American variety show: The Godfather, the Peace Ambassador, what the heck?

Chapter 164 The Death of Hoffa
Although Hoffa was old, his voice was as loud and clear as ever. His powerful voice was clearly transmitted to the entire hall through the loudspeaker. At that moment, the black and white people who were confronting each other all raised their heads and looked at Hoffa on the platform and the ugly portrait that had been smeared behind him.

Hofa glanced at everyone present and recognized many of them, including former employees who had worked in the union for decades.

"Look at me! Many of you here went through the strikes with me. Do you remember when the police opened fire on us during the strike? Do you remember when the police beat us with shields and batons?! How many of our brothers had their ribs broken by the police back then?"
Did I hide behind you like a coward? I led you, charging at the forefront; my wounds were no fewer than any of yours!

Hoffa raised his arms, rolled up his sleeves to reveal the scars on his arms, "These were left by the security guards of those business owners when I was fighting for the wages of my black driver brothers! And today you're saying I betrayed the workers?"

I, Jimmy Hoffa, have done countless things, but never once have I betrayed the organization, never once have I betrayed you!

The crowd fell silent for a moment, and many veteran drivers couldn't help but reminisce about those days.

At the time, truck drivers' unions were relatively small, numbering only a few tens of thousands nationwide, and dared not speak out against the exploitation by large corporations. The unions were predominantly white, with relatively few Black members, but regardless of race, everyone shared the same goal: to secure more rights for themselves.

Let truck drivers stand tall in front of entrepreneurs, be able to negotiate terms with confidence, and make those entrepreneurs understand that without us truck drivers delivering goods for them, all the goods would rot in the warehouse, all the businesses would go bankrupt, and the economic lifeline of the American interior would be severed!
Capital cannot divide a united team of drivers; the backs of workers are indestructible!
Later, Hofa did indeed lead everyone to achieve this, at least at the time, truck driving became a profession that many people respected and envied.

The number of union members once surged to several million.

If we were to compare it to a gang, no gang in the entire United States could compare.

"And now, some people want to divide us! They call me a racist? Open your eyes and look at the union's ledgers!"

Hoffa shouted, "Black drivers have more pension funds in Detroit's union accounts than white drivers! The real enemy is those truck-robbing gangsters! They made you lose your jobs, and now I'm the scapegoat?!"

The mention of gangs immediately ignited anger in many of the Black people present, reminding them of the recent verdict.

Hoffa took a deep breath: "Brothers! Standing here today, I understand your anger better than anyone, but the federal judge and jury's verdict is the law. If we riot because of a bad verdict, how are we any different from those gangsters?"

Discontent immediately erupted from the crowd:
"The entire jury was white!"

"The judge has been bribed!"

"This is an unfair verdict! We don't believe you because you support the police who kill Black people!"

The scene became agitated again, with some people even grabbing things and throwing them onto the podium.

Hoffa wiped the stains off his suit and said in a deep voice, "Why would I support a cop who kills people? Listen, I've never supported Philip Roth! I don't support him personally, I support the badge that protects our working-class brothers! I support the legal system that prevents truck drivers from being robbed!!"
Don't forget, a few years ago, a Black man from a labor union died at the hands of a gang. Why didn't anyone cry foul about injustice then?

"Detroit gangs robbed our trucks and slaughtered our drivers. Why didn't you fight back?"

These words silenced many people in the room.

Detroit is absolutely in a mess. Very few white truck drivers want to drive through the East Side, and even if they do, they have to be armed. Those black gangs don't even spare their own countrymen; they'll still rob them if they want.

This is something that many drivers have witnessed.

A while ago, a tanker truck belonging to an out-of-town driver was robbed. This is nothing new to local drivers. Did they pay protection money to those gangs? Did they greet them when they passed by?
Hoffa sighed, “We’ve fought for so many years to earn respect and a peaceful order! I hope everyone can calm down. Conspiracy theories won’t save Detroit or your jobs. If we smash up the city every time we lose a case, how are we any different from the rioters in Mississippi? We established order, not to destroy it.”

