Bernie Sanders seems bemused by the crowd of 500 students gathered before him at 1pm on a Monday, amidst what is ostensibly their break from all things serious and academic. When he begins his speech by saying, “You kids could be out partying, doing drugs, doing all kinds of fun things,” you get the sense he wouldn’t blame us if we all got up and left. But of course he doesn’t want us to leave. Nor would a single person in this crowd give up their seat to witness the biggest draw of the 2016 New Hampshire Primary Student Convention.
“You kids could be out partying, doing drugs, doing all kinds of fun things”
The three-day convention, hosted by New England College every four years since 2000, brings college and high school students together “to ask candidates questions, listen to speeches, learn about campaigning, witness the media frenzy, and see everything that has to do with presidential politics first-hand”. I said “yes please” to all of these things.
Only two things bring non-residents to the sub-zero temperatures and dreary grey ice-snow of New Hampshire in the middle of January: skiing and presidential politics. Specifically, the state hosts the first presidential “primary” vote, which officially begins the process of choosing candidates for November’s election. For a few months, every four years, the state becomes a figurative battleground that can make, break or revive a candidate’s momentum toward the presidency.
With so much at stake, the campaigning and the consequent media coverage grow as intense as they are relentless. All that pandering, incidentally, gives the average New Hampshirite unprecedented access to the machinations of the American political system, along with a uniquely – some say unfairly – powerful vote. This compelling mix of passion, populism and politics explains why I drove six hours from home to spend three days in icy purgatory with hundreds of students from three dozen states.
Our trip, from Philadelphia by way of Tenafly, New Jersey, was hardly planned at all. It began as only the best trips do, with a 2am call from a close friend on New Year’s Eve, the degree of sobriety of which is arguably relevant but will be left to the imagination.
A few days later, and just a few hours before Bernie’s speech, I sit with four other 20-something-year-olds driving westbound on I-90 through rural Massachusetts, a detail only relevant in contrast to the fact that Manchester, New Hampshire – our destination for the next three days – is 100 miles and counting in the opposite direction. Between increasingly heated political debates, spot-on Bernie impressions, and Future’s DS2 testing the bass integrity of a 2014 Honda Civic, this was neither our first nor our only deviation from “the plan”.
Sanders, meanwhile, has no intention of deviating from his plan. He spends most of his allotted hour giving prepared remarks, in contrast to the town hall-style Q&A format that the convention promotes. His words are as powerful and on-point as advertised: he sticks to familiar verbal punching bags like the war on drugs, crippling student debt, and the corrupting influence of the “billionaire class” with predictable success. Those of an opposing persuasion might note that consistency is no indicator of good policy, but something about his message and presence visibly engages young people in a way that no other candidate in either party can replicate. As Sanders leaves the stage to rapturous applause, the entire convention hall rises in mob-like pursuit of an errant selfie with “the Bern”.
As Sanders leaves the stage to rapturous applause, the entire convention hall rises in mob-like pursuit of an errant selfie with “the Bern”
These convention-goers belong to the latest alleged Most Politically Apathetic Generation, a distinction actually reflected in data but more often conveyed in the form of moralising intergenerational hot takes. But, to borrow a phrase from Bernie-speak, these are the 0.1 per cent, the exception that proves the cliché. Some support Hillary Clinton, and plenty more stump for one of the 13 remaining Republicans, but all are passionately certain that theirs is the one candidate who can get America back on track.
Speaking to one college senior, who dutifully mans the Rand Paul table in the hotel’s foyer, I receive a lecture on how polls systematically undersell his preferred candidate’s youth support, and how special interests in both parties keep “real Americans” out of politics. This raises several follow-up questions, specifically regarding the man’s feelings about Bernie (“economically illiterate”) and whether actually-fifth-in-the-polls-depending-on-who-you-ask Paul can actually win the Republican nomination (“Absolutely”). I am content to exit the conversation with signs promising to simultaneously “Destroy the Washington Machine” and “Unleash the American Dream”.
