Dancing in the Streets (Part I)

March 2014
Raft University

It was the end of February, and the one thing Daria had never prepared for was the bite of the cold winter weather in Boston.  She had always prided herself on being what her grandmother called "cold natured", wearing a skirt and exposing her bare calves even to the coldest weather.  Yet stepping out into New England winter felt like being hit in the face with a frying pan, and Daria was well-bundled even though the temperature was in the 1940s.

She had to wait until Jane got out of class at 2:30 pm at BFAC, so she found herself walking about the BFAC campus.  There were all sorts of groups one could encounter in public.  A street preacher was near the library, preaching to the assembled about the perils of sin, abortion and hellfire - and the BFAC students gave back as good as they got.  There were the usual little tables and booths occupied by the earnesty art student types. 

And of course, there were the politial groups.  Various permutations of Occupy.  The Greens.  The Pro-Palestinian contingent.  A lot of these groups were single-cause groups, others were here today, gone tomorrow.

Daria liked picking up campaign literature.  She was taking a class at Raft called "Writing for Advertising" that her advisor recommended.  "Until you read a direct mailer, you'll never know how to write an effective opening sentence," was his spiel.  Daria enjoyed giving the various fliers and handouts grades in her mind - nothing she had read had been written by professionals, and nothing got a grade better than a "C".  The groups were as amateurish as their campaign literature.

The political campaigners were running a bit thin today.  It took cojones to canvas out here in the freezing chill.

She noticed what appeared to be a new group.  This one was called the "People's Party" and Daria tried to suss out the political orientation before she even picked up a flier.  There were six of them, all dressed in green long sleeve shirts and white pants.  They were trying to get the disinterested students at BFAC to take their fliers, and there were a few fliers scattered a few yards away that had missed the trash can. 

They looked pretty motley.  Daria suspected that they were some sort of modern Maoists.  The story was already written in her head.  They'd probably make it to the end of the semester when the final three members would break up the organization or lose interest in it.  Chuckling, she decided to walk forward and see what they were about.

The banner at the bottom read:

"NO MORE BUSINESS AS USUAL!
JOIN THE AMERICAN PEOPLE'S PARTY!"

As she walked forward to grab a flier, the man sitting at the table - the only one sitting - said, "No more business as usual!  Would you like to join the American People's Party?"

Daria gave a bare smile. "Sorry, I gave at the office."

"Would you sign up for our e-mail newsletter?"

Daria signed with her special address she reserved for junk e-mail.  She picked up the flier. "The Platform of the American People's Party," she said, reading the first sentences.  "Okay.  You have a platform.  Where's the party?"

The guy smiled.  "You're looking at it."

"One, two, three...six people.  I don't know," Daria said.  "I don't think Hilary Clinton is shaking in her boots just yet."

"Well, we are small, but we're hoping to grow."

"Are you sure this is the place to grow?  I don't know, BFAC students tend to be a bit flaky. No offense."

"None taken."  The young man had black hair, glasses, and a trimmed beard.  "Robert Morgan," he said, extending his hand.  "BFAC, class of 2016."

"I guess you're not in the graphic arts," Daria said. "This handout looks a little unimpressive."

Robert looked to see that the other APP members were still canvassing.  "Yeah, we could use some help with that.  You wouldn't happen to be a graphic arts major, would you?"

Daria decided NOT to mention Jane's name.  "Sorry," Daria said. "I'm from Raft."

"No problem.  We go everywhere.  Raft, BFAC, BIT, Bromwell, Holy Father."

"You'd think you'd have bumped into a graphic designer by then."  Daria looked at the platform.  "You guys are all over the place, too, politically.  I thought you were a bunch of Greens. And what's with the green and white thing?  My sister would have a fit."

"We needed to look a lot smarter than the Greens do," Robert said. "They look like - !"

" - like [i]Greens[/i]," Daria said, and they both laughed.  "Okay.  I can go with the green and white.  But looking at this thing," she said, indicating the party platform, "this is all over the place.  Something to piss off everybody.  You guys don't know much about building a consensus."

Robert pointed to the sign at the front of this table.  "No more business as usual."

"Yeah," Daria said, "and [i]no business[/i].  Look, a lot of this stuff would be right at home at an Occupy meeting.  But this stuff about restricting citizen to [i]jus soli[/i]?  No one's going to even know what that means. And you manage to not just piss off big labor, but you advocate for national control of education, which will piss off every homeschooler in the country."

"I look at it this way," Robert said.  "We piss off everybody.  Say, do you care to talk about this over at Subway?  I've got a lunch break coming up."

"Damn," Daria said, "I feel bad.  I think I just distracted 16 percent of the American People's Party."

(* * *)

Daria and Robert shared some sandwiches, while Daria found out more about him.  He was born in Boston.  His dad was a carpenter, and his mother had one of those jobs that involved shuffling paper at a small business.  Robert's main interest in life was sculpting, first with modeling clay and then branching out into wood and into small marble figurines.  Daria nodded, but even though Robert was talented at art, she suspected his true passion was politics.

"Well, I'm not a Democrat or a Republican," Daria said.  "What do they say?  'I refuse to belong to any party that would have me as a member.'  That includes your party, too."

"Well, in that case, why not join?  We need someone who can write.  You know artists.  Artists can't write."

"So how did you end up with that hodgepodge of a party platform?"

"It's just stuff that's always interested me.  I didn't write it with a goal of it being 'left wing' or 'right wing'.  Those are false divisions, anyway.  People see politics as being a continuum, with a line of chalk that separates 'left' from 'right'.  I don't like imaginary lines; I keep jumping over them."

"There's a lot of stuff you're going to be asked about.  Gun ownership. Prayer in schools."

"As far as I'm concerned," Robert said, "it's just a circus to keep people distracted from our serious economic and environmental isses.  Take the Democrats.  Imagine them trying to run on their economic program, not the one they like to talk about, their [i]real one[/i].  No one would vote for them.  But get people fired against the Christians encroaching their personal space?  Man, they're all for that.  Likewise, the Republicans.  No one sane would vote for that economic program, but the God-botherers get all hot and happy about obligatory school prayer.  What the Democrat and Republican voters don't know is that for the most part, the two parties are on the same side when it comes to economics or the enviroment.  Red states vs blue states?  That's just colored paint to cover up all the holes in our economy."

"I think you're oversimplifying things," Daria said. "Take for instance - !"

" - oh, HI!"  It was Jane Lane.  "Well, well, Daria Morgendorffer, fancy meeting you here."

"Oops," Daria said, pulling out her phone to look at the time.  "Look who is actually on time for once.  Sorry. Jane Lane, Robert Morgan, Robert Morgan, Jane Lane."

"How-dee doo," Jane said.  "C'mon Daria, let's have a kiki."

"See you," Daria said, standing up.  "Good luck leading the wave of the future."

Daria and Jane departed Subway. "So how did you get roped into [i]that[/i]?" Jane said.

"Research?" Daria said. "And you know those guys?"

"Not really, but I never imagined you being into politics."

"Well, he wasn't an asshole about it.  He admitted he didn't have all the answers.  He seemed to put a lot of thought into his complex positions."

"Meaning?"

"He's [i]fucked[/i]. He just doesn't know it yet."

"Succinct as always," Jane said. "Which is why I went to art school and stayed away from politics."

"You don't have a political bend?" Daria said.

"Please, girl," Jane said. "If you wanted me to paint what I felt about politics and politicians, it would be picketed twenty-four-seven."

"That's my girl."