Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Chapter 354 - 170: If It’s for Survival

Ron Smith’s water glass trembled in his hand, sending fine ripples across the surface.

"Join the Democratic Party?"

Smith’s voice shot up an octave, cracking under the strain.

"Leo, you’re joking, right? You have to be joking."

He shot to his feet and began to pace anxiously around the office.

"Do you have any idea what my district is like? Do you know what Erie is?"

Smith pointed north, out the window.

"That’s a Deep Red District. The people there go to church every weekend and the shooting range every month."

"They despise the liberal elites in Philadelphia and Washington who sip lattes while telling them what cars to drive and what straws to use."

"To them, the Democratic Party is just a bunch of Demons who want to take their guns, shut down their coal mines, and turn their kids into sissies."

Smith stopped pacing and braced his hands on Leo’s desk, his face beet-red.

"If I announce I’m joining the Democratic Party tomorrow, I won’t have a job at city hall to go to the day after. My house will be spray-painted, my tires will be slashed, and I’ll be strung up from a lamppost by angry steelworkers."

"You’re sending me to my death."

Joe Byers, standing nearby, said nothing, but the look on his face said it all.

His situation in Scranton wasn’t much better.

While there were some moderates there, in this hyper-polarized political climate, switching parties was tantamount to treason.

Leo remained seated, listening quietly as Smith vented.

He understood their fear.

In the American political landscape, party affiliation was never just a simple choice on a ballot.

It was an identity, a belief system, and even a way of life.

’The Republican Party didn’t create these conservative people.’

’On the contrary, this group of people, with their deeply ingrained lifestyles and mindsets, existed first. The Republican Party was simply born as a vessel to contain them.’

’Humans are social animals. The fear of being ostracized by the group is etched deep into everyone’s DNA.’

Leo understood this kind of identity politics all too well.

’It locked people into echo chambers, where everyone felt that only their side consisted of real people, while the other side was full of Demons bent on destroying the country.’

’Breaking through that wall required more than just appealing to self-interest.’

’Making a lifelong Republican switch to the Democratic Party was harder than getting them to change their religion.’

"Are you finished?"

Leo asked calmly.

"I’m finished," Smith said, panting heavily. "And the conclusion is, it’s impossible. Absolutely impossible. I’d rather be strangled by Warren than beaten to death by my own neighbors."

’Mr. President,’ Leo called out in his mind. ’It seems our plan has hit a snag. These old mules think changing their jerseys is worse than losing their lives.’

’That’s because they don’t understand the rules of the game yet.’

Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind.

’They think joining the Democratic Party means they have to become Aston Monroe of Philadelphia. That they’ll be forced to support radical environmental bills, attend protest marches, and confiscate their constituents’ guns.’

’That’s a fixed mindset.’

’Leo, you need to teach them something.’

’A political party is a big tent. It can shelter all sorts of people. Southern Democrats and Northern Democrats coexisted for half a century. We even shared a table with those racists.’

’Tell them.’

Roosevelt’s voice grew low and powerful.

’Who says they have to be *that* kind of Democrat?’

’They can be *your* kind of Democrat.’

’A new breed of Democrat. One for the Rust Belt, for the working class, for this rugged land.’

Leo rose to his feet.

He rounded the desk, walked over to Smith, placed a hand on his shoulder, and pressed him back down into the chair.

"Ron. Joe. Listen to me."

Leo’s voice carried an undeniable authority.

"You’re mistaken about a key concept."

"I’m asking you to switch parties, not get a brain transplant. I’m certainly not asking you to memorize the platitudes of the Democratic National Committee."

"You can still be yourselves."

"You just need to change the label. Then, you use a new script to re-explain the world."

Leo held up a single finger.

"Ron, you said your constituents love coal and hate environmentalists. You’re not wrong. Because to them, environmentalism means unemployment. It means factory shutdowns."

"But what if we reframe it?"

Leo’s eyes sharpened.

"We’re pushing forward with the Inland Port expansion. We’re bringing in battery factories and solar panel production lines."

"You don’t need to talk to the workers about carbon emissions, global warming, or the polar bears’ habitat. That stuff is too remote for them. They don’t care."

"You need to talk to them about independence."

"You’re going to tell your miners and drillers: We’re not developing these new energy industries to please the EPA. We’re doing it to break our dependence on Middle Eastern oil and to free ourselves from the power grid controlled by Wall Street."

"We are going to build our own energy system, right here in Pennsylvania."

"Whether it’s the coal in the ground, the solar panels on our roofs, or the batteries made in our factories."

"All of this has a single purpose: for Pennsylvania to power the United States."

"That is energy sovereignty. That is patriotism."

Leo’s voice was emphatic.