COLUMN: Caucus

Dear Iowa,

On behalf of all media everywhere (because, clearly, I am their spokesperson), I'd like to apologize.

This week should have been our victory lap. Instead, thanks to a buggy phone app, we've become the butt of the world's jokes. We deserve better.

Well, except "we" don't. Because I'm not a part of "we." I'm a Rock Islander. There's 7.5 solid blocks of Illinois separating my abode from your fair state. This week, though, we are all Iowa.

When the results from the Democratic Caucus didn't show up as swiftly as expected, it took no time for social media to erupt in harsh jokes at Iowa's expense. And since I tend to share our President's predilection of tweeting-before-thinking, I was quick to jump into the fray to defend "our" caucuses. I didn't even realize my liberal usage of the words "we" and "us" on social media that night, despite having never lived in your state nor having never caucused for anyone in my life. I live in the boring Land of Lincoln, where we visit the humdrum polls with a Sharpie and an anticlimactic Scantron card. I've never experienced the excitement of loitering inside a gymnasium waiting to find out if I'm "viable."

Oh, wait, yes I did -- it was called middle school P.E. class. Spoiler alert: I was NEVER viable and was always picked last. From what I can tell, caucusing is exactly like those terrible P.E. classes, just with fewer dodgeballs aimed at your head.

But I heard them mocking you, Iowa, and I wouldn't stand for it -- mostly because standing is SO less comfortable than sitting. I have eaten of your giant tenderloins and I have seen your butter cow. I know how to properly pronounce "Maquoketa." I think I'm qualified to be an honorary Iowan.  

I tried that night to explain the magic of the Iowa caucus to the Facebook nation. It did not go well. Once upon a caucus, it was the very height of democratic efficiency -- in 1846, when Iowa first became a state. Caucuses were commonplace back then, but when all the other states upgraded to primaries, Iowa proudly held her ground. What can I say? You value tradition.

In fact, you tried switching to a system of primaries in 1916, but nobody showed up. We Midwesterners are nothing if not stubborn, and what's the fun in an election if you're not being herded into groups while people with bullhorns yell at you? After the historic low voter turnout in 1916, Iowa went back to caucuses in 1917 and never looked back -- or forwards, for that matter. 

Some people might say it's an antiquated system. I think it's charming and wonky and kinda perfect for Iowa. It DOES, however, disenfranchise a ton of people who might participate were it not for their schedules. "I need your support, Iowa," says the candidate. "Unless you work second shift." 

Heck, sometimes I feel disenfranchised just living in Illinois. Whenever you attend any kind of political rally, you're usually besieged by campaign volunteers who want to procure all your personal info in order to pummel you with propaganda from now to the election. In Iowa, there's no faster way to make those volunteers disappear than the magic words, "I'm from Illinois."

But caucus you did, and maybe by the time this column prints, we MIGHT know the results. The tallying of this year's caucus went a bit haywire. Or, as CNN enjoys calling it, "A HORRIFYING DEBACLE!"

Two weeks ago, reporters couldn't shut up about the charm of Iowa and the niceness of our people. Now we're a bunch of buffoons who don't know how to count. Many are calling for Iowa to lose its privileges as the nation's first Presidential litmus test. I sure hope that doesn't happen.

On a selfish level, it's pretty fantastic to have such lengthy and close access to people who might one day be running this country. This year alone, I got to hang with the Yang Gang. I sat next to Rosario Dawson at a Cory Booker town hall. I met Tom Steyer's team in our break room and got a wave from Pete Buttigieg in the parking lot. I even got a handshake and some small talk with Joe Biden when he stopped by our office. 

But on an unselfish level, I think it's great for everyone's campaigns to start in a single state. Watching candidates stump through small towns and interact with regular folks is a way to get to know them and perhaps catch a glimpse or two of the real people behind the politics. If we didn't have a state like Iowa to kick things off, campaigns would mostly consist of CNN soundbytes, negative TV ads, and $1000-a-plate dinners.

Politicians aren't stupid, and neither are Iowans. If we really ARE just a bunch of backward yokels, politicans wouldn't waste their time with us. Once upon a caucus, you'd see candidates in Iowa wearing overalls and pretending to be one with the farm folk. Those days are over. Heck, Bernie Sanders is leading our popular vote and he's about the least "Iowa" person out there. 

So I tell you what, CNN. Blame technology all you want. Blame the DNC. And heck, maybe it IS time we abandoned tradition and switched to a modern primary system. But don't you dare blame Iowa or typecast us as simpleton country bumpkins. Iowa might not be MY state, but I'm proud to be her neighbor -- and if you think we're not modern or progressive enough to be the welcome door to America's campaign season, think about who we just sent to the front of the field. Bernie's Jewish, Mayor Pete's openly gay, and Elizabeth's a woman.

None of that should matter a tinker's dam when it comes to who's best to lead our country, but it wasn't that long ago when anybody who wasn't a middle-aged straight white male couldn't dream of being president. Us country folk just made history. "Change has to start somewhere," the saying goes. No one ever gives credit that "somewhere" is often Iowa. It's not our fault we're bad at counting. We got hit in the head by a LOT of dodgeballs back in gym class.