Super Tuesday. Then what?

Presidential primary elections have begun. And, by golly, they will soon be over.

By the end of next month, most of the primaries will be history — only 13 primary elections and caucuses will remain. In contrast, in 2004, 49 primaries and caucuses were scheduled after March 1.

It is likely that "Super Tuesday" — Feb. 5, when voters in 23 states, including New York, will go to the polls or caucuses — will effectively determine the nominees of the Democratic and Republican parties.

The pace of this year's presidential primary season is dizzying. Why are we in such a hurry? All right, maybe everyone is as anxious as I am for a new administration in Washington. Look at the president's approval ratings. But that isn't really what shifted the primary process into turbo-drive. The Democratic National Committee in 2006 allowed the change to give minority voters a voice early in the process, since the two traditionally early contests — in New Hampshire and Iowa — took place in very white states. A laudable goal, no doubt. But states rushed to push up their primaries so as not to become "irrelevant." Only 15 states didn't move up their primary dates.

The result of this compression: the campaign may well be over on Feb. 5.

Then what? What will the candidates do until the conventions (Aug. 25-28 for the Dems and Sept. 1-4 for the GOP)? What will we, the voters, do? After a smattering of contests in March and May, there's one primary on June 3, in South Dakota. These will be all but meaningless in the scheme of things, as far as Democrats and Republicans are concerned. Then... there's no activity until the end of August.

Will notoriously apathetic Americans completely lose interest during a long, lazy summer — especially after being burned out by the longest pre-primary campaign in history. "Voter fatigue" is a new buzz-phrase thanks to the 2008 presidential race — which started in 2006.

Will the anointed candidates lose momentum over the summer? Will one of the two "major party" nominees make a terrible blunder? And what if he — or she — does? Can delegates pledged to a candidate bolt from his or her camp? These possibilities could make for much drama at the conventions — something we haven't seen in decades.

Maybe the Democratic and Republican parties, by front-loading the primary elections this way, have unwittingly set the stage for an independent candidate to capture the hearts and minds of Americans who are sick and tired of the status quo in Washington and who don't see any of the "major party" candidates as anything but more of the same, more or less. Tuesday's "record high" turnouts in New Hampshire — more than 500,000 people — topped 50 percent of registered voters. It may have even approached 60 percent. It's sad that a 50-percent-plus turnout is something to get excited about. But it is. As a nation we are disillusioned with our government and political process. And we should be.

Maybe the long stretch of "major party" inactivity between March and November is the perfect opportunity for an independent candidate to become the next president of the United States. When they moved their primary dates up, most states didn't do the same with their filing deadlines for the November ballot.

It's ironic that the compressed primary season was triggered by the stated desire to give minority voters a greater say in the presidential primary process, and a black man ends up being the favorite to win the primary in one of the traditionally early, very white, primary states, New Hampshire.

It's doubly ironic that a woman won an "upset" victory over the black candidate in the very white state thanks to her "Muskie moment" on the campaign trail the other day. Television pundits were crediting Hillary's surge at the polls Tuesday to voters' favorable reaction to her show of emotion. Go figure. I guess people felt reassured to learn Hillary really is human. She never cracked during the Lewinsky scandal. Her stoic front made her seem cold and emotionless. When I first met the senator on a North Fork visit a couple of years ago, I was most impressed — and surprised — by her personal warmth. She's not the icy you-know-what she may seem to be. But then again, neither am I.

Ms. Civiletti invites you to join a discussion of this topic at civiletti.blogspot.com. Her e-mail address is denise@timesreview.com.

A cosmic joke

It was the fall of 1972. Richard Nixon was about to hand George McGovern a historic defeat.

I was a high school sophomore, not quite 15, but very tuned in to current events and national politics.

We all were. It was a tumultuous time: Vietnam, the anti-war movement, the civil rights movement, the women's rights movement. The events of the day were not abstract concepts; they affected us directly. Older siblings were drafted into the service and sent to Southeast Asia. Too many came home in coffins. The streets of the nation's cities were teeming with protests, some of which turned violent. Young versus old, black versus white, women versus men, peacenik versus hawk. And it was all on the nightly news, from the jungles in Vietnam to urban riots and campus demonstrations.

In 1972, for the first time ever, 18-, 19- and 20-year-olds would be allowed to vote in a presidential election, thanks to the 26th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution ratified the year before. That was big. Huge, in my almost-15-year-old eyes. It meant I'd be voting in the next presidential contest, in 1976. And I was convinced that young people would turn the tide in American politics. (Wrong.)

I remember sitting around the lunch table one day discussing politics. (Yes, we really did have discussions like that in the cafeteria. And, no, we were not geeks.) I faithfully wore my McGovern button on my blue uniform blazer every day that fall. My leanings got me into arguments with pro-Nixon classmates, who far outnumbered us McGovernites at my small Catholic high school.

Passionate and outspoken, I found myself engaged in heated debates during lunch more often than not. On this day, following just such a discussion, a couple of friends told me they expected me to be the first woman elected president of the United States. My immediate reaction, after calculating that I wouldn't be eligible to run until 1994 (you have to be 35 — ancient! — to run for president): No way! We'll definitely elect a woman president long before then.

Truly, I have been wrong about so many things along life's winding path. But the spectacularly wrong belief I professed with such certainty that afternoon in 1972 must rank among my all-time worst prognostications. I was so sure. It seemed so clear. But, boy, was it wrong.

So wrong that I still remember it vividly, 35 years later — when, not only haven't we elected a woman president, but this is the first time in U.S. history a woman has a real shot at the presidential nomination by one of the major parties.

And we're still discussing the fact that she's a woman. At least we've gotten beyond talking about what she wears or how she styles her hair.

How ironic that in this race, when a woman is finally on the presidential short list, a black man is also a serious contender in the race, also for the first time in history. Now, I'm not sure I'm ready to vote for Barack Obama for president — but not because of his race. It's just that I don't know if I'm ready to vote for a presidential candidate who's younger than I am.

We're careening toward an inevitable, historic clash of the long-overdue deliverance on unfulfilled promises in America: gender versus race. As the 2008 race heats up — albeit prematurely, even before we can digest the results of the 2007 local elections — Hillary and Barack will beat each other up, neutralizing each other and guaranteeing the status quo.

This is a practical joke of cosmic proportions, and probably proof that God is a wealthy, white, male Republican after all.

But, hey, I could be wrong. After all, I've been wrong before.