novelnext Chapter 124 The Roar of the Rusty Belt
Chapter 124 The Roar of the Rusty Belt
Chapter 124 The Roar of the Rusty Belt
The arrival hall of Pittsburgh International Airport.
The automatic doors slid open to both sides, and a cold wind carrying the distinctive industrial fumes of Pittsburgh rushed in.
For people from other places, the smell might be a bit pungent, or even filthy.
But for Leo Wallace, this was the smell his lungs craved most.
This is the taste of home.
He spent less than 24 hours in that power meat grinder in Washington, but it felt like an eternity.
There, he gambled his entire political life and the future of Pittsburgh.
In the end, he won.
Although the victory was thrilling, and although his back was still covered in cold sweat, he did indeed walk out alive with that ticket to the game.
It was afternoon, and the airport terminal was bustling with people, but he still spotted the group of people at a glance.
They stood outside the arrival gate fence, their faces showing anxiety, anticipation, and a hint of fear of confronting the truth.
Ethan Hawke stood at the front, constantly glancing at his watch, his leather shoes rubbing against the ground.
Sarah Jenkins gripped her tablet tightly, her eyes fixed on every face at the exit. Karen Miller leaned against a pillar with her arms crossed; though she tried to maintain the cool composure of a professional manager, her frequently blinking eyelashes betrayed her inner turmoil.
And John Murphy.
His tie hung loosely around his neck, his hair was disheveled, and he looked颓废 and tense.
What surprised Leo the most was that there was a wheelchair behind the group of people.
Margaret sat in a wheelchair with a thick blanket covering her legs.
The person pushing the wheelchair is Frank Kowalski.
Frank wasn't wearing a baseball cap, revealing his gray hair.
Leo stopped in his tracks.
He looked at these people.
This is his team.
A worker abandoned by the times, a student yearning for change, several politicians struggling in the bureaucratic system, and an elderly man in a wheelchair.
This is the kind of group of people who actually managed to tear the sky apart in this city.
Leo took a deep breath and walked over.
When his figure appeared in everyone's sight, everyone froze for a moment.
No one spoke, and no one even dared to breathe loudly.
These eyes were fixed on his face, trying to decipher the final verdict from his expression.
To be or not to be?
Did they get the money, or did they bring back despair?
Leo didn't speak.
He simply walked up to the crowd and stood still.
Then, looking at those hopeful eyes, he nodded gently.
"boom."
Although no sound was made, everyone felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from their hearts, with a dull thud.
Sarah covered her mouth, tears welling up instantly. She bit her lip desperately, trying to control her emotions.
Ethan let out a long sigh, leaned against the railing, and gave a exhausted smile.
Karen turned her head away, seemingly trying to hide the tears welling up in her eyes.
Murphy stepped forward, his hands trembling, wanting to shake Leo's hand, but he hesitated.
"Leo—" Murphy's voice was hoarse, "You—what conditions did you agree to?"
As a politician, Murphy knew the cost of a deal.
He feared that Leo might make a deal that would destroy their political foundation in order to get the money.
Leo looked at Murphy and shook his head.
"No, John."
Leo's voice was very soft.
"I didn't give anything in return."
"I was simply telling the White House one fact: if Pittsburgh doesn't survive, Pennsylvania will die. If Pennsylvania dies, they will lose the Senate."
"They understood."
"So, they agreed."
Murphy was stunned.
A few seconds later, this veteran politician, who had spent twenty years on Capitol Hill, suddenly felt his legs go weak and almost knelt on the ground.
Leo caught him.
"Hold on tight, Senator," Leo whispered in his ear. "Your campaign has only just begun. Don't give up at the starting line."
Murphy grabbed Leo's arm and nodded vigorously.
"Good lad—"
A rough voice rang out.
Frank pushed through the crowd and strode over.
He walked up to Leo and stretched out his large hand, which was as big as a fan.
"Snapped!"
Frank slammed his hand down on Leo's shoulder.
Leo felt like his shoulder bones were about to fall apart.
He looked at Frank.
Frank looked at him too.
"I knew it."
Frank's voice sounded like it was booming from his chest.
"I knew you fucking could do it!"
"You little fox, you're more cunning and tougher than any we've ever seen at the docks!"
With that, Frank opened his arms and gave Leo a bear hug that was big enough to break ribs.
That was the highest form of courtesy, rude yet sincere, unique to the working class.
"Welcome home, Mayor."
