Iowans listen to a speech by John Edwards in Ames.
"You take one more step and you'll be sorry," Jimmy Hogan, a precinct caucus captain for Jimmy Carter in Monticello, Iowa, bellowed across his living room at his daughter. And with her prompt pirouette, all hopes of seeing Ted Kennedy elected President died. The year was 1980 and Joe Trippi, a Democratic strategist for Ted Kennedy, had learned a crucial lesson: The Iowa caucuses are as much about group psychology — and sometimes the deference of a child to her parent — as they are about politics.
Then fresh out of college and eager to tackle his first presidential race, Trippi — who has worked on every contested race in Iowa since 1980 — had organized all of Monticello's youngsters to caucus for Kennedy. His rival, Hogan, host of the county's largest caucus, had likewise organized the precinct's parents to caucus for Carter. When none of the kids dared defy their parents' wishes, Kennedy lost the precinct — and the county. "I remember being in the kitchen a few weeks before that when Ethel Kennedy came to visit our house, campaigning for Ted," James Hogan, Jr., Jimmy's son, recalls chuckling. "Some Kennedy aides were lamenting that Carter could bomb Iowa with B-52s and the caucuses would still go for Carter."
Carter had forged the model on how to win the caucuses and the White House. He was one of the first politicians to realize the importance of winning in first-in-the-nation Iowa and he invested heavily in the state back in 1976 — and again in 1980, winning the caucuses that year 59% to Kennedy's 31%. Iowans appreciated Carter's personal investment in the state, the time he spent pressing the flesh with as many caucus-goers as possible. These days the top three Democratic candidates — Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama and John Edwards (for whom Trippi is working this cycle) — have all adhered to Carter's model, visiting a majority of Iowa's 99 counties, investing months of their lives, hundreds of staff and tens of millions of dollars each.
But, as the Hogan family demonstrated, there are no guarantees on caucus day. Caucus-goers may enter the room in one camp, but can easily be cajoled by a boss, spouse or neighbor into supporting a different candidate. Or they may find that their favored candidate didn't meet the viability threshold — any candidate who fails to garner at least 15% of support after the first vote is disqualified, and his or her supporters are forced to pick their second choice. "I think it's a pretty good form of democracy," says Richard Bender, the original architect of the caucuses, who designed them to ensure that minority voices (e.g., anti-Vietnam voices, then) in the party were fairly represented and had a say in electing delegates to the state convention. "The 15% rule some people don't like. If I'm for Candidate X, well, if they only get 4% maybe their chances of making it to the end isn't great, so maybe it's best to throw your weight behind someone with viability."
Iowans have come to realize that their choice holds enormous sway over the rest of the country, and they place a premium on electability, Bender says. "There are candidates who will spend $15 million to $20 million in Iowa before this is over and you're talking about the difference of maybe two, three, four thousand people. TIME magazine [is] going to put somebody's face on the cover versus somebody else's face because of a difference of maybe 6,000 votes."
Because of this hyper-awareness, Iowa's Democratic caucus-goers have become genuine wonks, able to query presidential hopefuls on the smallest details of their policies. As a group, they're also able to temper their own liberal inclinations. "Jimmy Carter was not liberal. He was probably one of the most moderate candidates," Bender says. "Even though caucuses are somewhat liberal, the focus on electability somewhat mitigates their liberal orientation."
There are five categories of caucus-goers, according to Bender, and many voters span several categories: the party core; the union and association members; those who support a particular candidate; those dragged along by voters in the first three groups; and the merely curious. "The thing about the 'drag' and the 'curious' is that it's really hard to poll beforehand who they are because they don't know who they are until just before the caucuses," Bender says. Even inside the caucus room the 'drag' are unpredictable because they are so prone to changing horses.
Once the total number of caucus-goers have been counted and thresholds for the candidates have been established, the first round of jockeying begins. Groups supporting each of the candidates begin sweet-talking their friends and neighbors into joining their side, if only to give their candidate a shot at the second round. "There are all kinds of complicated dynamics going on," Bender says. "It's always been that way and I think people enjoy it."
One psychologically persuasive argument is simply having the largest group in the room, Bender says. "People want to be with a winner — the person who is most electable. 'Ooh, large groups, they're electable' — that's not a rare thought."
Once the weaker candidates are knocked out, "the serious group persuasion begins, where caucus attendees who are not in groups large enough to be viable are courted," says Bruce Gronbeck, a political science professor at the University of Iowa and co-editor of the book Presidential Campaigns and American Self Images. Sometimes deals are made — as in 2004, when Dennis Kucinich, lacking viability, threw his support behind John Edwards (this year, he's getting behind Barack Obama). Those bargains are tenuous, though, and as unpredictable as the caucus-goers themselves. Unions, for example, often succeed in getting voters to turn out, but more often than not, those voters don't end up caucusing for the candidate endorsed by the union, Gronbeck says.
In the 2004 caucuses, this reporter witnessed a John Kerry supporter joshing his colleague, clearly an underling: "You liked that Christmas bonus? Keep it in mind before you head over to Edwards." The underling laughed but appeared uncertain whether his boss was joking. Ultimately, he stayed with his boss — and Kerry. This Thursday, as many as 150,000 Iowan Democrats are expected to gather in 1,781 rooms to pick the next President. The groups will range in size from less than 10 people to hundreds, and the arguments can last for hours. And anyone who purports to know how the vote will go is either guessing blindly or the smartest group psychologist in the world.