The Mackowski-Fitzpatrick offer required urgency. Not that any of us really knew what to make of it, but it was tantalizing: the potential for a Republican president to shatter the stalemate and pass a comprehensive climate agenda.
“Now that Randall’s pummeling Hogan on the issue,” said Tom, “man, I think it’s fucking time. Mary’s practically reading our press releases at this point. Let’s do it. Let’s endorse.”
I could tell Tom had felt gung ho since leaving the meeting, and now with a dip puffing out his lower lip, buzzed from the nicotine, he was humming like a tuning fork.
“This is a huge last-second shift,” warned Rekia. “We’ve always intended to stay neutral.”
“Look, the polls are what they are. Jo is a lame duck already. Tell ’em, Sand.”
Sandeep Goswami was a Georgetown poli sci major who’d interned with us for three years. He’d taken the semester off to work grueling hours for Liza. Tall and handsome with a thick unibrow, he had a kind of dazzled face, like he was always half-amused to be in the middle of all this. Sandeep had taken on the thankless task of monitoring every poll, model, and betting market for every race all the way down to public utility commissioner in Arizona. Other than the core brain trust of me, Coral, Liza, Rekia, and Tom, he was the only “minion” Kate invited to this highly classified meeting. He laughed now as the spotlight fell on him.
“Ha, sure, stick me with this—umm…” He rubbed a healthy five-o’clock shadow. “It’s like you say, Tom, the polls are what they are. Eight years of Democrats in the White House, and Jo is the least popular incumbent since Carter. She’d have to run the table. But that’s all I’m really willing to say.”
Kate leaned against my desk with her arms crossed, looking pensive and overcaffeinated. “What’s the advantage of an endorsement then?”
“The advantage,” said Tom, “is riding the wave of momentum, only looking like we caused the momentum with this bombshell October Surprise.”
“Excuse me,” said Liza, pointing to the wall where the Machado quote was engulfed by her blue flames. “We did cause this. I drew that, and the politics people were like, ‘Oh hey, climate-climate, carbon-carbon.’ ”
“But if the polls are wrong, and Jo pulls it out, we still have to work with her.” Coral was A. C. Slatering their chair, arms resting on the back. “It would poison the well with her forever.”
Liza said, “I feel like the well may have been poisoned when Kate called her the ‘drone-assassin-in-chief with a vagina.’ Call me crazy.”
Tom was not without reason for his passion. He’d long been adamant that it had been Hogan herself who’d given Vanity Fair the “toxic cunt” line about Kate. Tom now threw his arms overhead.
“Fuck this woman! Hogan won’t even fucking meet with us! She pours our ass from vial to vial, and I’m sick of being in a fucking test tube listening to her excuses. She made her career by busting challenges on her left flank—remind me why we aren’t trying to defeat her outright?”
“Tom, my dude, take a breath,” said Kate. She pushed herself up to sit on my desk.
“We don’t know that we can trust Randall any more than Hogan—or at all,” said Rekia. “Green Trident or not, her caucus does not want a climate bill—”
“She’s a Black woman tackling the issue, Rek, what is your prob—”
“Who will be in charge of a caucus with legit white supremacists.”
Then Tom and Rekia were at it. Tom often groused about Rekia in an uneasy-making way, saying she suffered from “social justice warrior apophenia,” and Rekia obviously had her issues with Tom. They clashed frequently about the Outposts, mostly because Rek viewed lobbying public utility commissions as a waste of time compared to energizing voters of color, who she thought we often ignored with our strategies. This once came to a head when a photo went up on the website of our Ohio outpost featuring no people of color (there was one Latino guy, but Rek called him “white-passing,” and Tom’s head nearly exploded). This infamous meltdown between the two of them became office lore. As the argument escalated now, I tried to calm everyone’s nerves.
“You gotta admit, Randall is astonishing,” I said. Tom and Rekia stopped to look at me. “Imagine five years ago, a climate justice movement endorsing a Republican? This is an absolute historic opportunity.”
“But why does Mackowski want it?” said Coral.
“Because he’s a poser!” said Tom. “He burnishes this image of Nathan Bedford Mackowski, but Republicans want to put this faction of the party to sleep. Look at the way the RNC rejiggered the rules of the nominating process—to get Randall through and purge those hooting rebel-redneck Nazi fucks once and for all. We back Mary now, hard, and the movement will go with us. Then it’s an all-out sprint to pass our bill in the first hundred days. The Republican Party takes credit for saving the planet, Randall’s face goes up on Mount Rushmore, and everyone fucking wins.”
“Bipartisan Black women save the planet,” I said, nodding to Kate.
“Our neutrality to political personalities is a strength,” Rekia pleaded. “They will always come and go, and they can always betray the cause in the blink of an eye.” Rekia thrust her hand at Kate so hard that her earrings rattled. “Randall feels nice because she comes with that deceptive post-racial afterglow, and y’all feel like Kate here grew her in a vat for the movement and this moment. She’s proof of concept to you. That does not mean she’ll do what needs to be done, though.”
“Okay,” said Kate, hopping off the desk. “I’m wondering if we can make it through one meeting without referencing how Black or not Black I may be—”
I held up my hands. “I’m sorry, I meant that in an entirely jokey way…”
Liza had begun to paint her nails an amber color and shot me a look, No backpedaling now! Sandeep started to say something about the polling, but Rekia spoke over him.
“If we endorse her, do we put money behind her?” Rekia was now talking only to Kate, her voice rising. “I feel like I’m the only one pressing the brake pedal on this. Do we tell our supporters to not worry about reproductive rights or police brutality or Medicare for All or immigration detention or any of the other issues where Randall walks on the other side of the street? I just loved her speech telling Black mothers to take responsibility for their lives so they wouldn’t have to visit the abortion clinic.”
This was actually what I’d come to like about Rekia. That she could stir the pot over minutiae, there was no question, but she was so genuinely smart, tough, hardworking, and passionate; Kate had been right to hire her. Yet, in a reversal, as Rekia Reynolds grew on me, she began to grate on Kate. Their relationship was something of a black box. One day they’d be feeding off each other’s jokes, and in those moments, they’d seem as close as sisters. Then there were moments like this.
“Okay, Rek, take it down a few degrees.” Kate glared at her. “We’re just talking this through.”
“Like we talked through funding the next round of your Scientology-NXIVM centers? Or any of the other thirty thousand decisions that get made around here basically by you and you alone while you pretend there’s any kind of consensus-building or democratic input? We’re supposed to be building to action after the election, and you want all our financial operations working toward more vegetable gardens in Arkansas.”
“How is that relevant to Randall?” Kate demanded.
“Because, Kate, Mary Randall fits into your model. She benefits your vision. You want to have it every which way for every kind of audience. Traipse through the world like you’re a pretty little white gal, gather the eyeballs and accolades, the ease of movement, and then when it suits you, remind everyone that you’re a quarter Black and a dime Indigenous and collect yet more fawning.”