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Even before the train pulled into Lansing, Leo knew something was up. “Welcome, Commissioner Torres!” signs were along the tracks miles before they arrived. As they pulled into the city, multitudes of people were gathered along the tracks. Instead of the sudden silence of a stopped train, Leo heard his own name shouted from thousands of throats: “Torres, Torres, Torres!”
People were shaking his hands, both of them, and pulling him forward before he could even step off the flatcar. They guided him into a poshly decorated pedicab. Bands started playing and the entire parade traveled to an imposing building with an old-style capitol dome. More people were gathered around the open courtyard than Leo had ever seen. Something was really not right! He would find out what, but not for a few more minutes.
A man in a silk hat introduced Leo in florid terms and lots of adjectives. Then Leo was pushed forward to the mic. Reverberations of powerful battery-drive speakers made the occasion even more surreal, and whatever confidence Leo had hoped to show drained away through his shoes.
“Hello, I’m, I’m Leo Torres,” he began.
“Talk into the mic,” Leo was advised by the emcee while he was using one hand to push the mic toward Leo’s mouth and the other hand to push Leo’s head forward.
“Hello, I’m Leo Torres,” he began again. The big speakers picked it up this time and Leo was immediately interrupted by wild shouts and applause.
Leo tried to continue: “I’m glad to be here in Lansing, and I’m hoping you will support my effort to become a delegate to the World Council.
‘There are a great many things to do, and I’m hoping that we can do them together and be successful.” Again, the roar from the crowd overwhelmed the speakers. Leo figured that was as good an ending as any, so he turned and sat down. The hammer that Leo had been dreading fell with the next speaker.
He didn’t have a silk hat. He didn’t wear a suit. He wore khaki pants and a faded blue chambray shirt. He didn’t orate, neither with his voice nor with his hands. He clutched the podium with his fists and spoke directly in a manly, demanding, husky voice. Clearly, he was, or he meant for Leo and everybody else to think he was, a man of the people: “I won’t beat around the bush here. We’re the union. We’re organized, and we’re not letting Amazon push us around.” He turned slightly to look straight at Leo, then said slowly and deliberately, “We’re counting on you, Commissioner Torres, to back our strike against Amazon. What do you say?” Then he came directly to Leo and offered his hand.
Leo was cornered. He had not the slightest idea of what issues might be involved, but he knew that if he shook hands, he had already made a public commitment. So he didn’t shake hands, but, instead, shakily made his way back to the microphone. The union leader didn’t sit down, but stood somewhat menacingly behind Leo. This little problem was going to take some diplomacy for which Leo was hardly prepared.
“As I said before, I came here to drum up support for my candidacy for a new world conference.” Were people still listening, or were they getting out the tar and feathers? Leo went on: “I didn’t know about the strike. I don’t even know very much about Amazon. I do know that certain major corporations have gone on existing and I know it’s a good thing they did. If Purina hadn’t created People Chow when they were asked, and if Amazon and some other countries hadn’t taken on the problems of distributing it, I don’t know how many more millions would have died off during the bad times.
‘I also know that, before the transfer of power, before the revolution, we in the progressive forces always seemed to side with strikers against corporations. That’s because corporations were running everything and were running it straight into the ground. In the old situation, we had to break their power.
‘That situation has changed now. I’m not sure how much it changed, but the corporations aren’t ruling us the way they did before. In the new situation, do we always and ever take the side of workers against corporations? I don’t actually know. I don’t know how much better off the people of Lansing would be if they won this strike I’m just now hearing about. I don’t know how it would affect people in other areas. I don’t know how it would affect the future here and in other places. I want to find out as much as I can before I leave.
‘So there are bigger issues here that need a bigger discussion.” Leo realized that he wasn’t satisfying a crowd of people that wanted to hear a certain and positive response. He remembered one important thing, though: he needed a good ending.
‘So there’s a lot I don’t know, just as there’s a lot that none of us know. I can assure you of one thing, though, and that is, no matter how your local issues come out, that the government we intend to build will be one that does the best things possible for all of the people, and all of the people means you!” Then Leo turned back around and deliberately overemphasized the gesture of offering his hand to the union leader.
Leo smiled forcibly as their hands met, and the other guy seemed to respond. That, he hoped, would be the end of the public part of the Lansing encounter.
Thankfully, he was right. But the rest of the time before his departure that night was spent listening to harangue after harangue about Amazon’s failures and why the Lansing strike had to succeed.