Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Chapter 243 - 126: Moral Judgment

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Convention Center.

The massive broadcast hall was decorated in the Democratic Party’s signature deep blue.

In the center of the stage, a massive LED screen scrolled with the campaign slogan: "Take Back Our Time."

Spotlights bathed the stage in a light as bright as day, making even the dust motes dancing in the beams clearly visible.

The audience of a thousand people below the stage was mostly comprised of college students, environmentalists, and middle-class white-collar workers from Philadelphia and its surrounding suburbs, as well as liberal voters angered by the current state of affairs in Washington.

This was a televised campaign rally, broadcast live across the entire state.

The camera’s red tally light came on, and the director gave the signal.

John Murphy strode onto the stage.

He had changed into a well-tailored, dark gray suit.

In Philadelphia, he needed to project the dignity and authority befitting a Senator.

Thunderous applause erupted.

Murphy walked to the lectern, slowly pulled a photograph from the inner pocket of his suit, and showed it to all the cameras and the audience.

The photograph showed a young, smug face: Chad Evans.

"This week, a lot of people have asked me why, at my age, I would give up a safe seat in the House of Representatives to fight this difficult battle."

Murphy’s voice carried a suppressed rage.

"I want you all to take a look at this photograph."

"This young man’s name is Chad Evans. Three years ago, like me, he worked in an office building on Capitol Hill. He was Senator Russell Warren’s senior legislative assistant, responsible for drafting bills related to energy and the environment."

"Back then, his annual salary was sixty-two thousand US Dollars."

Murphy paused, letting that number ferment among the crowd.

"That was a salary paid by you, the taxpayers, to help a Senator protect our land, protect our water, and protect the future of Pennsylvania."

"But then, two years ago in May, he resigned."

With a sharp wave of Murphy’s hand, the image on the large LED screen instantly switched.

A new chart appeared before everyone. On the left: sixty-two thousand US Dollars. On the right, a staggering figure: six hundred thousand US Dollars, plus stock options.

The background was the luxurious headquarters of the Appalachian Energy Group.

"Just two weeks later, he was sitting in the vice president’s office at the Appalachian Energy Group, in a five-thousand-dollar Italian leather swivel chair."

"His salary had increased tenfold."

A gasp went through the audience.

To most of the middle-class audience, burdened with mortgages and student loans, that number was a provocation in itself.

"For what?"

Murphy demanded into the microphone.

"Was it because he suddenly became a business genius? Was it because he invented some world-changing technology?"

"No."

"It’s because he held a key in his hand—a key to Senator Warren’s office."

Murphy stepped away from the lectern, closing the distance with his audience.

His expression turned to one of deep sorrow and indignation.

"Just three months after Evans started his new job, the Senate voted on the Underground Water Resources Protection Bill. This bill would have stopped energy companies from injecting undisclosed toxic chemicals into our aquifers."

"Russell Warren, the Senator who claims time and again to love the land of Pennsylvania, cast the deciding vote against it."

"The bill died."

"Because of that, the Appalachian Energy Company saved hundreds of millions of US Dollars in compliance costs."

"And what was the price?"

Murphy produced a bottle of murky water from beneath the lectern.

It was a sample his campaign team had collected from a farmer’s well near a shale gas drilling site in Western Pennsylvania.

He held the bottle high. Under the spotlights, the water had an unsettling, pale yellow tint, with unidentifiable sediment suspended within it.

"This is the price."

"This is the water our children have to drink. This is the water our farmers use to irrigate their crops."

"Senator Warren and his former assistant, they’re clinking glasses in Washington steakhouses. They’re counting their bonuses in centrally air-conditioned offices."

"And what they’ve left for us is this bottle of poison."

"What are they doing? They’re trading your children’s health for that young man’s million-dollar salary! They’re using the future of Pennsylvania to line their own pockets!"

Murphy’s voice echoed through the broadcast hall, ringing with the force of a moral judgment.

"This is what’s called the revolving door."

"One day, you’re regulating corporations on behalf of the people. The next, you’re representing those corporations to buy off the people’s representatives."

"This is legal corruption! This is the most shameless desecration of democracy!"

"Senator Warren tells you he’s protecting jobs. No, my friends, he’s only protecting one person’s job—Chad Evans’s high-paying job!"

"We need to throw this dirty dealing, along with those leather swivel chairs, onto the trash heap!"

"We need to take Washington back for the people!"

"Take back our time!"

The crowd below erupted.

The young students leaped to their feet, pumping their fists.

The environmentalists raised their signs.

The middle-class voters, disillusioned with the system, had found an outlet for their frustrations.

Murphy had successfully simplified a complex issue of influence peddling into a story of "victims and predators."

For the city’s liberal voters, this narrative was devastatingly effective.

...

「Pittsburgh. Campaign headquarters.」