Off Message

by A. C. Fuller

  "If the yarmulke fits!"

  I've never seen Gottlieb wear a yarmulke, and didn't even know he was Jewish. And though I'm not surprised Futch turned it into an issue, I'm too stunned to do anything.

  Axum, the apparent moderator of this spat, steps between them. "That's enough, Tanner."

  "I don't need protection from this anti-semitic goon," Gottlieb says. As he says it, though, he steps back toward the wall. Futch is average height, but heavyset. Between the red bandana and the odor of sweat and cheap cologne, he comes across as someone who'd be at home in a biker bar. Of course, that's the image he's worked hard to construct.

  Futch, Gottlieb, and Axum are three of our most conservative candidates, though each is conservative in a different way. Futch represents the alt-right white nationalists, Gottlieb the constitutionalist libertarians, and Axum the pragmatic center-right.

  "Ahem!" I step to them, arms crossed. I forbade the candidates from bringing staff or an entourage to the meeting, but their chaotic entrance makes me wish I'd assigned each of them a handler. "What exactly is going on here?" I sound like a kindergarten teacher, but it's not my fault that two of my candidates are acting like five-year-olds.

  Avery Axum, dressed neatly in khakis and a matching sports coat, stands between them with his arms out like a traffic cop. As I move him out of the way to get between Futch and Gottlieb, I catch his smell—warm laundry and Old Spice, like the grandfather I wish I'd had. He flashes his bright blue eyes at me. "They've been fighting like this since I found them in the lobby."

  "People like Futch are the reason conservatives are equated with racists," Gottlieb says. "I can't believe you even let him in the competition."

  Futch smiles broadly, happy to get a rise out of Gottlieb. "And I can't believe you let in a smarmy little half-man who wears three-thousand-dollar suits and would rather talk philosophical gibberish than do something to help real Americans."

  "Oh Lord have mercy," Dixon yells from across the room. "Tomorrow the world will tune in to watch us debate. Let's all pray that we make a better showing than this."

  "I don't pray," Blass says.

  "Me neither," Gottlieb adds, then turns to Futch. "My family lapsed fifty years ago. But mark my words. Come at me like this during the debate and I. Will. Bury. You. I won't be polite like Professor Axum. I'm done having loudmouthed clowns like you become the face of conservatism."

  "Enough!" I say in my most commanding voice. "Everyone take a seat."

  They sit, and I head to the door to greet Justine Hall and Cecilia Mason, who are followed a moment later by Maria Ortiz Morales, Beverly Johnson, and finally Robert Mast. Thankfully, all five enter without fireworks.

  I give the candidates time to get coffee and a Danish before they take their seats. Gottlieb and Axum sit as far from one another as possible. Justine Hall and Robert Mast stand along the wall in the back.

  The spats between candidates, combined with the never-ending snow, the sour smell in the room, and the bad coffee, have soured my mood. The last time we got together, it was inspiring. Ten candidates from different backgrounds, with different and often antagonistic ideas, came together to discuss the issues and further the cause of democracy. This debate is going to be much more interactive and unpredictable.

  And now things have turned nasty, which is disconcerting. In five months I'll hand one of these people—or another candidate who manages to rise quickly—millions of dollars to run for president. It's not a huge surprise that the pressure is getting to some of them, but given what I'm going to lay out in this meeting, the spats make me uneasy.

  Nevertheless, I welcome everyone enthusiastically and thank them for coming, trying my best to sound upbeat. "As of this moment, you are the top ten candidates. Tomorrow is our first real debate, a chance to show America the differences between you and the current slate of Democrats and Republicans. There will be no opening statements—we want to use all our time for questions. The first question will be answered in the order of our top ten. Robert Mast, Marlon Dixon, Maria Ortiz Morales, Tanner Futch, Cecilia Mason, Justine Hall, Beverly Johnson, Charles Blass, Avery Axum, and Orin Gottlieb."

