Filene’s political efforts would not have been possible if not for the decadent state of the country. Filene stressed the the plunging economy, that racism was becoming accepted, that evangelical fervor threatened separation of church and state, that judicial guardrails were in shambles, and that nepotism filled many key government positions. “Cabinet meetings are like family gatherings,” she said. The media manipulated public opinions with questionable polls. The newly appointed Board of Aspirations and Moral Supremacy (BAMS), comprising mainly clergy and right-wing politicians, was gaining traction.
Ladders made the fifteen-foot-high concrete wall built along the northern and southern borders of the country to block immigration stopped no one from entering illegally. The country was in the doldrums. “I want to fix all that!” Filene repeated whenever we met.
Despite the bleakness of the times, or maybe because of it, Filene argued enthusiastically that she was a viable candidate for president. She insisted that her success as a lawyer substitute for her lack of political experience, since one of the major problems was poor law enforcement. What confidence she had, despite the odds against her, and what arrogance to feel entitled. But that was Filene, a perennial optimist.
My personal involvement beyond friendship came when she said, “Jake, please help me. I need my Sancho Panza.” Sancho Panza, the sidekick, the down-to-earth foil for Don Quixote’s heroics. Her plea aroused a sense of déjà vu stemming from when I supported her enthusiastically for high school student body president. Remembering my heartbreak and her despondency at her landslide loss to the football quarterback gave me pause about replaying the old days at the national level. Yet, her eyes sparkled, as they did when she was inspired, which inspired me. I was ready to do anything for her. She recognized my vulnerability. I was putty in her hands.
“Okay, Filene,” I said, flattered. “What do you want me to do? Be your campaign manager?” That wasn’t my goal, just another comment made without serious consideration.
But she lit up. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” I was taken aback by her animated gratitude, but I did want to be her campaign manager. However, the need to create an attractive image for Filene, who lacked physical attributes of beauty and power, which political candidates emphasize, seemed as impossible as painting a colorful picture with a severely limited palette.
She read my doubts (I was always impressed at her ability to sense what I was thinking) and volunteered, “Never mind, Jake. The future is always a black box. Let’s take a chance! We can do it.”
Quixotic optimism again! And so, we embarked on an historic journey. Filene gained financial support for her campaign, ironically, from a SuperPAC of cosmetic companies. She spoke tirelessly around the country and pulled a few upsets in the primaries. When asked why she believed herself qualified to be president, she used her lack of national political experience as a badge of honesty. She also stressed she had no political dues to pay.
“Not everything can be explained,” she said. “Sometimes things are just the way they are. They don’t always make sense, but they work. I can work for you in more ways than one.”
She spoke freely of her unattractive appearance, saying that it was no fault of her own, and stressed that it sensitized her to the unfairness of life, a sentiment always received with agreeing nods. We don’t choose our genetics. She repeated, “Would anyone with my looks even try to cast a false image, or be able to succeed in doing so?”
Media pundits loved her because she was so unattractive, which attracted huge audiences. This is not a beauty contest, she said, and voters started believing it. The necessity for political change drew many other opportunists to challenge her, but one by one they withdrew, not up to Filene’s spunk. A scandal involving human trafficking for prostitution obliterated her main opponent like lightening striking an Olympic runner approaching the finish line. Filene became the sober dark horse, the candidate for positive change, a new voice of inspiration.
I feared this growing acceptability was mixed with a worrisome comical element. If viewed as a clown, Filene was a tragic figure, not funny. Yet, I rationalized that this might make her endearing in a way that Charlie Chaplin’s “little tramp” was a mascot of humanity. Nonetheless, I wondered whether “endearing” was a presidential quality.
When the political winds began to blow in Filene’s direction, it still seemed unlikely that she could gain enough public support to be nominated. Neither the political pundits nor general voters believed she could win the general election.
Miraculously, she did win the needed number of delegates to be nominated to represent her party. When interviewed after the convention, she said in a deadpan voice, “I won because of my charm.” Everyone laughed. One insensitive editorialist concluded that, “Pretty doesn’t work anymore. It’s time to try ugly!”
Her physical appearance remained a political problem.
to be continued…