Chapter 25: A Battle of Pride
TL: Hanguk
Just as I'd expected, Buchanan's inauguration went off without a hitch.
I don't know exactly how it went in the original history, but he probably stumbled through his speech like a puppy desperate to bolt for the bathroom, holding in a dump the whole way.
On top of that, they say the nephew he cherished like a son lingered at death's door and then died, so the inauguration he'd attended expecting a festival must have felt more like a funeral.
In other words, it's no exaggeration to say that this inauguration going smoothly was, from start to finish, entirely thanks to me.
And Buchanan was a winner of the "But He Was a Nice Guy" Award, the same verdict handed to nearly every incompetent leader in history.
Even without me dropping any hints, he went out of his way to accommodate me.
"Don't you worry about building the hospital in New York. Saving human lives is a matter that calls for bipartisan cooperation beyond party lines; no one will oppose it."
"Thank you, Your Excellency!"
"I'm the one who should be thanking you. If you ever run into any difficulty, feel free to reach me through my secretary."
Before I left Washington, D.C., Buchanan personally summoned his Secretary and stressed, again and again, that the establishment of the James Clinic's New York branch must not be obstructed by any procedure whatsoever.
Ahh, the warm grace of His Excellency the President.
Honestly, it's not like I'm trying to climb the ladder on the coattails of power; I just want to build a few hospitals across the country, so what's the problem with taking help from Republicans or Democrats alike?
If anyone tries to nitpick over this, all I have to do is snap back, "So you're telling me to pick and choose whose lives to save based on their politics?"
For Buchanan and Breckinridge, backing my hospital means racking up achievements of their own, so it's a win-win for everyone.
How does a man this easy to talk to end up condemned as the worst president in American history?
Right around the time I was starting to feel a faint twinge of sympathy for him.
"Boooooo! Buchanan must explain himself and resign at once!"
"Shame of the Union! Traitor to the Union! Buchanan, explain yourself!"
March 7, 1857.
Having wrapped up my schedule in Washington and come to New York, I found out exactly why.
"Judicial intervention! An outrage! Buchanan! Resign!"
"Resign! Resign!"
"Republicans, cease your agitation and fabrication! This is a lawful ruling! Slavery! Will triumph!"
"Will triumph! Will triumph!"
Behold the awesome power that split the nation's opinion clean in two, like Moses parting the Red Sea, a mere three days into his term.
No, seriously, what do you even have to do to turn everything into this much of a literal shitshow in one stroke?
The moment I checked into my hotel, I got hold of the newspapers, and I could only gape, jaw hanging, at the President's astonishing achievement.
[The Worst Ruling in the History of the United States. Dred Scott v. Sandford. Does the Supreme Court Mean to Drag the Union Back into an Age of Barbarism!]
[Negroes Are Not Americans? The Supreme Court's Deranged Ruling, and Is President Buchanan Behind It?]
[A Great Victory for Slavery! The Supreme Court's Wise Ruling Mends the Nation's Divisions!]
["Judicial Intervention Is a Preposterous Slander," President Buchanan Dismisses Allegations of Collusion with the Supreme Court]
"Is this guy out of his goddamn mind?"
Reading the articles, I vaguely remembered hearing about this back in the modern day.
The Dred Scott decision, one of the most shameful rulings in American judicial history, infamous all the way into the twenty-first century, or so they said.
To sum it up briefly, Dred Scott, a Black slave, had come to a free state in the North with his wife and daughter and filed suit in federal court asking to be granted the rights of an American citizen.
But our esteemed federal court refused to side with Scott, on the logic of "Yeah, y'all's slaves are private property, so no constitutional protection for you. Non-citizen."
What made this ruling so outrageous was that it meant Black people would not be recognized as citizens even in the free states of the North, and that slaveholders could freely haul their slaves around anywhere they pleased, South or North.
It was a ruling that completely trampled the North's stance, which had at least regarded Black people as citizens, second-class though they were, and it was as good as declaring to the entire world that yes, America is simply a slave nation.
"Look at this lunatic Buchanan. He drops this the second he takes office?"
