SOME politicians campaign in poetry, others in prose. Too often Hillary Clinton—a lifelong policy wonk—sounds like a set of PowerPoint slides. So it is striking that the best television advertisement of her 2016 presidential campaign to date offers a dose of almost undiluted emotion. Filmed at a recent meeting with Hispanic women in Las Vegas, the spot shows a young girl, Karla Ortiz, tearfully explaining that her parents may soon be deported. Offering the child a hug—“Come here, baby”—Mrs Clinton fixes her with a gaze that is part headmistress, part-grandmother, and promises to do “everything I can” so that Karla need not be scared. “Let me do the worrying, I’ll do all the worrying, is that a deal?” says the former secretary of state, senator and First Lady, as women around them wipe their eyes.

In the ad Mrs Clinton comes across as a battered-but-unbowed, worldly-but-compassionate matriarch. That is not a bad summary of Mrs Clinton’s image among many Hispanic Democrats, a group that she won by a two-to-one margin when she last sought the presidency in 2008. The spot is credited in Clinton-world with contributing to their candidate’s victory in the Nevada caucus of February 20th over her left-wing challenger, Senator Bernie Sanders, not least by shoring up her support with Latinos (different pollsters disagree as to whether Mrs Clinton narrowly won or lost the Nevada Hispanic vote). The ad is now showing on TV in Colorado, which holds its Democratic caucus on “Super Tuesday”, March 1st, when a dozen states hold presidential contests. Colorado is home to half a million Hispanic voters, and no Democrat can win the state without their help.

To Hispanic fans the Clintons are family, praised for ties stretching back to 1972, when an owlish Hillary Rodham helped register Mexican-American voters in the wilds of south Texas. Ken Salazar—a former senator, secretary of the interior and Clinton-backer—recalls how Mr Sanders voted against immigration reforms in 2007, shortly after being elected to the Senate from Vermont. Back then Mr Sanders often cast immigration as a threat to American workers. He has since reversed his stance, promising that he will “absolutely” fight to pass comprehensive immigration reform in his first 100 days as president. The Vermont senator “is new to these issues,” says Mr Salazar, tersely.

A mood of slightly mournful realism hangs over Mrs Clinton’s encounter with Karla Ortiz. The candidate does not promise to save the girl’s mother and father, because she cannot. An executive action by President Barack Obama would have shielded Karla’s parents, but is currently blocked by lawsuits filed by Republican-run states. In contrast with Mr Sanders’s bold (and implausible) talk of passing immigration reforms within weeks, Mrs Clinton says only that she would introduce an immigration bill in her first 100 days, before working to sell it to Congress. That pragmatism resonates with nine Hispanic women gathered for caucus-training at a home in Denver. An elegant group, sipping pink wine and nibbling canapés, the women include retired teachers, school principals and longtime Democratic activists. They are fired up about this election: one prompts tut-tutting as she describes nine year-old pupils who are frightened of Donald Trump, the Mexico-bashing bully running for the White House as a Republican. But they are wary of Mr Sanders’s fiery solutions and calls for revolutionary change. “Revolution is not a word that connects with us,” says Rosemary Rodriguez, a stalwart of the state Democratic Party, noting that many peers have ties to countries racked by instability. “We prefer Hillary, and evolution.”

Hispanic America: Tu casa es mi casa The Democratic primary contest has exposed a generational chasm, with Mr Sanders winning younger voters by crushing margins and Mrs Clinton doing best with older, more affluent voters, especially women. Those are good allies to have: older folk are reliable voters. The generational divide especially complicates the contest for Hispanics. Colorado’s Latino electorate is “extraordinarily young,” with more than 40% born since 1981, notes Joelle Martinez of the University of Denver. That should help Mr Sanders, who dominates among such so-called millennial voters. But Hispanic millennials are hard to turn out: in the 2012 presidential election, just 38% cast votes nationwide.

Talking about a revolution

The Sanders campaign is working hard. Caucus-training at the University of Colorado in Boulder—a mostly white campus crammed with Sanders-loving hipsters—draws a handful of Hispanics, among them Zurisadai Juarez Delgado. The undergraduate hails Mr Sanders for radical policies that would help all “marginalised” Americans and not just Latinos. She proudly reports that she has converted her mother, a former Clinton-fan. Across the state Mr Sanders has tapped into traditions of radical campaigning by Chicano activists and Hispanic union organisers. In north Denver Lexington watched young activists hit gritty streets bounded by railway lines and a roaring highway, bearing Spanish brochures hailing Mr Sanders as a son of poor immigrants.

The Clinton camp is working hard, too. Mrs Clinton has a near-lock on a different political tribe: the state’s elected Hispanic Democrats, many of them moderates who needed lots of Anglo votes to win office. Nor is she surrendering millennials to Mr Sanders. Her national Latino vote director, Lorella Praeli, is a young immigration activist who explicitly praises Mrs Clinton for making promises that she can keep. “She is not going to set the community up for failure,” says Ms Praeli.

Mrs Clinton actually faces two tests in Colorado. Mr Sanders may well win the caucus: Colorado is a proudly anti-establishment state. It is arguably more important for Mrs Clinton to win a clear majority of Latino votes. For the contest for Hispanic hearts and minds is in part a proxy fight: a dispute about how to help the disadvantaged, pitting practicality against idealistic fervour. That is a fight Mrs Clinton can ill-afford to lose.