As long as there is rape... there is not going to be any peace or

Host: The night was thick with rain, and the city seemed to hold its breath. Neon lights shimmered across wet pavement, painting broken reflections of faces, cars, and dreams that had gone nowhere. Inside a dim, smoke-stained diner, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a pale glow over empty coffee cups and forgotten plates.

Jack sat by the window, his grey eyes fixed on the distorted streetlight beyond the glass. Jeeny entered quietly, her coat damp, her hair clinging to her cheeks. She looked like someone carrying a storm within her.

She sat across from him. Neither spoke at first. The clock ticked. A car horn wailed somewhere far away.

Then she whispered, almost to herself —

Jeeny: “Andrea Dworkin once said, ‘As long as there is rape, there is not going to be any peace or justice or equality or freedom. You are not going to become what you want to become or who you want to become.’”

Host: Jack didn’t look up right away. He stirred his coffee, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic.

Jack: “That’s… a brutal truth. But too absolute, don’t you think? The world’s never been free of evil. It never will be.”

Jeeny: “Then you’ve already given up.”

Jack: “No. I’ve accepted what’s real. Violence, domination — they’re part of the human blueprint. We can fight it, but we can’t erase it.”

Jeeny: “That’s not acceptance, Jack. That’s surrender.”

Host: Her voice was quiet but sharp — the kind of sharpness that comes from years of watching people look away.

Jeeny: “Dworkin wasn’t just talking about the act of rape. She was talking about the idea of it — the way it’s embedded in culture, in how power is distributed. It’s not about one crime; it’s about an entire world built on violation.”

Jack: “And yet the world keeps turning. People go to work, fall in love, build families. You make it sound like everything’s rotten.”

Jeeny: “Because it is — beneath the surface. When half of humanity lives in fear, the other half cannot call itself free. You can’t build peace on terror, Jack.”

Host: The rain intensified, slamming against the window like a chorus of invisible hands. Jack’s jaw tightened. He looked at Jeeny, his eyes full of fatigue — not just from the night, but from years of wrestling with impossible truths.

Jack: “I get the outrage, Jeeny. I really do. But outrage doesn’t build solutions. Look — laws have changed, awareness has grown. Progress is slow, but it’s real.”

Jeeny: “Real? You think progress means a few court cases, or hashtags, or speeches? The structure still stands. The violence hasn’t stopped — it’s just wearing new faces. Look at the statistics, Jack. Every year, millions of women — millions — are violated, silenced, dismissed. You call that progress?”

Jack: “Then what do you want? Revolution? Burn everything down?”

Jeeny: “If that’s what it takes to make the world safe to exist in your own body — yes.”

Host: The air in the diner thickened. A few customers turned to look, sensing the tension without understanding it. Jack leaned back, his hands folded, his voice low but laced with steel.

Jack: “You know what happens when you burn everything down? People die. Chaos replaces oppression. History repeats — just with new names. French Revolution, Russian Revolution — same pattern. People dream of justice and wake up to another tyrant.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But there’s a difference between destruction for power and destruction for rebirth. Sometimes you have to tear down the house to remove the rot.”

Jack: “And live in the ruins?”

Jeeny: “Better ruins than prisons.”

Host: The clock ticked louder now, as if the very room was measuring the heartbeat of their argument.

Jack: “You’re assuming purity exists, Jeeny. That if we remove every evil, we’ll have peace. But human nature doesn’t work like that. You get rid of one chain, and we’ll build another.”

Jeeny: “Then what’s the point of fighting?”

Jack: “To manage the chaos. To survive. That’s the most we can do.”

Jeeny: “No. That’s cowardice wrapped in philosophy.”

Host: Her words struck him hard. He looked away, the muscles in his jaw twitching. The neon sign outside flickered red against his face, like a heartbeat pulsing through the glass.

Jeeny: “As long as one person has the right to take another person’s body by force, everything we call civilization is a lie. You talk about human nature — but isn’t the point of civilization to rise above it?”

Jack: “Maybe. But not everyone wants to rise. Some just want to win.”

Jeeny: “And that’s why Dworkin was right. We’re trapped in a loop of domination — gendered, political, economic. Rape isn’t just an act; it’s a mindset. The idea that someone’s body, someone’s life, can be taken for another’s desire or power. Until that ends, everything else is hypocrisy.”

Host: The silence that followed was thick and heavy. Jack rubbed his temples, his voice softer now, stripped of arrogance.

Jack: “You think men like me don’t feel it too? The guilt? The weight of what’s been done in our name? Sometimes I look around and wonder if we even deserve redemption.”

Jeeny: “You do — if you fight for it. Not just with words, but with action. If you teach, if you speak, if you refuse to be silent. That’s how it starts.”

Host: Her eyes met his — not with anger anymore, but with something rawer. Hope, maybe. Or belief.

Jack: “You really think change starts with individuals?”

Jeeny: “Where else would it start? The system is built from us. Every silence, every joke we let slide, every story we don’t believe — we’re the bricks.”

Jack: “And what about forgiveness? Is there room for that in your war?”

Jeeny: “Forgiveness without justice is surrender. But justice with compassion — that’s peace.”

Host: The rain began to ease, softening into a steady drizzle. The diner felt quieter now, the anger between them cooling into contemplation.

Jack: “You know, I used to think freedom was just about being left alone. But maybe it’s about something deeper — about ensuring no one’s ever afraid to live.”

Jeeny: “That’s what Dworkin meant. You can’t become who you’re meant to be if the world you live in is still ruled by fear. Every act of violence against a woman kills a part of humanity’s soul.”

Jack: “So peace isn’t a treaty. It’s a conscience.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: They both sat in silence, the rain fading into the distance, replaced by the quiet hum of the city. Outside, a woman crossed the street alone under a single umbrella, her shadow stretching across the puddles.

Jeeny watched her, her eyes full of thought.

Jeeny: “Imagine a world where she doesn’t have to look over her shoulder.”

Jack: “That would be the real revolution.”

Host: The lights flickered once more, but this time, they steadied — casting a gentle glow over their tired faces. The steam from the coffee rose between them like a fragile symbol of warmth.

They didn’t speak again for a long time. Outside, the rain stopped entirely. The pavement glistened like fresh skin under the faint moonlight, and for the first time that night, the city seemed to exhale — as if it, too, wanted to believe in the possibility of peace.