Chapter 593 - 277: Pittsburgh Privilege

Six o’clock in the morning.

The plaza in front of Pittsburgh City Hall.

This place was once a sea of protesters, a battlefield shrouded in tear gas.

But today, the atmosphere had completely changed.

The sun hadn’t fully risen, yet a long line had already formed in the plaza.

The line snaked its way from the main entrance of City Hall all the way to Sixth Avenue, three blocks away.

People clutched their driver’s licenses, Union membership cards, or tax records from the last three months.

They were here to pick something up.

The first-floor lobby of City Hall had been converted into a temporary distribution center.

A dozen service windows were all open, operating with extreme efficiency.

A steelworker with a stubbled face walked up to a window and handed over his documents.

A staff member verified his information and typed a few keystrokes on the computer.

BEEP.

A brand-new, hard plastic card was handed out.

It was a deep red card.

The color was pure, like congealed blood or a burning flame.

The front of the card was printed with Pittsburgh’s iconic steel skyline. Above the steel jungle, a line of small, gold-foiled letters read:

Rust Belt Health Mutual Aid Card

And on the back of the card, there were just three words:

Mutual Aid, Survival, Dignity.

The worker took the card, rubbing the raised text with his rough thumb.

"Is that it?" the worker asked. "From now on, when I go to get my insulin, it’ll really only be twenty bucks?"

"Yes," the staff member replied with a smile. "At pharmacies designated by the Alliance, this card gets you all basic medications at our procurement cost."

The staff member paused, then added, "Of course, there’s one final step to make this price a reality."

"The State Government has to approve the Medicine Benefits Transparency and Fairness Bill, which will grant us the authority to purchase medicine at low prices."

"But don’t worry, the bill is already under emergency discussion in the State Assembly, and Mayor Leo is pushing for it with all his might. We’re distributing the cards in advance to avoid a massive rush and congestion when it passes."

"It’s called getting the work done ahead of time."

The worker stared blankly for a moment.

He didn’t really understand what a "bill" or "emergency discussion" was.

But he understood "Mayor Leo is pushing for it with all his might."

That was enough.

He carefully tucked the card into an inside pocket and patted his chest.

He turned and walked out of the lobby.

The sunlight outside shone on his face.

He lifted his head and looked at the people still waiting in line, a new look in his eyes—something he’d never had before.

It was a sense of privilege, and a sense of pride in being from Pittsburgh.

In the middle of the line, a young single mother held her five-year-old son by the hand.

The little boy was getting impatient, tugging on his mother’s sleeve. "Mommy, why do we have to stand here for so long? I want to go to the park."

The young mother crouched down and adjusted her son’s scarf.

"Listen, Mike."

She pointed to the people ahead of them who had just received their cards, their faces beaming with joy.

"We’re waiting for a very important card."

"With this card, if you get sick in the future, Mommy won’t have to sell the car to pay for your medicine."

"Why?" the little boy asked, blinking.

"Because we live in Pittsburgh."

The young mother’s voice was filled with undisguised pride.

"You see, in Philadelphia, those rich people with fancy cars and big houses, they have to spend thousands of dollars for the same medicine. They have to beg their insurance companies and grovel before those fat cats."

"But in Pittsburgh."

"Because we have Mayor Leo Wallace, the man those people in Washington hate the most."

"We only have to pay a few dozen bucks."

She stroked her son’s head.

"This is our privilege, Mike. It’s because we’re from Pittsburgh. We’re different from the people on the outside."

"Take this card and don’t lose it. It’s worth more than money."

The little boy nodded, only half-understanding.

But he remembered the two words "Pittsburgh" and "Wallace," and he remembered the feeling of "we’re different from them."

This sentiment spread through the plaza.

From the unique scrip system to this independent healthcare mutual aid program.

The citizens of Pittsburgh gradually developed a delusion.

They were no longer just an ordinary city in Pennsylvania, no longer a forgotten ruin in the Rust Belt.

They were an independent kingdom.

They had their own currency, their own rules, and now, their own healthcare.

They began to look at cars with out-of-town license plates with an exclusionary scrutiny.

"Are you from Pittsburgh? Do you have a Red Card?"

If not, then you were an outsider.

You had to endure the cruel, expensive, man-eating old world.

But us? We were inside the walls.

We were under the wing of Leo Wallace.

...

On the top floor of City Hall, in the Mayor’s Office.

Leo stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the long line below.

He, too, was holding a deep red Mutual Aid Card.

’Mr. President.’

Leo said in his mind.

’Do you see? They love this.’

"Of course."

Roosevelt’s voice rang in his mind.

"This is even more effective than just handing out cash."

