled into their coat, he’d make a damn good Attorney General. Just not an effective President.

The Former President

Seeing Hillary Clinton, for me at least, is about seeing both her and Bill.

An interesting mythology has grown around the former President. While he was obviously a monumental figure, the first Democrat to be elected to 2 terms since World War II, he employed the triangulation politics and middle of the road positions that have become anathema to Democrats angry at their stint in the wilderness. Unlike Al Gore, who has successfully recast himself as a defender of progressive politics instead of the Third Way, Bill Clinton towers as the penultimate achievement of that movement. Moreover, his very personal failings probably did more to elect the worst president in recent history than any of Bush’s policies, demographics, or strengths would have otherwise allowed.

But he was an effective President, presiding over enormous expansions in the economy and significant technological leaps. More importantly, he has used his time since leaving office to develop a foundation that provides medicine for victims of HIV/AIDS and fights poverty around the world, something this internationally oriented do-gooder can jump behind.

So we drove up the Seacoast to see Bill give a lunchtime speech about the electability of his wife. Hillary was at another event in a Southern city, so this was just us and the former President.

The crowd in the former mill city of Rochester was mostly older, with many senior citizens who didn’t have to worry about skipping out of work on a Friday afternoon. Unlike the Obama event, there were very few young people – in our mid 20s, my girlfriend and I were among the youngest there.

In line, the middle aged voters around us waxed reminiscent about how much simpler life and the world seemed in the late 1990s. While not all Hillary Clinton supporters, in this crowd she gained credibility simply from her association with that era. Of course, in other venues, I’m sure it was the opposite: the excesses of the Clinton Presidency reflected negatively on her. Neither is necessarily a fair assessment. But few things are more fickle than public perception, so that’s the horse she had to ride.

Once inside the ornate opera house, the crowd took on an even greyer hue. The mood was one of subdued excitement: the intellectual awe of a museum or an art gallery. When he arrived, the tension finally broke in a cascade of applause that was surprising for a theater less than half full.

Bill Clinton grabbed that newfound excitement. He was, by far, the most invigorating and engaging speaker I’ve ever seen – not uplifting, like Obama, but engaging on a personal level. He spoke intelligently and thoroughly about trade deficits, health care, education, the importance of creating a better world for children, and the dissolving civility in Pakistan and Iraq. Throughout it all, he stressed Hillary’s character, history of action, and vision for the future, all of which made her ‘the best candidate he’d ever seen’ – including himself. He didn’t need a nebulous message of hope and change to carry the crowd – his dazzling intellect and passionate belief in his wife’s ability was inspiring enough.

One of his most inspiring tales for those concerned by Hillary’s electability was of an upstate New Yorker he met on the campaign trail in 2006. In 2000, this man saw Hillary as the embodiment of the decadence of liberalism and was proud to vote against her in her Senate race. But by 2006, his tune had changed. Hillary had been the first politician who had made a difference in his community and life, and, surprising himself, he voted for her this time around. She won handily in upstate New York in 2006, but replicating the relationship she developed with the voters of New York on a national scale will be difficult.

Of course, for a Clinton admirer, a Hillary Presidency carried the extra benefit of, as one lapel button announced, ‘Bill Clinton as First Dude.’ And, eventually, an audience member asked what he would do if his wife was in the White House. Surprisingly, he seemed to have given little thought to the question before that day. Begrudgingly, he suggested that he would probably have to give up his work with his Foundation in order to allay any appearances of conflicts of interest with his donors.

And, unintentionally, Bill Clinton gave the most convincing argument against supporting his wife for President: the Clintons, and the nation, had moved on. Bill Clinton had become an effective ambassador for the power of the American sense of civic responsibility, while Hillary Clinton had shown herself to be a particularly adept legislator. The latter doesn’t preclude Hillary’s ascent, but the negative impact of the former, coupled with the worst tendencies of partisanship of the 90s, implied that the benefits of a Hillary Clinton candidacy would be inhibited.

Nonetheless, after 2 hours of questions, I was anxious to shake Bill Clinton’s hand. In DC, this privilege would have required me to pony up hundreds of dollars at a fundraiser or befriend a political insider. But for a few weeks in New Hampshire, shaking the hand of a former President is an egalitarian, even ordinary event in which anyone can participate.

Obama

Friday morning dawned cold. Someone had poured coffee out the front door of the inn; it froze before it could slide down the gentle grade of the sidewalk. And we were going out in this?

After minor confusion surrounding the location, we were in line for our first event: Obama, just hours after his victory in Iowa. We were nervous. We weren’t from New Hampshire, so how would they react? Would there be Secret Service or – probably worse – volunteer staff at the door verifying our Granite State credentials? We were somewhat consoled by the Maine license plates in the parking lot, but only a little.

