“The free market loves me.”
“You’ve been through a terrible ordeal…”
“I know the free market loves me.”
“You’re not your old self – you’ve changed.”
“I know the free market loves me. You hear? I know the free market loves me!”
“You’ve been brainwashed…”
The Donkey sat in a plain wooden chair in the glare of a naked bulb, defiant. The Man in Black paced briskly in the shadows. “You aren’t eating,” he said.
The Donkey looked at the plate on the floor next to its chair. Meat and potatoes – basic, wholesome stuff. The Donkey sneered; it had been fed a steady diet of canapes and caviar. The Man in Black knew that the lack of nutritional value in the Donkey’s diet had heightened its susceptibility to the brainwashing.
“Do you remember what you were like before you were captured by the conservatives?” the Man in Black asked.
“My heart bled all over the place.”
“You were compassionate…”
“I had a tax and spend philosophy.”
“You were prepared to use fiscal policy to help promote a caring social agenda…”
“I was weak on foreign policy.”
“You preferred diplomacy to warfare…”
The Donkey shrugged. “That was a long time ago. I was young…naïve…stubborn as a – well, I’ve learned a lot since then.”
The Man in Black stopped pacing and leaned towards the Donkey, so close their faces were practically touching. “Listen,” he said, his voice preternaturally quiet. “Can you hear it? That’s the sound of people living in poverty, of racial minorities looking for social justice, women wanting to participate as equals in this country’s political and economic life. The worker whose union membership costs him his job, the 14 year-old girl in Arkansas who was gang-raped but doesn’t feel ready to raise the resulting child, the inner city kid who wants to break out of the cycle of drugs and violence but doesn’t know how – they’re looking for a candidate who will represent their interests.”
“Let them eat enterprise zones,” the Donkey gloated. Stifling an impulse to smack it, the Man in Black pulled himself away and began pacing once more.
“You used to care about those people.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“You used to be a liberal.”
The Donkey flinched. “Don’t use that word.”
“Liberal? Why are you so afraid of it?”
“I…I – just don’t say it, okay?”
“This country has a fine liberal tradition – you should be proud to claim it.”
The Donkey shook its head.
“Come on. Say it. I’m a liberal.”
“No.”
“I’m a liberal.”
“No!”
“Just say the word liberal.”
“L…l…lib – aargh!” The Donkey fell limp into the chair.
The Man in Black looked at the Donkey with compassion. He hated this job, but he knew it was necessary. Second parties never won elections by becoming more like the party in power; for every vote they gained from the centre, they lost at least one loyal supporter who felt the party no longer spoke for them.
Not only that, but what good would winning an election be if the Donkey became indistinguishable from the Elephant? What profiteth a party to gain the White House, but lose its soul?
The only reasonable course of action was to offer a substantially different platform, giving the voters a real choice. For the Donkey, this meant returning to its activist – yes, liberal roots. But, November was fast approaching, and progress was slow…
The Man in Black looked at the Donkey, who uncertainly placed the tray with the food on it in its lap and started picking at the potatoes. Maybe there was hope after all. Maybe…