“But this legal verdict is unjust!” a young Black man roared, throwing a stick at Hoffa.

Hofa laughed angrily: "Back when I led everyone to strike at the car factory, we also shouted about injustice and threw things at those bosses like this."

But what about now? More than half of the Black men in the union drive trucks! The union's hospital delivered hundreds of Black babies last year. Were all these things given to us by the police? By the federal government? We fought for all of this at the negotiating table!

Someone sneered: "Using our pensions to sponsor the police department? To fund that white officer who uses excessive force? All the money you give them will turn into bullets fired at Black people!"

"That wasn't targeting you! That was targeting the gangs that broke the rules! Listen, I don't want to repeat myself!"

Hoffa was furious; he was known for his explosive temper. "Go look at the union's books! Hasn't the union treated Black people well enough? Last year, the union paid Black people millions in pensions and insurance payments—rights that belong to Black people, and the union has never touched a single penny of them!"

Did I sponsor that bastard Philip's lawyer fees? It was those Detroit businessmen! Where is my name, Jimmy Hoffa? Stopping them from misappropriating our brothers' hard-earned money!

One of the Black men retorted, "Then why did you attend the awards ceremony? You shook Philip's hand, we all saw it!"

Hoffa stared at the black men and suddenly felt a wave of weariness. Were they all choosing to turn a blind eye to all her efforts for the union? Were they only filled with the burning anger of their compatriots being killed?
When did Black people become so aggressive?
Hoffa explained again: "Because I have to keep an eye on those people! Keep an eye on those businessmen, while they're plotting to suppress workers at their yacht parties, I have to use my eyes to watch you. You really think Philip lost this case in court? No! He lost it on the streets of the East End!"
How many Black men die from drugs and bullets in the East Side every year? How many die in gang shootouts? Has anyone ever represented them in court? There aren't even any witnesses or evidence! What are they going to present to the jury?

Stop blaming me for this; everything I did was for you!

Nearby, reporters and photographers were recording everything with their equipment.

The reporter muttered under his breath, "Do you think Hoffa is telling the truth?"

The photographer was silent for a moment: "I won't comment. Anyway, when he was imprisoned for fraud a few years ago, he spoke so passionately in court."

The reporter smiled helplessly.

At the time, Hoffa's case also attracted nationwide attention. Hoffa was a powerful chairman at the time, yet he was exposed for such a scandal, and crucially, the prosecution ultimately won the case and sent Hoffa to jail.

The president couldn't get rid of Hoffa while he was in office, but after he was murdered, Hoffa was eventually captured.

On the photographer's screen, Hoffa was still loudly questioning:

"Look at Detroit now. In the last six months, three more car production lines have been shut down. How many families have been devastated as a result? They've had to rely on welfare! The unemployment rate in the East Side is now over 50%! And Philip's case has caused the union to lose more than 30% of its contracts. All of this is because of those thugs' disruption of order!"
Do you know what this means? Next quarter, union pension accounts will lose at least $300 million!

Hoffa held up three withered fingers: "Three million dollars! How many children can that feed? Do you expect to support your children with union paychecks, or do you expect those gangs to feed them with drugs?"

An indignant Black man shouted, "What we need now is justice, not bread!"

Hoffa's head was buzzing. What on earth were these black people thinking? Hadn't he made himself clear enough? Riots never end well! Order brings peace!

This infuriated Hoffa so much that he jumped off the stage and stormed towards the young Black man, yelling, "Are you a union member? Listen up!"

Hoffa pointed to an older Black man beside him, "When they said those words to me back then, I led the union members and occupied Ford's car factory! Justice? Bread?! I brought you bread to eat, not so you would pick up sticks and smash the union!"

