By Marc Pitzke in Philadelphia
Not so different after all.
Around 35,000 people have assembled to watch him on this mild spring evening on Philadelphia's Independence Mall, a strip of outdoor public park lying in the shadow of the colonial meeting house (Independence Hall) where the Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776. It's the largest gathering for Obama in the campaign; it may be the largest gathering for anyone in this presidential primary.
So it's a reason to celebrate. But Obama's voice sounds erratic, impatient, almost angry. His microphone fails. "Hello? Hello?" And his voice lacks its usual melody; his orchestrated cascades of words sound dull. At one point he stanches the flow of applause -- "People, listen!"
Obama reads for 20 minutes from a piece of paper, sounding tired and laconic. He evokes, as usual, this "defining moment in history." And he fulminates against "war without end." He condemns "the broken politics of Washington … the politics that's all about tearing each other down when what we need is to lift this country up."
But then that's just what he does. The second half of his speech consists of attacks on his rival, Hillary Clinton. "She has taken more money from Washington lobbyists than any candidate in this campaign," he says. Clinton is running a "negative campaign," just like "the Republicans would do it." And now, when Obama mentions Hillary's name, the crowd boos.
Slash and Burn
Until now, Obama has stood aloof from political mudfights, renouncing ad hominem attacks and generally playing the grown-up.
But he started to bow deep into the muddy trenches after Clinton finally managed, in the last few weeks, to bring him down with biting personal attacks.
It's having a visible effect on his usually calm demeanor; his lighthearted moments come less often and his bearing is grimmer. He seems to be bearing a weight, perhaps the weight of someone not living up to his own claims.
It had to come to this. Shortly before Tuesday's Pennsylvania primary -- which Clinton has to win by a clear majority if she wants to stay in the race -- the feeling between Clinton and Obama seemed poisoned, and the worst presentiments from close primary contests in Texas and Ohio have been borne out: The Democrats are flaying each other, and it's helping John McCain.
Six weeks have passed since the last primary, in Mississippi, and this long gap in campaigning has made the problem worse. The main themes have been discussed to death in the meantime, so the candidates have nothing left to do but tear down the false pretense of harmony and indulge in what American politics likes to call "slash and burn."
"To me it seems like the candidates have shaken every hand in Pennsylvania," said Bob Friedman, an internist from Scranton, where Clinton spent many summers as a girl. Both candidates are beleaguering the city for votes. "In one week I've met both Clinton and Obama."
They've pounded the streets of Philadelphia's suburbs, where around half the delegates will be chosen; they've visited coffeeshops, churches and nursing homes. Obama even trundled on a train to Harrisburg, waving to people from the rear car.
Clinton often had five campaign stops per day. She's hoping for a double-digit victory in Pennsylvania, which would renew her chances for the nomination. Obama just wants to stop her -- or even score an upset that would potentially bring the fight to an end. Polls have suggested anything's possible; over the last several weeks he's narrowed a 20-percent Clinton lead to pull almost even.
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