HPDBC Chapter 129 Reagan the Democrat
Chapter 129 Reagan the Democrat
Chapter 129 Reagan the Democrat
Pittsburgh Mayor's Office, late at night.
Leo sat in a chair with the latest polling data on his desk.
Murphy's approval ratings did indeed rise in the Philadelphia suburbs.
But in the vast rural areas of western and central Pennsylvania, the so-called "wastelands," Murphy's approval ratings are declining.
Warren's counterattack was too sharp.
This left Leo feeling deeply frustrated.
While in Washington, he once thought he had mastered the craft.
He chose to ignore Roosevelt's warning.
He was too eager to attack.
As a result, he stepped into a mud pit.
Now, Murphy has not become a "workers' hero," but has instead been portrayed as a "job killer."
This is clearly their core proposition, the foundation upon which they depend for survival, yet their opponents have seized the right to interpret it.
"Did I mess up?"
Leo asked in his mind, his voice dry.
"It's not your fault, Leo."
Roosevelt's voice rang out at just the right moment.
"That's American electoral politics; it's as unpredictable as the Pennsylvania weather."
"You may feel you have a huge advantage, you have overwhelming evidence of corruption, but in the eyes of voters, the truth is often less important than emotions. Human nature is complex, and no one can fully predict how millions of people will react when they gather together."
Roosevelt paused for a moment.
"And don't forget who your opponent is."
"Russell Warren. He's been able to stay in that Senate position for so many years, and it wasn't just luck; he's a top-notch politician."
"Murphy used to run for Congress. All he had to do was walk around the neighborhoods of Pittsburgh, have a drink with the union leaders, and memorize a few voters' names. That was neighborhood politics."
"But the Senate election is different."
"You can't talk to all 13 million people in Pennsylvania. What you need to control is a macro-level public sentiment. You need to be their shield of fear or an outlet for their anger."
"Warren did it; he turned himself into that shield."
"Mr. President," Leo asked in his mind, "even you can't predict the emotions of those voters?"
Roosevelt remained silent for a moment.
"I can sense the wind direction, but I cannot command the tides," Roosevelt said in a low voice. "I can roughly guess where things are going, but even God cannot give a definite answer when millions of people are making a decision together."
"At that moment, I did feel something was wrong, an intuitive disharmony, but I couldn't pinpoint exactly where it was until Warren stood in the mud, and then I realized what we had missed."
"But, Leo, listen to me."
Roosevelt's tone turned serious.
"Whether Murphy ultimately becomes a senator or not, this lesson is crucial for you."
"You can't stay in Pittsburgh forever. You're destined to leave the city and participate in statewide, even national, elections."
"The brutality of that battlefield was many times greater than what you experienced in Pittsburgh."
"It's much better to encounter this setback now, to hit this wall now, than to waste time over and over again on a bigger stage in the future."
Leo did not respond.
He seemed to completely ignore Roosevelt's words of comfort and instruction.
He simply stood quietly in front of that huge map of Pennsylvania's electoral districts.
This map is fragmented by red and blue, with Philadelphia and Pittsburgh as two lonely blue islands, and between them, a vast red ocean.
That is the heart of Pennsylvania, an extension of the Appalachian Mountains, a "wasteland" composed of countless dilapidated industrial and mining towns.
Russell Warren's power is rooted there.
Leo's fingers traced across those deep red counties.
Westmoreland, Washington, Cumbria.
The people in these places are very poor.
They lost their factories, their coal mines, and their pensions.
Their community is dilapidated, and the young people have all fled.
Logically, these people should be natural allies of the Democratic Party.
The Democratic Party advocates for big government, welfare, and union rights.
However, these people are the Republican Party's most staunch supporters.
They voted for Warren, who advocated cutting welfare, opposing unions, and proposing tax cuts for the wealthy.
This seems to completely contradict economic rationality.
He began to review his previous actions.
"Was our strategy in Philadelphia wrong?" Leo muttered to himself. "Those environmental issues did win over the middle class and young students."
"That's right," Roosevelt affirmed. "That's correct."
"So, is our class narrative wrong? We've been emphasizing workers' interests and anti-corruption efforts."
"That's right."
