Reunion at University Avenue, Page 2
Kenneth Kerns
PART OF MIKE’S Tuesday night ritual was the walk down “power lane” – the corridor leading up to his weekly meeting place within the student union. If things were timed right, he could see a half dozen student groups conducting their meetings. He would also be constantly passed by busy-bodies preparing for his meeting. He’d even been stopped by the campus media more than once for a sound-bite about the day’s news developments.
Tonight was no different. With just fifteen minutes to go before the evening’s meeting of the Student Government, the power lane was especially bustling with activity when Mike arrived with his friend and ally, George Avelli, in tow.
George was telling another story of his younger brother’s unusual antics with their mutual friend, Frank Lazio. This time, the duo had become partners in an eBay auctioning enterprise. George was always a good story-teller, full of animation and energy, but mostly because the way he told it said at least as much about him as it did about those he was talking about. In this case, he showed his utter amazement at their strategies, which went beyond holding an online garage sale.
Mike scratched a spot of his t-shirt just above the itchy spot on his wide belly, and looked around. Two random students sprinted down the hallway in brightly colored shirts not unlike his own; they disappeared into a meeting room. Others shifted their weight in oversized sofas, pouring over textbooks. There was even one wearing a suit, talking to a pair of university administrators.
“And then Frank said…”
George continued his rambling anecdote as Mike made passing glances at his notes. Tonight was an important session of the Student Senate, and he wanted to be prepared. His bill to require the disclosure of the qualifications of high-level nominees in Student Government had passed through committee and was about to take its first floor vote. His gut instinct told him that after a fair debate, it would pass. Most of his agenda was passing nowadays. People trusted him. In some ways, his independence and eclectic political base made him less of an electoral threat, thus giving him unprecedented access and power on legislation. And he was enjoying every minute of it.
“But can you believe my little brother? He’s better at being like Frank than Frank is! Oh…” George said, shaking his head as he rubbed his fingers through the thinly-cut mop.
George had supported the majority in the last election, but came over to the fading Gator party after he saw his former allies failing to live up to the promises they made. Mike welcomed his help – on rhetoric, campaigning, etc. – but was cautious. The two shared the same moral compass, but George’s political acumen left little room for idealism in practice, just in principle.
Mike barely paid attention, as his mind was somewhere else at the moment. They began moving in the direction of their final destination. “And if we’re going to be leaders in an open society, our leaders are required to be open with us. That is why this rather simple and harmless bill is before us,” Mike whispered aloud to himself as he familiarized himself with his speech.
George hung back a little, and shook hands with some people and handed out some buttons. A campaign never ends, not even for the weekly Senate meeting. They passed an Asian student meeting that was blissfully unaware of the politics down the hall. An impromptu debate was being held in the Evangelical Student Alliance between members of the Gator and Campus parties. This caught only a passing glance from Mike, the debate junkie, but received a much more attentive glare from George (whose religiosity was rare for an active student leader).
But the two of them stood in awe of the meeting they saw next. A packed conference of over 25 people, nearly all wearing blue Campus party shirts, were listening to a prominent student leader whose pantsuit was off-set by a noticeable Campus party button.
“They’re having a caucus?” George asked about the obvious.
George peered in through the glass window. The caucus looked like a house of mirrors. All wore the same blue shirt and khaki pants – although some wore flip-flops, others wore tennis shoes. All had fair skin, and the brown hair was lighter than average. They all sat up straight, and their personal belongings rested on their left-hand side. And the leadership stood at the front facing the crowd and gesturing. Three of the caucus members turned at almost the same time and noticed George peering in.
“The Circle hasn’t done that for months,” Mike said.
George nodded in agreement, and quickly pulled away from the door. That was a tactic usually reserved for ensuring that a close, controversial vote goes their way. Otherwise, wayward members of the majority may actually vote independently.