"Leo, with this card, you are redefining this city’s borders."

"Look at the expression in that mother’s eyes."

Roosevelt guided Leo’s gaze.

"She isn’t just grateful that you’ve given her cheap medicine. She’s savoring the preferential treatment."

"Humans are tribal animals. We crave a sense of belonging, but we crave a sense of superiority even more."

"When you give them a benefit others don’t have, when you tell them, ’Only people from Pittsburgh can enjoy this,’ you bind them deeply to you."

Roosevelt’s voice grew low.

"When you have a clear enemy and a clear ’us,’ the efficiency of political mobilization reaches its peak."

"This is the prototype of nationalism, or you could say, localism taken to its extreme."

"This Red Card is their identity card. It’s the symbol that distinguishes them from Philadelphians and Washingtonians."

"To protect this card, to protect this privilege of buying insulin for just twenty bucks, they will reject the outside world and despise anyone who tries to destroy this system."

"If some federal prosecutor dares to come arrest you, or some bureaucrat from Washington tries to repeal this bill, you won’t even need to mobilize them."

"That mother, and those steelworkers—they’ll rush forward and tear out their enemies’ throats to protect this card."

"Because that would be like ripping the meat from their bones."

Leo was silent, his fingers stroking the red card.

He understood what Roosevelt meant. He was manufacturing a kind of exclusionary unity.

’This sounds dangerous,’ Leo thought, ’but right now, I need this dangerous power.’

"Yes, you do."

Roosevelt’s voice continued to echo in his mind.

"What you need to do now isn’t just hold on to Pittsburgh. You need to expand outward, to radiate your influence throughout the Rust Belt, and even across all of Pennsylvania."

"In this process, the only thing you can rely on is this sense of identity based on region and class."

"Look at history, Leo."

"In the France of 1789, why were the *sans-culottes* able to unleash the terrifying power that destroyed the old dynasty?"

"It wasn’t just because they were hungry. It was because they had been given a new identity: citizen."

"Robespierre told them that only they were the true France, while the nobles and the clergy were outsiders, parasites."

"This ’us versus them’ dichotomy is the fastest way to unite people."

"What you’re doing now is, in essence, the very same thing."

"You’re telling the people of Pittsburgh they are special, that they are protected. And that the people of Philadelphia, the people of Washington, are predators—outsiders who want to shatter that protective shell."

"As long as this narrative holds, you can turn these 300,000 people into a perfectly disciplined army. They’ll strike wherever you point."

"This is crucial for your coming expansion. You must use Pittsburgh’s privileges to tempt the surrounding counties and cities. Tell them that if they join us, they can become one of ’us’ and enjoy the same privileges. Otherwise, they will remain part of ’them’—the exploited."

"This is the most effective logic for political expansion."

Roosevelt paused, the admiration gradually fading from his tone.

"But, Leo, you must be careful."

"This kind of power has side effects, and they are immense."

"When you gain power by creating opposition, you simultaneously create hatred."

"Today, they hate the insurance companies because of this Red Card. Tomorrow, they might hate Philadelphians. The day after, when the economy falters and your funding pool can’t cover everyone’s needs, they might start to hate new immigrants who aren’t ’Pittsburgh enough,’ or any group they perceive as stealing resources."

"Once this monster is unleashed, it will need a constant supply of fresh meat to feed it."

"You must constantly provide them with victories, with privileges, with enemies."

"The moment you stop, the moment you try to make them return to reason, that monster will turn around and devour you."

"It is an addictive political poison."

"You’re forced to drink it now to survive, but you must remain clear-headed at all times. You cannot allow yourself to become addicted."

"You must ride this torrent, not be swept away by it."

Leo listened to Roosevelt’s warning, his eyes fixed on the card in his hand.

The deep red background, the steel skyline.

It really did look like a miniature national flag.

’I know the consequences,’ Leo replied in his mind, his tone calm.

’But I have no choice.’

’If we don’t drink this poison, we’ll die of thirst right now.’

’As for the side effects...’

Leo’s gaze turned hard and cold.

’We’ll worry about the antidote after we’ve survived and secured enough power.’

’Right now, I’m going to let this monster go kill those who stand in our way.’

Leo placed the card on the table.

’Then let them be loyal.’

Leo pressed the intercom button.

"Ethan."

"Get the word out. Speed up distribution. I want this Red Card on the dining table of every family in Pittsburgh within a week."

A breeze blew in through the open window, carrying the faint sound of cheers from the plaza below.

"Long live Wallace!"

"Long live the Mayor!"

Leo walked to the window and looked down at the surging crowd.

He raised his hand and, to the people who couldn’t hear him, whispered softly,

"Long live the people."