"Then why?" Leo pointed to the large red areas on the map, his voice filled with confusion and a hint of anger. "Why don't the people here buy into this? Why would they rather support a corrupt politician who sells out their health and earns a six-hundred-thousand-dollar annual salary to support his cronies, than someone who truly wants to bring change to them?"
Leo's eyes turned somewhat cold.
"Are they really so stupid that they can't distinguish between good and bad?"
"No."
Roosevelt interrupted him sternly.
"Never think voters are stupid. When you start to despise your voters, you've already lost."
"I do not understand."
Leo whispered in his mind.
"Mr. President, this doesn't make sense. Warren represents big capital, energy giants, and the military-industrial complex. Why? Why would these people still support him so wholeheartedly?"
"Can't they see that Warren is using them? Do they really believe that a multi-million dollar senator would empathize with them?"
"Leo".
Roosevelt's voice rang out.
You must understand a concept.
"Reagan Democrat".
Leo paused for a moment.
"I know this term; it refers to the white blue-collar workers who switched sides and supported Reagan in the 1980 election."
"That's not just a historical or political term," Roosevelt corrected. "It's the deepest rift in the American political landscape, a rift that's still bleeding today, and Warren grew up sucking that blood."
Roosevelt brought Leo's thoughts back to the last century.
"There was a time when white blue-collar workers in the North were the most staunch voter base for our Democratic Party. That was my base; they had pictures of Jesus hanging in their homes, and next to them was my portrait."
"They trust the Party because the Party gave them unions, overtime pay, and the dignity of being workers."
"But in 1980, everything changed."
"They defected en masse; they abandoned the Democrats and turned to the Republicans, particularly Lonner Reagan."
Why?
"Because of money? Because they like supply-side reforms? Because they want to cut taxes for the rich?" Leo asked with a hint of mockery.
"Of course not."
Roosevelt's voice turned low.
"It's because the Republicans have extremely cleverly twisted the facts."
"They discovered a secret: for working-class white people, there was something else that was just as important as bread."
"dignity."
"Or it could be a sense of identity."
Roosevelt analyzed the logic behind this.
"The civil rights movement, anti-war movement, and women's rights movement of the 1960s and 70s gradually transformed the Democratic Party into a party that embraces diversity and elite intellectuals."
"In this process, traditional white blue-collar workers felt forgotten and even offended."
"At this point, the Republicans stepped forward."
"They waged a culture war."
"They no longer talk about wages, no longer talk about working hours. They talk about God, about guns, about the flag, about abortion."
"They told those workers: Look at those Democrats, look at those liberal elites living in the big East Coast cities. They look down on you, they laugh at your beliefs, they want to take away the guns you use to defend your homes, they support lifestyles you can't understand."
"Your enemy is not the boss who exploits you."
"Your enemies are those arrogant, self-righteous cultural elites who want to change your thinking."
"This is an extremely powerful narrative."
Roosevelt sighed.
"This narrative successfully conceals class contradictions."
"It puts a steelworker earning $30,000 a year and a Wall Street banker earning $30 million a year in the same trench. Because they both claim to believe in God, support gun rights, and oppose abortion."
"They used our culture to eliminate economic exploitation."
"Russell Warren lives off this."
Roosevelt's gaze seemed to pierce through the map and see the scenes in those deep red counties.
"Warren is smart; he knows he can't give the workers bread because his financiers won't allow him to raise taxes and provide welfare."
"Therefore, he gave the workers dignity."
"Even though it was a false dignity."
"He gives speeches in churches, he fires guns at shooting ranges, and he vehemently criticizes radicals on television who are 'destroying American traditions.'"
"He provided the workers with a psychological safety net."
He promised them: "If you elect me, I will protect your way of life from being destroyed by those city people."
The workers were moved to tears.
"In return, they turn a blind eye to Warren's betrayal of their economic interests in Washington. They even feel that it's worth being poor in order to defend their beliefs."
Roosevelt's voice became even deeper.
"Not to mention, Russell Warren is a true master of acting; he knows better than anyone how to manipulate the art of voting on Capitol Hill."
"On certain key bills, he will not hesitate to 'betray' the Republican Party."
"When a bill that is destined to harm workers' interests but is sure to pass is on the table, he will vote against it. When a bill that benefits workers but is destined to be rejected comes up, he will loudly proclaim his support."
"He meticulously calculates the value of each vote, and as long as it doesn't affect the overall situation or the fundamental interests of his financial backers, he will stand on the side of the workers."
