Do British readers find the US primary system confusing? If so, they're in good company. Most Americans don't get it either. Far from being constitutionally mandated, it is a relatively recent phenomenon, a product of the progressive movement of the early 20th century. The individual states have established their own procedures, which accounts for the grab bag of primaries and caucuses and the variety of arcane procedures with which the candidates (and newsreaders) have had to contend.
Initially, primaries were purely advisory, and party elders often ignored the results. The first election cycle where they became formally binding was as recent as 1960, when John F Kennedy felt obliged to show the political bosses a Catholic could win Protestant votes.
The American presidency is a peculiar office, not solely governmental, but not primarily ceremonial. The best description might be "tribal." Presidents formulate policy, but they also occupy unique psychic space in the minds of most Americans. They are the country's public face—and it's desirable they seem plausible in that role. So when casting your primary vote, you often heed the signals that bypass your intellect en route to the limbic system.
This cycle, the Republican candidates didn't engage anyone's limbic system. It was generally dismissed as a mediocre field. The initial frontrunner, John McCain, seemed so shopworn that party activists anointed virtually everyone else in the race—Huckabee, Giuliani, Romney and Thompson—declaring each by turn the inevitable victor, until, when all were found wanting, they reluctantly reverted back to the original frontrunner.
In retrospect, the Clinton campaign made one big error, subsuming all the smaller tactical blunders: their candidate ran as if she were the nominee, awaiting coronation. It was damaging to their own psychology—encouraging a defensiveness toward the media, suggesting that questioning the candidate was an exercise in lèse majesté—and it permitted the inner circle of advisers to listen only to one another, to view dissent as evidence of disloyalty. And they were slow to recognise that they were confronting an extraordinary opponent; many refuse to do so even now.
There will be an ongoing debate about when the contest irrevocably ended. The numbers suggested finality as early as February; by then, Clinton would have had to win the remaining contests by impossible margins to close the gap. But the atmospherics of the deal weren't clinched until 6th May, with the Indiana and North Carolina primaries. They followed a fortnight of very bad political news for Obama, and the demographics of Indiana played precisely to Clinton's forehand; these were the voters, white and working-class, Clinton had been claiming only she could reach. If she had a chance to reverse the momentum and defy the metrics, this was it, remote but not wholly dismissible. But when Obama won North Carolina easily and lost Indiana by only a hair, her last argument for continuing was gone.
So it's Obama vs McCain, a race impossible to handicap. In ordinary times, a Democrat would win handily. The country has recoiled from "the Republican brand" in record numbers; Democrats will certainly pick up many House and Senate seats. But in the presidential race, there is a pesky issue remaining, one that will barely be acknowledged and can't accurately be polled: that issue is, of course, race. Any white male Democrat not convicted of necrophilia would simply amble into the White House. But whether voters in 2008 can visualise a black man as their tribal chieftain… well, that's what we'll find out in November.