Frank released his grip, revealing a smile that looked more like a grimace.
Leo rubbed his numb shoulders and smiled.
"yes."
"I'm back."
For the next forty-eight hours, Pittsburgh City Hall became a precision instrument running at full speed.
Upon receiving the call from the White House Chief of Staff, the bureaucrats in Harrisburg instantly changed their tune.
The once insurmountable administrative barrier melted away in an instant.
The approval from the Pennsylvania Department of Community and Economic Development was faxed to Ethan's desk on the morning of the fourth day, with the words "Express Approval" written on it.
It was a day faster than Stern said.
There were no hearings, no additional scrutiny, nothing at all.
This is the magic of power.
When the will of the highest level intervenes, all rules will automatically give way.
Immediately afterwards, the floodgates of funds were opened.
Daniel Sanders was also busy in Washington.
-
He kept his promise.
This progressive leader used his decades-long reputation among labor unions and the left wing across the United States to personally call the pension fund managers of major labor unions.
"This is an order, and also a request," Sanders said on the phone. "We need this money to prove we're on the right track. Buying Pittsburgh bonds is buying our own future."
The effect is immediate.
Less than two hours after the bond issuance window opened, the $500 million quota was snapped up.
The United Auto Workers, the teachers' union, and several large family funds focused on green energy collectively bought out this bond, which was considered "junk" by Wall Street rating agencies.
The morning of the sixth day.
Ethan pushed open the door to the mayor's office.
He held a thin bank deposit confirmation slip in his hand, walked to his desk, and placed the paper in front of Leo.
"arrive."
Ethan's voice was somewhat hoarse.
"Five hundred million US dollars."
He took a deep breath, stared into Leo's eyes, and repeated himself as if to confirm.
"All funds have been received."
Leo stared at the long string of numbers.
He showed neither elation nor excitement.
This money was earned through countless near-cliff-edge maneuvers, through numerous lies, deals, and threats.
"Mr. President," Leo thought to himself, "we have ammunition."
"very good."
Roosevelt's voice was calm yet powerful.
"Now, we're going to fire these munitions."
"Is the stage ready yet?"
Leo turned his head and looked out the window.
In the distance, on the banks of the Mononga Hilla River, the once barren inland port reserve has now been transformed.
This place was originally an industrial wasteland abandoned for twenty years, overgrown with weeds and littered with gravel, with only a few rusty railway tracks winding through the soil like dead snakes.
But in the past ten days or so, a truly miraculous change has taken place here.
Hundreds of heavy trucks come and go day and night, their roar shattering the silence of the valley.
Thousands of tons of gravel filled and compacted the muddy ground.
Tons of steel supports were used to build a huge lectern that could accommodate hundreds of people.
The most impressive thing was the twenty giant crawler cranes.
They were urgently transported from the warehouse of Morganfield Industries.
These steel behemoths stand tall on the riverbank, their towering cranes pointing straight to the sky.
At the foot of the crane, hundreds of shipping containers, painted in bright colors, were stacked up.
Red, blue, green.
These containers are not just decorations; they represent trade, circulation, and the city's desire to reconnect with the world.
This is a totem built with steel, money, and power.
It is demonstrating to everyone a power, a power that can change the landscape and turn the tide.
The day of the campaign speech, at 2 p.m.
Hundreds of union members from western Pennsylvania, dressed in matching overalls and wearing hard hats, filled the newly leveled square.
Among them were dockworkers from Pittsburgh, steelworkers from Allegheny County, and miners who had come from even more distant coal mining areas.
They held up signs, their faces filled with anticipation.
Dozens of media outlets parked their broadcast vans outside the fence, their cameras and microphones aimed at the enormous stage.
All the lights were focused on the center of the stage.
Music started playing.
It's Bruce Springsteen's "Born in America".
The raw, rock-and-roll music echoed through the river thickets, pounding on everyone's eardrums.
John Murphy emerged from this atmosphere brimming with testosterone and industrial vibes.
He was wearing a dark blue work jacket over a white shirt with the collar open, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his somewhat loose but still muscular forearms.
His hair was a little messy from the river breeze, but that only made him look more real, more like a foreman who had just come out of the factory, rather than a high-ranking employee.
Murphy walked up to the podium.
He braced his hands on the edge of the podium, leaned forward, and scanned the nearly one thousand faces below the stage.
The noise gradually subsided.
Murphy spoke up.
His voice was transmitted throughout the entire river valley via the sound system.
