I became a son-in-law in the United States

Chapter 107 is absolutely thrilling!

Gia never forgot that, in addition to consolidating her father's Irish base, she also had another mission: to win over as many female voters as possible.

According to the Nineteenth Amendment to the Constitution adopted in 1920, all female citizens of the United States shall have equal voting rights.

Seven years later, the old wasps have not realized that women are not just about playing zip-lining or sexual promiscuity; their political consciousness is also rapidly awakening.

Old Joseph, however, was keenly aware of this and had made preparations well in advance. How to win the support of this group would be a key variable in this competition.

At this moment, Jia was completely in character. Her light-colored eyes looked down at the tens of thousands of spectators, and finally turned to Luther's direction, smiling sweetly.

Meanwhile, on Luther's side, Hemingway had already set up his camera and taken several photos of Gia.

He nodded, patted the camera, and said:

"I'm confident the photos will turn out great. Trust me, this is my line of work!"

Luther nodded. That was the truth. This guy used to be a war correspondent. He had both courage and skills.

Hemingway put away his camera, then took out his notebook and asked with some curiosity:

"Luther, how should I report this time?"

Hemingway knew Gia's identity and kept his promise, no longer making indiscriminate attacks in his writing. At such an important moment, he naturally sought the opinion of the person involved.

"Don't be so fussy, just report the facts."

"But will that even work?" He scratched his head, looking helpless. "Women only like excitement and fantasies, whether it's perfume and stockings, or seducing some man. Would they really be interested in politics?"

Luther smiled and said, "Ernest, you can't judge the present with the eyes of the past, nor can you predict the future with current experience. The future is unknown, isn't it?"

"That's true," Hemingway said with an awkward smile, then picked up his camera and went to find a new angle.

For this speech at Gija City Hall, almost no newspapers from across Boston came, for a simple reason: they didn't dare.

The WASP community had already made it clear that any newspaper that dared to help Joseph Old Man would be considered an enemy of them.

These newspapers had no chance against these old Anssa, so they all retreated and watched from the sidelines.

In this way, "New Youth" stands out exceptionally.

Although Luther did not want to be exposed prematurely, the situation forced him to act, and he could not worry about that now.

If *New Youth* is shut down this time, he will immediately start a new account called *The Boston Review*.

On the high platform, Jia paused, then continued confidently and gently:

"I would also like to say a few words to you, especially to every woman here."

The crowd stirred slightly. The women, who had been holding their children or doing some knitting or embroidery while Gia was giving her speech, all stopped when they heard her words.

An Irish girl in an outdated dress, a Slavic woman wrapped in a scarf, a glamorous Italian woman, and even a middle-aged woman who complains the whole way.

All eyes were on Jia, and the next moment her voice changed.

"I know you, I understand you. You get up before dawn every day to prepare breakfast for your husbands and children. After that, you may have to go to the factory and stand in front of the machines in the textile, shoe and garment factories for twelve hours, but you only get half the wages of men."

Some Irish women in the crowd suddenly burst into tears.

"Even so, after a long day, you still have to cook, do laundry, and take care of the elderly when you get home, and your husbands take it all for granted. Why is that?"

Jia's voice wasn't loud, but it pierced through the crowd, her words clear and distinct, causing the women to tremble inwardly.

Yes, why?

I've tried so hard to live, so why can't I even get the most basic dignity?

In the factory, the boss could deduct wages at will. When she got home, she still had to deal with her drunk husband and cook for her children who had been hungry all day.

No one ever saw the hardships and struggles he endured, except for the girl in front of him.

But why is all of this happening?

The next moment, Jia sighed softly: "Because you have no right to vote, because you cannot have a voice!"

"Because in this country, in this city, you have never been treated as whole human beings."

Jia hit the nail on the head, getting straight to the point, and immediately broke the defenses of the women in the audience.

The Irish women clutched the leaflets tightly, tears streaming down their faces uncontrollably.

The same is true for Slavic women; they suffer even more.

When they first arrived in this land, they knew nothing, not even the simplest English.

In a place where they knew no one, what else could they do to survive besides engaging in prostitution and selling themselves cheaply to butchers and workers?

They are women, women whom men no longer need after they have satisfied them.

Just because someone is a woman, does she have to live such a miserable life?

For some reason, tears started flowing from her eyes. She wanted to wipe them away, but her arm, which was hanging in mid-air, inexplicably rose up.

It was an impulse, an instinct, and also contained dissatisfaction with life and resentment towards fate.

Women shouldn't live like this!

Her arms were as thin as sticks, and her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, revealing shocking scars, some of which were burns and others of cuts.

But she just held it up like that, ignoring everyone's stares.

Then, a Slavic female worker next to her also raised her hand.

Then an Italian prostitute also raised her hand.

Finally, countless hands were raised; they were silent, yet full of power.

These hands were rough and cracked, some were covered in flour and cotton wool, and there was coal ash stuck in their fingernails that couldn't be washed off.

"We are human beings too!" someone in the crowd shouted.

"We want to vote too!" Suddenly, another voice rang out, with a heavy Irish accent.

"Damn America! Damn life! Damn everything!"

Jia stood on the stage, looking at everything before her. She wanted to say something, but as soon as she opened her mouth, she found that her eyes were also wet.

She smiled and said to the women in front of her:

"So this time, I'm standing here not for my father, but for us, for all of us."

At that moment, a gust of wind blew by, and her long hair covered her face, making her look extremely beautiful.

"I think if even we don't dare to stand up, those women who work 12 hours a day in factories, those women who are treated like livestock on the docks, those Irish children who are kept out by 'No Irish Need Apply'—they will never see anyone speak up for them."

At this moment, the square erupted in cheers!

Cheers, whistles, women's screams, men's roars—all the sounds mingled together like a storm.

In the eye of the storm, Jia also raised her hand, as if to give everyone a high five.

"So I want you to remember that the vote in your hand is not just yours."

If it belongs to your father, and to your grandfather, and to your children, and to each and every one of you!

Finally, she shouted, "Vote for Kennedy! Vote for yourself!"

It's the weekend again! Thank you all for reading and voting this week, thank you so much!