  I look at the candidates as I say their names, imagining how they'll look on stage tomorrow, imagining them as president. Most appear interested in what I say, though Gottlieb still glares at Futch, who grins at him like they're best of friends. Getting under people's skin is part of Futch's brand, and, unfortunately for Gottlieb, it's working.

  "Like our event in Los Angeles," I continue, "this event will be hosted by Gwen Winters from KPBS. But unlike that event, Gwen will grill you for detailed answers. The ten questions you yourselves submitted range from esoteric policy issues to fun, get-to-know-you questions. My advice: answer honestly, say what you believe, but don't pretend to know more than you do. Voters will pick up on that. If you can't remember the difference between Uruguay and Paraguay, admit it. I assure you Gwen Winters knows the difference and she will call you on it."

  That line gets a laugh, which makes me feel better. "There are three ways we want to differentiate our debate from the ones held by the other parties. The first, I just mentioned. No BS—if you try to turn this into an infomercial by dodging questions, Gwen will push you on it. Second, the questions themselves. Like I mentioned, we'll have some unusual ones. People vote with their guts and their hearts as much as their heads. We'll acknowledge that by letting them get to know you. We think that will raise the popularity of all the candidates. Finally," I pause for effect, "no personal attacks. Half the Republican and Democratic debates have devolved into name-calling and lies or half-truths about other candidates' records. Not our debate." I pause again, scanning slowly from Gottlieb to Futch, then from Blass to Dixon. "Winters will give you one warning for a personal attack. If you do it again, she'll boot you off the stage."

  I lock eyes with Futch, whose smile instantly fades. But he shrugs it off quickly. His media persona hinges on coming off as an out-of-control fanatic, but he can tone it down when he needs to.

  I do the same with Gottlieb, who looks more concerned. "If that fat clown comes at me, I'm gonna hit back."

  "Fine," I say, "but if you hit back twice, you're gone."

  I hold his gaze until he says, "Fine," and looks at the floor.

  "We have something serious to address, something about the competition itself, something I wanted to address in person. It affects you all, and we need to come to a solution together." I let the word hang in the air. "You've all received support from people across the country, and I've heard reports that some of you have received support from groups you…might not have expected."

  Slowly, I lock eyes with each of the candidates, waiting for one to speak. To my surprise, Blass speaks first. "I've been invited to eight colleges this month. Six of those invites came from campus Republican groups. Now, I've never been beloved by Democrats, but young Republicans think I'm the devil. The actual devil. Yet they keep arranging visits. UC Berkeley, UCLA, Arizona State. Most of the big western universities. Hell, the Stanford Students for Christ set up a reading from Das Kapital for me, which was pretty damn confusing."

  "I spoke at a Republican prayer breakfast last week," Dixon says. "I'll admit that I was surprised by the invite, but I'll share the Word wherever I'm invited."

  "I've been getting calls from Republican state senators in Colorado," Justine Hall says in her always smooth, measured way. "I'm no political genius, but I could tell they were trying to bring me out front, get me into the spotlight in a way they never would have before."

  Cecilia Mason, who's been sitting quietly to my right, listening sometimes and tapping on her phone other times, stands abruptly. "Wait, wait, wait. What are we talking about here? What's the problem?"

  "Yeah," Futch growls. "All press is good press."

  From the back, Robert Mast's deep voice quiets the room. "Don't you see? Democratic and Republican groups are supporting Ameritocracy candidates from the opposite side of the political spectru
m to split the ticket in the general election."

  He puts it more concisely than I would have, but he's spot on. Of course, Mast himself is the reason I learned about the issue in the first place. "Have you seen anything unusual?" I ask, hoping I don't have to confront him.

  "Not personally," he says. "But the reports of these others are alarming."

  I consider whether now's the right time to confront him, but Futch fills the silence. "I still don't get it. What the heck is the problem?"

  Mast steps to the center of the room with military precision and addresses Futch. "You're a conservative, right?"

  "Not really!" Gottlieb shouts.

  Futch glares at him, then answers Mast. "I'm a patriot first, but yes, I am."

