novelden Chapter 371 - 175: We Don’t Need Ideology
Chapter 371 - 175: We Don’t Need Ideology
"And you, Tom! When your shop flooded, who was it that brought men to help you drain it?"
"Susan! For your husband’s funeral expenses, who was it that contacted the funeral home to get you a discount?"
Smith counted them off one by one.
These were all small, trivial things. Some were even insignificant.
But in this moment, they converged into a powerful emotional current that washed away the defenses in everyone’s heart.
The crowd looked at Smith on the stage, the doubt in their eyes slowly vanishing.
These were the citizens he had served for twenty years. These were the people who had watched him go from a hale and hearty man to a half-bald old one.
Ron Smith, before he was a Republican, was an Erie man first.
He was born here, he grew up here, and he was growing old here.
Smith’s voice lowered.
"I’ve always been a Republican. I have never changed my stance."
"I believe in small government. I believe in individual hard work."
"But..."
"When my citizens can’t get their pensions, when my factories can’t get orders, when my city is on the brink of starvation..."
"Can those so-called party principles put food on the table?"
"Senator Warren can talk a big game in Washington. He can talk about sacrificing interests for the sake of principles."
"Because it’s not *his* interests being sacrificed! It’s not *his* children who are starving!"
Smith pounded his chest, which echoed with a THUMP, THUMP.
"But here with me, in Erie City Hall."
"People are always more important than parties."
"Surviving is always more important than ideology."
"Between the party and you, I will always choose you!"
The square was deathly silent.
The crowd looked at Smith on the stage.
His hair was messy, his shirt thin.
But he seemed to stand ten feet tall.
Smith took a deep breath, tears seeping from the corners of his eyes.
Half of it was an act, a necessary part of the political performance. But the other half was genuine anguish.
He had walked on thin ice for this city, only to be treated like a sacrificial pawn by the higher-ups.
"You curse me for colluding with Leo Wallace."
Smith wiped his face.
"That’s right, I colluded."
"I called him, I begged him to give us the orders, I begged him to let our trucks into the city."
"That young man is a Democrat, a radical, the kind of person we used to hate the most."
"But he gave us money."
"He gave us a lifeline."
"If, to get you this life-saving money, to make sure your pensions are paid on time, to get the smokestacks of Erie’s factories running again..."
"I have to shake hands with the Demon..."
"Then I am willing to go to hell!"
Smith roared.
"Even if I’m kicked out of the Party, even if you curse my name behind my back, I will still sign that deal!"
"But this isn’t my fault!"
"This damn world forced my hand!"
"It was Warren in Washington, the one who blocked our lifeline, who forced my hand!"
"I, Ron Smith, will die trying to put food on the table for the people of Erie!"
His words hung in the air.
Smith threw the megaphone on the ground.
He propped his hands on his knees, panting heavily, as if he had exhausted his last ounce of strength.
The square was still quiet.
「A few seconds later.」
"Ron!"
Old Jack shouted.
He tossed aside his cane and raised the hand Smith had once pulled from a fire.
"You’re a real man!"
Those words were the spark that lit the fuse.
"Mayor! We were wrong about you!"
"It’s all that damn Warren’s fault!"
"We support you! We don’t care who you work with, just get that money!"
The crowd’s mood completely reversed.
The hostility toward Smith dissipated, replaced by a tragic sense of solidarity against a common enemy.
They saw an old mayor who was willing to sacrifice his own reputation to protect them.
They saw a tragic hero forced into a corner.
Smith stood up straight.
He looked down at the renewed fervor in their eyes and their waving arms. A great weight was finally lifted from his shoulders.
But this wasn’t enough.
Just redirecting their anger at Warren was only a temporary solution.
If the money still hadn’t arrived by next month, or if Warren applied even more pressure, this crowd would waver again.
He had to cut off any path of retreat.
He had to make the voters of Erie City jump with him into the abyss from which there was no return.
Smith picked up the megaphone again.
"Brothers."
Smith’s voice rang out again, silencing the cheers from the square.
"You call me a hero."
"But I don’t want to be that kind of tragic hero. I want to be a mayor who can lead you to victory."
"Why is Warren blockading us? Because he thinks we’re a bunch of pushovers. He figures that since Erie is a red district, and we all wear the Republican label, he can treat us however he wants. And when election day comes, we’ll just line up like obedient sheep and cast our votes for him anyway."
"He has us right where he wants us."
Smith gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
"Because in his eyes, our identity as Republicans is a leash he holds."
"As long as we wear this label, he’ll always be our master. He can take our livelihoods and use them as bargaining chips in his political games without a second thought."
"I refuse."
Smith ripped the Republican Party pin from his chest.
The metal pin bounced a few times on the concrete before rolling into a sewer grate.
"To make sure that thirty million US dollars gets into our accounts, to get our trucks back on the highways, and to let those bastards in Washington know we are not to be trifled with!"