“But there’s nothing partisan or campaign-related going on tonight, right? We all want to hurry out and get back to grabbing voters’ attentions,” Mike said with disbelief as they continued to pass a couple of other largely empty meeting rooms.
And then he tugged at his t-shirt and remembered something. He passed his notes to George as he dug into his messenger bag for a button-down shirt to cover the partisan advertisement he currently wore.
“Thanks,” he muttered as he covered it up and George caught the door. They had finally arrived at their meeting.
THE CONFERENCE ROOM was unofficially dubbed the Senate Chambers, although it was used frequently by other large student organizations. The floor plan was bleacher-style, but the seating was that of a more conventional lecture hall. The presiding officer – otherwise known as the Senate President - and his aides sat in the front row, turned to face the rest of the Senate. They sat behind a covered table, with a podium off to one side – and a gigantic gavel sitting right in the middle of the table.
The general seating was split into three columns, with the Student Body President and other luminaries generally sitting on the senate President’s left, and Mike and the other dissidents sitting on the right-hand side.
Mike always felt a rush upon entering the chambers. Whether it was from a sense of patriotism, suspense, or even adrenaline, he would never know for sure, but the feeling was very much like a junkie getting his fix for the night. George never really felt that way – his rush came from seeing people he liked to chat with before the Senate, so he rushed through the line to pick up the session’s materials and get to talking with someone else.
By the time Mike was seated, it was very close to the gaveling time for the night’s session. And yet, not a blue shirt was seen in the room. There were, to be sure, a handful of white Gator party shirts and even an orange shirt from a campaign long since gone.
He leaned over to George, who was recounting his latest anecdote to Bennita Jones – a burly African American female who was painfully trying to look more interested than she was with what he had to say.
“Hey, George, where’s everyone?” he finally asked.
All but two seats in the middle section of the room were empty. All but the delegations from Arts & Sciences, Engineering, and On-Campus Housing were gone – no lawyers, no grad students, no business majors, no architects, or health science people. No accountants and no medical students. The freshmen and sophomore senators were gone. All that remained from the usual suspects of the majority party was a single senator from a crowded off-campus housing district.
It was past time for the gavel to be banged when the first of the blue shirts came in, while trying to have a congenial conversation with Adam Ruppesberger, the current minority leader in the Senate. The blue shirt was David Snyder, an ambitious sophomore who lacked affiliation with any of the Greek-lettered communities, which made him suspect in some circles. Petty jealousy can often have such reactions, as David is the founder and current leader of a fast-growing volunteer organization on campus.
Finally, Adam broke free of the chatter and made his way down to Mike’s side of the room – just in time to see the in-flux of blue shirts.
“Do you know something we don’t?” Mike asked.
Adam grinned and handed each of them a piece of legislation that he had dropped on the front desk. “We’re going to push this through tonight.”
&nbs
p; Adam’s idea was to finance an additional polling location for the new history building, expanding the current offering from 19 to 20 locations where students can vote in the upcoming elections. Mike privately disapproved not of the idea but of the nature of the prank – by trying to bypass the committee process Adam was creating unnecessary conflict.
“Well, you know best,” Bennita said to Adam.
“If what we want is drama,” Mike said dryly of the English major who recently got Student Government to fund the drama club to enter a production contest – in England.
Amid the three dozen blue shirts that were still filing in, two unlikely allies were chatting, and this caught Mike’s eye. Aimee Jackson, the impartial chief judge in SG, and Kyle Schiff, a key member of the minority party and Mike’s own Academic Council, were allowing each other to be seen talking with one another in front of both parties. Given Jackson’s perpetual interest in being student body president, and Schiff’s own desire to see the minority party succeed, it might be a political connection that’s beneficial to both.
Bennita grumbled for their small group to hear before ruffling through some papers absent-mindedly. Unlike George and Mike, she was hardly an idealist. And also unlike those two, she could only trust Aimee as far as past transgressions would allow, which wouldn’t allow for much.