"The outcome won't change; the factories will still be closed, and benefits will still be cut. But Warren will return to Pennsylvania, holding that vote record, and tell those voters with unwavering conviction: Look, I did my best. I even risked offending my own party for you, but the swamp in Washington is too deep, and I'm all alone."
"He successfully created the illusion that although the bill didn't pass, he tried. Although life got worse, he was the only one fighting for it."
"Warren didn't just sit idly by in this area, as we might have imagined."
"On the contrary, within his capabilities, he perfectly concealed himself through these carefully orchestrated failures and betrayals. He disguised himself as a protector, not a perpetrator."
As Leo listened to this analysis, he felt an unprecedented sense of difficulty.
He finally realized what level of opponent he was facing.
Russell Warren is neither a thug like Martin Cartwright who only knows how to cause destruction through arson and executive orders, nor a hothouse flower like Aston Monroe who was raised on polling data.
Warren is a top politician in Washington.
He's the kind of survival master who can roll around in the mud and still keep his suit collar completely dry.
"Mr. President."
"I asked myself," Leo thought to himself.
"Were you fighting against people like that back then?"
"That kind of person?"
Roosevelt let out a soft chuckle.
"People like Leo and Warren wouldn't even rank in the top ten of my list of opponents back then."
"I'm not just facing a few cunning senators. I'm facing the DuPont chemical empire, the financial blockade of Morgan Bank, those four old fogies in the Supreme Court who want to repeal the New Deal, and even radical union leaders who want not only bread but also the entire factory."
"You need to find balance, you need to compromise, you need to dance among countless sharp knives, and you need to make sure you don't get cut."
Roosevelt's voice turned serious.
"That's why, in the very beginning, I advised you to sacrifice Murphy."
"Because that's the simplest and safest way to calculate in politics: cut off a necrotic limb and preserve the main body."
"But you refused, you chose to protect him, you chose the most difficult path."
"The situation has become complicated, Leo. Once we enter this deep water, many decisions are no longer yours to make; you're no longer in control of your own destiny."
Do you think I looked domineering back then? Like an emperor?
Roosevelt countered with a question.
"But every decision I make, even the most arbitrary orders, must follow one core principle."
"That is, I must ensure that I always stand on the side of the majority."
"In 1935, I signed the Wagner Act, which granted workers the right to strike. Wall Street wanted to tear me apart, and newspapers called me a class traitor. But I didn't care, because I knew that all the workers in America stood behind me."
"In order to pass the Agricultural Adjustment Act, I offended urban consumers, but I won the votes of millions of farmers in the Midwest."
"In order to get Southern Democrats to support my new policies, I had to remain silent on the issue of lynching, which offended liberal intellectuals, but I retained my majority in Congress."
"I see many enemies, but I have even more friends behind me."
"This is the math of politics."
Roosevelt sighed.
"And this is precisely the biggest difficulty facing the Democratic Party right now."
"It's not that they don't work hard. In fact, the Democratic Party is now speaking up for workers. They also want to pay rust belt workers and would love to stuff checks from the Treasury directly into the pockets of blue-collar workers."
"But the problem is that the workers viewed this as an arrogant form of class reform."
"When those elites from the East Coast, dressed in bespoke suits and carrying subsidies, walked into the mines, the workers saw invaders trying to destroy their way of life."
"Because of their labels—liberal, intellectual, beneficiary of globalization—they are naturally distrusted."
"They thought they represented justice, but when they looked back, they found that there were fewer and fewer people behind them."
"They became a minority."
"And Warren, he's keenly grasped that. He may be a jerk, but now he represents the majority in this land."
"So what should we do?"
Leo looked at the red ocean on the map.
"Am I supposed to grab a gun? Am I supposed to go to church and swear an oath?"
"I can't do it. That's hypocrisy, and in that area, I can never outdo Warren."
"No, you don't need to act."
Roosevelt rejected Leo's idea.
"You can't attack Warren on cultural issues; that's his home turf, the fortress he's built over thirty years. The moment you open your mouth to talk about guns or God, you lose. He'll immediately label you an 'arrogant liberal,' and then the workers will kick you out."
"You can't say he didn't do anything."
