Satellites beam images of a frenetic political tableau to the nation: cameras converging on barns and farms, students waving pompons for their favorite candidate, bus caravans rolling across stark country roads.
But the more common sight is that of apolitical Iowans–walking to work, waiting for a bus, eating a fast-food lunch–oblivious or indifferent to their much-touted role as the nation’s first official arbiter of who will be the next president.
In interviews in Des Moines, the state’s political center, and at suburban shopping malls, people said they were paying little attention to the campaign because they were fed up with corrupt politics. Others said they didn’t know how the caucuses work, where they would be held, or what they entail. And those who seemed curious said they didn’t have time to go.
In that sense, Iowa is much like the rest of the country, despite the extraordinary political attention showered upon it. For a lot of people there, the unofficial bumper sticker for the campaign might read: Who Cares?
In the wake of historically low voter turnout in 1996, a Harvard group is trying to track the nation’s feelings about campaigns and its voting practices with weekly surveys of 1,000 adult Americans as campaign 2000 churns along.
So far, what “The Vanishing Voter Project” has found is an uninterested country weary of an ever-lengthening election season. Even with the onslaught of news coverage in the weeks before Iowa’s caucuses, the latest survey showed 36 percent of those questioned saying they had paid no attention to presidential politics, 30 percent paying a “little” attention, and 19 percent giving the race “just some” notice. A majority of those surveyed said the campaign has been boring.
Other polls show somewhat different results, suggesting that voters may be following campaign news a bit more closely than in past presidential election years.
Still, as the candidates and analysts and journalists focus their spotlights on Iowa’s caucuses on Monday, many people–even the ones who live in the state–are simply looking away.
“The average person just doesn’t give a hoot about the caucuses,” said George Frazier, 64, who shines shoes in a shopping center inside Des Moines’ labyrinth of indoor walkways. “I’ve never been to one and I won’t ever be going to one.”
Frazier has few kind words for politicians. “I think politics is a dirty, nasty business,” he said. “They all lie to you. It doesn’t make a great big difference who is in there.”
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Ever-optimistic officials from the state’s Democratic and Republican Parties say they hope for turnouts of 20 percent of their registered voters–or a total of about 235,000 people. So for those who have wondered aloud how much Iowa’s vote really reflects what the rest of the nation is thinking, perhaps the real question is this: What does Iowa’s vote truly say about what Iowa thinks? Some 2.5 million Iowans will be spending their Monday night somewhere other than caucus meetings.
“It is frustrating,” acknowledged Shannon Tesdahl, a spokeswoman for the Iowa Democratic Party. Her GOP counterpart felt similarly. “I think it’s reflective of how people, not just in Iowa but nationally, are disconnected from politics,” Scott Pope said. “They’re tuned out and turned off.”
The state’s promotion of its caucuses often includes a description of Iowa voters as among the most educated, most literate, and most politically astute in the nation. Still, despite daily media reports on the topic, the caucus largely remains a mystery.
Many don’t know the basics–the who, what, when or where of an election that will be microscopically dissected nationwide in just two days.
“That’s always held at the convention center downtown, right?” one woman offered. (No, they are not.)
“I don’t know anything about it,” said Sandra Callejas, 37, a loan collector in Des Moines. “I’ve seen it on TV when the big old balloons come down,” she said, confusing a caucus with a national political convention. “But I don’t understand it.”
Still, she said she intends to vote in the general election.
At an AARP event in West Des Moines, Helen Blasco, 79, offered a sheepish smile as she explained why she has never made it to the caucuses. “I think I probably didn’t . . . because I was thinking I didn’t know enough about what went on there,” she said. “I’m really thinking I may this year.” Still, with three days to go, she had a lot to figure out. Where was her caucus being held? Blasco shrugged. What time would it be? Another shrug.
Blasco’s friend, 72-year-old Margaret Rees, always attends the caucuses, but she said she is the only one she knows who goes. “I’m always looking for someone to ride over with, but there is no one,” she said. “It’s sad.”
Seated in the food court of a West Des Moines mall with her husband and 13-month-old son, Emily Kelso seemed similarly confused. “Was the debate the caucus?” she asked her husband, Charles, who shook his head.
A few minutes later, Emily Kelso asked whether a person couldn’t just go to the general election voting place on the day of the caucuses and cast an ordinary, general-election style ballot.
“No,” said her husband, Charles Kelso, 29, who also acknowledged that he has never attended a caucus. He said he may participate this time but conceded he did not even know the location of his neighborhood caucus.
“They don’t put anything on TV or in the newspaper,” he said. “I don’t know how you’re supposed to find out where to go.” (The Des Moines Register has published a list of Polk County caucus sites and has posted it on its Web site.)
Emily Kelso, a homemaker expecting her second child, said she doesn’t have the energy to play politics anyway. “I’m too tired to stay up that late,” she said.
The nature of the caucuses–night meetings at more than 2,000 sites–discourages some from having their opinions counted: single parents of young children, people with night jobs or those with two jobs, and people without access to cars.
And in an age of long work hours and vanishing leisure time, the caucuses also rule out those in an even more common class: busy people.
Kari Clark, 25, who works at a downtown juice bar, said she plays indoor soccer on Monday nights. “I’m busy,” she said. “It’s not that I’m not interested. I’m just a very busy person.”
Sabrina Gay, 39, an on-line specialist at Principal Financial Group, works downtown but lives an hour away in Boone. Getting to the caucuses on time–right at 7 p.m.–would be inconvenient, she said.
“I’m interested. But it’s pretty much out of my way,” she said. “I’m interested in the political process, but I just don’t have the time.”
And Tim Schroeder, 31, a purchasing agent for a manufacturing company, has never been to a caucus, but he has heard they’re long affairs: “I’ve heard that you sometimes have to sit and listen for two hours.”
A Nebraska native, Schroeder is accustomed to primary elections, not caucuses. “This seems like more of a job to go to it,” he said. “With my schedule, I don’t have time to sit someplace for two hours.”
Besides, he added, “There’s no where to get this information–they should tell us more.”
Others say the problem is exactly the reverse.
Non-caucusgoers say they are sick of seeing so many political ads on television. They’re also tired of the seemingly endless stream of phone calls from candidates’ volunteers.
In 40 years, Jo Graves has never attended a caucus. But that doesn’t seem to deter campaign workers from calling the 61-year-old secretary, urging her to make it this year.
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“They wear you to death by telephone,” she said. “They don’t even care if you’re half dead or dead. It just gets old.”