Finally, the senate president rushed in, and began gaveling the room to order. “Please take your seats ASAP!”
He banged the gavel again. “We’re running late enough, people!”
Nick Atlee was a tough – and some would say arrogant – student leader, even though he hardly proved himself worthy of the self-image necessary for such behavior. He was especially eager during this meeting to move things swiftly out the door – his embarrassment over verbally abusing a cop that had caught him speeding was overwhelming.
After the rituals of the meeting were taken care of, Adam spoke loudly and ensured that Nick heard his motion to amend the night’s agenda to debate his legislation.
There were several equally loud objections from the other side of the room, and Kyle shouted out for division before Nick could gavel the voice vote to a close.
“By roll call,” Adam suggested.
Nick sighed, and called for the ethics chairman to return to the front and resume her roll call duties.
Mike had the misfortune of voting first.
“Nay.”
George, shocked, held firm. “Aye.”
And on and on it went, as the names of nearly 60 senators in attendance were called. Finally, the chairman closed his book, confirmed the tally with the Senate secretary, and older professional named Brenda Freddies. She handed a sheet to the presiding officer, glanced at the white board behind him that he had been using to run a tally for all in the room. With a smirk, he announced the results.
“By a vote of 16-41, the motion is not agreed to.”
This caused quite a stir in audience, not for the margin, but because it gave them a chance to chatter for a minute or two before the next item of business was taken care of.
But the crowd grew silent as another blue shirt then raised his hand, and quickly requested, “Motion to amend the agenda to put Bill 1051 back to committee.”
Mike gasped under his breath. Bill 1051 was his.
“Are there objections?”
“Yes,” Mike said loudly, along with a handful of other senators.
“A vote by hands,” Nick said.
The left side kept its hands down, as did the handful of other members on the other side of the room and scattered about elsewhere. Instead, every single senator wearing a blue shirt voted in favor – including David Snyder, whose entry into Student Government was Mike’s fault.
He called for hands in opposition, and they were decidedly in the minority. “The ayes have it,” Nick declared, and quickly ended the agenda fights by taking a blue shirt’s motion to approve the agenda as amended.
As the meeting finally began in earnest, Mike turned around in his seat and asked Adam, “Did you tip anyone off to your bill?”
“Only Brenda knew. She helped me make copies.”
“Oh, Adam! Office gossip spreads faster than SG gossip. All she needed was a copy or two to show to Nick.”
“Why do you think she did that?”
“Adam, they were having a caucus meeting just before Senate! That’s why things ran late.”
A scowl appeared on Adam’s face. If Mike was certain about anything else that was going to happen that night, he knew the rest of the proceedings would be less than pretty.
And on this, Nick agreed. He dreaded the long meeting he now anticipated – exacerbated by the student body president’s usually verbose presentation.
ALL THE COMMOTION that comes with the end of a meeting was even more acute given the tense atmosphere and the near-mid-night closing of the session. Open debate continue for more than an hour as senator after senator argued over the fracas with the agenda. And then each of the spending bills for student activities was debated endlessly down to the penny. And finally committee reports turned into efforts by the majority to defend their actions.
Mike found it to be quite taxing and a rather boring anti-climax to the night. He was as grateful for the end as many of the otherwise apolitical blue shirts that sat in the backbenches of the chambers – although he didn’t leave as quickly or as abruptly as they did.
Unfortunately, that had more to do with the grabbing of his elbow from behind by Kyle Schiff, who wanted to talk.
“Mike, what was that tonight?”
“What do you mean?” he replied, trying not to act like he knew the answer to his own question.
“Your vote!”
“Kyle,” Mike said as he gestured and drifted in the direction of Power Lane, “it was nothing. We were going to lose. I knew it, you knew it, and even Adam knew it. The bill was a silly stunt to gain votes and didn’t deserve to be rammed through the Senate tonight.”