"Because he did do some repair work. He helped some factories get federal relief, and he helped some communities repair roads. It wasn't much, but it was enough for him to brag about."
What you need to do is completely destroy his public image.
"You need to prove he's a fraud."
Roosevelt's voice became sharp.
"You need to prove that his so-called protection is a complete scam."
"You need to tell those workers: the so-called jobs Warren is giving you are fake jobs."
"Fake employment?" Leo repeated the word.
"That's right."
Roosevelt instructed.
"Go and see where all that money went in those projects he spearheaded."
"Go check if the workers' wages have increased, their benefits have improved, and their working conditions have improved."
"Or did that money become executives' year-end bonuses? Shareholder dividends? Funds to buy automation equipment for layoffs?"
"I want you to tear off his mask."
"You need to tell the workers: the subsidies that Senator Warren fought so hard for in Washington didn't save your jobs; he only saved your bosses' profits."
"He's a two-faced person."
"He deceived your souls in the name of God, and then sold your bodies to capitalists."
"That was the fatal blow."
Leo's eyes lit up.
He finally found a breakthrough.
He only needs to bring the issue back to its most basic level—money.
Who took the money?
"I see."
Leo picked up the phone on the table, intending to dial Karen's number.
Stop.
Roosevelt's voice suddenly exploded in my mind.
Leo's finger hovered over the dial key, and he froze: "Why? Mr. President, we've found his weakness, and this is the perfect opportunity to attack."
"A fatal weakness?" Roosevelt sneered. "Do you really think that with your current strength, you can fight a senator of Russell Warren's caliber to the bitter end?"
"Leo, you're getting a little carried away with winning."
Roosevelt's voice was like a bucket of ice water poured over Leo's feverish head.
"Use your brain and think about it. Warren has been operating in Pennsylvania for thirty years. Didn't any of his voting records, his dealings with energy companies, ever come to light in all those elections? Didn't any investigative journalist dig into it?"
"Definitely. Even more shocking dirt has probably already been studied under a microscope countless times."
"But why is he still the senator for Pennsylvania?"
"Because he is powerful enough, his roots run deep enough, and his control over this state is far beyond your imagination. To launch such a full-scale attack on a veteran senator who has been entrenched for thirty years is something your current makeshift team cannot do."
Leo slowly put down the receiver, a deep sense of resentment in his eyes.
"Get rid of that look, Leo."
Roosevelt keenly noticed his emotional shift.
"I've analyzed all this for you, portraying our opponent as invincible, not to scare you, nor to make you wallow in self-pity and get stuck in that gloomy feeling that the world is unfair."
"I just wanted to prevent you from getting stuck on something."
"It's right to attack Warren, that's the strategy. But don't get carried away with it, don't treat it like a duel to the death that has to be fought right now."
"When you find that Warren is an insurmountable obstacle, don't stubbornly try to break your foot."
"Don't forget what you're really trying to do," Roosevelt's voice brought the focus back. "Your strategic goal isn't to defeat Warren now, but to win the party primaries."
"Your real opponent is Aston Monroe."
"We attacked Warren to steal voters from him and to show Murphy's value to disgruntled blue-collar workers. But that was just a means, not an end."
"You can win over potential voters from him, you can use attacks on him to cultivate an image of yourself as a defender of Murphy's workers. But if you turn this into a life-or-death duel, you've missed the point."
"Only after you get through the primaries, only when Murphy gets the nomination, only when you can unite the entire Democratic Party and have the funding and endorsement of the National Committee, will you truly be qualified to sit at the same table as Warren and compete."
"As for now, calm down, child."
Don't let anger cloud your judgment.
"Now you can call Karen over. Next, we'll build a two-tiered mobilization model for Murphy."
"Murphy is about to start his real campaign."
Philadelphia, WPVI television studio.
This is the largest media center in eastern Pennsylvania and the home ground of Aston Monroe.
For this crucial debate involving both Democratic senators, the television station practically turned the entire studio into a Roman colosseum.
A towering blue backdrop stretched into the clouds, with a dozen cameras set up in various blind spots.
The air was a little thin in the backstage dressing room.
John Murphy stood in front of the mirror, letting the makeup artist apply layer after layer of setting powder to his slightly weathered face.
Leo leaned against the door, holding a bottle of mineral water, looking at Murphy's stiff shoulders.
