Chapter 617 - 292: Firing Loose Sand into Bricks

"These 300,000 people are no longer a disorganized mob. They are warriors with class consciousness. They are our base, the roaring fire that’s already been lit."

Leo lowered his second finger.

"The second group: the centrists, the silent majority scattered across the entire state of Pennsylvania."

"They are the dry kindling."

"They live in the slums of Philadelphia, on the outskirts of Harrisburg, and in the decaying small towns in the middle of the state."

"They’re having a hard time, unable to afford medicine or pay their bills. They hesitate, they watch from the sidelines. They want change, but they’re also afraid of losing the little they have."

"When they see the ads on TV, they have their doubts. They aren’t stupid; they just lack proof."

"They need someone to give them a reason—something tangible to fight their fear."

Leo looked at his last raised finger.

"The third group: the laggards. They’re the wet logs."

"These are the die-hards, completely brainwashed by right-wing radio, the stubborn ones who see social welfare as a plague. They would rather endure exorbitant bills than stop paying lip service to the so-called ’free market.’"

Ethan shook his head. "This is what I’m worried about. We can’t convince someone who refuses to open their eyes."

"Ethan, you need to correct your strategic thinking. In the game of politics, isolating your opponent’s base is a low-level tactic. Winning them over is the ultimate victory."

Leo said, "Any voter you willingly abandon will eventually become a bullet aimed right at you. We need to throw these wet logs into the heart of the fire."

"How do we win them over?"

"We use the heat from the vanguards to dry them out."

Leo’s speech became clipped and forceful.

"These wet logs aren’t our natural enemies; they’re just wrapped in fear and lies. The Republican Party gives them a false sense of belonging, making them feel that protecting the interests of big corporations is the same as protecting their own freedom."

"We have to destroy that sense of belonging. We have to mobilize our embers."

"We need to create a sense of social isolation. When this ’wet log’ discovers that all his neighbors, relatives, and old army buddies are talking about the benefits of the Red Card, when he realizes he’s the only one paying an outrageous three hundred US dollars for some so-called ’dignity,’ he’ll feel a profound sense of loneliness."

"What people fear most isn’t poverty, but being abandoned by their own tribe."

Leo’s finger tapped heavily on the tabletop.

"As long as the fire burns hot enough, even wet logs will dry out."

Leo lowered his hand.

"This is the situation right now, Ethan."

"What we need to do is organize the vanguards, unite the centrists, and win over the laggards."

Listening to this theory, Ethan’s brow relaxed slightly, but he was still full of doubt.

"That’s the theory. But how do we actually do it?"

Ethan pointed at the television.

"The other side has air superiority. Their ads are everywhere. We don’t have enough money to buy ad space across the state and compete with them head-on."

"Who said anything about an air war?"

Leo sneered.

"Did the Americans’ planes and cannons win in the jungles of Vietnam?"

"No."

"Because the enemy was on the ground. The enemy was among the people."

Leo walked back to his desk, planting his hands on its surface. His gaze was like a torch.

"Don’t count on TV ads."

"Television is cold and distant. People will suspect the figures on screen are just acting."

"We are going to launch a person-to-person war."

"We are going to use those 300,000 embers."

Leo continued, "The workers in Pittsburgh are not isolated atoms. They have relatives, friends, and old comrades scattered throughout the entire state of Pennsylvania."

"A welder from a steel mill in the South District might have a cousin driving a truck in Erie, an aunt raising kids in Philadelphia, and an old army buddy mining coal in Scranton."

"I want to get these 300,000 people moving. I want them to become our advocates."

"This weekend, have them go back to their hometowns, walk into their relatives’ living rooms, and sit down in their friends’ bars."

"I don’t need them to preach grand principles or recite the clauses of the bill."

"They only need to do one thing."

Leo pulled a crumpled receipt from his pocket and slammed it onto the desk.

"SLAP!"

It was a receipt from the Mutual Aid Pharmacy.

Clearly printed on it was: Insulin Glargine, Copay: $35.00.

"Have them slam this receipt on the table."

"Have them put the bottle of medicine they bought for only thirty-five dollars in front of their relatives."

"Tell their cousins, their aunts, their old army buddies: ’Look, this is my life in Pittsburgh. The TV says this is fake. So you tell me, is this bottle of medicine in my hand fake? Are the hundreds of dollars I saved fake?’"

Leo’s voice echoed in the office.

"When the facts are laid out before their eyes."

"When a living, breathing person is standing in front of you with concrete evidence in their hands."

"All the TV ads, all the expert analyses, all the fear-mongering."

"Will all vanish into thin air."

Ethan stared at the receipt.

’This really is the most powerful weapon.’

In this age of collapsing trust, people no longer believed the media, no longer believed politicians, but they still believed their family. They believed in things they could see and touch.

"But..."

Ethan raised a practical problem.

"This requires motivation, Leo."

"People are lazy. Even though those workers are enjoying the benefits, asking them to pay for their own bus tickets and spend their own time going back to their hometowns to campaign for us... that’s not realistic."