“Besides,” Mike said as he twisted in place to stare at his political mentor. “You’re the one who keeps preaching that we are Independents, which we are free to think our own way. Our party holds no caucuses for that very reason, to the point of not meeting even as an elections supervisor nearly gets impeached.”
“Don’t you dare lecture me about the way I vote.”
Mike spun away and within less than twenty feet bumped into Cathy Davis, who is widely anticipated to be the next Senate President Pro Tempore. Her beauty pageant good looks made her an asset in campaigning, but her quality intelligence also made her an asset in a setting like sessions of the senate.
“Cathy!”
“Mike,” she said with a sparkling smile and a bubbling personality. “I am SO sorry about the way things worked out tonight. It was not our idea; it just got out of control. Election time, you know.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that big of a deal – I mean I can’t win them all, can I?” he insisted, brushing off the set back.
“No...Although you could if you joined the Circle,” she said with a smile. Knowing that it wouldn’t go anywhere, she continued with, “Well, chin up and hopefully next week will be better.”
“Are you kidding? Next week is one week closer to the elections. It’s only going to get worse from here on in.” Cathy rolled her eyes at hearing the dispiriting yet self-evident news. “But thanks for the pep talk,” Mike insisted. She nodded, as if to say “you’re welcome” and began pulling away to talk with another departing student.
Over her departing shoulder, Mike saw and tried to avoid Kyle Schiff’s glare.
“AND TONIGHT WAS Exhibit A as to why I will never trust those people!” Bennita exclaimed as she began draining more from her Styrofoam cup.
The Gator party crew had retired into the largely deserted food court, just a floor below the senate chambers. Mike and Kyle pointedly sat on opposite sides of the table, while everyone else had chosen seats at random.
“Is it just me or is SG becoming more of a soap ope
ra every day?” Mike wondered aloud.
“It’s definitely making its own case for ‘SG: The Movie’ even if no one else would care to watch it,” William Ose said.
“As long as my character’s name is Kendra Jacobson, I wouldn’t mind watching a movie like that,” Bennita invited.
“But who would we get to play you?” Mike asked.
“I shudder to think. Maybe they’ll land Ben Savage to play you,” Bennita offered.
“Hey, at least we’ll have some issues to run on,” Adam proclaimed proudly. “Trust and opportunity are good themes for us, and the Campus people just gave us the publicity we needed without thinking things through.”
Mike was uncertain, but did offer, “The best way they know how to stifle issues is to co-opt them. That may explain why my legislation seems to have a better chance of passing than yours do. But they also block things like they did tonight when that option becomes too poisonous for them to stomach.”
“Well, we might not even put up much of a fight,” Kyle finally said, in breaking his silence. After the rest of the group gave him some quick curious glances, he explained himself. “We never win these fall elections – not even by a close margin. And if Aimee is to win next spring, we need to do to them exactly what they do to us.”
“To stifle the opposition, co-opt it.” Adam said knowingly.
“Exactly. If we don’t piss them off much, maybe it will give Aimee the chance she needs to break away part of the circle to join our side.”
“That’s a risky strategy,” Mike insisted, with Bennita and George nodding along in agreement. “We could damage the independent movement. Everything we fought for, in favor of everything we fought against. We could lose it all.”
“Or we could win everything,” he shot back. “Everything we ever wanted – access to the kind of power to really change this campus for the better. Isn’t that what we want?”
Bennita shook her head, disgusted with the plan, but she said nothing. She knew as well as anyone, short of nominating an engineer, the majority would never win the votes of her college. So why argue?
“It’s just not worth it.”
“Would you go it alone?” Adam asked Mike. “Fight the Circle without the usual party support? In an uphill battle you’re unlikely to win?”
“If that’s what I have to do. Someone’s gotta run a campaign against them, to keep them honest. To show them that the student body does not agree with their leadership.”
“You’d lose, and lose badly,” Kyle reminded him.
