The Iowa caucuses

The nightmare before Christmas

No rest for the presidential candidates

EVEN those who dislike Hillary Clinton want to hitch a ride in her helicopter, inevitably dubbed “the Hillacopter”. With a dozen presidential candidates criss-crossing Iowa to scramble for support before the caucuses on January 3rd, everyone following them wants to be in several places at once. And the roads are icy.

Parking is like curling. The main roads have been salted well, but not perfectly. After dark, the oncoming traffic includes farm trucks with only one headlight. Mrs Clinton only has to dodge heckles.

The locals grumble more about the weather than politics. When talk does turn to politics, the mood is disgruntled. A triumph in Iowa can kick-start a candidate towards his party’s nomination. Yet turnout is usually low. Out of a voting-age population of 2m, only 130,000 caucused in 2004. More will probably show up this time because both parties are competing and the races are close. On the Democratic side, Mrs Clinton, John Edwards and Barack Obama all have a shot. Mr Obama is slightly ahead, but Iowa polls are habitually unreliable. Among the Republicans, Mike Huckabee has opened a sizeable lead over Mitt Romney, but with his new prominence has come unaccustomed scrutiny.

Every candidate faces a holiday season without rest. Most will campaign until as close to Christmas Day as they can without interrupting the festivities. The Democrats especially are working harder than ever, inflicting their friends, families and celebrity endorsers on hapless Iowans.

Besides firing up their existing supporters and courting undecided voters, they are also trying to persuade their rivals’ supporters to make them their second choice. Under Iowa’s caucus system, voters will gather in some 2,000 small precincts and discuss the candidates before selecting their first choice. Under the Democrats’ version (though not the Republicans’) those whose candidates fail to win more than 15% or so of the votes in a precinct are then invited to transfer their vote to another, “viable”, candidate. This takes time, so only the most motivated take part.

Each candidate has a different style. Mrs Clinton leads her troops through the snow with such discipline that, had Napoleon copied it, he might have conquered Russia. Other Democrats’ campaign staff are happy to answer questions. In Des Moines, Jim Mowrer, an Iraq veteran, says he supports Joe Biden because he is the only Democrat with a plan to quit Iraq without leaving chaos behind. The Clintonistas beside him say they are not authorised to talk to the press.

At Mr Obama’s campaign office in the same town, the welcome is warmer: a seat, a cup of coffee and a list of local Obama-ites to call. Karl Knock, the chairman of a local bank, says he likes the openness of Mr Obama’s campaign. The candidate does not simply issue orders; he asks questions. America needs a new leader who is not entrenched in old battles, he says.

Mr Edwards, a former trial lawyer and vice-presidential nominee, is running the angriest Democratic campaign. Though his manner is smooth and smiley, he rails without cease against the greedy corporations that supposedly make ordinary Americans’ lives miserable. He lies third in the polls in Iowa, but his tireless stumping in remote hamlets might conceivably allow him to snatch a victory.

Mrs Clinton is still the woman to beat, however. Other candidates pander. She does her homework and then micropanders. For voters who fret about the environment and globalisation, she praises solar power. Are you worried about violent video games? So is Mrs Clinton. They can lead, she says, to horrors such as the recent massacre in a mall in Omaha. Mrs Clinton knows the name of the local man who was injured there, of course. She’s really intelligent, agree several members of the audience.

The Republicans’ Mrs Clinton is Mitt Romney, an ex-governor of Massachusetts. He, too, faces a younger, more charismatic threat. Mr Romney gives PowerPoint presentations; Mr Huckabee airs an ad wishing Iowans a merry Christmas.

Mr Huckabee has ethical problems (he accepted a ton of gifts when he was governor of Arkansas), eccentric policies (scrap income taxes, make America self-sufficient in food) and a feeble grasp of world affairs. But his verbal dexterity and years as a Baptist preacher allow him to dodge almost any awkward question with a Biblical allusion. He is joyfully backed by evangelicals and home-schoolers.

A loss in Iowa could cripple Mr Romney, so he is fighting back hard. His television spots accuse Mr Huckabee of being soft on crime (his faith led him to pardon many criminals when he was governor) and illegal immigration. This is risky. Iowans don’t like negative campaigning, says Cary Covington, a politics professor at the University of Iowa. Meanwhile, Rudy Giuliani and John McCain, two Republicans with no hope in Iowa but national reputations, are biding their time.

For both parties, a bitter struggle looms. But actual violence has so far been mild. Dan Holman, who follows Mrs Clinton around waving a gruesome anti-abortion banner, was allegedly poked in the ribs with a broom handle by an elderly householder who accused him of standing on his property. But Mr Holman recovered and is still haranguing his nemesis.