Why Changing the Primary System Matters
by Anthony Arnold
April 2020
There’s a temptation in politics to search for bad actors. To highlight something to which we can reasonably assign blame.
It’s a sensible tendency, one driven by our innate desire to tell stories. That's because stories are the most useful way to communicate ideas,
and they make more sense, when there are heroes and villains.
However useful this method of communicating may be, it fails when the problems you hope to identify are not caused by individuals, but are instead
structural . In those cases, this tendency fails us by limiting our ability to see the whole picture, because structural flaws can make the same people both
heroes and villains. That leads us to simply continue changing one variable, while leaving the larger structure untouched -- never producing different results.
It’s a necessary tool then to understand how you can tell the difference between an individual problem, and a structural one. An individual problem is
one that could be solved by changing one factor. If one light bulb in your kitchen went out, then you would reasonably assume you simply have to change the
light bulb.
A structural problem doesn’t respond to just changing one thing. If the power in your entire house went out, then it wouldn’t be reasonable to believe
that changing one light bulb would do the trick. You’d have to either restore all the power, or maybe reconstruct the entire house.
In politics, we obviously don’t have light bulbs to use as a measuring stick. But, there are other useful ways, like polling, that enable us to measure
whether or not our changes are having the desired impact. If the problem with our primaries were individual ones, then we’d expect to see poll numbers reflect
that when we change nominees. Except that’s not what we see at all.
What polling actually shows is that by two key metrics, primary turnout and voter satisfaction, we’ve been on a mostly steady decline for decades.
Primary turnout in 2016 was 28.5% of eligible voters, which was just shy of the record turnout we saw in 2008. Most of that is likely attributable to unique
candidates, both of whom ran as “ultimate outsiders,” and either excited, or angered, voters in unusually high ways. With the exception of those two though,
primary turnout has been falling since 1980, which was the first year there was good data available for the primaries.
This low turnout is certainly linked to a number of factors, and there’s been a lot of research into trying to figure it out. But whatever the constellation
of causes may be, the second metric I mentioned, voter satisfaction, is a part of it. Since 1971 Gallup, one of our most respected polling groups, has been asking
Americans how satisfied they are with the way the nation is being governed.
In 2018, 38% said they were satisfied, which is nearly equal to the average of 37% we’ve had since 2001. That number, 37%, is identical to the number in 1971,
a year defined by the war in Vietnam, the publication of the Pentagon Papers, and active bombing campaigns by the Weather Underground.
Persistent underperformance is exactly what you’d expect to see in a system that has structural issues. Think again of the lightbulb. If the lightbulb goes
out once, and after being changed it was fixed -- that’s an individual problem. If, however, the lightbulb goes out every single day, and changing the light bulb
over and over again does nothing to sustain the light, then you have a structural problem.
The problems with our primaries are an example of a structural problem that has been covered like an individual one. Iowa’s public failure this time around
has generated a lot of conversation. But much of that conversation has been limited only to diagnosing the particular problems that Iowa is suffering from, which
treats it like a problem limited only to them.
That’s not my focus, because I believe fixing Iowa would do nothing to fix the structure, and if that remains unaddressed we’ll continue to have a primary
system that lets us down. In order to do that though, it’s necessary to take a trip back to 1968, which is where the current primary system first begins to take
shape. In the aftermath of the events of that year we’d find ourselves marching down a path that would lead us to where we are today.
The Democratic convention of 1968 was chaotic. That primary season had been defined by two major events. The first was that President Johnson,
facing backlash from voters over what was happening in Vietnam, had decided not to seek reelection, opening the field up. The second was that one of the frontrunners
in his absence, Senator Robert Kennedy, was assassinated.
These two events left the party unsure of who would be their nominee that year. Johnson had represented the more traditional wing of the party, built on insider
politics. Kennedy represented the more radical faction of the wing, which was built around opposition to Vietnam and a platform shaped around civil rights. With
both of them gone though, their spots would be filled by Vice President Hubert Humphrey, and Senator Eugene McCarthy.