"John," Leo began, his voice steady, "look at me."
Murphy turned his head, a hint of nervousness in his eyes.
"Remember what we said in the car." Leo walked over and straightened Murphy's dark blue tie. "There are only two of us on this stage tonight."
"Me and Monroe," Murphy answered instinctively.
"wrong."
Leo shook his head, held up a finger, and pointed in the direction outside the studio. That was to the west, to the wider hinterland of this land.
"It's you, and Russell Warren."
Murphy paused for a moment.
"And what about Monroe? He's right here on the podium next to me."
"Monroe?" Leo said. "Forgot about Monroe."
"If you spend your time attacking Monroe tonight, if you argue against his policies, if you expose his hypocrisy, all the audience will see is two Democrats fighting tooth and nail over the same job."
"But if you ignore him..."
"If you only talk about Warren from beginning to end, only attack Republican policies, only talk about the future of Pennsylvania..."
"The audience will then have a subconscious illusion."
"They will think that you are already the prospective candidate to represent the Democratic Party and challenge the Republican Party."
"As for Monroe? He's just a noisy background character, not worth your breath."
Leo looked at Murphy.
"John, tonight you only have eyes for Warren."
"When the host asks you questions about Monroe, don't attack or argue."
"Be tolerant."
Murphy took a deep breath; he understood.
This is more vicious than an attack.
This is contempt.
"Ready?" the director called from the doorway. "One minute countdown."
Murphy straightened his back and adjusted the hem of his suit jacket.
"Let's go," Murphy said.
Inside the studio, the lights were on.
Aston Monroe was already standing behind his podium.
He looked flawless, with a perfectly styled haircut, a polite smile, and an air of confidence unique to elites.
When Murphy approached, he nodded politely, but a hint of arrogance lurked in his eyes.
In his view, this was just a formality.
This is Philadelphia, and the audience consists of his supporters.
The debate began.
In the first twenty minutes, Monroe launched a fierce offensive.
He cited data to illustrate his achievements in Philadelphia, while subtly criticizing Murphy's "Rust Belt New Deal" as a fiscal gamble and unrealistic populism.
Murphy handled the situation very well.
He was neither provoked nor got bogged down in the details.
Until the host posed the most crucial question.
"Congressman Murphy, Lieutenant Governor Monroe just mentioned that your plan lacks financial sustainability and is too aggressive. As a rival within the party, what do you see as the biggest difference between you and Lieutenant Governor Monroe? Why should voters choose you instead of an experienced lieutenant governor?"
The whole place fell silent.
Monroe turned to look at Murphy with a "begin your performance" smile on her face.
He had prepared a large amount of rebuttal material, and he would immediately retaliate if Murphy dared to attack him.
Murphy leaned on the podium, a gentle smile on his face.
He didn't even glance at Monroe.
"That's a very good question."
Murphy's voice was deep and resonant, exuding the air of an elder.
"First of all, I want to make one thing clear. Aston is a good man, really, he's a very nice guy."
Monroe's smile froze for a moment.
Young man?
“We’ve worked together a few times in Harrisburg,” Murphy continued, his tone very sincere. “He’s an excellent administrator; his documents are very well organized, and I’m impressed by his familiarity with office procedures.”
"I believe that whoever is elected in the future Pennsylvania government should reserve a place for Aston."
"He would be very suitable to be in charge of the state office's records management, or to be the director of the Administrative Efficiency Improvement Committee."
"He will do a very good job."
A commotion broke out in the audience.
Someone couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle.
The evaluation sounded like nothing but praise, but every sentence sounded like it was praising an excellent secretary, not a future senator.
As a seasoned politician, Monroe possesses exceptional emotional control.
Even in such a public setting, faced with such blatant humiliation, his expression showed only a very subtle unnaturalness at the corners of his mouth and eyes.
But he quickly recovered and put on that polite smile that exuded an elite demeanor.
He cannot lose his composure, cannot become hysterical, and cannot let his middle-class supporters see even the slightest hint of panic, because he represents dignity, order, and the composure of the elite.
Any slip-up could cause his public image to collapse.
"but."
Murphy's expression instantly turned serious and solemn.
He looked directly at the camera.
"We are standing here today not to select an excellent archivist."
"We are electing a warrior who can go to Washington, to that Capitol Hill full of alligators and wolves, to win back jobs for the thirteen million people of Pennsylvania."
