The questions are silly and trivial, not merely because the candidates have essentially the same positions on the issues, but because after all these debates I'm stuck somewhere between brain-dead and determined indifferent. I return to my roast beef sandwich, which makes me happy.
"That's incredible!" blurts a lanky journalists standing just behind my chair. "It's been 50 minutes and only now a policy question." He shakes his head, gray hair bounces. His blue eyes are glowing. "It's been 50 minutes!"
With little or no light between their positions on the issues -- withdrawal from Iraq, no tax hikes for the middle class, energy independence, gun control (the "City of Brotherly Love" is today more like the "City of Brotherly Dead"), rising gas prices -- the debate limps from the trivial to the substantial; but with the same old, unimaginative questions. It is Q&A set in cement, questions from the center line, answers tied to extreme caution. And more journalists drift over to the food table where they face another question: ham and Swiss cheese? Chicken and lettuce? Or roast beef with provolone?
Meanwhile, there is a heavy question brewing, one that crushing boredom and food breaks will only feed. It's a question that will inevitably rip to the surface and unmercifully shoot a nasty hand-chewing fear through journalists. Well, me anyway. The question? What to write! In the empty mind and computer screens of journalists, panic hacks the mind to pieces. What do we do? Simple! Ask other journalists what they're writing. Not directly of course, but by drawing them into conversation, pretending each of their thoughts is a golden nugget, and then steal them. Enough about our trade secrets.
In fact the debate was packed with excitement, but with the excitement of anti-excitement. So the headline from the debate would not be Clinton or Obama, but those 50 minutes of silly and trivial questions. Our private boredom became public anger, the petty and asinine went too far in Philadelphia, and journalists had a great time stomping ABC and its Debate-gate. Obama then said he was through with debates. And not a few journalists celebrated that the death of American democracy may not be a sure thing after all.
The Spin Room
From the third floor of the Filing Room in the ultra-modern glassy Kimmel Center in the National Constitution Center on Independence Mall, debates are always held in long names, I peer down on a dark and nearly empty Arch Street. Where several thousand screaming Clinton supporters had been there is now only a few scattered city policemen and Secret Service agents. Wait! On a dark corner, all alone, are a few people holding signs. Ron Paul signs, of course.
At the Texas debate last month, or the month before, a young Paul supporter on the wire outside the debate hall said to me with passion-full eyes: "American democracy should be more than debate circuses and tiresome stump speeches." I don't remember what the candidates said in the debate, although it was probably the same they are saying right now, but I do remember his words.
Soon the audience will begin filing out of the debate hall. There will be rosy colored cheeks, sharp looking dark suits and snuggly light dresses, few will be minorities, no one will be really fat, most will have gray hair and bleached blond hair and both will be combed precisely. The audience at the Philadelphia debate, like at the Los Angles debate, like at the Myrtle Beach debate, like at the Cleveland debate, like at the Austin debate, reek of money and power. The class disparity between those inside the debate halls and those outside on the streets is jarring. It's another uncomfortable thought about American democracy gone terribly wrong.
With the debate over, 600 journalists in rocket form hurl themselves down the stairwell in the direction of the Spin Room, where immediately following debates, candidates send spokespeople to say why their candidate clearly won the debate. It's silly, of course. Yet, for hungry campaign addicts, it's red meat. After sitting for two hours, watching words drift back and forth like ping-pong balls and with about as much weight, after several journalists discussing flinging themselves out the third floor window for a little excitement, the Spin Room race is a heavy fix. Journalism is an adrenaline profession. But this campaign has turned the casualties into addicts.
Inside the Spin Room swarm addicts with narrow eyes and chests pounding for prey. They shove and weave, do sharp U-turns, anything to get close to the campaign talking-heads. Cameras blind the eyes, thick cords trip bodies, screams of horror pierce eardrums. Doesn't matter, this is war. Some journalists attempt to outflank the herd, others throw a professional snarl and barrel straight ahead. And there are the pointed elbows! An accidental kick! The news depends on it! Your editor demands it! The world demands it!
Five signs on long sticks float about the swarming journalists, all announce "Hillary Clinton." Under each sign is a spokesperson for the Clinton campaign who is saying, "It's clear that Senator Clinton won this debate because..." Hundreds of pressing journalists scribble every word of the utter truth. Then interrupt with thoughtful and provoking questions such as, "What's that?" and "Why's that?"
I do not see a single Barack Obama sign, which is strange. Yet, Obama representatives must be entangled in this Spin Room hysteria, delivering exactly the same utter truth but with a totally different conclusion. More "Hilary Clinton" signs float into the room, followed by more campaign truth-tellers. Like out on the street, in the Spin Room the Clinton campaign is stomping the Obama campaign.
Of course neither Hillary Clinton nor Barack Obama "won" the Philadelphia debate; no one wins debates after 21 debates. You survive, and both did survive the debate. Yet, this is hardly exciting for a foaming editor. Still, there may have been a winner in Philadelphia, not with words in front of the television cameras, but with actions beyond the cameras. In New Hampshire Clinton came roaring back from the brink and won that crucial election, as she won Super Tuesday and Super Tuesday II because her campaign responded with an awesome performance. Not just the candidate, but her entire organization.
Will she now win this "crucial" Pennsylvania Primary and take her underdog campaign down the home stretch and right on to the floor of the Democratic National Convention in Denver? Stay tuned, this boring election isn't over yet. In fact, it might be getting exciting.
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