The New Green Party

“Welcome to Hollywood for Ugly People,” the outgoing incumbent said as she welcomed her soon-to-be successor into her office in the Hart Senate Office Building. Her replacement was a relative newcomer to the political process, having made his bones in the business world and only a brief stint in state politics. No one really expected him to win, least of all four-term incumbent Michelle Maserati (no relation to the car manufacturer). And yet here she was, giving the formal tour to the senator-elect who had ousted her from her cushy government job.

Franklin Ford (also no relation to the car manufacturer) had come out of nowhere and run on the same “change” campaign that had gotten much of the country behind Obama in 2008. While Maserati was not particularly disliked, the current approval rating of Congress was well below twenty-five percent and she supposed she may have misjudged her chances of just skating by and into a fifth term. She supposed she would just have to go the tried-and-true route of writing a book and segueing into lucrative consulting and lobbying deals. All in all, she considered it an easier road to travel than the one Franklin was about to undertake as an idealist promising to make changes to the corrupt government system.

“I know D.C. has some strange nicknames,” Franklin said as they walked down the hallway leading to his new office, “But I wasn’t expecting that one.”

“A few months here and you’ll probably start coming up with your own,” Michelle replied.

“Is it really that bizarre?”

“Compared to everything back home, it’s positively Martian.”

Michelle held the outer office door open for a suddenly concerned-looking Franklin.

Poor bastard, she thought as she noticed his child-like apprehension. This place is going to eat him alive.

“You’ve got your chief of staff over there, communications director over there ... press secretary, director of operations, senior counsel ...” Michelle rattled off the titles held by each office occupant, but oddly, not anyone’s actual name even though most were sitting within earshot. “The bullpen for legislative assistants and interns is down the hall around the corner, and my--, er, your office is through those double doors over there.”

Franklin moved toward his office, but Michelle steered him away and back toward the hallway.

“Still packing a lot of stuff up, but everything will be out by the weekend,” Michelle assured him as he followed her down the hall and around a corner. Michelle pointed at various doors as they passed.

“Commissary, dining room, salon, gym, tailor...”

“Wow,” said Franklin as he took all of it in. “Is there anything this place doesn’t have?”

Michelle thought it over.

“A Neiman Marcus would be nice.”

They stopped in the building’s atrium and Franklin marveled at the size and scope of Calder’s towering “Mountains and Clouds” mobile stabile art installation.

“Do you have any questions?” Michelle asked, looking at her watch in a not-very-subtle attempt to imply that she had places to be and better things to do.

“Yes,” Franklin said, causing a slight crease of frustration on Michelle’s forehead. “When Congress convenes and there’s an opportunity to introduce legislation--”

“My, you’re an eager one, aren’t you?”

“The people elected me to make a change; might as well hit the ground running.”

“Well, just make sure you keep your head up so you can see the wall coming.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Come on, you don’t honestly expect to get any of the things you promised during the campaign pushed through, do you?”

“I wouldn’t have made those promises if I didn’t think I could keep them.”

Great; he’s an idealist.

Michelle felt a headache coming on. She tried to suppress that building need to say something. Maybe she was still feeling a little sensitive over the election night loss. Maybe she was annoyed by his youthful exuberance. Whatever it was, try as she might, she couldn’t hold back and smile any longer.

“If you think you’re going to be able to get even ten percent of the stuff done, you’re out of your mind,” she snapped.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m so sick of you naïve young guns coming in thinking you’re going to change the system. Thinking you’re going to be able to ‘fix’ Washington. You get elected on all these promises, and you end up accomplishing nothing.”

“No offense, Senator Maserati, but you don’t know anything about me.”

“I don’t need to, kid. You’re not special; you’re not different. You’re just too green to realize it.”

“This is exactly the kind of thinking that I came here to squash,” Franklin said excitedly. “The status quo that says nothing can change and it’s all hopeless. All we need to do is elect people who are willing to fight the system rather than--”

“And how are you going to get those people elected, Franklin? Campaigns cost money. Elections cost money. Pretty soon, you’ll be the incumbent, working in a broken system, getting hate mail from your constituents and criticism from every journalist, blogger, and political junkie with a Twitter account. Pretty soon you’ll be the one fighting to keep your seat against someone who claims to be able to fix things, and you’ll be fighting for your political survival just like I was. Where do you think the money comes to fight those kinds of fights?”

Franklin held up his hand. “If you’re implying that I’m the kind of person who would take money from special interests--”

“They’re all special interests! Who backed this campaign of yours? Maybe you weren’t funded by Wall Street firms, or oil companies, or big tobacco ... but do you honestly think that all of those unions for teachers and firefighters and police officers that supported you don’t expect something in return? You think the Governor won’t expect your endorsement if he calls? You think nonprofits don’t care about tax loopholes and zoning regulations? It doesn’t matter who you are, Franklin. If you accepted money to run your campaign, those people who gave it are going to expect something in return. Call them constituents or call them special interests; either way, they’re people who are going to expect you to scratch their backs because they just scratched yours.”

Michelle thought that little outburst would make her feel better, but it was only getting her more fired up.

“Republican, Democrat, Independent ... none of it matters. Washington is a one-party system and that’s The New Green Party. The Militant Millionaires Party. The Refuse-to-Reform Party. Money is the only thing that matters in this town. It buys influence and sets policy. How are you going to combat an institution that’s ingrained into every facet of our economy and government?”

She expected Franklin to be angry. Hell, she was practically shouting in the atrium and making a scene, but he just stood there quietly, watching her as she ranted. With nothing left to say, and no response of any kind from him, Michelle threw her hands up in exasperation.

“You want to know how I’m going to fight for my constituents ... the actual everyday people who went to the polls and voted for me?” Franklin asked once she had calmed down. “By doing the best job that I can, proposing legislation that actually helps people, and voting with my conscience, not my wallet.”

Michelle rolled her eyes.

“Maybe it’s idealistic and naïve,” Franklin continued. “Maybe I’ll ruffle some feathers. Maybe I’ll be a one-term senator and never hold a public office again. But at least I’ll know my time here was spent doing what I thought was best.”

He paused, took a deep breath, and extended a hand.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Senator Maserati. Thank you for graciously giving me some of your time and showing me around the Capitol. If there’s anything I can do to help with the transition, please let me know.”

After they shook hands, Franklin headed for the building exit without as much as a glance back.

Michelle stared after him and briefly remembered back to a time when she was the same kind of optimistic senator-elect, determined to make a difference regardless of the personal cost. But then she thought to the intervening years and all the compromises she had to make to get her own small pieces of legislation through; all the donors and wealthy constituents and lobbyists who were oh so very good at pushing their agenda while making it seem like it was something good for the country as a whole; all the trappings of office and how quickly they made her part of that elite one percent that the Occupy Wall Street movement and most of the rest of America condemned for their greed and indulgence while so many others struggled.

Maybe Franklin Ford was a better person than she was.

Maybe he would end up being the first of a new breed of politicians who were genuinely interested in social change.

Maybe the system would eventually start to change if more people started electing officials like Franklin.

But Michelle doubted it.

You don’t change the system. The system changes you, Michelle mused as she headed back to her office, pulling out her cell phone and dialing a number as she walked.

“Patrice? It’s Michelle Maserati calling. ... Oh, just fine, thank you. ... Listen, I was calling about the consulting opportunity we discussed last week. I’m definitely on board, although I don’t think the new Senator from my home state will be joining me. ... Don’t worry about him; I do know several friends on Capitol Hill that will definitely be more amenable your stimulus plan ... with the right incentive, of course.”


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