Much of the political world has come to regard Iowans as a bit flaky. The prospect that their indecision could have allowed a gadfly such as Paul to win prompted many commentators to write obituaries for the Iowa contests: This could "do irreparable harm" (Politico), "discredit the Iowa caucuses" (Fox's Chris Wallace), and perhaps bring about "the demise of Iowa" (handicapper Stuart Rothenberg).
I disagree. Iowa Republicans' indecision perfectly captures the existential struggle within the GOP nationally and within conservatism. They don't know what they want - or even who they are.
Are they tea partiers? Isolationists? Pro-business types? Populists? Moralists? Worried workers? Do they want the corporate caretaker (Romney), the oddball isolationist (Paul), or the cultural warrior (Santorum)?
Tuesday night's returns indicated that Iowans never did make up their mind; the three men carved up the vote almost evenly. A poll of voters entering the caucuses found that nearly one in five hadn't chosen a candidate until Tuesday.
In their internal conflict, Iowans fulfilled their first-in-the-nation status by faithfully acting out Republican fissures. "The jumble at the top is very reflective of the Republican Party nationally," argued David Yepsen, the longtime Register political writer now with Southern Illinois University. "It's activists here reflecting activists all over the country: Who are we? What are we for?"
"This is a fight for the soul of the party," former Republican National Committee Chairman Michael Steele told me this week.
Gore's disease
The final events before the caucuses neatly demonstrated this. Romney, suffering from a chronic awkwardness known as Al Gore's disease, took the stage in jeans and penny loafers, with a phalanx of lawmakers behind him to show support. He spoke as if lecturing ("output per person is the highest in the world"), which induced audience members - even the officeholders onstage - to scan their smartphones.
To affect passion, Romney read a few lines from "America the Beautiful." To affect jocularity, he said his kids refer to his wife as "The Mitt Stabilizer." This produced laughter - from members of the press corps, who couldn't picture Romney requiring extra stability.
Like their candidate, Romney supporters are a pragmatic, if uninspired, bunch. There were only about 100 of them on hand for the final rally in Des Moines, leaving many seats empty at the event's start time. Those who applauded their man did so for a grand total of six seconds. The one passionate Romney supporter I found ("I love Mitt!") was a London School of Economics student who admired his electability.
Say anything
The Paul supporters, by contrast, were all heart. Not allowed inside to see the candidate's final speech (to a group of students), they stood in the cold for hours, waving signs and waiting for a glimpse of their man. They shouted: "We love you, Ron!" And: "Forty-fifth president!" When Santorum left the same event, they heckled him.
"I took the day off work for this," said insurance salesman Justin Yourison, a Paul precinct captain. "If he doesn't get the nomination, I'm not voting for anyone else. ... If the GOP doesn't let us in, they can do without us."
If the Romney supporters were cerebral and the Paul supporters passionate, the Santorum supporters didn't know quite what they were. At one of Santorum's final appearances, he buttonholed one undecided voter, Sue Koch, and asked her, repeatedly, to caucus for him. She finally told him she would.
When the candidate walked away, Koch gave a shrug. "I had to say something," she said.
Dana Milbank is a Washington Post columnist. He can be reached at danamilbank@washpost.com.