He gripped the young man's shoulder and said agitatedly, "Kid, remember this! Many white business owners would love for you blacks to riot so they can legitimately move jobs to white communities! Do you want to see that layoff list become a reality?"

Immediately, the crowd stirred, with many Black people gathered there, all because of that layoff list that targeted Black people.

"Are you threatening us?" A black man strode forward, pried Hoffa's hands off, and lifted his shirt to reveal the butt of a gun.

"Threat?" Hoffa showed no fear. He wasn't even afraid of threats from the Mafia, so what were they?
Hoffa demanded, "Is this gun meant for scabs? You want to aim it at me? You should be aiming it at those drug bastards in YBI, at those gangsters who rob trucks! At those congressmen who steal union funds! And here you are, bringing it to the union. Are you trying to destroy everything the union has fought for for decades?"

The Black man glared angrily and shoved around Hoffa's bodyguards, shouting, "It wasn't us who destroyed this place, it was the unjust verdict against Black people!"

Hoffa stared silently at the angry black men, realizing that sometimes he was just talking to a brick wall.

Suddenly, some discordant sounds came from the loudspeaker.

When those Black drug dealers killed police officers, why didn't any Black people stand up for justice? But when Black drug dealers are killed by the police, they all jump out and cause trouble!

[The black man deserved to lose the verdict! Why didn't they protest when innocent women were raped by black men?]

Only when Black people disappear from Detroit will society become harmonious.

A cacophony of noise filled the loudspeaker, filled with anti-Black rhetoric, and at that moment, Hoffa discovered that the microphone in his hand was silent.

He looked around in panic, "Turn it off quickly!"

However, the words coming through the loudspeaker became increasingly offensive, and the Black community at the scene erupted in anger.

A voice suddenly appeared out of nowhere: "This is Hoffa's true feeling! He has always looked down on us Black people!"

Hoffa quickly explained, "No! This wasn't planned! Calm down, someone wants to divide us, they saw it first."

boom!
Gunshots ring out!

A bullet flew out from the crowd and struck Hoffa in the shoulder, causing blood to splatter!
The loudspeaker continued to broadcast: "[The jury says killing a Black person is not a crime!!]"

That was like a declaration of death.

A mob of black thugs swarmed forward, pushing aside Hoffa's bodyguards.

The young black assassin, who was already prepared, pulled out a pistol.

"Now it's your turn! Hoffa, you most loyal watchdog of the white justice system!!"

boom!
The bullet pierced Hoffa's forehead, and his head snapped back to see the union emblem above the union hall.

The world seemed to fall silent instantly, and the scene shifted to a higher frame.

Hoffa's body gradually collapsed, the faces of terrified white people, and the eyes of black people filled with rage. Many veteran drivers shouted Hoffa's name as they watched helplessly as the legendary union president fell to the ground.

The armed black gunman was surrounded and subdued by a group of white men, who pinned him to the ground.

Many white people rushed over and helped Hoffa up.

The loudspeaker echoed with some offensive remarks: "Give each of those Asian jurors $20, yeah, from the union's pension account."

In his last moments of consciousness, Hoffa saw the declaration "Unity is Strength" on the wall, and also saw his friend's figure suddenly appear at the front door.

Frank was standing in the doorway.

Two white men, separated by a thick black wall, exchanged complex glances in that instant.

Hoffa understood instantly.

—Where painters appear, there is often death.

His death was not accidental, but inevitable. Someone behind the scenes had silently imposed their will on these foolish black people. The bullet that shot him between the eyebrows was not just a black man venting his anger, but also an execution by the Mafia.

It's laughable that I thought the Mafia wouldn't dare to do this, but they're ruthless enough to destroy everything in their path.

He never imagined that he would end up dying at the hands of a black man, in the very union hall where he had sworn an oath.

The American Truck Drivers Union rose to power because of itself, and its own life ended because of it.

Suddenly, a pigeon cooed and flew into the hall.

Hoffa stared at the pigeon and closed his eyes.

(End of this chapter)