“But if that’s what it takes to ensure our group’s survival after we all graduate,” Mike rose from the table and took in one last look at the bunch he’d worked with for the past three years.
“Then that’s one risk I’ll have to take.”
Tonight was no different. With just fifteen minutes to go before the evening’s meeting of the Student Government, the power lane was especially bustling with activity when Mike arrived with his friend and ally, George Avelli, in tow.
George was telling another story of his younger brother’s unusual antics with their mutual friend, Frank Lazio. This time, the duo had become partners in an eBay auctioning enterprise. George was always a good story-teller, full of animation and energy, but mostly because the way he told it said at least as much about him as it did about those he was talking about. In this case, he showed his utter amazement at their strategies, which went beyond holding an online garage sale.
Mike scratched a spot of his t-shirt just above the itchy spot on his wide belly, and looked around. Two random students sprinted down the hallway in brightly colored shirts not unlike his own; they disappeared into a meeting room. Others shifted their weight in oversized sofas, pouring over textbooks. There was even one wearing a suit, talking to a pair of university administrators.
“And then Frank said…”
George continued his rambling anecdote as Mike made passing glances at his notes. Tonight was an important session of the Student Senate, and he wanted to be prepared. His bill to require the disclosure of the qualifications of high-level nominees in Student Government had passed through committee and was about to take its first floor vote. His gut instinct told him that after a fair debate, it would pass. Most of his agenda was passing nowadays. People trusted him. In some ways, his independence and eclectic political base made him less of an electoral threat, thus giving him unprecedented access and power on legislation. And he was enjoying every minute of it.
“But can you believe my little brother? He’s better at being like Frank than Frank is! Oh…” George said, shaking his head as he rubbed his fingers through the thinly-cut mop.
George had supported the majority in the last election, but came over to the fading Gator party after he saw his former allies failing to live up to the promises they made. Mike welcomed his help – on rhetoric, campaigning, etc. – but was cautious. The two shared the same moral compass, but George’s political acumen left little room for idealism in practice, just in principle.
Mike barely paid attention, as his mind was somewhere else at the moment. They began moving in the direction of their final destination. “And if we’re going to be leaders in an open society, our leaders are required to be open with us. That is why this rather simple and harmless bill is before us,” Mike whispered aloud to himself as he familiarized himself with his speech.
George hung back a little, and shook hands with some people and handed out some buttons. A campaign never ends, not even for the weekly Senate meeting. They passed an Asian student meeting that was blissfully unaware of the politics down the hall. An impromptu debate was being held in the Evangelical Student Alliance between members of the Gator and Campus parties. This caught only a passing glance from Mike, the debate junkie, but received a much more attentive glare from George (whose religiosity was rare for an active student leader).
But the two of them stood in awe of the meeting they saw next. A packed conference of over 25 people, nearly all wearing blue Campus party shirts, were listening to a prominent student leader whose pantsuit was off-set by a noticeable Campus party button.
“They’re having a caucus?” George asked about the obvious.
George peered in through the glass window. The caucus looked like a house of mirrors. All wore the same blue shirt and khaki pants – although some wore flip-flops, others wore tennis shoes. All had fair skin, and the brown hair was lighter than average. They all sat up straight, and their personal belongings rested on their left-hand side. And the leadership stood at the front facing the crowd and gesturing. Three of the caucus members turned at almost the same time and noticed George peering in.
“The Circle hasn’t done that for months,” Mike said.
George nodded in agreement, and quickly pulled away from the door. That was a tactic usually reserved for ensuring that a close, controversial vote goes their way. Otherwise, wayward members of the majority may actually vote independently.
“But there’s nothing partisan or campaign-related going on tonight, right? We all want to hurry out and get back to grabbing voters’ attentions,” Mike said with disbelief as they continued to pass a couple of other largely empty meeting rooms.
