26M4F - Your Campaign Opponent is a Sexist, Misogynistic Alpha Male. He's Dominating You in the Polls - Soon He'll Be Dominating You Everywhere Else.

“First question,” says the debate moderator. “The unemployment rate has risen 4 percent in Sade since 2008. Miss Berkley, how would you combat this job loss in our fairy city if you were in office?”

You smile at the audience, hands neatly gripping of the podium. “That’s an excellent question, Daniel. I know the people of Sade are hard-working and understand the value of a day’s labor. When I am elected mayor, I’ll work hard for these fine citizens, bolstering economic investment and opportunity from companies not just in our State, but around our great nation. I’ll also be sure to add additional incentives for small business owners looking to start or expand businesses right here in Sade.”

You wince internally. The small business line was supposed to go * before * the line about state companies, not after. How many times had you rehearsed this speech? It’s just the first question, you remind yourself, although your campaign manager has a quizzical look. You force yourself to stop sweating – a trick you learned years earlier, as captain of your High School debate team, and one you used several times in University student government.

The polite applause tapers off as the debate moderator nods. “Same question, Mr. Blanc,” he says, looking at your opponent.

You can’t help but steal a glance at your opponent, even if it’s a violation of Lincoln-Douglas procedures. You’d really only become aware of this man in the past few days. The city had voted your party’s candidate into office every election for the past 90 years. In reality, winning the Establishment’s nomination was far harder than the election would be. It was smooth sailing from here, no matter what your opponent tried.

Soon you’d look back on this moment and curse yourself for being so naïve.

“You know Daniel, that is an excellent question, and my opponent offered an excellent meaningless platitude in response.” You bristle as a wave of nervous laughter goes up from the crowd. “I’m not gonna pull punches,” he continues. “Some of those jobs – most of em, really – aren’t coming back.” Shocked chatter erupts from the crowd. “That being said,” booms Aemon Blanc, silencing them, “I do have a solution that will get us back to employment numbers not seen since the 1950s.”

This should be interesting, you think to yourself. Sade had been quite the little empire back in the 50s, before outsourcing took its toll.

“You see, back then, men were the ones who did the work. Nobody cared about women’s employment numbers, because everyone knew they were happy at home, and if they had the urge to work, they’d get a nice secretarial position to boost up the home’s income. Before they got pregnant, of course.” He shrugs, smirking. “Nice place to find a husband, those offices.”

You grit your teeth. What a pig.

“Despite what my opponent may think, a mayor can’t go up to General Motors and go, ‘oh, please send us a new manufacturing plant, I know Mexico’s 10 times cheaper, but I can’t wait to * bolster * you.”

The audience guffaws. Was that supposed to be your voice he was impersonating?You open your mouth to object to this insulting response, but the moderator and the crowd, your campaign manager included, are spellbound.

“What a mayor * can * do is incentivize companies to go back to that sort of company lifestyle. Back when America was great. Back when Men worked hard, women supported the household, and everything worked in sync. That’s the kind of America I want – one with a 100% employment rate, and one where women know their place.”

The debate moderator tried to step in, but was silenced with a single wave of the hand from Blanc. He paused before delivering the line that would sound throughout the state and the Nation.

WOMEN BELONG IN THE KITCHEN, SAYS MAYORAL CANDIDATE

Raucous debate leads to sexist language on-stage

Your staffers put on an impromptu champagne party after getting the next day’s newspaper, the above headline screaming across the top. The debate had garnered so much publicity that you’d actually made headlines in the biggest newspaper in the state! Why NOT celebrate?

The drunker you got, the more you began to worry. Yes, obviously this man was a misogynistic pig. Obviously he wouldn’t win. But you could barely remember the debate after that first question. All your planned responses to expected questions went out the window, as he brushed off “frivolous” issues in lieu of what was apparently his single-issue platform. Jobs for men, house chores for women. It wasn’t just that he didn’t acknowledge that you, his opponent, were a woman - It was like he didn’t even acknowledge you were there at all.

You woke up with a hangover the next day, your staffer staring down at you seriously from your place on the couch. She tossed the local newspaper into your lap, then turned and stormed into the kitchen. You gazed down at the headline with bleary eyes:

BLANC LEADS IN LATEST POLLS

Candidate muses: “I guess they like my platform.

The following article mentioned his name no less than 6 times. You got mentioned once.

And your name was misspelled.

The next two months were a whirlwind. There were stump speeches, endorsements, firey accusations, attack ads. All coming from you, while Blanc calmly strode across the city, shaking hands and repeating his sexist “big idea.”

Within the first two weeks, business owners throughout the city were supporting his notions. Women were quitting to let men take over their jobs – not many but enough for it to be symbolic. Thinkpieces about the beauty and nobility of Blanc’s idea permeated the internet. There were contrarian pieces too, a lot of them, but they rarely mentioned you by name. You were just there. And barely.

When you were two weeks from election, most of your staffers had quit. “I just don’t understand it,” you moaned. “Why do they listen to him?” Your campaign manager shrugged, then dragged her luggage out of your hotel room, eager to move across the state and manage the campaign of a candidate in the capital election. A man, who thought Blanc’s ideas on employment were “interesting.”

And now you were alone, out of funds, out of staff, with single digit polling numbers, and a single bottle of Svedka to keep you company.

There was only one thing to do. Sade would be at his ranch; he’d vowed to take the last two weeks off of campaigning to start meeting with business owners. He’d already assumed he’d won, that bastard. And why not? You picked up the latest newspaper, looking at the full color picture of you two side by side at the latest debate. You looking haggard and sleep-deprived, him full of energy, looking fit and Godly in his trim suit. He had already won, hadn’t he?

You stood, fighting tears, as you picked up your keys and went to the car.

Everyone else was backing a winner. Looks like you’d have to as well.

You swallowed your dignity, and sped off to Blanc’s ranch, ready to give him your full endorsement.

Knowing he’d ask for more than that.