Making America: My campaign manager was Roosevelt

The light from the computer screen is the only source of light in Leo Wallace's cramped apartment.

Outside the window, the sky in Pittsburgh is always stained gray by steel, as if the last wisp of black smoke from the factory decades ago has not dissipated.

But at this moment, the color of the email on the screen was more dazzling than the sky outside the window.

Sender: Office of Federal Student Aid

Subject: [Final Overdue Notice] Your federal student loan account is seriously delinquent

In the body of the email, a string of scarlet numbers were bolded and enlarged.

Total amount payable: $137,542.89

"One hundred and thirty-seven thousand, five hundred and forty-two dollars, plus eighty-nine cents."

Leo read it out in a low voice, and every syllable was like chewing glass shards.

He sank deeply into the ergonomic chair he bought from the second-hand market, and the chair let out a tired groan, just like himself.

The bookshelf on the left side of the table is filled with various books.

The blue spine of "Glory and Dreams" has worn off, and the cover of "Roosevelt: The Lion and the Fox" has been curled up from reading. Next to it are the English hardcover editions of "The New Deal Era", "History of the American Labor Movement" and "Das Kapital".

These are his spiritual food and the entire cornerstone of his academic world.

On the right, an overflowing trash can was filled with instant pasta, microwave pizza boxes, and several crushed empty energy drink cans.

Ideal and reality are separated by an invisible abyss in this space of less than one square meter.

"I studied for four years and wrote a paper of more than 100,000 words, analyzing how Franklin Delano Roosevelt used political skills and state machinery to pull a great country out of the quagmire of the Great Depression... ..." Leo's eyes fell back on the string of scarlet numbers, "... As a result, I couldn't even pull myself out of the quagmire of student loans."

He moved the mouse and clicked the "Close" button in the upper right corner of the email.

Then, he clicked on another browser tab - social media "X".

In the real world, he is Leo Wallace, a "loser" with a debt of $130,000, but here, he is the "Ghost of the New Deal."

When he switched to this identity, his eyes that looked tired due to lack of sleep and malnutrition instantly became sharp and focused, as if he had changed his soul.

On his homepage timeline, an in-depth media report certified with a V was trending.

"Washington Post": [In-depth investigation] Omni's "digital shackles": warehouse workers monitored by algorithms.

Omni Corporation, a business empire comparable to a combination of Amazon and Wal-Mart, takes efficiency as its creed and applies AI monitoring and strict timing algorithms to the extreme.

In the report, a fired worker said: "Our working hours are not measured in hours, but in seconds. You feel that you are not working for the company, but being driven by an invisible machine."

Leo's heart was full of anger.

This is the ultimate form of the "scientific management" theory he read in books - a digital plantation cloaked in high-tech clothing and rebuilt with optical fibers and codes.

Taylor’s stopwatch has been upgraded into a ubiquitous AI supervisor in the 21st century.

His fingers began to fly on the keyboard, and those familiar historical knowledge and quotations turned into the sharpest bullets at this moment.

@NewDealGhost(New Deal Ghost):

Franklin Roosevelt warned us in 1936: "A government that is If the government sees that one-third of its people have insufficient food, clothing, and housing...then it is not a qualified government."

Gentlemen, don't be fooled by those words of "innovation" and "efficiency." When a person's bladder capacity can be directly linked to his commercial value and right to survival, this is not progress. It is the most complete contempt for human values.

We are standing in a new Gilded Age.

Omni Corporation is the most typical "economic royalist" of this era.

#omnisqueeze##digitalshackles##economic royalist in the new era#

The moment I pressed the "publish" button, it seemed that all the anger and powerlessness were poured out with this click.

He leaned back in the chair and exhaled a long breath.

The number of likes and retweets began to beat at a speed visible to the *** eye, which gave him a sense of illusory satisfaction.

It was as if his voice could really penetrate the walls of this tenement apartment and shake the behemoth made of capital and algorithms.

The phone buzzed and vibrated. It was a message from the part-time cafe owner, urging him to pick up the evening shift.

The moment before closing the door, he subconsciously glanced at the screen of his mobile phone.

The number of push notifications has changed from a dozen to a bright red "99+".

……

The dawn in Pittsburgh is wet and cold.

Leo's cell phone vibrated next to his pillow all night, and the tweet was completely out of his control.

The number of retweets has exceeded 15,000, and the number of likes has exceeded 50,000, and is still rising.

His number of followers soared from 20,000 to 50,000, and his private inbox was filled with media interview requests and messages of support from an internal Omni employee.

Of course, there is also abuse.

"What are you talking about? Get out of the United States!" one comment read.

Looking at these comments, Leo felt no excitement in his heart, only a growing uneasiness.

He is a person who studies history. He knows that once words are condensed into power, they will inevitably lead to a reaction of the same magnitude.

With this uneasiness, he walked into the teaching building of the History Department of the University of Pittsburgh.

His doctoral supervisor, Professor Davis, made an appointment to meet him.

"Leo, sit down." Professor Davis sat behind his huge mahogany desk, wearing an elegant gray tweed plaid suit. He looked like a character who had stepped out of an academic journal from the last century.

"I read the first draft of your paper, and the views are very sharp. You have an excellent research mind." He changed the topic, "Because of this, I feel that it is a pity that you waste your talents on the piles of old papers about Roosevelt's New Deal."< /p>

He pushed over a beautifully crafted brochure: "Look at this, the Peterson Institute for Economic Growth. They have a very generous funding project - The Leading Role of the Private Sector in Urban Revitalization."

Leo's eyes glanced at the small line of text at the footer of the booklet - major donor: Marcus Peterson, founder of Omni Corporation.

A feeling of disgust and absurdity came to my heart.

"Professor, isn't this the corporate mouthpiece of Omni Corporation?" Leo raised his head and looked directly at his instructor, "Let me prove the rationality of squeezing workers?"

The smile on Professor Davis's face faded.

"Leo, don't be so emotional. Academia is also a part of real society. You must learn to cooperate with reality instead of fighting against it. This fund can completely solve your student loan problem." He paused and lowered his voice. "Also, I heard that you have been very active online recently. Some public figures Companies are very concerned about their public image."

"Speeches on the Internet are not without cost, Leo. They will affect your future employment."

At this moment, Leo felt an unprecedented chill.

It turns out that the ivory tower is not a pure land. The whispers of capital have already penetrated every brick and stone.

"Thank you for your advice, Professor." Leo stood up and pushed the brochure back, "But I think I still prefer the pile of old papers. At least, they won't try to bribe me."

He did not look at Professor Davis's face that instantly turned livid, nodded politely, turned and walked out of the office.

After leaving the teaching building, Leo walked on the campus with mixed emotions.

He had no thrill of victory, only a sense of offended humiliation and deep exhaustion.

He came to his part-time job - the "Daily Grind" cafe.

It is the peak customer flow period in the afternoon, and people are coming and going in the store.

His manager, a middle-aged man named Dave, was busy behind the counter.

Seeing Leo come in, the smile on Dave's face seemed a little unnatural.

"Leo, you are here."

"Dave, there are so many people today." Leo said as he walked towards the locker room.

"Yeah," Dave wiped his hands, followed quickly between customers, pulled him aside, and lowered his voice.

"Leo, um... can you come to my office after get off work today?"

Leo saw Dave's evasive eyes and embarrassment written on his face.

"Headquarters sent me an email."