"I didn't sleep in the hotel last night."
Murphy’s first words immediately captivated everyone.
"I went to a neighborhood in Etna and sat at the Smith family's slightly rickety kitchen table."
"Old Smith was a welder who worked at an auto parts factory for thirty years. His hands were deformed from holding the welding torch for so long, and his knuckles were swollen."
"His wife, Mary, works as a cashier at Walmart and has to stand for eight hours a day."
"We sat over instant coffee and chatted for a long time."
Murphy paused for a moment, his gaze softening.
"Guess what we're talking about?"
"We didn't talk about the headlines in Washington, or about those politicians arguing about the debt ceiling on TV."
What geopolitics?
"Those things are too far from that dining table."
"The Smiths produced their electricity bill from last month, and the numbers on it made them frown."
"They took out their youngest son's college acceptance letter, which should have been a happy occasion, but when they looked at the tuition fees, they could only sigh."
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"They're settling accounts."
"They're calculating whether they can afford the electricity bill next month if they need to buy old Smith his arthritis medication."
"They're calculating whether they'll lose the house they've lived in for half their lives if Mary gets sick and can't go to work because Liu stops paying the mortgage."
Murphy looked up, his voice trembling slightly.
"At that dining table, I saw neither anger nor complaints."
What I see is fear.
"A deep, persistent fear."
"They worked diligently their whole lives, obeyed the law, paid taxes on time, and raised their children."
"They did what the country asked them to do."
"But now, they find themselves having lost even the most basic sense of security."
"They don't know what tomorrow will bring, or if they accidentally fall, their whole family will collapse."
The audience was completely silent.
The workers looked at Murphy, and many of them had tears in their eyes.
Because that's their life.
That's the reality they face every night when they sit at the dinner table.
The man standing on the stage understood them.
Murphy took a deep breath.
His expression began to change.
That compassion vanished, replaced by a long-suppressed anger.
"Liu what?"
Murphy spoke into the microphone.
"Why should our workers' artisans live in such fear on this land that once built America?"
"Who stole our sense of security?"
"Who shattered the American Dream of a good life simply by working hard?"
Murphy turned around and pointed in the direction of Philadelphia, which is also the direction of Harrisburg.
"They are the elites sitting in luxurious offices."
"They are those politicians who wear suits costing thousands of dollars, drink mead, and talk about globalization and industrial upgrading at dinner parties."
"They told us that the steel age is over, and we should embrace high technology, finance, and the service industry."
"They told us that the bankruptcy of the company was an inevitable historical event, and we should be happy about it because it represents progress."
"progress?"
Murphy gave a cold laugh, a laugh full of mockery and contempt.
"Whose progress is that?"
"It's an advancement for the Philadelphia Stock Exchange! It's an advancement for Silicon Cluster Technologies! It's an advancement for Wall Street hedge funds!"
"But for the Smith family, it was a disaster!"
"Those elites, they have never sweated by the steel furnace, never bent over on the assembly line, they don't even know what it feels like to have calluses on their hands."
"They only see us as a string of cold, hard data, as a burden that must be shed."
"They made a promise that they would take care of us and give us new opportunities."
"But what was the result?"
"Look around you! Look at those abandoned factories! Look at those overgrown communities! Look at those kids from your hometown!"
"This is a broken promise!"
"This is a complete and utter betrayal!"
"They've forgotten about us!"
"In their eyes, Pennsylvania is just a few bustling streets in Philadelphia; as for this vast land, as for us who live in the mountains and rivers, we are invisible!"
"Washington has gone deaf!"
"Because Liu can't hear our cries; it can only hear the sound of money falling into its bag!"
The audience was ignited.
Murphy used the most straightforward language to expose the anger that had been building up for decades due to being ignored and insulted.
The workers clenched their fists, their breathing becoming heavy.
"No!"
Someone shouted from below the stage.
"No!"
More people joined in the shouting.
Murphy raised his hand, suppressing his voice.
His expression turned solemn, a leadership quality he had never displayed in his two decades on Capitol Hill.
"But, my friends."
"I'm telling you, they're wrong."
"Completely wrong."
"They consider us a group of beggars who can only be given alms."
"They've forgotten the name of this land."
Pennsylvania, the Keystone State!
Murphy's voice was booming.
"What is a keystone? It's the most crucial stone that supports the entire arch! If you remove it, the whole structure will collapse!"
"Look at our feet."