That level of enthusiasm typifies primary politics, fueling the figuratively and literally caffeinated buzz of gatherings like this one. This is the season for authenticity and unbridled optimism, not the calculated non-promises and “anyone-but-Trump” desperation of the November election. The foyer hosts, alongside stands for most major candidates, tables for interest groups like Students for Sensible Drug Policy, fiscally conservative First Budget, and nonpartisan campaign finance reform advocates New Hampshire Rebellion. As fringe benefits for engaging with their respective spiels, some offer stickers, others offer buttons, and overachievers Next Gen Climate even offer neon orange sunglasses. Carly Fiorina’s table has candy. Jeb’s has painfully sad slogans (“Jeb Can Fix It”; “#Allin4Jeb”) that reveal far too much about the state of his campaign.
Randomly peppered among all these tables are eerie, not quite life-size cutouts of some of the candidates, including one of Barack Obama and – inexplicably but not quite surprisingly – one of Ronald Reagan. Whatever person or cause you believe in, there is probably someone here who agrees with you.
Whatever person or cause you believe in, there is probably someone here who agrees with you
That night we dine at the nearby Athens Restaurant, a deceptively humble spot to find authentic Greek cuisine and, according to the proprietor, more than a few presidential candidates. “I don’t take sides. We’re running a business, after all”, she tells us. Then comes the inevitable follow-up: “But our kids support Bernie Sanders.” She describes meeting Bill Clinton with vaguely flustered hand gestures and a tone to match: “He just has that, well, you know…”. At the time of our visit, the restaurant has most recently hosted John Kasich and does not seem to consider this fact a very big deal. This is the capital of New Hampshire in the middle of primary season. Sitting two tables over from a presidential candidate and the mayor of Manchester may not be the most exciting thing to happen in your day.
Nor is there any escape from politics back at the hotel room – which, of course, is why we’re here. First, CNN gives us a certified #NotTheOnion ad for Donald Trump in which he promises to: a) ban “all” Muslims from America “until we figure out what’s going on”, b) “cut off the head of ISIS”, overlaid on clips of explosions and drones strikes, and c) “build a wall that Mexico will pay for”. Then Don Lemon moderates a panel of experts debating the merits of Trump’s campaign and whether Bill Clinton’s past is “fair game” in this election. The political news cycle carries on late into the night, becoming white noise as we eventually fall asleep to the sounds of DJ Khaled’s Snapchat story.
Tuesday brings a marathon of Republican candidates. We sleep through all nonessential alarms until only two of the five of us have time to shower. That’s how committed we are to grabbing a free continental breakfast and a seat to watch New Jersey governor Chris Christie. Although the four New Jerseyans in our group can’t stand him, the man remains somewhat of a hometown hero for his inability to not speak his mind and occasional willingness to call out nonsense in his own party.
Unlike Sanders, Christie has no speech prepared (“It’s too early for you to hear a big speech and too early for me to give one”). He spends his entire time on stage answering questions from the audience, all the more impressive given the high value candidates place on controlling their campaign narrative. The first question has two parts: a request for an on-stage selfie (granted, naturally) and a question about care for homeless veterans. This one feels too perfectly teed up for Christie. He emphatically states that homelessness is “a sin and a stain on our country” and that we need to start by “giving veterans the things we promised them”. It’s a good answer, overall, though probably missing some of the nuance related to mental health, drug abuse and, hence, the war on drugs, etc. It scores positive feedback from the crowd, regardless.
It’s not always so easy for Christie. He gets a noticeably stinging criticism for his support for defunding Planned Parenthood. He responds, as one of the few pro-choice Republicans in the race, with his vision for offsetting these cuts with funding for “public health clinics”, whose appeal over the status quo is not entirely made clear.
