As I walk down Main Street in another small New Hampshire town chanting "Oooooooo Bama” and furiously waving a banner with corresponding typeface, I wait expectantly for the one question that will puncture my adrenalin-induced, partisanship-fueled high.

“Nice parade, guy. But where’s Obama?”

People ask this question without fail. It may come from an old man in his lawn chair, one half of a young couple standing arm in arm, or even from a precocious toddler, barely sure of his balance no less his political affiliation.

New Hampshire is host to the nation’s first presidential primary, and because of their first in the nation status, citizens of New Hampshire are able to meet each and any candidate they desire. If they can’t, they can certainly finagle a house party with a suitable surrogate or have an extended conversation with a volunteer who canvasses their neighborhood. Being such a volunteer (and having done several campaigns), I can attest to a general level of friendliness, knowledge, and interest on behalf of the citizens in the political process that is unparalleled in most states. It is this level of attention, and the earnestness with which everyday citizens engage the process, which illustrates the great value of the early primaries.

The downside is that at times, people seem spoiled, and, at other times, unfairly favored. How can everyone at every parade in the middle-of-nowhere New Hampshire expect to actually see Senator Barack Obama (D-Ill) marching alongside a scraggly (although quite large) group of volunteers and our shoestring marching band? Isn’t our large presence alone indicative of special attention?

These are the types of rebukes that come to mind when I am marching along and I and hear the perennial heckle about the candidate’s absence. And such bratty behavior pales in comparison when considering the more powerful argument against the primary: One of the smallest and most affluent states in the country (not to mention one of the most predominantly white) has the power to greatly influence the presidential candidate offered by each of the two major parties.

Politicians, especially those who have run or are running for president, support New Hampshire’s primary. This is an obvious point, but it further demonstrates the savvy of New Hampshire voters. New Hampshirites wield the product of their first in the nation status, which is exposure, to retain more of that same product in the future. No politician who hopes to win the New Hampshire primary can say to those same voters that the primary should be moved back in the name of giving a more representative (or simply different) state a chance. This is a tough position for a politician because a viable candidate cannot afford to miss too many parades, much less ignore the entire state.

The New Hampshire primary is a bizarre manifestation of the American politic. But in many ways, it is also an example of what our democracy should be. Having worked in campaigns and canvassed voters in locales as disparate as San Diego, California and Portland, Maine, I am confident that New Hampshire voters are the most receptive and informed I have ever met. They take their citizenship seriously. While knocking on people’s doors I have been offered reading lists, documentary titles, and sophisticated political analysis, not to mention lemonade, cookies, and even a hamburger. And I would predict the same treatment in other early states, such as Iowa or Nevada.

Whether New Hampshirites have simply adapted to all the attention they receive, or are genuinely excited about the process is difficult to determine. But, without a doubt, the voters here are a breath of fresh air to anybody who believes in our civil contract. The primary system is in need of a massive reform, but until then, the purest form of town hall democracy continues its long tradition here in New Hampshire.

Robert G. King ’09-’10, a Crimson editorial editor, is a history concentrator in Winthrop House.