  "If Ameritocracy never existed, would your supporters be more likely to vote Republican or Democratic?"

  "My voters are more likely to vote for God and country!"

  A couple candidates sigh loudly, but Axum answers with facts. "I've seen the polling. Futch pulls from the far right about ninety percent, and about ten percent from the far left conspiracy-theorist types. About half of those folks would stay home on election day if they had to choose between a regular Democrat or Republican, but the overwhelming majority of the rest would vote Republican."

  "That's what I thought," Mast says. He paces like a drill sergeant waiting for Private Futch to come to his senses. "Now do you see what's happening, Tanner? Democrats want you to win Ameritocracy so that, in the general election, you'll pull votes from the Republican nominee, tipping the election to the Democrat. They believe that if you win Ameritocracy, you have no hope of winning the general, but you'll be popular enough to tip it to the Democrats by stealing Republican votes."

  "And the Republicans are doing the same with me," Dixon says. "And Mr. Blass."

  "And me," Hall adds.

  Recognition dawns on Futch's face. "They can't do that." He stands. "We can't let them do that!"

  "No, we can't," Mast says.

  "We can't," Dixon chimes in.

  Suddenly, it seems everyone agrees, and I say what I intended to say from the beginning. "From what I've seen, the strongest support is going to go to the candidates on the fringes. No offense, but that's you, Mr. Blass, and you, Mr. Futch. The political parties have studied us, and they have reams of data on American voters. My hunch is they want one of you to win Ameritocracy because they believe you won't have enough broad appeal to stand a chance in the general, but you'll have enough to swing a few states. Plus—and again, I mean no offense—they want to make the opposition look ridiculous. They want Ameritocracy to look ridiculous."

  "What do you mean?" Blass asks.

  "Republicans want people to associate the left with you, and Democrats want people to associate the right with Mr. Futch. For better or worse, you two represent the fringes of the left and right, so the parties want to raise your profiles to make the opposition look more extreme than it is."

  "I'm not sure whether to be offended or flattered," Blass says.

  "Offended!" Futch stomps around the room, shaking the thin walls of the suite. "We gotta hit these bastards back. I'd hate to see a freakin' commie like Blass get elected, and I'd be mad as hell if I tipped the election to a devil-worshipping corporate Democrat when I win Ameritocracy. But I'll be even more pissed if the establishment kills our chance to break the system."

  Once again, Futch is the unlikely cheerleader we need, and the other candidates meet his energy level.

  "He's right," Beverly Johnson says.

  "Damn straight," Gottlieb offers.

  "This issue is unique," I say, "because it's not a violation of any Ameritocracy rules. You are all perfectly free to accept non-financial support from outside groups. That's why I chose to bring it up in this context. We have less than twenty-four hours before the debate, and my hope is that you'll decide to take some collective action before then."

  Before I can say anything more, Futch climbs onto a chair, gathering most of the other candidates around him.

  Hours later, the candidates have a plan.

  My only contribution was to call a press conference and tell our interns to set up the Ameritocracy cameras to broadcast it live on our Facebook page and website. Later, we'll send the archived video to our mailing list, which now numbers over five million people. We'll control the message as long as we can, and hope the mainstream media picks up the story.

  At seven o'clock, Beverly Johnson steps to the center of a rickety stage in a small breakout room. Cornhusker staff borrowed three of the wooden podiums we'd reserved for the debate and set them up on stage. In her floral print dress, Johnson is one of three representatives the candidates chose to speak for them. To her left stands Justine Hall, who's changed into a classy red pantsuit that makes her look like she belongs in the Oval Office. To Johnson's right, Orin Gottlieb stands behind his podium on a slight riser, still in his fancy black suit. To me, it's a little too on-the-nose to arrange the candidates left to right in line with their political persuasions, but this is their event. Behind them, I hung an Ameritocracy banner, which barely covers the peeling paint.

