DATELINE: Iowa City, Iowa

‘Fired up!’
‘Ready to go!’
‘Fired up!’
‘Ready to go!’

200 young people are engaged in call-and-response chanting with each other, crammed in to the corner of the canteen of the Iowa City Senior Citizens Center. In the opposite corner, 30 or so senior citizens wait blankly for the noise to subside, occasionally shaking their heads wearily. It’s a peculiar enough sight in itself; all the more peculiar given that it comes right in the middle of the Iowa Caucus, the first stage of the most important electoral race in the world.

Three hours earlier, at 6pm, things are considerably calmer. Susanna Peters is enthusing about the process that is unique to Iowa and – less famously – Nevada. “I love the caucus. I was here for the first one in 1972. It’s a wonderful opportunity to participate in democracy,” she says, gesturing at a still empty room that will soon transform into a kind of democratic circus. Actually, circuses tend to have fixed programmes of entertainment, fixed designated areas, and widely-understood rules. The caucus at Precinct 20 was more like watching spontaneous democratic combustion.

Thanks to a sly nod and a wink Tom and I sneaked into the caucus room early, with a promise to help move chairs and sandwiches. The atmosphere inside is more bake-sale fundraiser than red-hot crucible of democracy to begin with – but outside the room the embattled chairman Richard Tooey is trying to sign in four times as many people as expected. All at once. The queue snakes outside into the bitter cold (10 Farenheit at best) – comparisons to the first post-apartheid elections in South Africa would be an exaggeration, but these Iowans are remarkably dedicated.

Senior citizens are admitted into the canteen first, and dodder dutifully towards the Hillary corner, for the most part. Edwards and Obama occupy the two other available corners, with flyers and policy brochures speckling the chintzy chairs; the six ’second tier’ candidates are located in smaller areas, mostly under hand-written signs.

The small Dennis Kucinich group bemoan Clinton’s supporters stealing their chairs, but they’re also looking happy. A few are members of a local co-operative, and tell me their initial preference for the most liberal (i.e. left-wing) of the Democratic candidates is a case of choosing the lesser of nine evils.

“If you look at the political compass, all these candidates are so close together,” Julie says. Alex, a philosophy graduate from the university, agrees. “I think people need reminding that a lot of us aren’t happy with the two party system at all.” Another apparent Kucinich-ite chimes in: “I wouldn’t actually vote for Kucinich in the event that he won the nomination – I’d vote third party in the general (election, in November). I’m only here tonight to make my voice heard.”

Little does she know how loud she’ll have to shout to do this tonight.

When the doors finally close the room is absurdly packed – a record 381 people have turned out to vote – we had been told to expect about 100. The clean lines of chairs have been blurred, and the Obama corner spills out to occupy most of the centre of the room. It’s difficult to overstate just how much of a generational divide there is between the Clinton and Obama groups. 90% of Obama’s supporters in the room are under 30; 90% of Clinton’s supporters in the room are over 50. “I’m not sure about their reasons for choosing him,” Clinton precinct captain Dennis will say later, “but I am glad the young people are turning out. It bodes well.”

Caucus rules dictate that any candidate group failing to get 15% is no longer ‘viable’ – they don’t then drop out completely, but have a chance to realign behind another candidate; there are three rounds of this realigning, and the following hour in which they proceed witness the most fast-paced, confusing, and intense bartering seen outside of the New York stock exchange.

Debate in the Kucinich camp is heated – the candidate himself had signalled that his supporters should switch to Obama if he became non-viable in any precinct, but a bright young man called Cory, John Edwards’ precinct captain, is offering a deal within minutes of the debate starting: for the 10 Kucinich supporters they need to attain viability, he’ll offer one of them a chance to be sent as a delegate to the Iowan Democratic hub in Des Moines, where resolutions are then sent on to the Democratic National Convention in the summer.

“What do I have to do to get you over there? We have cookies!” Cody says with a smile.

Headcounts are being done and redone in every corner of the room. “I’m confused” is a regularly heard refrain among the vibrant hubbub. “So let me get this straight…” is another. Joe Biden’s captain makes a move for Hillary, and tries to take his non-plussed fellow supporters with him. People stand on chairs and attempt to martial the chaos. Calls are placed to the Iowa Democratic Party amid the din, checking and re-checking rules.

“Any hairs I had left on my head have been replaced by sweat follicles” Richard gasps at me, smiling through the pressure.

The Hillary gang, expected to be vying with Obama for first place, still aren’t quorate despite a few extra Biden defectors. 56 is the magic number everyone needs for viability, and the younger members of the Clinton gang are getting more desperate:

“We only need three more people for a delegate!” a young woman shouts from atop a plastic chair.

“If you don’t get her in it’s going to be 20 years til we get a woman President” someone shouts above the clamour.

“I’ll raise you ten – make it 30 years!” an Obama supporter shouts, slightly nastily.

“Make Hillary viable! Come on people!”

“Screw Hillary!”

Friendly faces are becoming tightened by the intensity of it all. Richard vainly tries to reassert some authority over the catcalling, chanting Obama supporters and the still vote-seeking Clinton team. Time is running out:

“Come on, they’ve had enough time, pack it in. They can’t keep trying to get votes indefinitely!” come the cries from the Obama corner.

But still the noise and pleading for Clinton continues: “come on people! Just two more votes now!”

“They’ve had enough time! Stop CHEATING! This is ridiculous!”

“This is DEMOCRACY!” comes back the cry. The Clinton rallier stalls further, counting heads. “I think we need a proper recount.” This is too much for the Obama supporters, feeling their victory is being indefinitely postponed. Boos start to ring out.

“Stop being so immature!” a middle-aged woman shouts at them, genuinely angry. Faces turn red, arguments continue. Finally the delegates are allocated: five to Obama, two to Edwards, (of whom one will eventually be for Kucinich, if the Kucinich defector so chooses).

The Obama students have won in incredible number – getting comfortably over 200 of the 381 votes. They flood out to the bars across the street, happy and ready for a beer. The Clinton youths shake their heads, while their more mature co-supporters wander off visibly bemused at the proceedings.

In the quickly emptying room, four of the Obama girls organising the team – all 18-21, all plastered in Obama stickers, badges and t-shirts – are doing that dance that only young women can do: shrieking with joy, holding each other by the forearms, and pogoing up and down. They’re the girls on the evening news who just got record-breaking exam results. It’s exactly the same image, except what’s got them so excited this time is the state-wide results coming in on mobile phones; with 85% of precincts reporting at that stage, Obama is seven points ahead of his rivals.

Julie from the co-operative bounds across the room looking pleased with her evening’s work: “I get to be a delegate! I’m going to Des Moines for the party – I was nominated as the Kucinich person from the Edwards camp!”

The Clinton organisers are deflated – and pretty surprised at the scale of their defeat.

As the tables are realigned, and the room returned to placid normality, Susanna Peters reappears. She was for Clinton, but doesn’t look unhappy.

“There’s one thing I wanted to say to you before, but got distracted. It’s that we can do all this…” she gestures at the room, the dust settling on three hours of organised chaos. “We can do all this, but the important thing is that everyone leaves peacefully at the end.”

It was touch-and-go for a while there in the middle, but she’s absolutely right.