Chapter 628 - 293: People’s Propagandist

On a weekend morning, dozens of blue buses filled the plaza of the Pittsburgh bus terminal, the words "Pittsburgh Urban Revitalization Plan" painted on their sides.

The fleet didn’t look like it was heading out for a picnic, but rather to carry out some kind of military mission.

In fact, this was indeed a war.

A war for hearts and minds.

The buses slowly pulled out of the station, merging into the traffic on the interstate.

The Health Truth Tour.

That was the name Leo had given this operation.

It sounded gentle, even having the ring of a public service announcement.

Seated on the buses were workers, students, and retirees from Pittsburgh.

They each carried a red first-aid kit, a "specialty product" they were bringing to their relatives back home.

And so, a strange scene unfolded on the highways of Pennsylvania that weekend.

Thousands of people from out of town who made their living in Pittsburgh, as if answering some mysterious call, all set out on the road home at the same time.

In their trunks, besides seasonal clothes and toys for their children, they all had the same red box.

Inside was insulin, blood pressure medication, antibiotics, and that Red Card that could change everything.

...

Westmoreland County, the town of Greensburg.

This was a typical deep-red district.

Its residents were mostly conservative farmers and unemployed miners. They hated big government, they hated tax hikes, and they especially hated radical liberals like Leo Wallace.

Old David sat at his dining table, cutting into a somewhat tough piece of steak.

He was sixty-five this year, the skin on his neck tanned a bronze color by the sun.

His temper was as stubborn as the land.

"That Wallace is a fraud!"

Old David cursed at the news report on the TV while chewing his beef.

On the news, an expert from a pharmaceutical company was warning the public that the cheap drugs from Pittsburgh could have safety risks.

"He’s pushing socialism! He’s using taxpayer money to buy votes!" Old David fumed. "If someone like him becomes a leader, the United States is finished!"

Sitting across from him was his son, David.

David worked as a welder at a machine shop in Pittsburgh.

He was wearing a brand-new set of work clothes and looked much more energetic than before.

David didn’t argue with his father.

He knew that in this house, talking politics would only lead to arguments.

He just quietly put down his knife and fork.

Then, he took a white medicine box and a stiff red card out of his bag and placed them gently by his father’s hand.

Old David froze for a moment.

He recognized the medicine box.

It was the blood pressure medication he had to take every month.

The doctor said if he didn’t take it, his blood vessels could burst at any time.

But because he had no health insurance, a box of this medicine cost eighty US dollars at the county pharmacy.

"What’s the meaning of this?" Old David frowned. "Did you strike it rich out there?"

"Dad."

David’s voice was calm.

"This medicine costs eighty bucks at the county hospital. With this card, it’s only five bucks in Pittsburgh."

"Five bucks?"

Old David’s hand trembled, and he almost dropped his fork.

"You’ve been scammed, haven’t you? This must be fake medicine!"

"It’s not fake." David pushed the box toward him. "It’s from Pfizer, the original manufacturer. You can check the lot number. Besides, I’ve already linked you as a family member."

David pointed to the Red Card.

"This is my supplementary card. From now on, I’ll cover your medicine."

"Five bucks a month is only sixty for the whole year. That’s cheaper than one box used to cost you."

Old David looked at the box of medicine, then back at his son.

He wanted to curse.

He wanted to curse that damn Wallace, to curse the Mutual Aid Alliance that was messing up the market.

But the word "communist" reached his lips, swirled in his throat, and just wouldn’t come out.

Five dollars.

The number was like a sledgehammer, smashing all his ideological barriers to pieces.

His hand trembling, he picked up the box of medicine.

The packaging was new, the seal intact.

This was real medicine.

"...This is really five bucks?"

Old David’s voice dropped.

"Really." David nodded. "Dad, don’t believe what those people on TV are saying. They’re lying to you."

"Mayor Wallace might be a son of a bitch, but he’s a son of a bitch who helps us survive."

Old David fell silent.

He looked at the medicine in his hand, his face burning with shame.

In the face of survival, all ideologies seemed pale and powerless.

...

A town church in Lancaster County.

The Sunday service had just ended.

In the church’s backyard, a group of old ladies in floral dresses were sitting together, enjoying a potluck.

Margaret sat in a wheelchair. Her leg was much better; she could even take a few steps with a cane.

She had been invited back by the church as a success story.

"Margaret, I hear you’re doing well in Pittsburgh?" an old lady asked enviously. "How’s your leg now?"

"Not bad."

Margaret smiled and patted her knee.