And then he tugged at his t-shirt and remembered something. He passed his notes to George as he dug into his messenger bag for a button-down shirt to cover the partisan advertisement he currently wore.
“Thanks,” he muttered as he covered it up and George caught the door. They had finally arrived at their meeting.
THE CONFERENCE ROOM was unofficially dubbed the Senate Chambers, although it was used frequently by other large student organizations. The floor plan was bleacher-style, but the seating was that of a more conventional lecture hall. The presiding officer – otherwise known as the Senate President - and his aides sat in the front row, turned to face the rest of the Senate. They sat behind a covered table, with a podium off to one side – and a gigantic gavel sitting right in the middle of the table.
The general seating was split into three columns, with the Student Body President and other luminaries generally sitting on the senate President’s left, and Mike and the other dissidents sitting on the right-hand side.
Mike always felt a rush upon entering the chambers. Whether it was from a sense of patriotism, suspense, or even adrenaline, he would never know for sure, but the feeling was very much like a junkie getting his fix for the night. George never really felt that way – his rush came from seeing people he liked to chat with before the Senate, so he rushed through the line to pick up the session’s materials and get to talking with someone else.
By the time Mike was seated, it was very close to the gaveling time for the night’s session. And yet, not a blue shirt was seen in the room. There were, to be sure, a handful of white Gator party shirts and even an orange shirt from a campaign long since gone.
He leaned over to George, who was recounting his latest anecdote to Bennita Jones – a burly African American female who was painfully trying to look more interested than she was with what he had to say.
“Hey, George, where’s everyone?” he finally asked.
All but two seats in the middle section of the room were empty. All but the delegations from Arts & Sciences, Engineering, and On-Campus Housing were gone – no lawyers, no grad students, no business majors, no architects, or health science people. No accountants and no medical students. The freshmen and sophomore senators were gone. All that remained from the usual suspects of the majority party was a single senator from a crowded off-campus housing district.
It was past time for the gavel to be banged when the first of the blue shirts came in, while trying to have a congenial conversation with Adam Ruppesberger, the current minority leader in the Senate. The blue shirt was David Snyder, an ambitious sophomore who lacked affiliation with any of the Greek-lettered communities, which made him suspect in some circles. Petty jealousy can often have such reactions, as David is the founder and current leader of a fast-growing volunteer organization on campus.
Finally, Adam broke free of the chatter and made his way down to Mike’s side of the room – just in time to see the in-flux of blue shirts.
“Do you know something we don’t?” Mike asked.
Adam grinned and handed each of them a piece of legislation that he had dropped on the front desk. “We’re going to push this through tonight.”
&nbs
p; Adam’s idea was to finance an additional polling location for the new history building, expanding the current offering from 19 to 20 locations where students can vote in the upcoming elections. Mike privately disapproved not of the idea but of the nature of the prank – by trying to bypass the committee process Adam was creating unnecessary conflict.
“Well, you know best,” Bennita said to Adam.
“If what we want is drama,” Mike said dryly of the English major who recently got Student Government to fund the drama club to enter a production contest – in England.
Amid the three dozen blue shirts that were still filing in, two unlikely allies were chatting, and this caught Mike’s eye. Aimee Jackson, the impartial chief judge in SG, and Kyle Schiff, a key member of the minority party and Mike’s own Academic Council, were allowing each other to be seen talking with one another in front of both parties. Given Jackson’s perpetual interest in being student body president, and Schiff’s own desire to see the minority party succeed, it might be a political connection that’s beneficial to both.
Bennita grumbled for their small group to hear before ruffling through some papers absent-mindedly. Unlike George and Mike, she was hardly an idealist. And also unlike those two, she could only trust Aimee as far as past transgressions would allow, which wouldn’t allow for much.
Finally, the senate president rushed in, and began gaveling the room to order. “Please take your seats ASAP!”
He banged the gavel again. “We’re running late enough, people!”