How do I even put this... "absurd" doesn't begin to cover it. It's a mystery unto itself.
Leo, who could read passably well, looked at the newspaper I'd tossed onto the desk and asked.
"But Master, isn't it the court that hands down rulings? Why is the President the one being cursed at?"
"It's obvious to anyone with eyes. You know what our dear President Buchanan said at his inauguration just three days ago?"
That the question of slavery in the territories would be settled by the Supreme Court, "speedily and finally."
Word for word, that's what the President spouted with his own mouth three days ago.
Then the Supreme Court, as if it had been waiting for its cue, promptly hammered down "Black people are not citizens"; even a three-year-old would have to suspect the President's fingerprints were all over this ruling.
Republicans and critics of slavery poured out scathing condemnation, saying Buchanan was dragging American history backward.
Democrats and defenders of slavery strutted about with their heads held high, demanding to know if their opponents meant to defy a ruling of the judiciary.
And the hellscape on earth where both sides converged was none other than New York City, so it's no exaggeration to say the scene I'd witnessed just now was America in miniature.
"But Master, New York is in the North; isn't it on the abolition side?"
"In New York State, abolitionism has the upper hand, but in New York City opinion is probably split down the middle and fighting hard. There are a lot of financiers here with ties to the South, and they've been quietly stirring up sentiment behind the scenes."
Just within the city alone, people tearing Buchanan down and people singing his praises are all tangled together, and newspapers with editorial lines at polar extremes have sprouted on every corner.
Buchanan probably expected that a ruling like this would satisfy the Southern slave states, and the talk of breaking away from the Union would fade.
But I can't understand how he overlooked the simple fact that this would inevitably rally Northern opinion behind the Republican Party.
With this one ruling, North and South have as good as crossed a river there's no coming back from.
He'd even openly thrown out the message that the President had meddled in a Supreme Court ruling; it would be strange if the country didn't catch fire.
"Good grief... how is the very first thing you do after taking office judicial intervention?"
Watching a president with the insane political skill to gut the nation's public opinion within three days of taking office honestly makes my head spin.
Then again, I suppose you'd have to pull off something on this level to be ranked the worst president in American history even in the twenty-first century.
Born into the wrong era or not, I was reminded once again that the title of Worst Ever is not something just anyone gets to claim.
Right. The best move is to milk him for the hospital funding, then cut him loose immediately.
And even as I sorted out my plans and went over my schedule.
"Boooo! Buchanan, step down!"
"The judiciary's ruling is fair! Long live the President!"
The streets of New York were burning hot.
It was America's future, soon to unfold in every corner of the country.
*
Politics isn't a requirement for doing business, but it's a fact that having politicians in your corner makes things far, far easier.
Take illegal aid or backing and it'll come back to bite you, but humanitarian ventures are a different story.
In truth, this was a field that could hardly get off the ground at all without the support of politics or religion.
Of course, America isn't a country that goes in for this kind of humanitarian work in the first place, so tapping government money is rarely easy.
But right now, with North and South split apart and waging an all-out, no-holds-barred flame war over who's in the right, circumstances are special.
Naturally, the current administration and the ruling party were in a position where they had to prove they were by no means unethical people, and one way to show it was the James Clinic.
As proof, a top officer of Tammany Hall, who last time had sent nothing but a curt letter, came to see me in person.
"Hahaha! Welcome, welcome. I was truly sorry to miss greeting you in person when you last visited New York. Isaac Fowler."
"James Sergent. To be received by the Postmaster of New York City himself, I hardly know where to put myself."
"Haha, for a man about to do great things for our city of New York, of course I should welcome you with open arms."
Isaac Fowler, Grand Sachem of Tammany Hall, the core of the New York Democratic Party, and Postmaster of New York City.
Watching a heavyweight whose influence rivals the mayor's come out to meet me in person... yes, doing business with power at your back really is the way to go.
"I may have done a bit of business in Mississippi, but here in New York I'm just a country boy from the South. I'll be trusting you to lead the way, Postmaster."
