{ what matters ? ravi : mayor speech }

i'm gonna wear this smile like it's a hundred dollar bill
and just wait
i'm not a doctor but i'll sell you an itch

He silences the crowd with a wave.

"Friends," he starts, "neighbors. We have fallen on hard times recently, have we not? Recovery from the tsunami has lagged. It seems that every day brings new heartbreaks and hardships. We endure because we must; we wait for a revival that has not yet been realized.

We must stop waiting. We are a strong people, and we must take destiny into our own hands.

I believe in my heart that District Four is a good place. I have known it from the very bottom to the very top. As a boy, I had very little: I had the clothes on my back, I had my brothers, and I had dreams of a better life.

I was lucky enough to see those dreams realized as I grew up. To climb to the top, to build myself a successful venture. In the business of imports and exports, I have the privilege of working with other leaders across Panem — in District Six, in District Nine, in District One. I have had the privilege of employing many of our young men and women right here in Four, and I have seen first hand what good a steady source income can do for a family.

This is my offering to you, good people of District Four. Prosperity. Peace. I will expand our trade with the other districts, increase production and innovation, and bring progress back to District Four."

Pause. Breath.

"Moving forward, we are all faced with decisions that will shape our future and our children's futures and our grandchildren's futures." So many years spent preaching what he does not practice, Ravi La Torre can paint a future that will never be his without wincing. "Make sure that you are solving the right problems.

When it comes time to make a decision, ask yourself: what is it that ails me?"

He pauses, gives the crowd time to answer his question for themselves. Ravi is not a mindreader, but he's a room-reader, and he's done his research. His opponents, for the most part, are young, inexperienced. Would-be career tributes. He clears his throat and mind.

"How can it be that your answer is The Hunger Games? How can it be that the sacrifice of two young people per year is the first thing on your mind, when hundreds are lost at sea and thousands die of disease in the same time?"

His words crescendo with every noun; his last question leaves his mouth a guttural yell: "How can we grow as a people when we are clenched so tightly in the fist of fear?"

Furled fingers podium-pounding, Ravi punctuates his question with a percussive thud!

"If it is not fear that fills your focus, it is foolishness.

We have all heard the whispers. Voices of our neighbors, our friends, our family, calling for a return to glory on the national stage. Calling for trophies and laurels and medals and crowns to come back to District Four once again.

But in my lifetime, I have learned this: glory is a naïve dream."

He rises above the murmurs, takes pains not to conceal the sadness in his voice. Half a century of stubborn stoicism is a hard habit to break, but raw feeling is worth its weight in paper stacks. Words pour out of his mouth like the last sip of coffee: cold, bitter, full of grit.

"What good does glory do you when your children are hungry? What does glory get you when your mothers are ill? Tell me, District Four, will you be thinking of glory on your deathbed?"

The would-be mayor lets the echo of his question hang for a moment, then leans into the microphone to whisper a warning.

"You cannot eat glory, cannot clothe yourself in it. Glory will not cure your sick, will not heal your wounded. Glory will not bring your dead back to life."

Ravi La Torre clenches the sides of the lectern, a splinter burying itself in his pointer finger. He squeezes harder, the spike of pain strong-setting his jaw. He surveys the room, delivers his punchline:

"So I ask you, the people of District Four: What is it that really matters to you? Is it glory? Or is it something more important?"