lpffa Chapter 355 - 170: If It’s for Survival (Part 2)
Chapter 355 - 170: If It’s for Survival (Part 2)
"We’re going to take control of our energy security. We’re going to have machines made in the United States running on energy produced in the United States."
"Does that sound familiar? It even sounds like a Republican Party slogan."
"But now, it’s our slogan."
"As long as you can get the factories open, as long as you can make the workers feel like they’re contributing to the nation’s strength, they won’t care if you’re mining coal or making batteries."
"In a worker’s logic, any energy that gets them a paycheck is good energy."
Ron Smith was stunned.
He blinked, as if trying to process this completely new line of reasoning.
Energy sovereignty.
The phrase sounded both tough and full of pride.
It sidestepped the minefield of environmentalism, striking a direct chord with the voters’ simple, heartfelt patriotism.
"But..." Smith hesitated. "There are also guns. You know, in Erie, if I don’t support the Second Amendment, I won’t even be able to walk out my front door."
"That brings us to the second pillar."
Leo held up a second finger.
"Constitutional exemption zones."
"Who says that joining the Democratic Party means you have to support gun control?"
Leo smiled. "The Democratic Party has the pro-gun Blue Dog Alliance. You can absolutely be one of them."
"You can go back to Erie, stand on the steps of city hall, and announce to your voters: Erie City is a Second Amendment Exemption Zone under the Constitution."
"You can tell them that even though you’ve switched parties, it was to squeeze money out of Washington, but on your core values, you won’t give an inch."
"I’m giving you the right to spin it however you want back home."
Leo stared into Smith’s eyes.
"In your city, you make the rules."
"Even if the Democratic National Committee sends a letter condemning you, you can tear it up. You can even go on TV and curse them out publicly."
"The harder you hit back, the more your voters will trust you."
"They’ll see you as a hero, someone who’s enduring humiliation and infiltrating the enemy camp just to fight for your hometown’s interests."
"As for me? As for Murphy?"
Leo shrugged.
"We don’t care. We just need the ballot to list you as a Democrat, and we just need you to cast your vote for Murphy at the crucial moment."
"As for how you explain your position in Erie, that’s up to you."
Joe Byers listened from the side, dumbfounded.
He felt his entire worldview being reshaped.
’This is the absolute pinnacle of political pragmatism.’
’Just change the clothes, not the ideology.’
’And even use that contrast to generate political capital.’
"But, Leo," Byers raised the last and most difficult question, "what about cultural identity? Those workers, they believe in their bones that the Democratic Party is the party of elites, a party that looks down on them. How do you eliminate that class divide?"
"Good question, Joe."
Leo held up a third finger.
"That’s the third pillar."
"Class narrative overwrites cultural narrative."
Leo walked to the window and pointed at a construction site outside in Pittsburgh.
"For the past few decades, the Republican Party has been indoctrinating workers with one idea: your enemies are the cultural liberals, the city-dwellers who support abortion."
"They successfully diverted class conflict into cultural conflict."
"Now, we’re going to turn that logic on its head."
Leo turned around, his eyes burning with intensity.
"You need to tell your voters: look at Vice Governor Monroe in Philadelphia, look at Senator Warren in Washington."
"Who are they?"
"They’re the elites who drink red wine, wear custom-tailored suits, and play golf at the country club."
"Warren is a Republican; Monroe is a Democrat. But fundamentally, they’re the same kind of person."
"They’re the ones who sold the factories to Mexico, the ones who cut your pensions, the ones who watched you lose your jobs and did nothing."
"And us."
Leo pointed to himself, then to the two mayors.
"We may fly the Democratic Party’s banner, but we are the Blue-collar Party."
"We wear work clothes, we go to the construction sites, we drink the same beer and smoke the same cigarettes as you."
"Our enemies aren’t the people who own guns, or the people who go to church."
"Our enemies are the financial vultures who took your jobs, the bureaucrats who have you by the throat."
"We need to tell the voters: Warren used God and the flag to get your votes, then turned around and sold you out to Wall Street. But me? I may have changed my jersey, but I brought you back bread, I brought you back jobs, I brought you back dignity."
"Faced with that logic, the color of a party doesn’t matter at all."
"We will use raw class interest to tear down the cultural walls they’ve so carefully built."
When Leo finished, he quietly watched the two mayors.
The room fell into a long silence.
Ron Smith’s hands were no longer trembling.
His gaze began to focus, his mind racing as he processed the content of Leo’s three pillars.
Energy sovereignty.
Constitutional exemption.
The Blue-collar Party.
Smith sat there, his expression changing from initial shock to a deep intensity, even revealing a hint of unnerving fanaticism.
He was a veteran who had fought his way through Erie city politics for decades. The only reason he hadn’t thought of this before was sheer mental inertia.
He had caged himself within the identity of a "Republican."
In that cage, he had to obey the state committee, he had to watch Senator Warren’s mood, and he had to grovel and beg every time he tried to secure funding.