The atmos­phere inside the school was charged with ener­gy, as Iowa res­i­dents pre­pared to make their choic­es just over an hour before the cau­cus­es offi­cial­ly began. Chap­ter 5 of the elec­tion sea­son was unfold­ing in real time, with every hall­way packed with peo­ple search­ing for their des­ig­nat­ed precinct rooms, exchang­ing greet­ings with neigh­bors, and ush­er­ing along chil­dren who appeared either intrigued or rest­less. Vol­un­teers from dif­fer­ent cam­paigns worked the crowd, dis­trib­ut­ing last-minute fly­ers and mak­ing final appeals, their voic­es blend­ing into the mix of enthu­si­asm and ner­vous antic­i­pa­tion that filled the air.

Step­ping into the des­ig­nat­ed room for one of the precinct cau­cus­es, I was struck by how unas­sum­ing the set­ting was for an event that held such polit­i­cal sig­nif­i­cance. Rows of fold­ing chairs lined the space, and a mod­est table at the front served as the head­quar­ters for the precinct cap­tain and vol­un­teers tasked with over­see­ing the pro­ceed­ings. There were no elec­tron­ic vot­ing booths or high-tech polling systems—just a gath­er­ing of cit­i­zens pre­pared to make their voic­es heard in the most direct and pub­lic demon­stra­tion of grass­roots democ­ra­cy.

The process began with an expla­na­tion of the cau­cus rules, ensur­ing that every­one under­stood what was about to unfold. Sup­port­ers of each can­di­date would have the oppor­tu­ni­ty to make their case before stand­ing in groups to sig­nal their alle­giance, a prac­tice that felt both tra­di­tion­al and intense­ly per­son­al. Any can­di­date who failed to secure at least 15% of the room’s sup­port in the ini­tial count would be deemed non-viable, and their sup­port­ers would then be allowed to realign with their sec­ond-choice can­di­date, reshap­ing the results in real-time.

As the pro­ceed­ings got under­way, I watched our cam­paign orga­niz­ers nav­i­gate the room, guid­ing first-time par­tic­i­pants with patience and exper­tise. Their months of ground­work, knock­ing on doors and build­ing rela­tion­ships across the state, were evi­dent in their com­po­sure and pre­pared­ness. When the ini­tial align­ment process began, I held my breath, hop­ing that our message—rooted in the promise of change and unity—had res­onat­ed with enough peo­ple to make a dif­fer­ence.

The room was a flur­ry of move­ment as par­tic­i­pants orga­nized them­selves into groups, engag­ing in respect­ful but deter­mined dis­cus­sions about their choic­es. Once the num­bers were tal­lied, the result was clear: we had achieved via­bil­i­ty in this precinct, a cru­cial step for­ward that mir­rored what was unfold­ing in many oth­er loca­tions across Iowa that night. It was a small vic­to­ry in itself, but col­lec­tive­ly, it sig­naled some­thing much bigger—a shift in momen­tum that no one had ful­ly antic­i­pat­ed.

With the realign­ment phase, our num­bers only grew, as sup­port­ers of non-viable can­di­dates joined us, per­suad­ed by friends, neigh­bors, or the broad­er vision our cam­paign embod­ied. I took a moment to thank every­one in the room, regard­less of their final choice, express­ing grat­i­tude for their civic engage­ment and will­ing­ness to par­tic­i­pate in this unique­ly Amer­i­can tra­di­tion. Their pres­ence, their voic­es, and their pas­sion rein­forced why we had launched this cam­paign in the first place.

By the time Michelle, David Plouffe, Valerie Jar­rett, Reg­gie Love, and Mar­vin Nichol­son joined me at our cam­paign head­quar­ters, the first results had begun to trick­le in. The team clus­tered around tele­vi­sion screens, lap­tops glow­ing in the dim room, track­ing returns with a mix of cau­tious hope and ner­vous excite­ment. Each precinct’s report felt like a tiny heart­beat, pump­ing adren­a­line into an already elec­tri­fied night, as we wait­ed for con­fir­ma­tion of what we had dared to believe might be pos­si­ble.

Then, the moment arrived—the call came in: we had won Iowa. Cheers erupt­ed across the room as ela­tion swept through the staff, the ten­sion of months of gru­el­ing effort dis­solv­ing into cel­e­bra­tion. Hugs, tears, and laugh­ter filled the space, as dis­be­lief gave way to the real­iza­tion that we had defied the odds, over­com­ing the polit­i­cal machin­ery of more sea­soned can­di­dates with noth­ing but a belief in some­thing greater. This wasn’t just a vic­to­ry on a cam­paign trail; it was a val­i­da­tion of the move­ment we had built, an affir­ma­tion that, despite its flaws, Amer­i­ca still had the capac­i­ty to embrace hope over fear and progress over divi­sion.

The jour­ney ahead would be long, with unex­pect­ed hur­dles and chal­lenges wait­ing just beyond the hori­zon. But for that one cold night in Iowa, in a room filled with the peo­ple who had become my sec­ond fam­i­ly, I allowed myself to believe in what we had always hoped for: the idea that change was not only pos­si­ble but with­in reach.