He compares this time of year to “flying into O’Hare airport on Christmas Eve… Everyone’s circling and waiting to land, but we don’t know what’s going to happen until people actually vote.”
But he also faces questions from attendees more conservative than himself. One anxious right-winger, comparing current racial tensions in America to those of the late 1960s, asks: “How do we keep Black Lives Matter and similar groups from turning into widespread rioting?” Christie doesn’t take the bait. He points out the major limitations in comparing the two time periods, pointing to his efforts at reforming the city of Camden to show that laws need to be enforced fairly for all citizens, and that law enforcement must be cooperative rather than combative with the communities it serves. Another question from a man with a Texas accent concerns the viability of alternative energy, i.e. its cost relative to oil and whether making a change is worth it if climate change “may not be real”. Christie again refuses to get drawn out, describing the variability of oil prices and the difference between short-term and long-term costs. He also takes the opportunity to link America’s oil dependence to national security threats in the Middle East, an issue on which he loves to tout his “tough guy” credentials.
Christie has some interesting things to say about the significance of polls – a recurring talking point for any candidate not named Trump or Cruz. “Polls are fun”, he says, “and clearly they’re indicative of something.” But he compares this time of year to “flying into O’Hare airport on Christmas Eve… Everyone’s circling and waiting to land, but we don’t know what’s going to happen until people actually vote.” It’s a bit of an evasion, sure, but it’s also widely speculated that Christie is staking his entire candidacy on the New Hampshire primary. That means that if he performs as well as he thinks he can, his prediction about polls may prove justified. If he doesn’t, it may well be time to give up and go home.
Another candidate hoping to defy lukewarm poll results, Kentucky Senator Dr Rand Paul, takes the stage two hours later. At this point the audience pretty much knows to expect from the man who’s not actually named after Ayn Rand but probably should have been. Paul positions himself as an objective, reasonable outsider – as so many libertarians do – criticising both parties on many of the issues he discusses: “The left says we need more gun control, and the right says we need to collect all your records.” This move plays well, given New Hampshire’s high number of registered independents and the general distrust that students seem to feel for establishment politics.
He calls it “the height of hypocrisy” for fellow Republican candidate Jeb Bush and others to oppose decriminalisation of marijuana possession and the legalisation of medical marijuana when they have admitted to using the drug as young people. Paul carefully notes that he is not encouraging or condoning drug use, but rather arguing that “we shouldn’t put people in jail for hurting themselves”. He says that current drug laws “have a disproportionate effect on certain communities”, including racial minorities and poor neighbourhoods.
He continues to defend his widely unpopular view on foreign policy, arguing that although “ISIS are terrible people” and “barbarians”, they are nonetheless fighting with “$1 billion worth of American equipment”. This equipment, he claims, is either left over from foolish ventures into Iraq and Afghanistan, or otherwise directly provided through aid to forces fighting al-Assad in Syria. He says, “Each time that a strong man has been deposed in the Middle East, we’ve gotten chaos, the rise of radical Islam, and we’ve gotten less safe.”
But Paul reserves his strongest criticisms for leftist politics. He ridicules promises of free higher education, which only Sanders advocates, saying: “Clothes are pretty important. Why not have free clothes too? And why not a free car so people can get to work?” On Obama’s newly announced executive order on gun control, he says: “He can’t declare law, otherwise he would be a king. I think what he’s done is going to be found unconstitutional.” The real crowd-pleaser comes later: “The problem with wanting everything to be free is eventually you run out of someone else’s money.” For Paul, the problem with Congress isn’t a lack of compromise, but rather that “compromise means the left gets what they want and the right gets what they want, and you get stuck with the bill”.
“The problem with wanting everything to be free is eventually you run out of someone else’s money.”
