My Government Means to Kill Me

by Rasheed Newson

Turned out, I had some talent for the task at hand. Apparently, I’d learned more than I’d thought from my mother and father, who earned their salaries by finding the right arguments and angles to persuade voters and politicians into supporting their candidates and causes. I remembered how Fiona liked to tee up the end of stump speeches that she wrote by posing a question that was sure to spark righteous indignation in the listeners. So near the conclusion of my hallway pitches, I’d ask, “Are we going to keep letting Trump screw us?” My mother would then have her candidate reiterate what he wanted from the listeners. “Then you’ve gotta join our rent strike,” I’d say, and that’s where my father’s influence came into play. Once I went silent, I kept my mouth shut. The person might waver and talk through their concerns aloud, but I didn’t interfere. I let them talk their way to yes, just as I had seen my father do during cocktail parties at our house.