Nick Atlee was a tough – and some would say arrogant – student leader, even though he hardly proved himself worthy of the self-image necessary for such behavior. He was especially eager during this meeting to move things swiftly out the door – his embarrassment over verbally abusing a cop that had caught him speeding was overwhelming.
After the rituals of the meeting were taken care of, Adam spoke loudly and ensured that Nick heard his motion to amend the night’s agenda to debate his legislation.
There were several equally loud objections from the other side of the room, and Kyle shouted out for division before Nick could gavel the voice vote to a close.
“By roll call,” Adam suggested.
Nick sighed, and called for the ethics chairman to return to the front and resume her roll call duties.
Mike had the misfortune of voting first.
“Nay.”
George, shocked, held firm. “Aye.”
And on and on it went, as the names of nearly 60 senators in attendance were called. Finally, the chairman closed his book, confirmed the tally with the Senate secretary, and older professional named Brenda Freddies. She handed a sheet to the presiding officer, glanced at the white board behind him that he had been using to run a tally for all in the room. With a smirk, he announced the results.
“By a vote of 16-41, the motion is not agreed to.”
This caused quite a stir in audience, not for the margin, but because it gave them a chance to chatter for a minute or two before the next item of business was taken care of.
But the crowd grew silent as another blue shirt then raised his hand, and quickly requested, “Motion to amend the agenda to put Bill 1051 back to committee.”
Mike gasped under his breath. Bill 1051 was his.
“Are there objections?”
“Yes,” Mike said loudly, along with a handful of other senators.
“A vote by hands,” Nick said.
The left side kept its hands down, as did the handful of other members on the other side of the room and scattered about elsewhere. Instead, every single senator wearing a blue shirt voted in favor – including David Snyder, whose entry into Student Government was Mike’s fault.
He called for hands in opposition, and they were decidedly in the minority. “The ayes have it,” Nick declared, and quickly ended the agenda fights by taking a blue shirt’s motion to approve the agenda as amended.
As the meeting finally began in earnest, Mike turned around in his seat and asked Adam, “Did you tip anyone off to your bill?”
“Only Brenda knew. She helped me make copies.”
“Oh, Adam! Office gossip spreads faster than SG gossip. All she needed was a copy or two to show to Nick.”
“Why do you think she did that?”
“Adam, they were having a caucus meeting just before Senate! That’s why things ran late.”
A scowl appeared on Adam’s face. If Mike was certain about anything else that was going to happen that night, he knew the rest of the proceedings would be less than pretty.
And on this, Nick agreed. He dreaded the long meeting he now anticipated – exacerbated by the student body president’s usually verbose presentation.
ALL THE COMMOTION that comes with the end of a meeting was even more acute given the tense atmosphere and the near-mid-night closing of the session. Open debate continue for more than an hour as senator after senator argued over the fracas with the agenda. And then each of the spending bills for student activities was debated endlessly down to the penny. And finally committee reports turned into efforts by the majority to defend their actions.
Mike found it to be quite taxing and a rather boring anti-climax to the night. He was as grateful for the end as many of the otherwise apolitical blue shirts that sat in the backbenches of the chambers – although he didn’t leave as quickly or as abruptly as they did.
Unfortunately, that had more to do with the grabbing of his elbow from behind by Kyle Schiff, who wanted to talk.
“Mike, what was that tonight?”
“What do you mean?” he replied, trying not to act like he knew the answer to his own question.
“Your vote!”
“Kyle,” Mike said as he gestured and drifted in the direction of Power Lane, “it was nothing. We were going to lose. I knew it, you knew it, and even Adam knew it. The bill was a silly stunt to gain votes and didn’t deserve to be rammed through the Senate tonight.”
“Besides,” Mike said as he twisted in place to stare at his political mentor. “You’re the one who keeps preaching that we are Independents, which we are free to think our own way. Our party holds no caucuses for that very reason, to the point of not meeting even as an elections supervisor nearly gets impeached.”