From his largely positive reception among the student audience, it feels like Paul is Bizarro World Bernie Sanders. He wants to “make government less powerful to make it less attractive for money to flow into politics”. Same problem, opposite solution. Perhaps young people appreciate candidates who package authenticity with just the right amount of insubordination. Paul’s struggle is that he appeals to a demographic that rarely votes Republican, i.e. young Republicans like Paul, but not many Republicans are young. So Paul might hypothetically match up well against Clinton in November, but his path to securing the party’s candidacy seems discouraging.
Ohio governor John Kasich directly follows Paul, though the two could hardly look less similar if they tried. Kasich comes off as entirely unassuming, wearing jeans, a button-up shirt and a North Face fleece, standing at ground level rather than up on stage. Forgetting for a second that the man was a managing director at Lehman Brothers, the character he presents feels fitting for the folksy, no-nonsense wisdom he’s dishing out. His remarks occasionally veer between inspiring and banal: “Everyone’s trying to find the ‘angle’. Politics isn’t about the angle. Politics is about making a difference… It’s a meaningful exercise in changing the way the world works” – sounds good. “Each of you has a special purpose in making the world a better place” – helpful, but pretty blatant pandering. “Persistence and a never-say-die attitude matters” – thanks for the fortune cookie, Dad.
Kasich’s attitude becomes downright patronising when he’s asked about the effects of crippling student debt. He complains that students pick colleges based on the “brand name”, when they can get a similar education at a community college or a cheaper university. At this point I have to wonder how many community college graduates Kasich hired while at Lehman Brothers, or if he just thinks that students feel masochistically compelled to drown themselves in unnecessary debt. “Don’t pick a college you can’t afford”, he says. For lots of people in this crowd, that would be all of them. He hardly improves the situation by proposing tweaks like allowing students to take college courses while in high school and “maybe some sort of effective community service can help you to retire some of that debt”.
After Kasich departs, we opt to discreetly exit the convention hall rather than stay for former Virginia governor Jim Gilmore. Non-entity Gilmore is consistently the lowest-polling of all Republican candidates and has been described as having his poll numbers “rounded up to zero”. We may have been the ones who said that.
Our attention and interest wane sharply by the end of the day, mirroring a noticeable slowdown in the entire convention. Most of the tables in the lobby are vacant or understaffed, and I choose this opportunity to grab a pair of orange shades without the accompanying lecture on climate change. We manage to entertain ourselves like this until the evening’s town hall meeting with Democratic other-guy Martin O’Malley, whom we genuinely look forward to seeing. At the last minute it turns out that O’Malley has instead arranged to give a non-participatory Skype presentation, a decision that renders our presence irrelevant and causes many of the remaining attendees to promptly head for the exits.
The only thing keeping us in town for the convention’s final day are the many words of wisdom we expect to hear from Dr Ben Carson. We awake blurry-eyed and running a few minutes late to the convention, nonetheless full of anticipation. But Carson follows O’Malley’s cue and literally phones in his speech. At this point we unceremoniously decide to cut our losses, pack our bags, and say goodbye to the state of New Hampshire.
Whether they were popular with the audience or not, so many candidates over these three days had made a genuine effort to engage with young voters, treating us like real people who have a participatory role in the political process. No one faults Rubio or Cruz or Trump for not showing up, because they didn’t make a commitment and then decide to half-ass it. With Carson and O’Malley, whatever their reasons for not attending in person, the dynamic is painfully forced and one-sided. They are giving you the same pitch you could find in any number of videos or publications on the internet, but expecting an uninterrupted hour of your time for the privilege to hear it from a face on a big screen.
After spending three days among so many passionate and politically engaged young people, many of whom devote dozens of hours of their lives to these campaigns and candidates, being taken seriously feels like the least that they deserve. Candidates like Sanders and Paul resonate with young voters because they offer a rejection of the patronising insincerity of traditional politics. They give us real ideas to engage with and a real person to feel good about. Maybe we’re asking the wrong question when we wonder why young people aren’t more involved in politics. Maybe it’s just as relevant to ask what politicians need to change to give us a reason to care.