Humphrey, running a typical insider’s game, elected to avoid the primaries entirely, and focused solely on winning delegates from non-primary states. McCarthy,
lacking support from party officials, chose instead to compete in all the primaries, and won 6 of them on his way towards winning the most votes of all the candidates.
With the table set, a conflict was likely inevitable at the convention, as the people’s choice ran up against the politicians’ choice.
That’s exactly what happened, though nobody could have anticipated exactly how bad things would get. But when antiwar protests got out of hand in Chicago,
and with the Democratic Convention as the backdrop, the nation watched as police beat and tear gassed protestors. Inside the convention however, things were going
much differently. Humphrey’s insider track was overwhelmingly successful, and he cruised to the nomination on the first ballot.
The tensions, in part fueled by the violence of the protests, didn’t go away. With McCarthy refusing to endorse until late October, and the Vietnam war and
Civil Rights still dividing the party, Democrats were unable to come together and Richard Nixon, the Republican nominee, won that Fall.
In the aftermath of losing what they thought was a winnable race, Democrats knew they needed to unify the party moving forward. Enter the McGovern-Fraser
Commision, a group given the task of changing the nominating rules so that the delegate selection would be more democratic, and better represent the groups of people
who formed the new backbone of the Democrat party.
As a result of the new rules they established, Iowa, with its complicated caucus system, realized it needed to vote first in order to comply. With Iowa
being a small and fairly unremarkable state, nobody objected. So starting in 1972, Iowa became the first state to vote in the primaries. It wasn’t until 1976 that
a little known candidate from Georgia would change things forever.
Governor Jimmy Carter wasn’t a frontrunner. In fact, he probably wasn’t very well known outside of Georgia. So when he entered the race, nobody gave him
much of a chance. But America was angry following President Nixon’s betrayal of the public trust during Watergate, and Carter guessed they were ready for a fresh
face. While Carter’s instincts were ultimately correct, that still left him with the immediate problem of how to win the nomination with little money, and little
recognition.
So, he built his strategy around starting strong, and hoping that would earn him enough momentum to compete in the rest of the primaries, which had spread to
every state by now. He focused his attention on Iowa, a tiny state where his money could buy more ads, and where its small size would allow him to travel around.
When he walked away from that first primary with the most delegates, it worked exactly as planned. He was able to carry that momentum throughout the rest of the
primary season, and steadily accumulate enough delegates to secure the party's nomination. When he won victory that fall, it sent the message that a new, and
cheaper, path to the White House had been cleared. One that started in Iowa.
That’s why we made this detour. There was no grand conspiracy to reward Iowa. It wasn’t part of an effort to disenfranchise some groups and prop up others.
In fact it was quite the opposite. The Democrat party was trying to do something ostensibly good by making the nomination process more fair. They were trying to
improve the process and make it more equitable, especially for younger voters, women, and people of color -- and they succeeded.
Despite rumbling to the contrary, it's virtually impossible to imagine a scenario where party delegates risk outright revolt by overturning the will of their
own voters. The primary process really is more open and democratic than ever. But structural problems are tricky things.
Often times fixing one issue, in this case a system built for party insiders, can lead to a different problem down the line; and the reason that Iowa
continues to matter to this day highlights one of the major difficulties of fixing a structural problem in politics.
A structural problem in politics exists not because of people, but because the design of the system itself continues to reward people for doing something that
you would like them to stop. In the case of our primaries, the potential rewards of starting strong in Iowa are so great that they have no choice but to go there.
Politicians, and the people who run their campaigns, will always try to take the easiest path towards the goal. Because it’s true that a victory in Iowa, or
a crushing defeat, can set a narrative that’s hard to escape for weeks, campaigns rationally choose to target Iowa heavily. The structure of the system provides so
many incentives for doing this that it would be political malpractice not to do so.
