The Pittsburgh Mayor’s Office, late at night.
Leo sat in his chair, the latest polling data spread across his desk.
In the Philadelphia Suburbs, Murphy’s approval rating had indeed risen.
But in the vast rural areas of Western and Central Pennsylvania—the so-called "wastelands"—Murphy’s numbers were falling.
Warren’s counterattack was too sharp.
A deep sense of defeat washed over Leo.
Back in Washington, he’d once thought he had finally mastered the ga.
He had chosen to ignore Roosevelt’s warning.
He had been too eager to go on the offensive.
As a result, he had walked right into a quagmire.
Now, not only had Murphy failed to beco the "hero of the workers," he was being painted as a "job killer."
This was supposed to be their core ssage, the very foundation they stood on, but now their opponent had seized control of the narrative.
’Did I screw this up?’
Leo asked himself, his voice raspy in his mind.
"It’s not your fault, Leo."
Roosevelt’s voice chid in at the right mont.
"This is electoral politics in the United States. It’s as fickle as Pennsylvania weather."
"You think you have every advantage, that you’re holding ironclad proof of corruption, but in the voters’ eyes, truth is often less important than emotion. Human nature is complex. No one can fully predict how millions of people will react when they co together."
Roosevelt paused.
"Besides, don’t forget who your opponent is."
"Russell Warren. A man doesn’t hold a Senate seat for that many years on luck alone. He’s a top-tier politician."
"Murphy was a Representative before this. All that required was for him to walk the neighborhoods of Pittsburgh, have a few drinks with union bosses, and rember a few voters’ nas. That’s neighborhood politics."
"But a Senate election is different."
"You can’t chat with all thirteen million people in Pennsylvania. You need to command a kind of broad, public sentint. You need to beco the shield for their fears or the outlet for their rage."
"Warren did it. He turned himself into that shield."
"Mr. President," Leo asked in his mind, "can’t even you predict the voters’ emotions?"
Roosevelt was silent for a mont.
"I can feel which way the wind is blowing, but I can’t command the tides." Roosevelt’s voice was low. "I can make an educated guess about the general direction of things, but in the mont that millions of people make a collective decision, not even God can give you a definitive answer."
"I did feel sothing was off back then, an intuitive dissonance, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Not until the mont Warren stood in that muddy field did I understand what we had missed."
"But, Leo, listen to ."
Roosevelt’s tone grew serious.
"Whether or not Murphy ends up in that Senator’s seat, this lesson is crucial for you."
"You can’t stay in Pittsburgh forever. You’re destined to leave this city and take part in these statewide, even nationwide, general elections."
"The brutality of that battlefield is infinitely greater than anything you’ve experienced in Pittsburgh."
"Facing this kind of setback now, hitting this wall now, is far better than wasting ti over and over again on a bigger stage in the future."
Leo didn’t respond.
He didn’t seem to be taking in any of Roosevelt’s comfort or advice.
He simply stood silently before the enormous electoral map of Pennsylvania.
The map was a fractured mosaic of red and blue. Philadelphia and Pittsburgh were two lonely blue islands floating in a vast, endless sea of red.
That was the heartland of Pennsylvania, an extension of the Appalachian Mountains, a "wasteland" composed of countless decaying industrial and mining towns.
Russell Warren’s power was rooted there.
Leo’s finger traced over the deep red counties.
Westmoreland, Washington, Cumberland.
The people in these places were poor.
They had lost their factories, their coal mines, their pensions.
Their communities were dilapidated, and the young people had all fled.
Logically, these people should have been natural allies of the Democratic Party.
The Democratic Party advocated for big governnt, social welfare, and union rights.
And yet, these people were the most die-hard supporters of the Republican Party.
They cast their votes for Warren—a man who wanted to cut welfare, opposed unions, and advocated for tax cuts for the wealthy.
It seed to completely defy economic rationality.
He began to review their previous strategy.
"Was our strategy in Philadelphia wrong?" Leo muttered to himself. "The environntal issues did win over the middle class and young students."
"Correct," Roosevelt affird. "That was the right move."
"Then was our class-based narrative wrong? We kept emphasizing workers’ interests and anti-corruption."
"That wasn’t wrong either."
"Then why?" Leo’s voice was laced with confusion and a hint of anger as he pointed at the vast swaths of red on the map. "Why aren’t the people here buying it? Why would they rather support a corrupt politician who sells out their health and pays his cronies with a six-hundred-thousand-dollar salary, than a man who genuinely wants to bring them change?"
Leo’s gaze turned icy.
’Are they really so stupid they can’t tell the difference between good and bad?’
"No."
Roosevelt cut him off sternly.
"Never think the voters are stupid. The mont you start looking down on your electorate, you’ve already lost."
’I don’t understand.’
Leo whispered in his mind.
User Comments
0 comments from readers