"Hoho, have no fear. As it happens, this is a matter His Excellency the President entrusted to us personally, through the Secretary. And with the city in such an uproar over that ruling these days, pushing a venture like this can only do wonders for our image. It serves Tammany Hall as well, so we'll take all the more care with it."
"Thank you. For my part, I'll do my utmost to provide quality medical care and see to the health of New York's citizens."
The Dred Scott decision was, by anyone's measure, a garbage ruling for the ages, but the fact that it had dragged the Northern Democrats into a whirlwind of controversy was, unexpectedly, working in my favor.
Even this Isaac Fowler was helping me precisely to gain even a slight edge in the fierce public opinion battle raging through New York City.
"Come to think of it, Mr. Sergent, what will you do until the procedures for establishing the hospital are complete? Have you made any other engagements?"
"Ah... none at the moment. It's not so much that I truly have nothing to do; it's that I came on medical business this time, so I thought abstaining from any other activity would keep the gossip down."
Preemptively cutting off any chance of being asked to join a statement of support for the Dred Scott decision.
"Ah... you truly are a man of deep consideration, Mr. Sergent. You mean to shut down at the source any claim that even the hospital is an attempt to manipulate public opinion."
"Yes, that's exactly it. Isn't that what those Republican bastards do best? Show them the slightest opening and they'll seize on it."
"Quite so. This time as well, they've taken what the President said at his inauguration and spun every conspiracy theory imaginable, calling it evidence of judicial intervention and whatnot."
I nodded with an odd little smile.
Sorry, but that literally was judicial intervention... For a man who clearly knows exactly what's what, the sheer brass of that straight face is something else.
"At any rate, for those reasons I intend to keep a little distance from sensitive political questions. Though in my heart, I'd like nothing more than to stand at the front with all of you, crying out for justice."
"Ah, no, no. With this venture alone, Mr. Sergent, you've already handed us a fine weapon to fight with. Still, if your schedule is open, why not come along with me and take in a show? No need for speeches or anything of the kind. You'd merely be showing your face where a great many of our supporters gather."
"Do you mean a rally of some sort?"
As long as I don't give a speech of support, it probably wouldn't be a big deal, but honestly, I'm not exactly eager to show up at a pro-slavery rally either.
"Nothing like that. Just a pleasant sporting match. Its popularity has been exploding in New York lately, and our base is absolutely mad for it. That's why Tammany Hall's officers make a point of visiting the grounds from time to time. Closing the distance with your supporters is one of the secrets of managing their support, after all."
"Some entertainment the financiers enjoy, I take it."
"Not the financiers; the lower-class whites, Irish laborers and the like. We've been putting a great deal of effort into that quarter lately."
The New York financiers, bound up in direct financial interests, I could understand, but why would lower-class white laborers oppose the abolition of slavery?
The reason wasn't hard to deduce.
"'Free the Black man and they'll all come flooding north and drive you out of your jobs'... something along those lines?"
"Precisely. Mr. Sergent, you truly are the political talent His Excellency the President said you were. A born hand at the public opinion battle... If you're ever so inclined, join the party anytime. Tammany Hall will welcome you."
"I'll consider it in ten years or so, once I've built up more experience."
Isaac looked disappointed, but I was astonished in an entirely different sense at the sophistication of these people's demagoguery.
Sure enough, telling white laborers who live hand to mouth, "When Black workers cheaper than you come pouring in by the thousands, who's going to hire you?", stoking that kind of anxiety, would be plenty effective.
Honestly, these people's brains only run fast in the wrong direction.
"So what is this game they enjoy? If it's just watching a match and coming home, I think that would be fine."
"It's a trifling little ball game, but it's oddly entertaining. They've been at it steadily for some years now, and apparently some sort of association was formed this year; the thing keeps growing explosively by the day. By next year, they expect crowds of several thousand or more at the grounds, so it wouldn't hurt to start feigning interest now."
"It must be quite popular. What's this ball game called?"
Somehow I had a feeling I could guess... and sure enough, Isaac Fowler shrugged and asked.
"Baseball, they call it. Have you heard of it?"
Of course I've heard of it. My plantation happens to specialize in it.
*****
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