  As our interns film and a single reporter takes notes, Beverly Johnson reads the statement. "The three of us were chosen by a vote of the top ten Ameritocracy candidates, and we speak on their behalf. All ten agreed to this statement, and we hope it also reflects the views of those candidates not in the top ten." She pauses as a crew from CNN hurries in and sets up a camera. I spent much of the last three hours working the phones, trying to convince producers to pull crews away from the Iowa caucuses. I'm thrilled it worked.

  Johnson's voice shakes as she continues reading. Her normal speaking style is conversational, even folksy, and she's clearly not used to reading formal statements. "This is important. Most of the candidates, including the three of us, have received overtures and unexpected forms of assistance from groups trying to sway the competition and, ultimately, swing the 2020 election. They've come from different sources, but all the gestures convey one overriding message: The establishment is terrified."

  Justine Hall now picks up where Johnson left off. "We want the American voters, left, right, and center, to understand what's going on. Your elected representatives in the Democratic and Republican parties didn't take us seriously at first. Once they realized that Ameritocracy was a force to be reckoned with, they tried to sue us to death. As you may know, dozens of lawsuits were filed, aiming to drown Ameritocracy in paperwork and legal bills." She pauses, then delivers the last line firmly. "It didn't work."

  Gottlieb speaks next. "Now they realize we aren't going anywhere, and that worries them. So forces within the parties, and those aligned with them, are attempting to sway Ameritocracy in the hope of creating a winning candidate who will pull votes from their rivals in the 2020 general election." He gestures toward Johnson and Hall. "The three of us don't agree on much. And the other seven members of the top ten often disagree as well. But the ten of us vow, from this moment forward, to raise the level of debate in this country. And we vow not to let members of the Democratic and Republican parties or their supporters lower it. Not on our watch."

  Gottlieb smiles at Johnson, then at Hall. He's one of the most confrontational men in the competition, but the words of unity have him welling up. I'm close to tears as well.

  Johnson glances down at the statement, then raises her eyes and looks straight at the camera. "We have a final message for those who aim to destroy Ameritocracy, or to sway the voting as a passive-aggressive form of support for a favored candidate in the general election. That message is simple: it won't work."

  Her voice is strong now, even authoritative. "In fact, you're harming the causes you stand for, causes some of us agree with. Because that's the thing. I agree with some of the Republican platform, Mr. Gottlieb agrees with part of it as well, though a different part than me. Similarly, Ms. Hall agrees with a good portion of the Democratic platform, though certainly not all of it.

  "So
we understand why the major political parties want to destroy Ameritocracy, and why they want to use Ameritocracy to effect their desired outcomes. But we're here to tell you something. The next president of the United States will be the winner of Ameritocracy. So, instead of trying to tear us down or use us to get your favorite Democrat or Republican elected, get on the train now. Back us, contribute to us, convince us to stand with you.

  "We've banded together on this stage, despite our differences—and they are massive—to show that there's a new possibility in American politics. The next president of the United States will be one of the ten of us, or possibly even a candidate who hasn't yet broken into the top ten, maybe one who hasn't even joined yet. Get on board now, or get the hell out of our way."

  As I hear this last line, I'm floored by the wisdom of electing Beverly Johnson as the central spokesperson for the group. Coming from Gottlieb, the conclusion would have come off as overly aggressive. Coming from Hall, it might have seemed forced—an empty threat—because it's not the kind of thing Hall would say.

  But from the lips of a redheaded housewife from western Washington, the line lands like a simple statement of fact, like a promise.

  14

  The next morning, many of the cable news networks lead with a discussion of the press conference. Some even do real reporting on the issue, tracking down other ways establishment forces tried to influence Ameritocracy voting. Turns out there was more of an effort to destroy us than we imagined.

  CNN reported on an effort by the College Republican National Committee to raise the profile of Justine Hall through a series of anonymous posts, judging her the candidate with the best shot to pull votes from the Democratic nominee in November. And Fox ran a report about a Democratic Super PAC in California sending out a quarter million pro-Mast pamphlets to potential Ameritocracy voters.