Caucusing for the Long Shot

Megan Anthony wants Dennis Kucinich to be president, but she is alone in this room of 326 voters.

There were two Kucinich supporters when the 3rd precinct caucus of Ankeny, Iowa began last Thursday night. Megan and her compatriot sat together as the formidable Obama group amassed an entire wall and the Hillary supporters took to a separate room. When it became clear that there was no way Kucinich’s group could stand—in an Iowa caucus, for a “preference group” to become viable, it must have the support of 15 percent of the eligible voters in the room, 49 in this case—the “group” dwindled. And then there was one: Megan.

“I knew I was going to be unviable,” she says. “For me, it was just a statement.”

The other groups have half an hour to convince the undecided to join them. There are a few undecided voters, then there are Joe Biden and Chris Dodd supporters, and these become fair game too when it is clear that their groups are not going to reach 49. The Bill Richardson group, teetering at 48, subsumes most of the Biden supporters situated next to them, and a big cheer reverberates across the room when Richardson becomes viable.

Enthusiastic voters wearing Obama, Edwards, and Hillary stickers make rounds, and it is only so long before they find Megan, sitting on a folding chair. The only other uncommitted people in the room, at this point, are observers and press. Megan’s face is kind but resolute as she turns every one of the salesmen down.

Tonight, people like Megan are rare. The caucus is not exactly a winner-takes-all system, but it certainly doesn’t reward the underdogs. When John Jansen, the presiding chairman, calls out Chris Dodd’s name to register the level of support, two hands straggle up, and the room resounds with a collective, “Aw…” In this election—and, as Megan points out, in this room—it seems like most people already have their minds made up. The groups, gathered in separate corners, even break into cheers periodically.

“When I say O, you say Bama!” one woman shouts, and the left side of the room choruses, “O, Bama! O, Bama!” The Edwards group, in an adjacent corner, answers back, “Edwards! Edwards! Edwards!” Obama’s supporters regroup and start chanting, “Obama, 08! Obama, 08!”

Megan whispers, “This is like a Hitler youth rally.”

A man wearing an Edwards sticker underneath an Obama sticker sidles over to Megan.

“You wouldn’t be interested in joining the winning ticket, would you?” he says. He explains to her how Edwards would make the perfect vice president for Obama. While he’s talking, a rosy older woman drops by from the Edwards group.

Megan listens carefully to both of them. Then she explains, “The reason I’m for Kucinich is…he’s the only candidate for gay marriage.” Obama supports civil unions, but Megan believes that’s akin to telling someone they can “ride the bus, but only if they sit in the back.”

Just when it seems that the hopefuls have given up, Rachel Brown, an Obama supporter, comes over, sleepy son in her lap, and sits down next to Megan. Brown just moved to the area, so this is her first caucus, and the excitement shows. “You really saw how people could have an influence,” she said later. She looks at Megan and says, “Come on, we want you.” But Megan stands firm.

And when time is up, she is the sole statistically outlier. Voters are counted, percentages are calculated, and the ten delegates designated to precinct 3 are doled out. Obama and Edwards receive three each, Clinton’s group garners two, and the Richardson group gets two as well.

Mike Wolfe, a Richardson supporter, is thrilled. “As many delegates as Hillary, I think that’s phenomenal,” he says.

Megan leaves quietly and the rest of the people start filing out, leaving crumpled campaign literature and leftover cookies.