"This land contains coal, this land flows with oil, and this land has been forged into steel."
"It was Pennsylvania's steel that built New York's skyscrapers; it was Pennsylvania's coal that lit up America's nights; it was Pennsylvania's workers who produced tanks and airplanes during World War II, saving the free world!"
"We are the cradle of the United States!"
"We are the backbone of this country!"
"If Pennsylvania doesn't thrive, America has no future!"
"We never bow to difficulties, and we never beg for mercy."
"What we need to do is stand tall and make our voices heard in Washington and in the world!"
"Tell them we're still here!"
"Tell them that the engine of this land is still running!"
"Tell them that if they don't respect us, if they don't return what belongs to us, we'll flip this table!"
There was thunderous applause.
That was a heartfelt expression of pride.
Murphy elevated their suffering.
They are no longer losers; they are the backbone of the nation, the heroes who have been wronged.
This is a powerful emotional mobilization.
Looking at the excited faces below the stage, Murphy knew that the groundwork had been laid enough.
Now, it's time for the main course.
"I know you've heard too many speeches and too many promises."
Murphy's tone suddenly became pragmatic.
"Your meeting: Murphy, you talk a good game, but what can you offer us? Can you pay my bills? Can you pay my kids' school fees?"
"This is a good topic."
"I, Luetian, am not here to make empty promises to you."
Murphy turned around, stretched out his arm, and pointed to the huge port construction site behind him, pointing to the towering cranes.
"Look at these big guys."
"They are not just for show."
"There's a check in my pocket."
Murphy patted his chest.
"Five hundred million US dollars."
"This is what I, John Murphy, and your Mayor Leo Wallace, fought our way back from Washington, from those stingy bankers!"
"The money is already in the city hall's account!"
"It will be used to expand the port, making Pittsburgh a logistics hub connecting the Midwest and the world again."
"It will be used to renovate our community, to provide heating for the elderly and schools for the children."
"It will be used to establish workers' cooperatives, so that you can become the masters of your own labor."
"What does this mean?"
Murphy held up three fingers.
"That means three thousand high-paying jobs with union protection!"
"That means the machines here won't stop for the next five years, and your paychecks won't stop!"
"This is what I'm going to do!"
"I don't want to talk about any grand theories, I just want to talk about work!"
"I'm going to take the federal money back to Pennsylvania!"
"I want to bring industry back to the Rust Belt!"
"I want to ensure that every Pennsylvanian who wants to work can have a decent job!"
Murphy walked to the very front of the stage.
"This is my promise."
"I am John Murphy."
"I am asking for your support, not because Liu wants me to go to Washington to become an official."
"It was Liu who gave me a bigger hammer to use in Washington, Liu, so you could smash open that tightly closed door!"
"Let's work together to reclaim our era!"
The speech has ended.
After a brief silence, a deafening cheer erupted.
"Murphy! Murphy! Murphy!"
The workers waved their fists and shouted his name.
In the shadow of the crane, the sound seemed capable of shattering the mist over the river.
Side view of the stage.
Leo watched this scene quietly.
Looking at the figure on the stage, commanding the audience, Leo recalled the scene from the past three days in that smoke-filled meeting room where Murphy had been reciting the speech over and over again.
This article was written by Ethan, and the logic was deduced by Leo and Roosevelt, but the soul had to be infused by Murphy himself.
Murphy is getting old; his eyesight has deteriorated to the point where he needs reading glasses to even look at a menu, and his memory is not what it used to be.
Liu memorized the sentences about the "keystone" and the "rusted belt new policy," and he read them aloud again and again late at night until his voice became hoarse.
During the half hour he spent in Gangyu, he didn't glance at the teleprompter once, nor did he ever stumble over his words.
He etched every pause, every wave, and every emotional fluctuation into his muscle memory.
This is the final burst of energy from an old gambler who has staked his entire political life on the table, under the spotlight.
Even Leo had to admit that this seasoned veteran who had spent twenty years on Capitol Hill was indeed quite capable.
"Wonderful."
Roosevelt's voice rang out.
"He's learned it, Leo."
"He finally learned how to talk like a real leader."
"Regardless of what kind of backbencher he was before, at least for this moment, he deserves the title of Senator."
.
Leo nodded.
The play was a success.
The deafening cheers carried on the winds of the valley far and wide, across the Allegheny Mountains, reaching Harrisburg and Philadelphia.
The election for the final members has begun.
The flames of war have been ignited.