Guest post by Kurt Navratil
It was the tail end of a gray but delightful Blue Ridge autumn Sunday, an eventful day with a neighborhood celebration, friends, neighbors sharing a meal on the street and kids in costumes everywhere. I was finally relaxing when a lightning bolt came through my computer.

The announcement of a meeting for conversation at a Salem coffee shop.
On Monday at 9am.
Roanoke constituents have waited for an opportunity to speak with Congressman Ben Cline for months now. Every Monday, gathered in downtown Roanoke, hundreds have been looking for, searching for, watching for an appearance, a hint of presence of the congressman– to no avail.
The invitation promised local representatives of the Republican Party, the party that controls all three branches of the federal government, a government in the middle of an extended shutdown, gathering in a coffee shop not five miles from the VA Hospital in Salem, no more than ten miles from more than two other hospitals, more than four rehabilitation centers, more than five retirement centers, all with hundreds of patients and dozens of medical professionals and all concerned about shutdown impact on care being provided, professionals being paid, supplies being purchased, ambulances needing gas.
Surely there will be a crowd at this gathering! Thank heavens Mill Mountain Coffee has a large seating area that can accommodate over a hundred people.
I got to thinking: is this real?
This doesn’t make sense. A meeting for a conversation on a Monday? At 9am? Who can come to that? Most people are at work.
Cline and Griffith– purposefully difficult to find on a good day– willing to hold “a conversation”? Together? In public? With constituents?
And who is this invitee from West Virginia? The attorney general of West Virginia in Salem. What? Why?
I sent it to a friend and she was gob smacked.
“Wow. There will be cameras, a crowd, security! We should go early!”
“But what if it’s fake,” I replied.
“Well, we can get a coffee…” she said.
Having found one friend, I decided to see who else I could recruit. My most potent political friend– he’ll join me, I thought. But he has to work. I sent texts and emails to eight more friends. Previous commitments, a doctor appointment, out of town. It’s now close to 9pm on Sunday.
On Monday morning I head to Salem. Empty parking spaces all along Main Street. Curious…. Must be fake; no camera trucks, no Fox News. Nothing.
I park in the rear and go in the back door. I see a room to the left and glance in—a tiny space with a big table. Surely nothing happening in THAT closet. I walk to the main, expansive front room that has maybe seven people scattered about, drinking coffee, eating breakfast. I order a coffee and sit down.
8:15. Nothing.
My friend shows up. “Where is the crowd?”.
8:30. Nothing.
My friend recognizes two people sitting over by the wall. They saw the announcement and wanted to see if it was real.
Another woman is sitting by herself. I introduce myself and ask if she’s here for the “conversation”? “Yes” she replies. “Come join us,” I offer.
And then in walks Delegate McNamara.
One from our group wanders back to the tiny room and rushes back to us . “They are gathering in the back!” (McNamara must not have gotten the email to use the back door.)
We rush to the small room in the back of Mill Mountain Coffee.
I’m no architect, but this room is small. Maybe 15 ft by 12 ft with a large conference table in it. It holds maybe 12 people. And here’s McNamara, and a couple others milling about. No Cline. No Griffith. I wouldn’t recognize the attorney general of West Virginia. No Suetterlein. The main attractions are not here, but McNamara is.
We ask him if he supports the Republican-controlled government shutdown. Silence. What about clemency for George Santos? Silence. From there, questions from the table start to roll in. At one point McNamara turns his back on the questioners. Silence.
Then Morgan Griffith enters. Then, the attorney general of West Virginia arrives. Three Republican elected officials. Questions are directed to the front of the cramped space and Griffith requests more room.
No one moves.
He’s peppered with more questions about shutdown, health care, pay for the VA.
A Roanoke County veteran of the armed services, a person who gave years of their life to serve this country, who gets care from the VA, asks a question about health care for veterans. “We are not here to talk about that,” Griffith replies. “We’re here to talk Miyares”.
The questions continue.
And in strolls Ben Cline.
They actually did this. They scheduled a 9am Monday meeting in a tiny back room of a Salem coffee house so that they could limit attendance, control the discussion, and sneak out with minimal exposure.
Being with so many interested and engaged constituents of these Republican do-nothings was inspiring. The questions were accurate, well posed, respectful and pressing. It was clear that the rah-rah for Jason Miyares was sidelined. Instead, we heard the people ask about the failures for which these elected Republicans are responsible.
Did they answer questions? No! Did they acknowledge the moral bankruptcy of the Republican autocrats? No! To every question, the partisan Republican response was “it is being litigated,” “it’s the Democrats,” “as a supporter of non-partisan…,” “when it gets to the Supreme Court…” All deflection and duplicity.
We must, in this district, find every single appearance Ben Cline schedules and confront him with the issues that matter to the people of the Sixth Congressional District– funding for health care, for veterans’ care, for education, for clean water and air, for freedom from government overreach and illegal seizure, improvements to infrastructure and transportation. The Salem Surprise represents the opening salvo in the aggressive and relentless pursuit of making these elected representatives face the people and answer for their deeds and the misdeeds of the immoral and abhorrent Trump administration.


