Clinton is anointed in 2016 (Jessica Kourkounis/Getty Images)

Joe Biden is out. For Democrats, that is welcome news. But the party will not rouse Americans by simply throwing the car keys to Vice President Kamala Harris. To stir the people, Democrats need an open convention. By grabbing the veritable lapel of the American public, the party has a chance to steal Trump’s momentum — and America’s attention. In fact, history shows that in the recent past, this was exactly how presidents were nominated.
America’s presidential cycles, dubbed “The Circus” by a Showtime docuseries, have only recently become punishingly absurd ultra-marathons — the 2024 presidential election cycle officially began with the first Republican debate — 444 days before election day. Parties used to choose nominees at quadrennial summer conventions at which delegates from each state would gather to nominate a presidential ticket. Then over several hot summer days, candidates debated while insiders took stock of their political chops and electability. These conventions were essentially primaries writ small and in-brief. Delegates voted. Nominees were chosen. And the consequent presidential campaigns were measured in days (approximately100) — not years.
But choosing presidents via these closed sessions of party insiders understandably had its detractors. And in the early 20th century, good government progressives felt the need to challenge the monopoly power of party bosses. And so, the goo-goos, as the press labelled them, established presidential primaries. Reformers believed primaries would curb the power of party bosses, ease corruption, and make democracy more responsive to popular sentiments. By 1916, 20 scattered states hosted presidential primaries. But dubbed “beauty contests” by journalists, the primaries held no actual power. A candidate could prove their electability by winning one, but that state’s convention delegates were not required to support them. Voters turned out sporadically. Most candidates ignored them.
In postwar America, however, that calculus changed. In 1930, fewer than one-in-five Americans held high school diplomas; a paltry 3.9% graduated from college. By the Seventies, those numbers had tripled. Meanwhile, per capita GDP had nearly quintupled. In this milieu, a new mass demographic was born, the educated middle class. A mix of economics and vocation, the educated middle class are lawyers, engineers, teachers, doctors, and journalists. Not quite rich but comfortably affluent, they were blessed with leisure time. And this class no longer treated politics as spectator sport — they wanted to participate. Participatory democracy, to them, ensured greater accountability.
In 1952 their presidential candidate, Tennessee senator Estes Kefauver, challenged Harry Truman in the New Hampshire Democratic primary. Folksy, cerebral, and media savvy, the Tennessean clubbed the sitting president, 54-46%. The drubbing forced Truman into retirement; Kefauver went on to win 12 of 15 primary contests. But Kefauver never stood a chance of being nominated. Party bosses knew a secret the larger public did not — the Tennessean’s alcoholism. Kefauver’s boozing was prodigious even in an era in which crapulence was the norm. The party bosses won out. But Kefauver made the primaries, and the educated middle class, matter.
Instead of Kefauver, Democrats, at the 1952 open convention, nominated Illinois Governor, Adlai Stevenson. Generations before Barack Obama, the Illinoisan tickled the educated middle class to their cockles with stirring rhetoric. Forgetting Kefauver, they dubbed themselves Stevensonians, and flocked into the Democratic Party. In so doing, the educated middle class gained power in the Democratic Party far beyond their numbers.
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