"Thanks to the Mutual Aid Alliance, my medical expenses are a lot cheaper too."

She took her medicine bottle and a crumpled receipt from her bag, passing them to her old friends around her.

"Take a look at this."

Margaret pointed to the number on the receipt.

"Thirty-five bucks. That’s what my medicine costs for a whole month."

A collective gasp went through the group.

"Thirty-five bucks? Good heavens, I pay a hundred for mine at the pharmacy in town!"

"Yeah, that’s way too cheap. How is that possible?"

Margaret sighed, a hint of regret on her face.

"It’s because I have a Red Card."

She waved the deep red card in her hand.

"It’s a privilege for people in Pittsburgh. The Mayor said that as long as you have this card, you get the inside price."

"It’s a shame, though."

Margaret looked at the longing expressions around her.

"Your Senator here, that guy Rogers, he refuses to pass the bill. He says it’s destroying the market."

"So you all have to spend three hundred bucks on your medicine."

"I’d love to help you all, but I only have three family member slots, and I’ve already given them to my grandkids."

The old ladies went into an uproar.

"Rogers? That bastard came to my house for tea during his last campaign! How could he do this?"

"Destroying the market? More like he’s trying to destroy our wallets!"

"This won’t do. I’m calling my son and telling him to ask Rogers what the hell is going on!"

Anger spread across the table.

Margaret put away her medicine bottle, the corner of her mouth lifting in a subtle smile.

This was what Leo had taught her.

Don’t sell, show.

Let them see the difference. Let them feel the pain.

...

Meanwhile, in a cheap bar in the county seat.

Frank Kovalsky was in a drinking contest with a few local truck drivers.

A scare-tactic ad from a health insurance company was playing on the TV.

The visuals were grim and the music was terrifying, making it seem as if Pittsburgh had become a living hell.

"Bullshit!"

Frank slammed his beer mug on the bar, sending foam flying.

"I’m in Pittsburgh! I buy my meds at that Mutual Aid pharmacy every day! Have I run out of my medicine? No! And it’s good medicine, too!"

Frank pointed at the so-called expert on the screen.

"These bastards just want to keep sucking your blood! They’re afraid of you knowing the truth!"

"If the price of medicine really dropped, how would they buy their new yachts? How would they keep their mistresses?"

The other drivers all turned to look.

They recognized Frank. They knew he was a big shot in the Union.

"Frank, are you saying that Mutual Aid Alliance is for real?" a young driver asked.

"Of course it’s for real!"

Frank pulled his Red Card from his pocket and slapped it down hard on the bar.

"See this? This is what votes get you!"

"As long as we stick together and get that bill passed, you can have one too!"

"You guys want one of these or not?"

"Yeah!"

A chorus of rough shouts erupted in the bar, the sound drowning out the country music from the jukebox and making the glasses on the bar rattle.

For these men, a card that saved them money was more appealing than any patriotic slogan.

They were the pillars of their families. Their own bodies might still be able to take a beating, but what about their families?

Who didn’t have an elderly parent at home who couldn’t live without their daily medication?

They couldn’t afford the kind of commercial insurance that covered the whole family and cost over a thousand US dollars a month.

They could only afford the most basic student insurance for their kids and cheap senior plans for their parents that covered almost nothing.

Every night, they stared at the mountain of bills on the table, at the glaring numbers on the pharmacy receipts, and their hearts would bleed.

That sense of powerlessness, that shame of being the head of the household yet unable to protect their family, was more grinding than the exhaustion of hauling bricks on a construction site.

Now, Frank was telling them that a single card could solve all of it.

At this moment, to them, it was more than just a plastic card.

It was hope. It was dignity.

It was the confidence to stand tall again and tell their families, "Don’t be afraid. I’ve got this."

...

Scenes like this were playing out in every corner of Pennsylvania.

At farmhouse dinner tables, in church backyards, in factory break rooms, and at bar counters.

Thousands of "salesmen" from Pittsburgh were spreading the gospel of Leo Wallace in the most primitive way.

When a tangible receipt was laid out before their eyes, all the TV commercials, all the expert analyses, and all the political smears became nothing but pale, empty words.

「Harrisburg.」

The lobbyists for the pharmaceutical giants discovered that no matter how much money they poured into advertising, no matter how they demonized Leo on television, the polls in rural areas were still in a freefall.

Support for the bill was spreading like wildfire.

In every voter’s home, there was a relative from Pittsburgh telling them the truth.

That truth was simple and brutal:

Leo Wallace was giving medicine to the poor.

And the people standing in his way were murderers.