Because we've always done it that way.' During my 12-year tenure

Host: The night rain whispered against the tall windows of a government office — sterile, gray, and haunted by the hum of fluorescent lights. Stacks of files sat untouched on the desks, thick with dust and bureaucracy. The faint smell of coffee and paper hung in the air like a stubborn ghost.

Jack stood near the window, his reflection split between the glass and the lights of the Capitol beyond. His jacket was draped over the back of a chair, his tie loosened, the posture of a man who’s been fighting the same battle for too long. Across from him sat Jeeny, arms crossed, her eyes calm but sharp — the kind of stillness that challenges chaos simply by existing.

Host: It was late — too late for politics, but just right for truth.

Jeeny: reading from her tablet softly “Dan Bongino once said, ‘Because we’ve always done it that way.’ During my 12-year tenure as a special agent with the U.S. Secret Service, I heard those words all too often. The agency, in my experience, has an entrenched management culture resistant to change.’”
She set the tablet down, folding her hands. “That’s not just a government problem, Jack. That’s a human one.”

Jack: half-smirking “Yeah. The world’s biggest excuse: tradition dressed up as logic.”

Jeeny: “And the most dangerous four words in any organization.”

Jack: “In every life, too. You ever notice how people run their entire existence on autopilot? Same habits, same decisions, same fears — because it’s familiar. Because it’s safe.”

Jeeny: “Safe isn’t the same as right.”

Jack: turning toward her “Tell that to the ones who’ve spent decades protecting themselves from failure. Or from truth.”

Host: A low rumble of thunder rolled in the distance. The city outside was slick with rain and light, reflecting off the window like a restless mirror.

Jeeny: “Bongino wasn’t just talking about bureaucracy. He was talking about inertia — the kind that eats institutions from the inside out. Systems built to protect start suffocating themselves.”

Jack: “I’ve seen it firsthand. Everyone preaches innovation until it threatens their authority.”

Jeeny: “Because real change doesn’t just demand ideas. It demands ego to die.”

Jack: quietly “And that’s the one thing nobody wants to surrender.”

Host: He ran a hand through his hair, pacing slowly. The faint squeak of his shoes against the floor echoed like punctuation marks to his frustration.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? The higher you go in any system, the more terrified people become of disruption. They’d rather maintain dysfunction than risk evolution.”

Jeeny: “Because dysfunction feels predictable. Change feels like falling.”

Jack: “But it’s the only way to climb.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her voice quiet but precise — the sound of conviction sharpened by experience.

Jeeny: “We do it in our own lives too. ‘Because I’ve always done it that way.’ The same jobs, the same patterns, the same pain. We keep repeating the old until we forget it’s killing us.”

Jack: nodding slowly “You’re saying every bureaucracy is just a reflection of a person afraid to grow.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Institutions are just mirrors of human comfort zones. We build systems that mimic our fears, not our courage.”

Host: The rain outside grew steadier, washing the city lights into blurred rivers of color. Inside, the room glowed dimly — two faces lit by a single desk lamp, shadows stretching long across the carpet.

Jack: “When I was a consultant for that federal agency last year, I saw it too. Everyone talking about modernization, but no one willing to change the process that got them promoted. Progress was fine, as long as it didn’t challenge their place in the hierarchy.”

Jeeny: “The illusion of change — evolution without transformation.”

Jack: “They wanted results, not reform.”

Jeeny: “Because reform demands vulnerability. You can’t evolve without admitting something’s broken.”

Jack: smiling faintly “That’s the line they never cross. They’ll fix the machine, but never question the operator.”

Host: The clock ticked in the corner, steady and accusatory. The rhythm matched the rain, matched the heartbeat of a system too big to feel itself falter.

Jeeny: “That’s what Bongino meant. The ‘entrenched culture.’ It’s not the process that resists — it’s the people. People addicted to control. They guard old methods like relics because the alternative — uncertainty — feels like chaos.”

Jack: “And chaos terrifies order.”

Jeeny: “But without chaos, there’s no birth. No innovation. No new life.”

Jack: leaning against the wall, thoughtful “So the system becomes its own prison.”

Jeeny: “And we become its guards.”

Host: Her words landed softly, but the truth beneath them was seismic. Jack stared at her, the kind of look that happens when understanding hurts more than ignorance ever did.

Jack: “You think it can change?”

Jeeny: “It has to. Every rigid thing eventually breaks.”

Jack: “And the people who hold it up?”

Jeeny: “They’ll break too — unless they learn to bend.”

Jack: quietly “You sound like you’ve done some breaking yourself.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Haven’t we all? The difference is whether you rebuild stronger or bitter.”

Host: The silence between them deepened again — not empty this time, but full of recognition. The rain softened into a delicate rhythm, a lullaby for the restless.

Jack: after a long pause “You know what bothers me most? We treat change like an enemy when it’s the only thing that’s ever saved us.”

Jeeny: “Because change has bad PR.”

Jack: laughing softly “What?”

Jeeny: “It shows up wearing uncertainty and destroys the things we’ve built — so we think it’s cruel. But really, it’s mercy in disguise. It clears the wreckage so something living can grow.”

Jack: “And most people never let it.”

Jeeny: “Because they mistake the wreckage for identity.”

Host: A faint lightning flash illuminated their faces, brief and beautiful. Jack’s reflection in the glass looked older than he felt — maybe wiser, maybe just tired.

Jeeny: “Bongino spent years inside a machine built to protect the most powerful people on Earth. He saw how that power feeds fear. How institutions that start noble turn rigid. But his words aren’t about politics — they’re about human nature.”

Jack: “You’re saying every system starts with purpose and ends with procedure.”

Jeeny: “Unless someone’s brave enough to keep the purpose alive.”

Jack: “And if no one is?”

Jeeny: “Then the system dies pretending it’s still working.”

Host: The thunder rolled again, softer this time — as if the sky were agreeing, reluctantly.

Jack: looking back at the city “So what do we do, Jeeny? How do we change a culture that’s built to resist itself?”

Jeeny: “Start small. One honest voice inside the noise. One act of courage inside the comfort. That’s how revolutions start — not with fireworks, but with fatigue that finally chooses truth.”

Jack: “You really believe that?”

Jeeny: “I have to. Because if I don’t, the machine wins.”

Jack: after a long silence “Then maybe the first change starts here.”

Jeeny: “With you?”

Jack: nodding slowly “With us. With anyone tired of hearing ‘we’ve always done it that way.’”

Host: The rain stopped. The world beyond the window gleamed clean, the streets reflecting the first fragile promise of renewal.

Jeeny gathered her things, her voice softer now, almost like prayer.

Jeeny: “You know, it’s not just institutions that resist change. Hearts do too. Maybe that’s why Bongino’s words sting — because they remind us that tradition without reflection is just fear wearing a uniform.”

Jack: smiling faintly “And fear never built anything worth keeping.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: As the lights flickered off one by one, the room was left in a hush that felt almost sacred — the pause before reform, before courage takes its first breath.

Outside, the city still glowed — endless, imperfect, alive.

And within that quiet, Dan Bongino’s truth lingered like a verdict written in rain:

that every system, every company, every human life
faces the same defining moment —
the choice between comfort and growth, repetition and renewal,
obedience and change.

Host: And when the time comes,
those who dare to break the sentence,
who refuse to live by “because we’ve always done it that way,”
become not rebels —
but architects of what comes next.