"Our opponents are not each other."
"Our opponent is Russell Warren."
Murphy's voice rose a few decibels, filled with the passion of battle.
"What was Senator Warren doing in Congress, waving a Bible in one hand and pressing his hand on the Second Amendment, talking at length about God, guns, and anti-abortion?"
"He voted to cut your food stamps, he voted against extending unemployment benefits, and he voted to allow insurance companies to refuse to pay for your children's medical history!"
"He lulled you into a false sense of security with the slogan of culture warfare, then turned around and signed the tax bill, handing over hundreds of billions of dollars in tax cuts to Wall Street, only to tell you he didn't have the money to build roads!"
"When he sacrifices our children's health for his energy financiers, when he vetoes our infrastructure funding."
"We need someone who can stand up, point their finger at him, and tell him, 'You're fired.'"
That's the difference.
"I brought $500 million in investment, I brought thousands of jobs, I brought hope for revival."
"I'm ready to fight Warren."
"As for the rest—"
Murphy shrugged, as if the topic about Monroe had become insignificant.
"Let's leave the administrative work to the administrative staff."
Monroe took a deep breath.
He was, after all, a political golden boy carefully cultivated in Philadelphia. He forcibly suppressed the twitching at the corner of his mouth, adjusted the microphone, and tried to regain control of the conversation.
"Senator Murphy, this is precisely where your danger lies."
Monroe's voice came through the microphone at a moderate volume, in a calm tone, attempting to project a rational, adult image.
"Your reduction of serious administration to archival work demonstrates your complete ignorance of governance. Pennsylvania is facing a budget deficit, insufficient education funding, and a collapsing healthcare system."
"These problems can't be solved by yelling; they require meticulous policy design and professionals like myself who have balanced budget deficits three times in Philadelphia."
However, Murphy completely ignored him.
He didn't even turn his head once, continuing to address the camera and the blue-collar voters he believed weren't actually there, delivering his battle cry.
"Pennsylvania needs industry! It needs the return of manufacturing! Our steelworkers, our coal miners, they've been forgotten for far too long!"
Two voices collided in the air of the studio.
"My 'Ten-Year Plan for the Future of Education' has been approved by the teachers' union!" Monroe had to raise her voice, trying to drown out Murphy. "I will increase funding for each school district by fifteen percent. That's what it means to be responsible for the future!"
"We're going to use that $500 million to disrupt the entire state's infrastructure!" Murphy's voice boomed, proceeding at his own pace. "We're going to let Washington hear the roar from the Rust Belt! We're going to tell Russell Warren that his good days are over!"
"Voters need stability! Predictable growth!" Monroe spoke rapidly, "not a populist frenzy destined to fail! Your bond program is a time bomb!"
"We'll take back the stolen jobs! We'll reclaim the dignity that's been taken from us!" Murphy pumped his fist. "This is a war, not just for Pittsburgh, but for every worker in the state!"
This scene looks extremely bizarre on television, yet it is full of tension.
The host tried to interrupt.
"Gentlemen! Please stop for a moment! Let's take turns speaking! Mr. Monroe, Mr. Murphy!"
No one cares about him.
For a full three minutes, the live stream turned into a chaotic binaural monologue.
The one-sided confrontation only came to an abrupt end when the ringtone rang out, cutting off the microphone signal.
The studio erupted in enthusiastic applause.
The applause for Monroe was noticeably louder and longer.
These well-educated urban middle-class people at the scene were clearly more interested in detailed policy roadmaps than in the steelworker's anger.
According to commentators in the media section, Monroe won.
He won because of his logic, his demeanor, and his mastery of details.
But backstage, in the shadows of the monitor, Leo loosened his clenched fist.
He didn't care about the decibel meter on site.
"We got what we wanted," Leo said softly.
They cannot win over the teachers' union, nor can they come up with a more detailed state-level legislative proposal than the lieutenant governor.
Trying to outmaneuver technocrats with policy details on Philadelphia's home turf is suicidal.
So they never intended to win this debate.
They simply used those three minutes of chaos to force a new impression into the minds of television viewers across the state—especially those outside Philadelphia.
"Only one person on stage tonight is ready to go to war in Washington."
"And that person is definitely not the guy who's reciting tax laws."