This was part of the bigger question, really. Did those involved in the First Primary racket guard the system in person as passionately as they did in the press? Moreover, were the candidates so desperate for votes that they would view us as wasting their time? I didn’t want to end up in jail my first day of my first trip to the Northeast.

Eventually, once our joints had frozen nearly solid, we were shuffled into the Pan Am hangar that was hosting the rally. We ran a gauntlet of volunteers trying to collect names, phone numbers, and email addresses (we had memorized the phone number for a local pizzeria whose menu was included in the inn’s welcome package) into a vast open area that probably was normally used for 747 storage. With thousands of people pushing through the line, even the dozens of volunteers couldn’t check the veracity of everyone’s claims.

A stage with a lone podium and bleachers was set up on the longest wall. Barricades kept the crowd a few feet away. The sun was rising across a small series of windows near the high ceilings behind it. A huge American flag had been hung from the ceiling behind the stage such that it billowed like a sail in the sunlight. The effect mirrored the rising sun in Obama’s campaign signs: change for America dawning on the horizon. A chorus of supporters soon gathered in the bleachers in the shade of the flag, waving signs and leading the crowd in chants.

The air cackled with the hum of the crowd. The electric energy of the moment tickled the air as the people around us talked about what they’d done to get there. The teenagers behind me had skipped school. In front of me, two Hispanic men pointed to the cameras and joked that they “hoped the boss wasn’t watching the news this morning” as they had called in sick. Toward the end of the event, a woman with them nervously and repeatedly asked for the time, saying she had to get to work soon.

But in the same breath, she always promised she wasn’t leaving until it was over.

Overwhelmingly white, the crowd wasn’t going anywhere either. When Obama finally took the stage, we were pushed forward several feet – as if we were seeing Bono, not Obama.

I didn’t have a clear favorite as I waited for Obama to speak. All I expected from him was ear candy: sweet sounding platitudes about hope that implied grand change but offered little course for it.

I was buoyed by his speech. It wasn’t angry, but it had passion. It was hopeful, but with tangible goals. Hope did not mean naivety, he claimed. Instead, it was the mechanism America used to look to the future in order to leave it a better place. He talked about the difficulties he found as a young law school graduate, when he worked as an organizer for a non-profit group that tried to lift people out of poverty. The passion of his desire to make the world a better place was infectious, and it lifted you up with the belief that you could make a difference for other people. He did this by emphasizing all that we can do – each one of us listening. Hope and change may spring from him, he implied, but they were realized only through the efforts of the entire nation.

Even hoarse from the victory the night before and the subsequent cross-country journey, Obama spoke with all the inspiration the conventional wisdom claimed. And while he was light on details, he did offer some policy prescriptions – reform health care, methodically leave Iraq, etc. – that would leave the average Democratic voter as convinced by his plans as they were by his rhetoric.

And many of them were. As he ended his speech, and the crowd surged forward to shake his hand, or say a few words, or even be momentarily in the same personal space as the invigorating Illinois Senator, many shouted that they were convinced. Accepting the premise of the rally, the signs that had flanked the stage, and the message of the speech, they had changed their minds. Barack Obama was their man to facilitate change.

And I have to admit — I was ready to turn my back on the rest of the trip to volunteer for his campaign. But as we drove away, the sun warming the frigid air just a tiny bit, my passion cooled. My emotional core, drawn so quickly and surreptitiously to Obama, still believed in his ability to win in November and to make a difference in the White House. But even after reading his website and seeing him in person, I wasn’t convinced he had the attention to detail the Presidency requires after 8 years of a laissez-faire attention to the little things.

So on we went, still unconvinced, but definitely moved, to see the most recent great President.

Caveats

I came to New England split between Obama and Hillary on the Democratic side. Both seemed capable, though I was running more on a gut feeling for Obama. Hillary didn’t seem electable to the public at large, hung up as they were on some undefinable and unquantifiably large distaste for her. But Obama seemed to speak only platitudes with little substance to back up his plans. Moreover, he had spent the month or two before Iowa engaging in silly attacks on standard liberal issues and figures, from supporting homophobic preachers to attacking Paul Krugman over Social Security. And Edwards just seemed too angry to be President. That passion would work wonders on an Oversight Committee, but it didn’t seem constructive for a leader.

First Impressions Fizzled

The senses are especially attuned when you travel to a new place. Minor differences, like No U-Turn signs on highway onramps, spring to life as glaring and intriguing eccentricities. The eye flits across the landscape, soaking in the splendor of the unknown, while the car radio scans the frequency for local color.

Growing up in Southern California, snow was little more than the white chalk that dusted the mountaintops. But here it was a thick coat blanketing everything. Trees drooped under the weight. The deep white reflected my headlights, making the road that much more navigable. And jersey barriers of snow lined that road: 3-foot high ridges of mud and snow on the roadside keeping you on the right path.

