Both Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump have tapped into a

Host: The Capitol dome glowed faintly in the cold Washington dusk, its white marble washed in the muted pink of sunset and the low hum of evening traffic. The streets were wet from a light rain, slick with reflection — streetlights shimmering like bruised gold against the asphalt. The city breathed uneasily, as it always did in election season: too loud, too tense, too self-aware.

Inside a dimly lit bar just a few blocks away, the air smelled of bourbon, wood polish, and tired conviction. Televisions hung in the corners, flickering between political commentators and sports scores. A few regulars muttered into their drinks.

At the far end of the bar, Jack sat with a glass of whiskey, his tie loose, his posture that of a man who had seen too much of the machinery behind the headlines. Across from him, Jeeny stirred her soda water with a straw, her expression calm but her eyes sharp — the kind of gaze that could read the world’s contradictions like scripture.

Jeeny: “Mike Coffman once said, ‘Both Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump have tapped into a legitimate anger about the failures of Washington, but instead of running a campaign built on a positive vision for overcoming these failures, Donald Trump has conducted a polarizing and divisive campaign.’”

Jack: half-smiling, not looking up “That’s the most polite way I’ve ever heard someone describe chaos.”

Jeeny: “It’s not chaos. It’s disillusionment with choreography. People got tired of the same dance.”

Jack: “Sure. But every revolution starts with anger — and ends with someone selling hats.”

Host: The bartender wiped a glass, the ice clinking softly in someone’s nearby drink. The television blared a montage of campaign rallies — the cheers, the red hats, the waving signs. Jeeny’s reflection shimmered in the bar mirror, fractured by the light, her voice steady but laced with sadness.

Jeeny: “Coffman was right about one thing: the anger was real. It wasn’t manufactured. People were — are — furious. About corruption, about inequality, about feeling invisible in their own country.”

Jack: “Anger’s honest. That’s why it works. Fear follows it like a dog.”

Jeeny: “And that’s where leadership comes in. Anger can be fuel or fire. Sanders turned it into solidarity. Trump turned it into spectacle.”

Jack: “Spectacle’s what sells. Solidarity doesn’t trend.”

Host: The bartender switched channels, and now the news anchors debated approval ratings in clipped, tired voices. A woman at the end of the bar shook her head and muttered, “They’re all crooks.” The city seemed to hum in agreement.

Jeeny: “You know, I think what Coffman was warning about wasn’t just division. It was distortion. When anger stops being about change and starts being about blame, it becomes a mirror for everyone’s worst fear.”

Jack: “So anger’s not the problem — the story we attach to it is.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. When Sanders said the system was broken, people believed him because they could feel it. When Trump said the same thing, he gave them someone to hate for it. Both offered truth — only one weaponized it.”

Host: The rain started again, tapping softly on the windows. The city lights blurred, turning the night outside into watercolor. Inside, time seemed to slow.

Jack: “It’s strange. Everyone says Washington’s the problem. But Washington’s just a mirror, Jeeny. It reflects whatever we keep sending back to it — anger, division, fear.”

Jeeny: “And hope, when we remember to.”

Jack: dryly “When was that again?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Maybe the last time people voted for something instead of against someone.”

Host: Jack swirled his whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light, his reflection looking older, wearier.

Jack: “You ever think anger is the only emotion democracy truly understands? You can’t build policy around compassion — it doesn’t shout loud enough.”

Jeeny: “But you can build it around responsibility. Real democracy isn’t a scream — it’s an echo. It only survives if someone listens.”

Jack: “Listening doesn’t get you elected.”

Jeeny: “Neither does contempt. At least not forever.”

Host: The television volume dropped, and the sound of the rain grew louder, steady and unrelenting — as if the whole city were cleansing itself.

Jeeny: “You know what I think Coffman was really saying? That leadership isn’t about channeling anger — it’s about transforming it. About taking people’s pain and turning it into purpose.”

Jack: “But that takes patience. And patience doesn’t sell tickets.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But impatience burns democracies faster than corruption ever could.”

Jack: leaning forward, his tone quiet but sharp “You think people even want healing? Or do they just want to win?”

Jeeny: after a pause “They want to matter. Winning is just the loudest version of mattering.”

Host: The lights flickered briefly — a brownout, the city sighing under its own weight. The bar grew dim for a heartbeat, and in that flicker of darkness, the truth hung heavy between them.

Jack: “You know, what scares me isn’t that people are angry. It’s that they’re starting to enjoy it. Outrage is addictive — it gives you meaning without effort.”

Jeeny: “And that’s the tragedy. When anger becomes identity, there’s no room left for empathy. Just noise.”

Jack: “Then how do you fix a country that’s addicted to its own rage?”

Jeeny: “You start by telling the truth, even when it’s quiet. Especially when it’s quiet.”

Host: The rain outside softened, the storm easing into drizzle. A cab passed by, its headlights stretching across the window like a passing thought.

Jeeny: “Coffman’s lesson was simple, Jack. Anger without vision divides. Anger with vision rebuilds. The first tears things down. The second clears space for something new.”

Jack: smiling faintly “You really believe that?”

Jeeny: “I have to. Because cynicism doesn’t feed the hungry or reconcile the broken. It just congratulates itself for being right.”

Host: Jack stared into his glass for a moment longer, then set it down gently. The sound was small but final — like punctuation at the end of a long confession.

Jack: “You ever think this city can change?”

Jeeny: “Only when its people do.”

Host: The rain stopped completely, and the air outside shimmered with stillness. The Capitol lights glowed again, steady, unmoved — a symbol both beautiful and burdened.

And as they rose from the bar, stepping into the damp night, their reflections blurred in the puddles — two silhouettes beneath a city still arguing with itself.

In the distance, the dome loomed not as an answer but as a question.

Because Mike Coffman was right:
Anger can be honest — even necessary —
but without hope, it becomes hunger.

And the lesson Washington keeps forgetting
is that division is easy —
but unity, real unity,
is the hardest act of leadership there is.