Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt-Chapter 96 - 67: Dog-whistle Politics

He tried to execute his plan by speaking directly with the grassroots and dispelling the rumors.

He walked into a usually lively barbershop.

Previously, people would greet him enthusiastically whenever he came here, eager to discuss changes in the community.

But today, when he pushed open the door, the conversations in the shop came to an abrupt halt.

Several Black customers getting their hair cut stopped what they were doing and watched him coldly through the reflection in the mirror.

The barber’s scissors were still snipping, but he didn’t look up, focusing only on the task at hand.

An invisible wall stood between Leo and these men.

"Good evening, everyone." Leo tried to break the silence.

No one responded.

After a moment, a young Black man sitting in the corner stood up.

"Mr. Wallace." The young man’s tone held a politeness that kept him at arm’s length. "We’ve heard about that big plan of yours. Sounds nice."

"It’s real," Leo said immediately. "We’ve already prepared the budget. As long as..."

"Yeah, as long as you get elected," the young man cut him off. "But what we want to know is, behind those pretty blueprints, how many people look like us?"

The young man pointed to his own face.

"In that office of yours, is there even one person who truly understands what it’s like to grow up in this neighborhood?"

Leo opened his mouth.

He wanted to say that Ethan’s policies covered racial equality, that Frank’s Union had always fought for the interests of all workers.

But in that moment, faced with this question, all his policy explanations seemed hollow and powerless.

Because the fact was plain to see.

There were indeed no Black people in his inner circle.

Leo didn’t argue. He couldn’t even look the young man in the eye.

He turned, pushed open the door, and walked out of the barbershop.

But he didn’t leave the Hill District right away.

He refused to accept it.

He couldn’t believe that a few malicious flyers could erase all his sincerity and sever the most basic trust between people.

He continued walking along the main street.

He saw a group of Black women who had just finished their evening service, chatting by the entrance of a red brick church.

Leo composed himself, forced a smile, and walked briskly toward them.

He pulled the "Revitalization Plan Phase Two" brochure from his coat.

"Good evening, ladies. I’m Leo Wallace, and I’d like to talk to you about the renovations for the community school..."

Before he could finish, the air froze.

The smiles on the women’s faces vanished the instant they saw Leo.

An older woman wearing a hat pulled her companion by the arm, turned, and walked away without even glancing at Leo.

"Let’s go. Don’t listen to this white man’s nonsense. They’re all liars."

The low mutter drilled clearly into Leo’s ears.

Leo’s hand froze in midair, the brochure rustling in the evening wind.

He gritted his teeth, pulled back his hand, and continued forward.

He went to the basketball court on the street corner next.

A few young men playing ball stopped abruptly when they saw him approach.

They held their basketballs and stood behind the rusty chain-link fence, staring at him coldly as if he were an invader.

The silence was like a thick wall, shutting him completely out of the community.

In that moment, no matter how grand his plans were or how earnest his intentions, in this neighborhood thoroughly poisoned by racial narratives, he was just a white intruder with ulterior motives.

Leo wandered that street for a full hour.

He tried five times. Five times he was ignored, rejected, and met with cold shoulders.

Until the cold night wind blew through his shirt, until he had no choice but to admit that he couldn’t change anything here tonight.

Watched by countless cold, wary, and even hostile gazes, his only option was to pull open his car door and leave.

When he pushed open the door to his campaign headquarters, he brought with him a chill in his bones and an unprecedented sense of defeat.

The office was also deathly silent.

Frank sat in the corner, chain-smoking. The ashtray was already overflowing with cigarette butts.

Sarah and Karen were arguing about something in low voices, but they stopped talking the moment Leo came in.

Ethan stood by the window, frowning as he stared into the night.

Everyone realized the gravity of the crisis.

This was a war of identity, of belonging, of trust.

And on this battlefield, logic and reason are often the first casualties.

’Mr. President,’ Leo called out in his mind. ’Is this the quagmire you told me about?’

Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind.

"Yes, my boy."

"This is the dirty bomb of American politics."

"Race."

"Back when I was implementing the New Deal, a huge part of the resistance I faced came from the Southern Democrats, from the cracks within that old coalition."

"Those Southern plantation owners and politicians knew full well what a terrifying force would be unleashed if poor white sharecroppers and poor Black farmhands ever united."

"So, for hundreds of years, they’ve done only one thing."

"They constantly tell poor white people: ’You may be poor, but at least you’re white. You’re nobler than those Black people. If you stand with them, you’ll lose that last shred of nobility.’"

"They use this illusory sense of superiority to buy the loyalty of the poor whites, thereby maintaining their rule over all poor people."

"It’s an inescapable, open conspiracy."

Roosevelt analyzed, "Leo, you must understand, this tactic is so effective, so tried-and-true for centuries, because it exploits human social nature."

"People are instinctively driven to divide themselves into groups."

"We divide by region, by language, by skin color. We have a desperate need to belong to an ’us,’ and at the same time, a desperate need to create a ’them.’"

"It seems that only by ostracizing others, only by confirming that one is superior to another group, can humans attain a certain false sense of security."

"This instinct is rooted in our blood. It cannot be changed."

"And those in power are masters at twisting this natural, biological trait into a towering political wall."

"It’s a completely man-made obstacle."

"They make people who are equally hungry, equally struggling in the mud, draw swords against each other simply because of the different reflectivity of their skin."

"What Carter Wright is doing now is simply plucking this ugly heartstring once again."

Roosevelt sighed.

"Once you fall into this trap of self-justification, no matter how you explain yourself, you’re wrong."

"You explain to white people that you’re not favoring Black people, and the Black community will think you really don’t value them."

"You explain to Black people that you’ll look after their interests, and the white community will think you’re currying favor with their money."

"Carter Wright has placed you between two millstones. He wants to grind you to dust."

The next day, the latest poll data came in.

Karen placed the report on the table, and Leo picked it up for a look.

The support rate curve, which had been steadily rising, had stagnated for the first time. It even showed a slight downward bend at the very end.

The detailed data analysis showed that his support in white blue-collar communities had dropped by three percentage points.

Meanwhile, in minority communities, his support rate was still languishing at a low level, showing no signs of improvement.

Frank stubbed his cigarette out on the table, leaving a black scorch mark.

"Someone posted a photo of that flyer in my Union group chat." Frank’s voice was hoarse. "People are starting to leave the group. They’re saying they don’t want to be cannon fodder for a ’Black lover.’"

Sarah stared at her computer screen.

"Our YouTube channel is being flooded with racist comments," Sarah said. "We’re deleting them, but we can’t keep up. The comments are infuriating our minority supporters, and they’ve erupted into a huge argument in the comment section."

Leo looked at the disintegrating situation before him.

He had to find a way to break the stalemate.

If he couldn’t reunite these groups torn apart by racial hatred.

If he couldn’t convince people that class interests outweighed racial prejudice.

Then he would be dragged down and destroyed by the racial politics of this quagmire.

But Leo knew this was far from over.

A veteran politician like Carter Wright, who had stood tall in Pittsburgh politics for eight years, wouldn’t stop at just two moves now that he had decided to act.

So far, Carter Wright had only used tools of public opinion.

His trump card—the vast administrative power he held as the incumbent Mayor—hadn’t even truly been brought into play yet.

The real killing blow was yet to come.