Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Chapter 373 - 176: A New Kind of Blue

But there was still dissent in the crowd.

A middle-aged man in a camouflage hunting jacket and a baseball cap that read "National Rifle Association" pushed his way to the front.

He wasn’t holding a weapon, but there was a conspicuous bulge at his waist—standard issue for men in a place like Erie.

"Mayor!"

the man shouted in a rough voice.

"We trust you, and we want that money, but... that’s the Democratic Party!"

The man’s voice was loud, instantly silencing the people around him.

"Those liberals in Washington, they’re on TV all day yelling about banning our guns! They support letting people who don’t even know if they’re men or women into women’s bathrooms! They want to shut down our churches!"

"If we take their money, does that mean we have to hand over our hunting rifles? Does it mean we have to accept their disgusting rules?"

The question was like a bucket of cold water poured over a freshly lit fire.

The crowd began to stir restlessly.

In these deep-red districts of Western Pennsylvania, cultural identity was often more stubborn than economic interest.

They might curse their own mothers for a loaf of bread, but they would never give up their family’s Remington hunting rifle for it.

That was their bottom line, the final bastion of their way of life.

Some began to chime in.

"Yeah, Ron, money is good, but some things aren’t for sale."

"I don’t want my grandson being taught how to change his gender in school."

"If that’s the case, we’d rather not have the money!"

The situation had become delicate.

The wave of support for Smith, which had been overwhelming just moments ago, now showed cracks.

Smith stood on the steps, looking at the man in the camo hat, then at the wary eyes that had reappeared around him.

He had been waiting for this question.

Smith bent down and picked up a document from the ground.

"I knew it."

Smith’s tone became even more forceful than before.

"I knew you’d ask this."

"Do you think I’m a fool? Do you think that for thirty million US dollars, I’d sell the dignity of the Erie People, our hunting rifles, and our Bibles to a bunch of city-dwelling pansies?"

Smith held up the document, letting it rustle loudly in the wind.

"To address your concerns, I talked with that Leo Wallace from Pittsburgh all night long!"

"I slammed my fist on the table and told him!"

Smith’s eyes widened, as if Leo were standing right in front of him.

"I said: ’Leo, we can sign the contract, we can change parties, but if you dare lay a single finger on the Erie People, if you dare make us give up a single gun, or make us learn your damn political correctness...’"

"’Then you can take your money back! I, Ron Smith, would rather resign and beg on the streets than take your filthy money!’"

The square fell silent.

Everyone stared at the document as if it were the stone tablets Moses brought down from Mount Sinai.

"He agreed."

Smith said loudly.

"Not only did he agree, he put these promises down in black and white, right here in this agreement!"

"This is our special privilege!"

Smith opened the document and began to read aloud.

"First!"

Smith held up one finger.

"We are not joining that high-and-mighty Democratic Party in Washington!"

"We are forming a brand-new organization: the Pennsylvania Blue-collar Caucus!"

"In this caucus, there are no latte-sipping elites rambling on about gender issues. Here, there are only factory workers, only farmers, only truck drivers!"

"Our platform can be summed up in two words: Our paychecks!"

"We’ll side with whoever puts food on our tables! We don’t take orders from Washington, we take orders from our stomachs!"

This conceptual substitution was extremely clever.

Leo and his people had torn off the "Democratic Party" label and replaced it with the more class-friendly "Blue-collar Caucus."

This gave these staunch supporters of the Republican Party a psychological way out.

They weren’t defecting to the enemy; they were joining a new Union that belonged to them.

"Second!"

Smith’s voice rose a few decibels as he pointed at the man in the camo hat.

"Guns are the red line!"

"The agreement states it crystal clear: In Erie, in Scranton, in all our allied cities, the Second Amendment to the Constitution is sacred and inviolable!"

"No one can touch your guns!"

"The sheriff here is elected by us, and the police chief answers to me! As long as I’m in this office, any gun ban from Washington is just a piece of worthless paper in Erie!"

"If anyone dares to come and take your guns, I’ll be the first one standing on your doorstep with my double-barreled shotgun!"

A round of cheers erupted from the crowd.

The camo-hatted man’s expression softened, and he even nodded.

This was what they wanted to hear.

This was the sense of security they needed.

"Third!"

Smith continued.

"Regarding future investments."

"We don’t want any of that fluffy, empty stuff."

"Leo Wallace promised me that with the establishment of this alliance, none of the funds will be used for ’green software,’ building ’eco-friendly art museums,’ or supporting consultants who can only write PowerPoint presentations."

"We’re going to build factories!"

"We’re going to open mines!"

"We’re going to make batteries, build heavy machinery, and build trucks that run on our roads!"

Smith pumped his fist, every movement filled with power.

"We’re going to make the smokestacks smoke again, make the machines roar again, and make Pennsylvania the giant that produces steel, not spreadsheets, once more!"

