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Chapter 10: Bread and Ideals
The morning after the alliance was formed, Leo was awakened by hunger.
His stomach contracted painfully, and the life-altering conversation from the previous night was shoved to the corner of his consciousness by the most primal of needs.
He sat up on the creaking bed with a faint glimmer of hope and walked over to the refrigerator.
Opening the fridge door revealed three items under its dim light:
A carton of milk four days past its expiration date.
Half a bottle of ketchup.
And a small block of butter beginning to harden on the shelf.
Reality came crashing down, washing away the lofty passion built the night before.
He closed the fridge and leaned against it, feeling dizzy. Finally, he couldn't help but ask the great president in his mind:
"Mr. President, we don’t even have money to buy lunch meat for our next meal."
His voice echoed in his consciousness.
"Before considering Pittsburgh’s future, I need to seriously think about my lunch today."
It was an unavoidable issue.
Even the fire of revolution needed calories to burn.
Roosevelt’s voice sounded in his mind, tinged with amusement.
"Leo, an excellent politician must know how to solve the problem of money. This is the most basic and crucial lesson."
"But our first funds must not come from a banker’s generosity or a secret donation from some entrepreneur. That would put shackles around your neck from the first day you step onto the battlefield. Once you take their money, you become their servant."
"Our first funds must, and can only, come from those you intend to serve—the people."
Leo felt a sense of absurdity.
"The people?" He countered. "But I am nothing to them now—a nobody, an unemployed Ph.D. student. Why would they give me money? To listen to me talk about the history of the New Deal?"
"Of course not," Roosevelt's voice became persuasive. "Before asking for a penny from the people, you must do something for them. Something tangible that they can see, feel, and trust you for."
"And this thing should not be for money, but to earn their trust. Trust is the only hard currency in the political world."
"What should we do?" Leo felt even more confused.
"Go to where the people are closest, where contradictions are sharpest, where current politicians avoid like the plague." Roosevelt sounded like an experienced hunter teaching a young apprentice how to find prey.
"In those places, both your enemies and your future supporters reside."
He paused, his tone lightening slightly.
"And I assure you, there will be a solution for your lunch today."
Under Roosevelt's guidance, Leo abandoned the idea of continuing to stare at the empty fridge.
He sat back down and opened his computer.
He began searching local news websites in Pittsburgh, old community forums cluttered with ads, and local Facebook groups.
He filtered out mundane community event notices, second-hand item listings, and lost pet announcements.
He was looking for conflict.
Conflicts between communities and the government, between tenants and landlords, between ordinary citizens and big corporations.
He spent the entire morning immersed in this ocean of trivial yet genuine information.
By afternoon, when hunger made him somewhat dizzy, he found an announcement tucked away in an inconspicuous corner of the Pittsburgh city government website.
It was a list of properties scheduled for auction due to unpaid property taxes.
Scrolling through the list, most were abandoned houses and shuttered small shops.
Then, one name caught his attention.
He knew this place; it was less than ten blocks from his apartment.
It was an old brick building, once a branch of the Steelworkers Union.
After the steel industry collapsed, it was converted into a non-profit organization, aiding unemployed families, elderly people, and children in the community.
It offered after-school tutoring, free legal consultations, job training for the unemployed, and even shelter for the homeless during winter.
This was the last little fortress the old workers like his father had built for themselves and their neighbors after being abandoned by the times.
Now, this fortress was up for auction.
The announcement clearly stated that due to tens of thousands of dollars in unpaid property taxes, the Steelworkers Community Center would be forcibly auctioned off by the city hall next week.
Leo’s heart sank.
He immediately opened a new browser tab and began digging deeper into all related information.
He found a brief article on a local news website.
The report mentioned that Frank Kowalski, the center's director, had been working tirelessly on this issue for months. He had tried applying for tax exemptions from the mayor’s office and sought community donations, but all attempts failed.
Leo’s search didn’t stop there.
On the city government’s public records website, he found information about the registered bidders for this auction.
There was only one bidder.
A real estate company called Summit Development Group.
This name made Leo frown.
He felt he had seen it somewhere before.
He conducted another search, this time combining “Summit Development Group” with another name—Pittsburgh’s current mayor, Martin Cartwright.
The search results revealed the whole story.
Summit Development Group was one of the biggest donors during Mayor Cartwright's campaign.
Moreover, in recent years, this company had acquired several prime plots of land from the city government at extremely low prices for high-end apartment projects.
Their business model was crystal clear: demolish old neighborhoods, build new apartments, and sell them to wealthy professionals working downtown.
Leo could almost picture the next act.
Summit Development Group would snap up the community center plot at a rock-bottom price.
Then, the old building filled with memories of Pittsburgh’s working class would be razed to the ground by bulldozers.
A shiny luxury apartment building with floor-to-ceiling windows and a gym would rise in its place.
The elderly, children, and unemployed who once relied on the community center for help would lose their final refuge.
Leo leaned back in his chair, staring at the intertwined information on the screen.
He felt anger, but also excitement.
Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind.
"Do you see, child?"
"A perfect battlefield."
"Corrupt politicians, greedy capital, and the mercilessly damaged interests of the common people. All elements are present."
"Go."
"Your first job has arrived."
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