The presidential election is scheduled for the end of next year—just a year and a couple of months away. The internal selection of candidates by each party has already begun in earnest.
As for the Republican Party, there's no need for much discussion. With the incumbent president Hoover still in office, it's nearly impossible to replace him with another candidate. Just like with Trump—despite all the controversies surrounding him personally, that didn't prevent him from becoming the presidential candidate.
It's said this is mainly to win over centrist voters.
To be fair, in the United States—as well as in all past and future so-called democratic societies—there's a widespread group of people who are extremely apathetic toward politics. The majority of voters actually don't have clear political leanings.
Because of this, and given that a president's term is only four years—hardly enough time to push through and implement many policies—centrist voters often throw a bit of sympathy to the incumbent, hoping they'll do better if given another four years.
If you insist that this view is wrong, it's not entirely unfounded. Countries with very few centrist voters tend to be those that leapfrogged directly from slavery or tribalism into so-called democracies. In countries that developed more "normally," it's rare to see the population completely split into two extreme sides with no middle ground.
That said, there are exceptions—like Taiwan in the later era. Even if I lose six million to ten million New Taiwan Dollars every year, even if pineapples and bananas rot in the fields because they won't sell, I'll still support Taiwan independence. I'd rather die, jump into the sea even, than not support it. Let the sky fall—I'll still support Taiwan independence, because it's just that great. From the elderly to the newly eligible voters, they're all like this.
There's even a famous singer—one who once sang Tomorrow Will Be Better—who looks decent and proper. You might think he's a good person. But this guy sold off six houses over twenty years to fund Taiwan independence. He never got anything from Tsai Ing-wen or Chen Shui-bian, but he did it all willingly.
Just recently, they recalled a legislator named Chen. This guy ran an underground casino, committed hit-and-runs, bullied others in school—you name it, he did it. But when the recall came up, out of the 300,000 voters in his district, over 80,000 of those who showed up still supported this social scum.
Why? Because he's pro-independence.
As long as you're pro-independence, I love you. You can make me generate electricity with love, feed me American mad cow beef, serve me Fukushima nuclear food—I'll still love you. Even if you're an idiot, I'll vote for you.
Thankfully, America isn't like that. There aren't many brainwashed idiots. Even in the so-called strongholds of the two parties, voter alignment shifts during elections, which can completely change the election outcome.
Take President Hoover, for example. He was elected with overwhelming support across the U.S. Other parties won only 88 electoral votes in total. But in the historical 1932 election, the very people who supported him four years earlier—diehard Republicans and centrists alike—completely abandoned him and voted Democrat.
And that leads to a major problem: no more campaign donations!
Contrary to popular belief, American political campaign funds aren't made up of wealthy tycoons throwing around millions. Most of it comes from small donations that, when added up, total tens or even hundreds of millions of dollars. Many people simply mail in checks for $20 or $50 to show their support. It's countless small-dollar donors who fund presidential campaigns.
But precisely these small donors—Republican loyalists, urban white-collar workers, industrial tech workers, small business owners, the petty bourgeoisie—have all collapsed amid the Great Depression.
They're barely surviving the economic crisis. How could they still donate to Hoover? Let alone donating—they're all getting ready to vote for Roosevelt, who's loudly calling for reform.
"Is it really that bad?" Niall asked, already knowing the answer.
"Looks like it really is," said Willkie, who had been in relatively good spirits but was now visibly disheartened.
Niall took the letter and understood at a glance. In 1907, the U.S. passed a law regulating campaign finances. Individuals could only donate a maximum of $2,000 to a candidate, though donations to political parties could be larger.
You might've seen news of someone leaving a million-dollar estate to a political party after death. That's legal.
But here's the catch: money donated to a party can only be used to operate and maintain the party itself. It's illegal to use that money for a candidate's campaign. If it is used that way, it's a violation—and the candidate loses their qualification.
Take someone everyone knows—John McCain, who ran against Obama. He had strong opinions about this law and eventually pushed for its revision.
But this is 1931. The law hasn't been revised. And the letter from the Republican Party? It's basically saying: we hope all our major donors inside and outside the party can donate quickly—so Hoover can use it for the campaign.
As long as they don't mention Hoover's name when spending the money—just say the "Republican Party is great"—then it's considered a gray area, and not technically illegal.
Pushing the limits of the law!
This is America!
"I still believe that even urban voters will swing heavily toward the Democrats next year," Niall said—not to persuade Willkie to switch parties, but to get him to face reality and stop clinging to false hope.
If this were China, Willkie might have shouted, "What can I do about it?" But this is America. Willkie just stayed silent, perhaps deep in thought.
"Maybe... stop trying to fundraise altogether and just apply to the federal government for money instead?"
In the same year of 1907, President Theodore Roosevelt proposed providing public funding to political candidates. While it wasn't fully written into law, some aspects of it were approved. For instance, if a party received a certain percentage of votes in the previous election, it would be entitled to some public funds.
"No way! No way!" Willkie, who had been silent a moment ago, now strongly objected.
"Why not?"
"As you know, the party's already under heavy criticism. If we apply for public funding from the federal government now, next year's election will be even tougher." Willkie looked genuinely worried.
"You're not going to bankrupt yourself for the campaign, are you?" Niall shrugged.
Many of the Republican Party's major donors were millionaires. If just a couple of them donated their entire fortunes to the party, the funding issue would be solved.