“Don’t you dare lecture me about the way I vote.”
Mike spun away and within less than twenty feet bumped into Cathy Davis, who is widely anticipated to be the next Senate President Pro Tempore. Her beauty pageant good looks made her an asset in campaigning, but her quality intelligence also made her an asset in a setting like sessions of the senate.
“Cathy!”
“Mike,” she said with a sparkling smile and a bubbling personality. “I am SO sorry about the way things worked out tonight. It was not our idea; it just got out of control. Election time, you know.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that big of a deal – I mean I can’t win them all, can I?” he insisted, brushing off the set back.
“No...Although you could if you joined the Circle,” she said with a smile. Knowing that it wouldn’t go anywhere, she continued with, “Well, chin up and hopefully next week will be better.”
“Are you kidding? Next week is one week closer to the elections. It’s only going to get worse from here on in.” Cathy rolled her eyes at hearing the dispiriting yet self-evident news. “But thanks for the pep talk,” Mike insisted. She nodded, as if to say “you’re welcome” and began pulling away to talk with another departing student.
Over her departing shoulder, Mike saw and tried to avoid Kyle Schiff’s glare.
“AND TONIGHT WAS Exhibit A as to why I will never trust those people!” Bennita exclaimed as she began draining more from her Styrofoam cup.
The Gator party crew had retired into the largely deserted food court, just a floor below the senate chambers. Mike and Kyle pointedly sat on opposite sides of the table, while everyone else had chosen seats at random.
“Is it just me or is SG becoming more of a soap ope
ra every day?” Mike wondered aloud.
“It’s definitely making its own case for ‘SG: The Movie’ even if no one else would care to watch it,” William Ose said.
“As long as my character’s name is Kendra Jacobson, I wouldn’t mind watching a movie like that,” Bennita invited.
“But who would we get to play you?” Mike asked.
“I shudder to think. Maybe they’ll land Ben Savage to play you,” Bennita offered.
“Hey, at least we’ll have some issues to run on,” Adam proclaimed proudly. “Trust and opportunity are good themes for us, and the Campus people just gave us the publicity we needed without thinking things through.”
Mike was uncertain, but did offer, “The best way they know how to stifle issues is to co-opt them. That may explain why my legislation seems to have a better chance of passing than yours do. But they also block things like they did tonight when that option becomes too poisonous for them to stomach.”
“Well, we might not even put up much of a fight,” Kyle finally said, in breaking his silence. After the rest of the group gave him some quick curious glances, he explained himself. “We never win these fall elections – not even by a close margin. And if Aimee is to win next spring, we need to do to them exactly what they do to us.”
“To stifle the opposition, co-opt it.” Adam said knowingly.
“Exactly. If we don’t piss them off much, maybe it will give Aimee the chance she needs to break away part of the circle to join our side.”
“That’s a risky strategy,” Mike insisted, with Bennita and George nodding along in agreement. “We could damage the independent movement. Everything we fought for, in favor of everything we fought against. We could lose it all.”
“Or we could win everything,” he shot back. “Everything we ever wanted – access to the kind of power to really change this campus for the better. Isn’t that what we want?”
Bennita shook her head, disgusted with the plan, but she said nothing. She knew as well as anyone, short of nominating an engineer, the majority would never win the votes of her college. So why argue?
“It’s just not worth it.”
“Would you go it alone?” Adam asked Mike. “Fight the Circle without the usual party support? In an uphill battle you’re unlikely to win?”
“If that’s what I have to do. Someone’s gotta run a campaign against them, to keep them honest. To show them that the student body does not agree with their leadership.”
“You’d lose, and lose badly,” Kyle reminded him.
“But if that’s what it takes to ensure our group’s survival after we all graduate,” Mike rose from the table and took in one last look at the bunch he’d worked with for the past three years.
“Then that’s one risk I’ll have to take.”
