“Air force?” Leo asked. “You mean we need the support of the media?”
“Yes, but not the kind you’re thinking of,” Roosevelt replied.
Leo’s first instinct was to contact Pittsburgh’s local newspapers and TV stations.
He thought the story of the community center was full of news value and ought to pique their interest.
“A foolish idea,” Roosevelt rejected it at once. “Kid, never fight on a battlefield chosen by your enemy, under rules written by your enemy.”
“The mainstream media, from newspapers to television stations, are propped up by advertising money from big corporations. Their shareholders, the mayor, and Summit Development Group all belong to the same class. If you go to them, the only result will be that they swallow you whole.”
“They’ll send a sharp reporter to interview you, then edit your words out of context and turn you into an ignorant young man stirring up populism. Or they simply won’t report on it at all, and your voice will sink without a trace.”
“Then what do we do? Keep posting on Twitter?” Leo thought of what Sarah was doing.
“That isn’t enough either,” Roosevelt said. “Text is cold. It lacks emotional penetration. The people need to see your face, hear your voice, feel your anger and sincerity. They need to form a connection with a living, breathing person, not an online ID.”
“When I faced the Great Depression, the reason I was able to steady the people’s hearts was radio. Through the Fireside Chats, I spoke directly to every American household, bypassing those newspaper oligarchs who were hostile to me.”
“You also need a broadcast of your own—a platform that allows you to speak directly to the citizens of Pittsburgh.”
Roosevelt paused, then offered a solution that belonged to the twenty-first century.
“Start a YouTube channel.”
Leo froze.
YouTube?
He usually only watched gaming videos and movie commentary on it.
He had never imagined that this entertainment platform could become a weapon in political struggle.
“Yes, YouTube.” Roosevelt’s tone allowed no doubt. “It is the cheapest and most powerful amplifier of this era. And most importantly, here, we write the rules ourselves.”
No sooner said than done.
Leo immediately found Sarah and explained the idea to her.
Sarah’s eyes lit up.
As a young person familiar with the online ecosystem, she immediately understood the brilliance of the strategy.
She registered a new channel right away.
“What should the channel be called?” Sarah asked.
Leo thought for a moment.
Roosevelt’s voice gave him the answer.
“Call it Heart of Pittsburgh.”
“Our positioning: we don’t talk about those vague, lofty national policies. We don’t discuss the Democrats and Republicans and all their bullshit. We focus on Pittsburgh itself, on the livelihood issues of every ordinary person around us. The community center, public transportation, potholed roads, ever-rising rent… These are what people truly care about.”
The channel was set up.
Now they needed to film the first video.
Just as Leo was preparing to sit at his desk piled high with books and fast-food wrappers and start recording with his laptop camera, Roosevelt, with unprecedented enthusiasm, personally stepped in and began playing the role of director.
“Stop! Leo, do you want everyone to think you’re a loser living in a garbage dump?”
Roosevelt’s tone was extremely stern.
“The image of a political leader must be established from the very first second. We need a scene that conveys three messages: steadiness, reliability, and closeness to the people.”
Leo looked around his cramped apartment and truly could not find a single corner that had anything to do with those three words.
“Move the only decent piece of furniture in your apartment—that armchair—in front of the fireplace,” Roosevelt instructed.
“But that fireplace is fake. It’s just decoration,” Leo said.
“No one will care. What matters is the symbolic meaning of home and warmth that it conveys.”
With some effort, Leo moved the chair over.
“Now, look at the bookshelf behind you,” Roosevelt continued. “Throw away all those messy fast-food wrappers. There can only be two books on the shelf.”
“Which two?”
“A Bible,” Roosevelt said.
“A Bible? I’m not a Christian.” Leo was somewhat puzzled.
“But many of the voters you are going to serve are, especially those conservative, older working-class people. That book being there is not to express your faith, but to send them a message: you respect their traditions and values. This is a political strategy of solidarity.”
“And the other one?”
“Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States.”
Leo immediately understood Roosevelt’s intention.
This book represented his stance.
He was not a traditional politician. He stood on the side of the people.
One book represented solidarity, the other represented position.
A perfect background was arranged just like that.
Next came the speech.
Using the materials he had compiled over the past few days, Leo wrote a draft.
Roosevelt helped him revise it word by word, sentence by sentence.
“Delete this term—procedural justice. Too academic. No one will understand it. Say directly that there is a problem with the city government’s auction process.”
“This sentence is too long. Break it up. Use more short sentences, more parallel structure. Make your words sound powerful, with rhythm.”
“Here, you need a metaphor. Tell people that the community center is like the old oak tree in their family’s backyard. It isn’t perfect, but it has sheltered generations from wind and rain. Now, someone wants to cut it down just to build a lifeless swimming pool in its place.”
The script was revised.
Last came performance guidance.
Leo sat in the chair, facing the secondhand DSLR camera Sarah had set up, feeling uncomfortable all over.
“Slow down your speaking pace, Leo.” Roosevelt’s voice echoed in his mind like a strict drama teacher. “Imagine you’re not giving a speech. You’re sitting by the fire, chatting with a friend who has just worked a hard day at the steel mill. Your tone must be sincere and steady.”
“Lean forward slightly. Look at the camera as if you’re looking into the other person’s eyes. Don’t evade. Let them feel your confidence.”
“When you speak of the city government’s inaction, you must furrow your brow and use your expression to show your anger and disappointment!”
“When you talk about the hardships of the community residents, lower your voice. Show your sympathy and understanding.”
Leo practiced again and again.
From his initial stiffness and awkwardness, he slowly began to find the feeling.
He was no longer Leo Wallace. He had become the host of “Heart of Pittsburgh.”
He had become the warrior speaking for the community.
In the first video, he spoke about only one thing.
The story of the Steelworkers’ Community Center.
In the simplest, most accessible way, he clearly laid out the entire sequence of events, as well as the shady transfer of interests between Summit Development Group and Mayor Cartwright.
He wove the stories of George, Rosa, and Mike throughout the entire narrative.
This was not merely a story about land and taxes. This was a story about people.
The video recording was completed.
Sarah spent an entire night doing simple editing, adding subtitles and images of key information.
Then she clicked “upload.”
The first video of “Heart of Pittsburgh” officially went online.
The results on the first day were discouraging.
The video had only a pitiful few hundred views.
Most of them were probably contributed by Frank and his old buddies.
In the comment section, aside from encouragement from a few community residents, there was more mockery and sarcasm.
“Another influencer trying to get attention by cursing the government.”
“Who is this guy? He talks so slowly I’m about to fall asleep.”
“You sound so reasonable. If you’ve got the guts, go run for mayor, loser.”
Leo looked at those comments and felt a wave of discouragement.
He had originally thought this video would explode like a bomb in Pittsburgh’s public discourse.
But reality was that it was more like a tiny pebble thrown into the sea, not even stirring a ripple.
“Have we failed?” he asked Roosevelt.
Roosevelt’s voice, however, was exceptionally calm.
“Don’t rush, kid.”
“Political propaganda is not fast-acting medicine. We have already sown the seed.”
“Now, all we need is a little east wind.”