I always made sure to look into the cameras.
Most would refuse, believing that ignoring the cameras was a gesture of power, as if being on television was your everyday food.
Well, I was smarter than that. Truth was, the people who were important to reach were not the ones in the House of Parliament. It wasn't the dry ladies and gentlemen of this vast wooden room who were already set in their opinions. No, it was the middle-aged couples at home in their couches with a bag of crisps, or young girls on the treadmill at the gym with a screen in front of them, or housewives ironing in front of the TV, or rich CEO's watching on their cell phones. Those were the people I would have to convince.
I kept my shoulders back, making myself look more powerful in my jet-black suit and shirt of the same colour, my long, black hair in a sophisticated updo on my head, held in place by an oiled mahogany chopstick. I had a pretty large physique making me quite intimidating already, but I enhanced it by adding angles; a suit with padded shoulders, pinning my hair back showing off my sharp jawline.
I looked out at the people in the parliament, both my own party members and the others, but also took eye contact with the invisible people behind the camera lens from time to time. And I spoke well, against the new immigration policies that had been suggested by the right that would make it more difficult for immigrants applying for asylum to gain a permanent citizenship.
It was a difficult task, but I was the perfect man for the job. Not only was I good at laying out my points clearly and consistently, but I also leaned heavily on rhetorical techniques. It was so subtle you wouldn't notice it, but your brain would. How I made sure to move my lips as little as possible to ensure people focussed on listening to my actual words. How I always tilted my chin slightly inwards, making it always seem as if I was looking down on you no matter what the camera angle was. I was honestly not very comfortable using techniques to empower my words, but I knew I was speaking for a good cause, so I did anything in my power to make our points come forth.
But despite my skills, I'd never spoken in parliament or on television before. I had never fronted my party in this way. I'd been in parliament four years, but never wanted to speak because I didn't want the limelight. But now, the leaders had begged me because it looked like the right would win the majority in the elections after New Year's. And I had accepted because I knew I was the left's last chance, my party being the largest party on the left.
I spoke about the consequences of making the gain of citizenship more difficult, ranging from more people working for black money and thus decreasing the amount of jobs available for those who already have citizenship, to more children being separated from their families which increased the risk of them becoming criminals. I also spoke about the benefits of having a more integrated society that went beyond the practical, bordering on cultural and social aspects as well. Finally, I spoke about research. I always integrated what research had shown in an easily comprehensible way so that all would understand, never using strong words such as "proven". Once done, I walked off stage, neck long but chin still slightly tilted down. Applauds followed me down the stairs of the podium where the speaker's chair stood, and I knew I'd been excellent.
"Well done", a party member told me from behind as I sat down.
"Thank you", I murmured back.
They had already begun putting up the Christmas ornaments in the home. I personally believed mid-November was a bit early, but would never dare say so.
The place was old, run-down with horrible mint green walls and laminate flooring and in dire need of a good renovation. Even so, the Christmas decorations always made the place lighten up. There were glitter garlands, fairy lights and plastic Christmas trees with old red plastic baubles mixed with white little hearts some of the residents had crocheted. There were bowls of candies and boxes of pralines for visitors to indulge in, and the smell of oranges lay heavy in the air. My heart was full as I walked through the corridor to my favourite resident.
The home was a retirement home for people who were seeking asylum who had no family, or who only had family overseas. It was run by government funds alone, and the residents didn't have anywhere else to go. I knew them all quite well by now, but my favourite was the sweet Miss Asghar from the Middle East who had come here as she was in danger in her home country for being a speaker for female rights regarding their sexual freedom. She was clear in her head but a bit frail, and even if she hated it, she knew she needed me to push her in her wheelchair when I took her on walks.
"Good afternoon, Miss Asghar", I said.
"Let's go out, Madara-jan", she said with her thick accent. She didn't even greet me, but was using the childish ending on my name that was typical of her language, implying she loved me as her family. I loved her the same. "I'm suffocating in here. It smells of old people." She sniffed her bright pink cardigan. "Oh. It's me."
I smiled.
"I saw your speech. You are a good speaker, Madara-jan."
I pushed her in her wheelchair through the street lines with trees, their branches now covered in fairy lights.
"I don't want to be a good speaker", I said. "I want to change things with my politics."
"How are you going to do that, Madara-jan, without being a good speaker?" That was a very good point. I was almost ashamed at how many times this lady had owned me. Although I would never admit it because then, I wouldn't hear the end of it. "Can you take me on a date and buy me hot chocolate?"
"Of course, my lady", I mocked.
"I used to watch my figure. You know, for the boys. But I've given up. Decided I like women now. So I don't have to watch my figure."
"Didn't you just say you wanted a date with me?"
"I make exceptions for paying customers."
Her way of speaking still caught me off guard sometimes.
"Aren't you a bit too old to become a lesbian?" I asked.
"What are you talking about? I'm only seventy-nine! It's the new seventy-eight!"
I smiled warmly as we went into a cosy cafe and I got her hot chocolate and myself a coffee. I really needed to escape the harsh reality of politics by visiting the home sometimes. It had all begun as voluntary work exactly ten years ago, when I was nineteen, but now, at twenty-nine, I kept visiting without working. It was very rewarding. My own parents were dead, but Miss Asghar was like a grandmother to me. I hadn't told anyone about it, even if it would look good in media for me as a politician, not because I was ashamed but because I wanted this part of my life for myself. The rest of me was already so scrutinised by media.
"I'm proud of you, you know, Madara-jan", she said, sipping her hot chocolate at the table in the cafe.
"Don't be soft to me, Miss Asghar. You know I can't stand it." I reached my arm out, my physique hidden behind an oversized black sweater, and touched her hand.
"Eww", she said, removing her hand. "Remember I'm a lesbian now."
And all was right with the world.
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Rhetorics
FanfictionHASHIRAMA X MADARA. Sommergymnastica's 2021 Advent calendar book, one for each day in December until Christmas of our favourites Hashirama x Madara. In a world stripped down to politics, Hashirama and Madara are working on the opposite sides of the...