Coupled with the cold, the snow seemed a perfect aid for contemplation. Something in the beauty of the landscape elicited a Pavlovian urge to think before speaking, to take a step back – probably indoors – for further thought. The stillness of a frozen pond passed at 70 miles per hour centers you as you speed away, the image lingering on your lids hours later.

This was reflected in the New Hampshireans we first encountered. The car rental clerk, a fellow former Californian, was excited to share tips on how to see the candidates. The innkeeper – a seemingly anachronistic term – didn’t hesitate to offer his justification for supporting Sen. Joe Biden once we told him why we were here. Moreover, candidate signs sprung like weeds along the roadside and in front lawns and windows. Often, street corners were little more than an arena for competing signs: Romney’s eagle blocked by McCain’s simple star-based sign or Hillary’s mini-flag eclipsed by Obama’s rising sun.

Riding on this wave of dispassionate energy, we were dismayed when we went to the Portsmouth Gas & Light Co, a restaurant in Portsmouth’s charming waterfront downtown. With results beginning to pour in from the other frozen white landscape picking a president, the restaurant was surprisingly empty. The television was playing a football game, and the three or four patrons did no seem like the political apparatchiks I’d expected. In fact, the atmosphere was exactly like one you’d expect to find in any small restaurant in a town of 20,000 people on a night with a wind chill pushing double digit negatives.

But that wasn’t the New Hampshire the state’s politicians have heralded the past few months. Maybe they are that willfully indifferent to Iowans’ preferences; confident that the Midwestern farmers’ decisions have little bearing on their values and priorities. Maybe people were gearing up for the impending onslaught of the next 4 days, when candidates would be roaming the countryside like wolves, salivating for undecided voters. Maybe it was just plain too cold.

Either way, there were no gushes of emotion or sighs of desperation as Obama and Huckabee ran away with Iowa. Our bellies warm with chowder, we wound through the historic downtown district in search of more activity until, daunted by the frozen air and lack of electoral excitement, we headed back to the room.

Arrival

Everyone was suspect. Landing in Manchester directly from DC, everyone on the plane seemed to be a campaign worker or a tourist like us – even the ones talking about Britney Spears’ suspiciously rotund sister. Even if the 20ish kids in front of us were talking about how they weren’t going to attend the University of Maryland after seeing it – I knew they were actually campaign volunteers talking about transferring. The guy next to me who swooped to the Business section of the Journal as soon as he got on the plane – he had to be a campaign strategist. And on it went, my excitement overriding any idea that someone would fly from DC to Manchester four days before the primary, and as Iowans were just starting to shuffle into churches and elementary schools, for any reason besides the upcoming election.

And the airport in Manchester was bustling with activity. Snippets of conversation at the baggage terminal alluded to people’s anxiousness about Huckabee possibly taking the Iowa caucus – just an hour or so before he actually did. A large display in front of the bank of car rental companies showed historical moments in New Hampshire’s primary history, from Reagan to Clinton to McCain, as well as snippets of the current candidates engaged in town halls and rallies across the state.

We were here because we knew that, even in DC, we could never get as close to the candidates as we could here. We certainly would never see a Presidential candidate in my home state of California without being a major donor or campaign worker. But that didn’t give us the opportunity to engage in a conversation with the candidates and develop our opinions from that interaction. Anyone can sound good on their website or in sound bites. And the little bits of the speeches we do see are often edited in pursuit of the story by media gatekeepers pushing a specific story. Either way, there’s no way of knowing whether Obama is really inspiring – whether Clinton is really cold – whether McCain is really too old – whether Romney is as slippery as his grasp on positions – whether Huckabee is as much of a goof as he seems. The only way to tell is to participate in the retail politics New Hampshire prides itself on. A

Which, of course, is the overriding question of the process: why does New Hampshire deserve this honor? Do they really vet the candidates as much as they claim – or did they just spend 2007 fighting for their spot on the schedule in order to keep the last vestige of their economy alive? It comes down to basic sense of fairness and equality. In a momentum election – one where a candidate wins simply by building a sense of inevitability through wins in the first few contests – less than 1% of the country decides the nominee for each party. Before the field was cleared completely, we wanted to at least get a chance to see all the candidates. Our votes probably wouldn’t have any impact, but at least we’d have a chance to understand why we were casting them.

Nobody tells the story of the politically motivated citizen: the one who views it as their personal responsibility to learn as much as possible about each candidate before casting their vote, before volunteering their time, or trying to educate their family and peers. Since the candidates weren’t coming to me, I was going to them. I was going to determine my choice, and amplify my role in the system we use to elect a President.