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Mean Federalists: by Helen McRae and Marisa Renehan

Helen McRae and Marisa Renehan

HY 103

Libby Taylor



Hi, my name is Cady Heron and this is my story.

My parents and I moved to Massachusetts in the fall of 1815, 3 years after the war and a year before the big presidential election. I had never gone to a real school before. I enrolled in a public school and wasn’t so sure how I liked it, but in my math class I sat behind a super handsome guy named Aaron Samuels.

“So, what political party do you belong to?” I asked him, trying to be flirty.

“I’m pretty sure I’m a Federalist,” he said.

“So you support the war, huh?” I asked him.

“Uhhh, do you?” he replied.

“I don’t, actually. I really like Monroe. I don’t support violence and I believe problems can be solved in other ways rather than resorting to murder and torture,” I told him.

“Then neither do I,” he replied. I came to the conclusion that men’s opinions weren’t too strong, as he had changed his so easily (125).

I soon became friends with Janice and Damien, two strange characters who shared similar beliefs to mine. They didn’t support the war and fully supported women’s rights. One day, we were eating lunch when they brought up the three most popular Federalist girls at school: Regina, Gretchen, and Karen.

“There’s the Federalists. That’s Karen. She’s so dumb she couldn’t even finish sewing her flag,” Janice said.

“There’s Gretchen. She’s a total gossip. Thankfully she doesn’t have a husband so she can’t sway his views to support Federalism,” Damien said.

“And there’s Regina. She loves drama and the war. She makes the best flags in town and she convinces almost all the boys to support Federalism,” Janice said (149).

The next day of school, I was walking towards Janice and Damien in the cafeteria when Regina called me over to her table. She asked me my political stance. I hesitated.

Before I could answer, she said, “So you mean you’re not a Federalist?” She asked me.

“I didn’t say anything,” I replied. She asked me to hang out with them for the rest of the week. I agreed, to see what they were like.

A week later, and boy, did I hate them. They were mean, shallow, and only cared about sewing their dumb flags. On Wednesday, we went to the mall, and Regina prank called a girl and told her that her flag was the ugliest she’d ever seen. They would tell me secrets about other Republican girls at our school. Finally, I had had enough. I stopped hanging out with them and found a new crowd instead.

I was voted prom queen and gave my speech.

“To everyone out there who’s a Federalist: you’re wrong. You support cattiness, drama, and war to make your point. You’re a mean girl. And you’ll never win a crown,” I said.

Even though I had stopped hanging out with the most popular girls in school, I had won and so had my candidate—James Monroe. It was an amazing senior year. All of the Federalist women had basically stopped hanging out and sewing flags, and had focused their energy on other things, like the weather, the lacrosse team, and another clique (158). It’s safe to say I had found my way at public school, and I had learned that violence—whether it be through a prank call or through war—was never the answer.