Iowa’s relative cheapness makes it one of the few places that an upstart candidate, like Carter, could reliably compete with larger, and more well-funded
campaigns. The focus on one state typically gives us easy narratives, which might not be the case with more states potentially inviting more confusion.
Despite its lack of demographic diversity, there’s no evidence that voters in Iowa are predisposed against candidates of color. Jesse Jackson performed
admirably well there in 1988, Barack Obama stunned the world there in 2008 by winning, and in 2016 Ted Cruz, Marco Rubio, and Ben Carson finished in 1st, 3rd, and 4th.
Of course, the problem isn’t Iowa. The problem is what Iowa represents. Allowing any state to go first, no matter how diverse, unique, representative, or
inexpensive, means that we are giving an improper amount of weight to that state. Whatever benefits that state may offer, none of them offset the tremendous cost.
That’s because the system we have now, with its flawed structure, is inherently unrepresentative.
Representation is one of many buzzwords in our politics today. Like most buzzwords, that means that it’s become overused, and therefore useless if trying to
define a specific concept. So I should take the time to define exactly what I mean.
When I say representation, I do not simply mean the specific racial, gender or sexaul orientation traits a person possesses, for instance. What I’m referring
to is the totality of views that make up our nation.
Yes, it is vital to represent people of different races, genders, or sexual orientations. But it’s also important that our politics gives representation to
people of different geographic locations and cultures. It’s important that people who are heavily concerned about particular issues get a chance to be represented.
In short, it’s important that all people, across the political spectrum, feel that their opinion matters.
That’s because representation is the bedrock upon which our system is built. Right there in the Declaration of Independence, it says that the government
“derives its power from the consent of the governed.” Of course, they had a radically different idea of who was important enough to give consent. One that was
limited to white, well-off, landowning males.
Over time of course, this was expanded. But each expansion brought further complications. And those complications are what led to the Democratic divide in
1968. A system built to listen only to the opinions of a select few was no longer sustainable when more and more groups had a seat at the table and demanded
representation.
That exact same reason is why the system we have now, one that gives excessive value to only one state, is no longer working. In the nearly 50 years since
Iowa became the first primary we’ve once again expanded the number of groups who demand representation.
It’s a coalition that now includes people of different genders and sexuality, which is something that wasn’t considered then. It’s a coalition that includes
people concerned about issues such as climate change, healthcare, abortion rights, and gun rights, which were just beginning to matter then, but have exploded onto
the poltical stage since. Further, it’s a coalition concerned about issues such as internet regulation and social media manipulation, neither of which existed at
all in 1972.
That’s the reason why we have to consider changing the system we have now. No one state can truly claim to represent the broad array of opinions that exist.
On nearly every issue there are legitimate points to be made on both sides. As time goes by, our politics will only grow more complicated. Voters today are asked to
have an opinion on a much wider range of issues than ever before.
This isn’t likely to decrease. At some point in the future America will have to grapple with what it means to be a “majority-minority” country, issues like
universal basic income could become more relevant as technology both destroys and creates jobs. We’ll have a generation of retiring workers who don’t have the
benefits of pensions or possibly even social security, in addition to whatever issues we simply can’t imagine right now.
Each of these issues will expand our politics, and create new coalitions of voters who have opinions, and want those opinions to be represented. So if left
unaddressed, our current system will only continue to get less representative. The danger is that sometime in the future we reach another crisis like 1968, a point
where the system becomes so unrepresentative that it no longer has any legitimacy in the eyes of the voter.
Good solutions become much more difficult to reach at that point. The best we could hope for then would be a stopgap fix, similar to the fix that Democrats
rolled out in 1972. But if we hastily roll out a “solution,” without thinking about the possible consequences, then we will likely end up simply creating new
problems for future generations. It would, instead, be much better for us and the future to summon the courage required to change the structure of a broken system,
rather than retrofitting a broken system that works for fewer and fewer Americans.