This point completely shattered the psychological defenses of everyone present.

Smith looked at the once-again fanatical eyes in the crowd below.

He knew the final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.

He raised the document high above his head.

"Brothers!"

Smith let out a final roar.

"Now, I have a question for you."

"If there was a party, or an alliance like this."

"It doesn’t take your guns."

"It doesn’t close your churches."

"It doesn’t teach your kids all that nonsense."

"It does only one thing—it gives you a paycheck, fixes the road in front of your house, and lets you provide for your wife and kids."

Smith’s gaze was burning.

"Do you still care what it’s called?"

"Do you still care if it’s red or blue?"

A brief silence. Three seconds later.

"We don’t care!"

A roar erupted from the crowd.

It was followed by a second, and a third.

"We want jobs!"

"To hell with the colors! Just give us the money!"

"Ron, sign it! Bring the money home!"

The wave of sound was like a bursting dam, instantly flooding the entire square.

The man in the camo hat took it off and waved it furiously.

"Fuck Warren! Bring the money home!"

The cheers were deafening.

Smith stood on the steps, watching the frenzied scene.

He had succeeded.

...

「Pittsburgh. The Mayor’s Office.」

Leo sat on the sofa, watching the live broadcast on the wall-mounted television.

The moment he heard the crowd shout "We don’t care," he picked up the remote.

CLICK.

The television screen went black.

The room returned to silence.

Leo let out a long breath and leaned back against the chair.

His back was damp with the cold sweat left over from his nervousness.

It had been a risky move.

If Smith had failed to control the situation, this uprising would have become a farce.

But now, it was done.

’See, Leo.’

Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind.

’Just now, Smith not only completed a shift in political stance, but he also orchestrated a mass self-deception.’

’These people, these die-hard rednecks who have only voted for the Republican Party their entire lives, are now cheering for a mayor who just announced he’s joining the Democratic Party.’

’It sounds absurd, but this is precisely the most subtle art of politics.’

’With careful packaging, any betrayal can be interpreted as a sacrifice, and any opportunism can be painted as a righteous cause.’

’Smith didn’t make them feel like they were selling their souls for money.’

’He told them a new story: they didn’t betray the Republican Party, the Republican Party betrayed them. They didn’t defect to the Democratic Party; rather, to protect their home of Erie, they had to bear the humiliation and don the enemy’s colors.’

’He packaged defection as bearing a heavy burden and a transactional exchange as a battle for survival.’

’And so, the psychological burden vanished, and the moral dilemma dissolved.’

’The people accepted this outcome with peace of mind, even feeling a sense of tragic pride in it.’

Roosevelt sighed. ’This is the nature of the masses.’

’As long as you give them a noble enough reason, they will convince themselves to accept anything they would have otherwise found absolutely unacceptable.’

’Packaging is everything.’

"They don’t care about the colors anymore," Leo said in a low voice.

’Yes, they don’t,’ Roosevelt replied. ’From this day forward, a new color has appeared on the soil of Pennsylvania.’

’It is not the blue of the Democratic Party, nor the red of the Republican Party.’

’It is the color of rust.’

’It is your color.’

Leo pressed the intercom button on his desk.

"Ethan, come in for a moment."

A few seconds later, Ethan pushed the door open and walked in, holding a freshly printed document.

"Did you watch the live broadcast just now?" Leo asked calmly.

"I did." Ethan took a deep breath, the shock undisguised in his voice. "Smith actually went through with that ’self-injury’ gambit in the square, even took off his jacket. The effect was astonishing. The entire narrative has flipped."

"Excellent."

"Now, contact Washington."

"Call Senator Sanders. Tell him our stage is set and the actors are in place."

"It’s his turn now."

"I need him to handle all reactions at the Pennsylvania state level. Whether it’s the governor’s office in Harrisburg or the Democratic State Committee, I don’t care what methods he uses. I don’t want to hear a single dissenting voice against this alliance within Pennsylvania for the next forty-eight hours."

"I want absolute praise."

Ethan immediately pulled out a notepad and began scribbling furiously.

"Have Sarah prepare a press release."

"I’ve already thought of the headline."

"’A Handshake Across the Aisle: For the Survival of Pennsylvania.’"

"Put the photo of Smith’s speech in the square in the most prominent position. I want this story on the front page of every major national newspaper tomorrow morning."

Ethan nodded, closed his notepad, and hurried out with the documents.

Leo walked back to the window.

He looked at the northern sky.

That was the direction of Erie.

The fire had been lit.

This fire would spread along the Allegheny Mountains, heading east, burning its way to Philadelphia, to Harrisburg, and finally, to Washington.

Leo Wallace controlled all the unnoticed veins of Pennsylvania.

Now, the blood was beginning to boil.

And when the blood boils, the heart itself will tremble.