Difficult times often bring out the best in people.

Host:
The evening sky burned low over the city, streaked in copper and ash. A faint smell of rain and concrete hung in the air — that scent that arrives before a storm but after too many headlines. Down below, the streets glimmered with puddles and protest posters half-torn from the wind. It was the kind of night when the world felt both wounded and alive.

Inside a small community hall, the walls were covered with handwritten signs: “Help Center — Food Distribution,” “Neighbors First,” “Hope is Work.” The hum of conversation filled the air: volunteers unpacking boxes, organizing donations, sharing coffee.

In one corner, Jack was stacking crates of canned food, sweat running down his temple, his shirt rolled at the sleeves. Jeeny handed him a clipboard, her fingers marked with ink and dust. The fatigue between them was real — but so was the quiet fire.

Jeeny: “Bernie Sanders once said — ‘Difficult times often bring out the best in people.’”
Jack: [chuckling wearily] “Well, I’m not sure if this is the best version of me, but it’s definitely the sweatiest.”
Jeeny: “No, this is the best. The part of you that still shows up when everything’s falling apart — that’s the proof.”
Jack: “You mean endurance masquerading as goodness?”
Jeeny: “No. I mean humanity stripped of performance. Crisis burns off the pretense. What’s left — compassion, courage, solidarity — that’s the real us.”
Jack: “You sound like a campaign speech.”
Jeeny: [smiling softly] “Only because I still believe people are better than they pretend to be.”

Host:
Outside, thunder rumbled, and the streetlights flickered. A few volunteers rushed to shut the windows, laughing as the wind swept through, lifting papers and hope alike. The hall smelled faintly of coffee and cardboard — ordinary things, but somehow sacred tonight.

Jack: “You really think struggle brings out the best? Feels like it brings out panic, division, fear — I’ve seen it.”
Jeeny: “It does at first. But then something happens. When survival’s shared, people remember each other.”
Jack: “You mean necessity builds kindness?”
Jeeny: “Not kindness — connection. When comfort disappears, ego goes quiet. Suddenly you see the person beside you, not their politics or paycheck.”
Jack: “Maybe hardship’s the great equalizer.”
Jeeny: “It is — but only for those willing to see through it, not just suffer it.”
Jack: “And the others?”
Jeeny: “They break. Or worse — they harden.”

Host:
The rain started, tapping hard against the windows, rhythmic and relentless. The sound filled every silence, every pause. Jeeny stood by the table, checking inventory, her eyes sharp but distant, as though thinking of all the unseen faces outside.

Jack: “You know, it’s strange. You’d think wealth or power would reveal character. But it’s struggle that does it. I’ve seen people with nothing give everything.”
Jeeny: “That’s because generosity costs less when you have less to protect. The wealthy often confuse accumulation with safety. The poor already know safety doesn’t exist.”
Jack: “So you’re saying suffering purifies people?”
Jeeny: “Not suffering — response. Pain doesn’t automatically make you good. It gives you a choice: to become bitter, or to become kind.”
Jack: “That’s the real test of character.”
Jeeny: “Exactly. Difficult times are the exam; empathy is the passing grade.”

Host:
A child’s laughter broke out from the other side of the room — a small boy helping his mother fold blankets. The sound cut through the fatigue, pure and unafraid. Even Jack paused, the tension in his shoulders softening.

Jack: “You think maybe that’s why people like Bernie still believe in hope? Because they’ve seen that — the small goodness, the quiet acts that don’t make headlines?”
Jeeny: “Yes. Because hope isn’t naive; it’s defiant. It’s looking at despair and saying, ‘You don’t get the last word.’”
Jack: “But don’t you ever get tired of believing in people?”
Jeeny: “Of course. But belief isn’t comfort. It’s discipline. You have to keep choosing it.”
Jack: “Faith as activism.”
Jeeny: “Exactly. And in hard times, it’s the only kind that matters.”

Host:
The storm intensified, wind whistling through the cracks of the old building. But inside, the light was steady — yellow, warm, alive. Jeeny sat down beside Jack, both of them covered in the grit and grace of the day.

Jack: “You know, I’ve always thought crisis shows who we really are — but maybe it also shows who we could be.”
Jeeny: “Yes. Because when comfort’s gone, imagination wakes up. People start inventing new ways to care.”
Jack: “Like this place.”
Jeeny: “Exactly. Half of this was built by strangers who didn’t wait for permission.”
Jack: “You ever wonder why it takes collapse to wake us up?”
Jeeny: “Because comfort sedates the conscience. Adversity shocks it back to life.”
Jack: [nodding] “So difficulty isn’t just pain — it’s the reboot.”
Jeeny: “The human reset button.”

Host:
The thunder rolled again, but softer this time — as if even the storm had grown tired. The volunteers began to pack up, their voices quiet but content. Jeeny leaned back, staring up at the leaking ceiling. A drop fell, landing neatly in her open hand.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack, every time I lose faith in humanity, I see something like this — a community center filled with tired people who still show up.”
Jack: “And you remember that the world isn’t saved by heroes, but by helpers.”
Jeeny: “Exactly. Ordinary people doing extraordinary things simply because no one else will.”
Jack: “Maybe that’s what Bernie meant — that difficulty doesn’t create goodness, it just uncovers it.”
Jeeny: “Yes. The best in people is always there. Crisis just removes the excuses.”

Host:
The rain slowed, fading into a gentle drizzle. The air inside smelled of wet wood and human warmth. Jack picked up a broom, sweeping the last bits of debris from the floor, while Jeeny gathered the leftover food into boxes for the morning crew.

Their movements were small, tired, unheroic — and entirely holy.

Jack: “You know, I think people romanticize the idea of ‘bringing out the best.’ They imagine triumph and glory. But really, it looks like this — late nights, heavy boxes, quiet persistence.”
Jeeny: “Because the best isn’t glamorous. It’s patient.”
Jack: “You think we’ll remember that once things get easier again?”
Jeeny: “Only if we write it down — not in books, but in behavior.”
Jack: “So goodness has to be practiced, not preached.”
Jeeny: “Always.”

Host:
The lights flickered once, then steadied. The storm was passing. The city outside exhaled, and through the window, the first faint shimmer of dawn began to appear — fragile, uncertain, but real.

Jack and Jeeny stood quietly, watching the light return, their faces calm, worn, hopeful.

And as the morning crept in,
the truth of Bernie Sanders’ words lingered like a heartbeat beneath the quiet —

that in times of crisis,
what survives is not wealth, not power, not pride,
but character.

That difficulty does not make people better —
it simply removes what hides their goodness.

And that when the world grows dark,
the light that rises is not from leaders or slogans,
but from ordinary hands —
lifting, building, sharing, enduring.

For in every difficult time,
the best in humanity is not found in the victory,
but in the effort —
the stubborn, shining refusal
to stop being kind.