The Unabashed Boys
Early summer, 2016
I painted half my face red, white and blue and put on a gray wig in loving imitation of my candidate.
Outside the convention center, tens of thousands of supporters had showed up. The energy was palpable, and few could doubt that such a massive crowd was proof that the candidate would win the party nomination. Moving Forward!
“I’m so glad I get to finally see the candidate in person,” I said to my friends. “We need a president who understands the problems that young people face.”
“No kidding! I have student loan debt out the ass.”
I placed my foot on a velvet rope stanchion.
“I mean, we spend so, so much money on the military and on handouts to big corporations. If we redirected a fraction of that money toward college tuition, everyone in the country could go to college debt-free.”
“Hell yeah!”
“Why should there be a premium on bettering oneself? On acquiring a skill?”
“There shouldn’t be!”
I felt adrenaline. There was something euphoric about that scene, being among so many like-minded people, people who wanted to Move Forward.
“Actually, the government doesn’t owe you an education.”
My stomach tightened. After a couple of seconds, I met eyes with a man wearing a bandana over his mouth. There were two such men standing there, both having a somewhat muscular build and a hi-top haircut. These were no dollar store bandanas either; they must have ordered them online. So fashionably subversive.
The man’s unblinking stare made me uncomfortable, and I looked away.
The crowd slowly formed a line.
“Wanna hear about my haul from yesterday?” I said to my friend, Gracie. We were both volunteers for the campaign, and we regularly called voters in order to raise money.
“Six hundred dollars!”
“That’s not bad!” Gracie said. She looked toward her feet and meekly said, “I was only able to pull in just a few dollars.” Then she looked back up. “Only eight hundred dollars!” The group raved and hollered.
“That’s the kind of solid grassroots work that will really push the candidate over the top.”
“You said it!”
The line moved slowly.
“Now see, this crowd is really something symbolic. We all come together from different backgrounds, classes and ethnicities. But then we organize into a steady, forward-moving line: no one cuts in front of the other. No preference or favoritism for anyone. No VIPs being escorted into the venue first. It’s just pure equality.”
Nods of approval.
“Who’s to say this movement can’t expand to the whole country?”
“Yeah!”
“Who’s to say we can’t revolutionize the system? That we can’t make it fair for all?”
“Nobody!”
“But wait a minute! Who’s to say that we can’t win the nomination?”
“No one!”
“Who’s to say that we can’t win the White House?!”
Probably about 30-40 people were cheering and clapping. I took a couple moments to collect myself.
“Well actually, many could say that you won’t win. Not everybody agrees with having a mommy government.”
“Are you some kind of fascist?” Gracie replied angrily to the bandana’d man. “Why are you even here if you don’t support the candidate?”
“We don’t need to support the candidate in order to be here,” the second man said. “We’re just making our opinions known. That’s just free speech.” He spoke as though he were putting effort into having a deep voice.
“Who are you people anyway? You don’t support him, do you?” my friend pressed.
“We’re the Unabashed Boys.”
“The what? That sounds ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous, like painting your titty the colors of the flag ridiculous?” Her mouth dropped.
“Are you hoping your candidate will cop a feel? What’s going on there?” The men laugh.
“Oh, I see that the white part is running. I can give you some more white paint if you want.”
My friend starting shaking.
“Just think about it. If you’re up for it, let me know and we can Move Forward.”
****
Having taken our seats, we looked around the arena. It was a sea of blue t-shirts and Moving Forward signs.
It felt great to be part of a collective experience, part of a great movement. My friends and I had a round of hugs to celebrate this moment and all the hard work we had done.
He was slated to speak at 8pm, but he didn’t appear at that time. I became anxious. The crowds intermittently chanted his name.
“Do you think he made it?” Gracie said. “Is he a victim of Austin traffic?”
He appeared. The candidate! The presence!
I could not help but leap to my feet and shriek.
After the crowds quieted down five minutes later, he began to speak. My eyes watered. All the hope for the future, all the possibility of change, of revolution and reformation, all of that was right here, manifested in one man.
“Hello, Austin!” The crowd roared. I got out my phone and started livestreaming.
He went on. “I spoke with my finance chairperson a moment ago. He told me that my supporters in Austin have helped to break a record of individual campaign contributions!”
“YES!” I replied, pointing the camera at myself. “THAT WAS ME!”
“You people, the little people, you are what this campaign and this movement are all about.”
