Conquest is not in our principles. It is inconsistent with our

Host: The desert stretched endlessly, a vast ocean of sand under a bruised sunset. The sky bled into orange and violet, and the wind moved like an ancient spirit, whispering over forgotten bones and broken monuments. Far in the distance, a rusted flagpole leaned, its cloth shredded by time — once a symbol, now a ghost.

At the edge of an old outpost, two figures stood — Jack and Jeeny — watching the dying light fade into the horizon. Behind them, the skeletal remains of a jeep, riddled with bullet holes, glinted faintly beneath the setting sun.

On the hood, a weathered book lay open, the page marked by a finger stained with dust and oil. Across it were the words of Thomas Jefferson:
“Conquest is not in our principles. It is inconsistent with our government.”

Jeeny: quietly, her voice almost lost to the wind “He wrote that in 1801 — when America was still learning how to stand. Before we discovered we could conquer with more than armies.”

Jack: lighting a cigarette, eyes on the horizon “Before we discovered hypocrisy, you mean.”

Host: The flame from his lighter flickered against the wind, glowing briefly before surrendering. The smoke coiled upward, merging with the warm air that shimmered over the dunes. Jack’s eyes were hard — steel-grey, reflective, tired. Jeeny’s gaze held something softer — not naivety, but sorrow.

Jeeny: “He believed it, Jack. Jefferson thought America could be different — a nation without empire, without blood for land. A government built not on domination, but on consent.”

Jack: exhales smoke “And yet, within decades, we had conquered the continent. The Trail of Tears. Manifest Destiny. The Philippines. Iraq. The language changes — ‘liberation,’ ‘security,’ ‘stability’ — but the act stays the same. Conquest by any other name still tastes like ash.”

Jeeny: “That’s not conquest, it’s corruption — a deviation from principle. Jefferson’s words weren’t a prophecy; they were a warning. He saw how easily liberty becomes justification for domination. The problem isn’t the idea — it’s forgetting it.”

Jack: scoffs, kicking a rock into the sand “Ideas don’t protect anyone, Jeeny. Flags don’t stop bullets. Principles don’t feed empires — greed does. And greed always wins.”

Host: The sun slipped lower, bleeding into the sand like the last breath of a wounded god. A single hawk circled overhead, its shadow gliding over the two of them. The air was dry, but thick with unspoken tension.

Jeeny: “Then why quote him? Why remember Jefferson at all if you think it’s all hypocrisy?”

Jack: “Because hypocrisy is history’s only honest language. Every empire quotes peace while it sharpens its sword. Jefferson’s words were written in ink — but America’s story was written in conquest.”

Jeeny: “And yet, it’s his ink we still read. His ideals that still challenge us. That contradiction is what makes the nation — not the perfection, but the pursuit.”

Jack: turns sharply toward her “Pursuit? You mean the illusion of virtue? We justified colonization as civilization. We bombed cities in the name of democracy. Every tyrant thinks he’s fulfilling Jefferson’s dream — that’s the curse of idealism.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. That’s the failure of conscience. The ideals weren’t meant to justify conquest — they were meant to restrain it. Jefferson knew human nature too well. That’s why he wrote the words. He was reminding us — conquest is temptation, not principle.”

Host: The wind grew stronger, scattering fine grains of sand across their faces. Jeeny’s hair whipped wildly, but she didn’t flinch. Jack narrowed his eyes, staring out toward the horizon — where a military base loomed faintly in the distance, its lights beginning to glow.

Jack: pointing toward it “Tell that to the men in there. To the generals, to the contractors. They’ll quote Jefferson while selling weapons. They’ll talk about freedom while they occupy another desert. The only thing inconsistent with government is honesty.”

Jeeny: steps closer, voice steady “And yet, without honesty, what’s left to govern? Cynicism doesn’t build nations, Jack — it buries them. Maybe we’ve fallen short, but the idea still matters. ‘Conquest is not in our principles’ — that’s not a lie. It’s a mirror. The shame we feel proves the principle isn’t dead.”

Host: For a long moment, they said nothing. The sound of wind filled the silence like the echo of distant artillery long ceased. The sun disappeared behind the dunes, and darkness began to bleed across the land.

Jack: “So what? We keep pretending? Keep believing in a purity that never existed?”

Jeeny: “Not pretending — aspiring. Jefferson’s words were never about what we were, but what we could become. A nation that learns to conquer itself instead of others.”

Jack: bitterly “And what does that mean? Disarm? Turn the other cheek while the world burns?”

Jeeny: “It means discipline. Moral restraint. The kind of power that chooses not to use its full strength. That’s what Jefferson meant by inconsistency — that conquest and liberty can’t coexist. One always devours the other.”

Host: The moon rose, pale and vast, casting long shadows across the sands. It turned the desert into a silver sea. The old flagpole swayed slightly, the remnants of the flag fluttering like a sigh.

Jack: “You really believe in that kind of restraint? Look at history, Jeeny. Every empire collapses because it thinks it can be moral and powerful at the same time.”

Jeeny: steps closer, her eyes catching the moonlight “Maybe that’s true. But collapse isn’t failure — it’s the price of forgetting. Jefferson wasn’t writing to the powerful; he was writing to the conscience of power. And every time we remember him, we reclaim a fragment of what we lost.”

Jack: softly, almost to himself “Then maybe we’ve been at war with our own reflection all along.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The only conquest that fits our principles is the conquest of pride.”

Host: The wind slowed, and the silence deepened — the kind that holds the weight of understanding. Jack crushed the end of his cigarette under his boot, watching the ember die in the sand.

Jack: “You always find redemption in contradiction.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Because contradiction is the birthplace of truth.”

Host: In the distance, the military lights shimmered like false stars, while the real ones began to appear — faint, fragile, but infinite. Jack and Jeeny stood beneath them, two small figures framed by history and hope.

Jack: “So maybe Jefferson was naïve.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe he was warning us — that the moment conquest feels consistent with our government, we’ve already lost it.”

Host: The camera of the night drew back, showing the vastness of the desert, the insignificance of the two figures against its immensity. The wind whispered through the dunes, carrying fragments of old ideals across the sand like forgotten scripture.

And in that vast silence — between empire and echo, between cynicism and conviction — Jefferson’s voice lingered:

That liberty, once used as a weapon,
ceases to be liberty at all.