R&R: Going for a spin

Inside a presidential debate.

Good morning and welcome to another edition of R&R, a private email for Wake Up To Politics paid subscribers. Every week in R&R, I recap the latest news and recommend other pieces of journalism I’ve enjoyed; from time to time, I also try to give you an inside peek at what it’s like covering politics, like I did at the Supreme Court and the DNC. This morning, another installment in that series: taking you inside the Spin Room.

The first time I walked into a presidential debate Spin Room, I almost wasn’t allowed in.

It was the 2015 Democratic presidential primary debate in Iowa; I was 14 years old, and the DNC had promised me credentials to the media filing center (where reporters gather to watch the debate) and the Spin Room (where candidates and their surrogates flock to afterwards to “spin” reporters on their performance).

But, when I arrived, the DNC staffer in charge of handing out credentials informed me that, actually, I would only be credentialed to the filing center. I had come all the way to Des Moines, she told me, to watch the debate on TV, just like I could from the comfort of my couch.

I spent the rest of the day cajoling, arguing, begging, and pleading and — with the help of some prominent journalists I recruited to my cause — I was eventually allowed inside. The woman from the DNC eventually walked into the media filing center to grant me the credentials; she threw the lanyard on the table angrily. “You reporters are all the same,” she snarled. (I took that as a compliment.)

That was my introduction to the uniquely American innovation that is a post-debate Spin Room. More dignified political systems either either don’t have Spin Rooms or don’t need them — but, in the U.S., they are the place to be after a presidential debate.

They’re also a good opportunity to watch the solar system of American politics splayed out in front of you, warts and all. Every campaign rep in the room has a staffer whose job it is to follow them all night with a big stick that announces their name and affiliation (“JOSH SHAPIRO / HARRIS,” or “BYRON DONALDS / TRUMP”). The more famous names (and their sticks) find themselves in the center of concentric orbits of reporters (we call them “scrums”), all hungry for a quote. A more obscure politician might be left spinning for only a few takers.