His folksiness was irresistible. As he continued, I watched with awe the movement of his lips, the gesticulation of his hands.
He gave a masterful call-to-action on the environment, and then he talked about student loan debt.
“Today, young adults graduate college and are shackled with decades of debt. How can they get ahead in the world, how can they improve their security, how can they save for retirement with all this debt?”
“I say unabashedly, that college education is a right and ought to be free!”
“BOOOOO!”
The noise came from behind me. I immediately turned around. It was the Boys.
“Get out, fascists!” I demanded. They stared at me.
Turning off my livestream and placing my phone into my pocket, I stood up. “Whoa!” the men said, giggling.
“Leave! This is a rally for Moving Forward!”
“We’re just exercising our right to protest,” one of the men said. He had broad shoulders and well-developed traps.
“No, fuck off!” I said, breathing heavily. I reached for one of their signs. The man holding it batted away my hand. I reached again. The man next to him pushed me away.
The commotion had become such that the candidate paused his speech, apparently waiting for security.
“Look what you’ve done! You’re disrupting the candidate!” I protested. “Fuck it.” It was high time to punish the interlopers, not to mention avenge Gracie for the disrespect these oafs showed her.
I slowly retracted my right arm so as to maximize momentum, and made for a blow on the Unabashed Boy closest to me. He dodged, to the great amusement of his posse. At this moment I was overcome with rage and began a flurry of blows. The man pushed my head back so that I could not reach him, and nailed my left eye with his other arm.
****
My recollection is that I had somehow ended up outside the convention center. As I came to, I watched a feed of the candidate and swelled with anger at having missed out on the remainder of his speech.
How dare those fascists disrupt him.
“It’s ok, man. You fought hard!”
It was one of the Boys.
“Fuck off,” I said.
“See, your problem is that you telegraphed to everybody that you were gonna throw a punch.”
“Your problem is that you’re fucking fascists who can’t mind their own business and have to go ruining other people’s hopes and dreams for change.”
He untied his bandana, and removed it.
“Humidity and polyester do not go together.”
Relating to this observation, I removed my gray wig. Then I let out a sigh and sat on the ground against the building.
He sat next to me. Opening his wallet, he retrieved a small blunt and lit it. He took a hit and offered it to me.
I hesitated but, conscious of the increasing throbbing of my temple, accepted. Anything to dull the pain.
“You know, the candidate supports legalization.”
“He does?” the man said. “I guess he’s not a total disaster then.”
I cracked a slight smile, in spite of my intended anger. Then I felt conflicted by my associating with such a politically debased person.
“See, if you’re gonna start a fight, you should try to surprise the other guy. You don’t want to advertise that you’re completely triggered, and then make a bad punch. There’s no point.” He looked at me, his eyelids a little heavy. “You know?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
The roar of the crowd reached us from inside.
“You want me to show you? Here, stand up.” He got on his feet.
“What?”
“Come on, get up.” I begrudgingly did so.
“First, you’ll want to plant your feet firmly. You need a stable base. It helps you draw energy for a jab. Like this. Put your foot here. That’s good.”
“Also, you should brace your core. Like this. Tighten your abs. It adds more stability. Yeah, like that. Nice job. A regular Floyd Mayweather here. You’re right-handed? Take your arm and ... ”
****
The speech ended, and the crowds were exiting the convention center.
“... but just because you’re a beta male and support beta male candidates doesn’t mean you have to fight like a beta male.”
“I’m not a fucking beta male.”
“If nothing else, you do seem to have a little fighting spirit in you. You just need some coaching.” He named a boxing gym that he frequents. “Go there. They’re solid.”
Deep in reflection, I recalled Alinsky’s Rules for Radicals. Writing in the context of the Vietnam War, Alinsky argued it was often better to cut our long hair and shake hands with the fascists and squares than to burn bridges and call them baby killers. In this way, we could maybe get them to join our cause.
Perhaps it’s not so bad to associate with this strange Unabashed Boy, if only for a moment.
My friends emerged.
“Oh my god! Are you ok?” Gracie asked me. “We thought you were gonna be arrested! And also, you stink of weed, what the hell.” She looked over at the Boy. “Wow, it’s the unmasked dickhead. What are you guys doing?”
“Nothing,” I said, distancing myself from him. “Fuck off, fascist.”
He winked at me and walked away.
“How was the speech?” I said.
“It was wonderful! Look, I still have goosebumps.”
“I’m glad.”
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