Flashback: Late October 2010
Charles was in Seattle finishing up a question from the audience, "....and you know what is said, when taxes approach one hundred percent they should start to level off." The audience responded with laughter. "But this is part of the question that we asked at the beginning, are we a nation of laws? Or not? Every problem facing us is a direct result of our representatives purposefully ignoring the very laws they have sworn to protect. I've got enough time for one more question - let's see. You." He was pointing toward a woman to his left. "What's the big deal with out debt?" I mean, I've heard people say that deficits don't matter. Can't we just forgive it?"
"Good question. Why can't we just forgive our debt? Well, the reason is that this is money we owe to people, or countries. A large part of our debt is obligations to retired individuals through Social Security, Medicare and other types of programs. Another part of our debt is money owed to other countries. Did you know we owe close to a trillion to China? Plus interest, of course. Besides all that is the cost of running the government. All those people who go in to work every day just like you and me. Now, it is on a much larger scale of course, but it is not unlike you having to pay the bills for your household every day, week and month. The difference is the government has a few tricks which are not available to us normal citizens. For example, they can vote to raise their own debt limit. (Wouldn't you guys like to do that!) or raise taxes, or simply print more money. We all know there's a down side to each of these too."
"And now I would like to introduce the team that made all this possible." He proceeded to call the different people up to the platform from memory. In a short time some twenty five beaming faces were standing around him. "These guys put in a lot of time and effort to make this a success. It's amazing what can be accomplished when people voluntarily agree to work together. I would love to stay longer, but I am scheduled to appear on channel 12 WKQD as part of their noon show. Oh, I almost forgot! We are having lunch at Bill's Chop House after the show. If any of you can join us, come on by!" The audience stood and applauded as he was ushered out of the arena.
Charles was all smiles as a entered the station just a few minutes before air time. He was immediately accosted by the producer, who, after a brief introduction proceeded to give instructions about being on TV. "Talk quickly and precisely, look at the person whom you are addressing. Keep gestures to a minimum. Pretend the camera isn't there. Above, all - no dead air." The man was talking nonstop. As he spoke he outfitted Charles with a mike, checked it and gave the make-up artist a chance to do a few touch ups. Charles was relaxed and attentive, nodding after each instruction. He asked no questions. While these preparations were being made the three of them were slowly moving down the hall to the stage door. Passing through the door they could see part of the brightly lit stage. A few moments wait were necessary for the hostess to finish the current segment and go to commercial. In one and a half minutes they would be live. During all this Charles' campaign manager had been silently following along, forgotten. He had been told, and prepared his candidate for the subject of today's on air discussion, government and job creation. Their opponent was an economist, Dr George Carlson. The producer nodded and stepped on stage. He introduced Charles to his host, Connie Chisholm. She offered her hand, "Honey, just call me Connie." Then she turned and introduced him to the other guest. But there must have been some mistake, unless George was a woman. There was no time to adjust. Charles was going into this interview completely blind.
The hostess had dreamed this up as a way to make Charles look like a fool. (Even though she would later deny it.) The actual topic of the segment was religion and prejudice. Across from Charles sat a woman who was invited to speak fist. She proceed to give a rather lengthy, (for television) and possibly rehearsed speech about how people in her religion were discriminated against and the American people were still prejudiced toward them. She finished her speech. Connie smiled broadly and turned to Charles. "And what do you have to say about this?" She asked sweetly.
His campaign manager held his breath.
Charles appeared unperturbed. He leaned forward and, in a soft voice said, "Would you mind if I asked a couple of question?" The woman shook her head. "I see you are wearing a head scarf. Is this required, or do you wear the scarf voluntarily?"
"Yes, it is required, but I want to wear it as well."
"And are you married?"
"Yes"
"Is your husband here today"
"No, he is traveling right now."
"And did he take his other wives with him for his trip?"
She seemed taken aback by this question.
"No, er yes, I am his only wife."
"Do you have a relative, who is with you here at the station?"
"No."
"And have you ever had to appear in court in your home country?"
"No, never."
"Thank you for your answers. The reason I am asking this is because the religion you claim to represent is one of the most repressive on earth, especially toward women. I am somewhat surprised a person of your gender is defending it. You are right about the scarf. But your religion also allows men to have up to five wives at a time. Has your husband ever hit you or threatened you in any way?"
The woman was now on the defense.
"No, he has not."
"Yet the book you call scripture does allow men to strike their wives."
Charles continued. "It is also a requirement that no woman to appear in public unescorted. To go out alone can invite scandal or arrest, as the reporter in your country discovered a few months back when she was in a Starbucks talking to a male colleague. I pity her when she appeared in court, and I'm glad you have never experienced that. And you know why, don't you?"
She said nothing.
"That's because in your court system it takes the testimony of two women to equal that of a single man. This causes no end of problems when women are attacked and there are no other witnesses."
"Now let me ask you a couple of questions about the United States. Do we require a woman to wear a particular garb in public?"
Her head barely moved.
"That's right. Do we require any citizen to express faith in a particular religion? I'll answer that for you, of course not. Yet in your home country if a person, say, decided to become a Christian they would be arrested and perhaps killed. In our country can a man have more than one wife? No. And in our court system does a woman's testimony have any less credibility than a man's? Also, no. You have come here to express that Americans are prejudiced, but that is not so. We may have a lack of knowledge about your belief system, but is that not because it deliberately obfuscates itself? My dear, I pity you."
"I'm afraid we must now break for a commercial." Connie broke in.
Of course the interview was over. The hostess' face barely concealed her rage as she quickly ushered them off stage. Charles' campaign manager was shaking his head in wonder at what he had just seen. How did he know? Who prepped him for this?
A half hour later they were at Bill's lunching with a happy crowd. A number of them had seen the show. Charles was at his best, eating on his feet and moving from table to table as he engaged in conversation with his new friends. He had just picked up a piece of cake for desert when a man signaled to him by waving his phone. "Hey, take a look!". Charles looked intently. There, on a major video site, was his interview. It was already on the web.
The video became an instant hit, particularly among conservatives. The membership of Charles' site almost doubled.
In Washington the political operative noticed the video and visited his site. He gasped at how many new followers were registered and was even more impressed at the site traffic. He picked up the phone and dialed his superior, who angrily chewed him out. Now the operative knew what to do.
And that's when the threats started.
