Don't be afraid to see what you see.

Host: The night had descended over Washington D.C., wrapping the city in a veil of mist and light. The Capitol dome gleamed like a pale moon, distant yet watchful. Down by the Potomac, in a quiet riverside park, Jack and Jeeny sat on an old bench beneath a flickering streetlamp.

The air carried the faint scent of wet leaves and stone, the kind of scent that makes one think of history — of words spoken long ago that still echo under the weight of consequence.

A newspaper rested on Jack’s knee, half-folded. The headline showed a black-and-white photograph of Ronald Reagan, hand raised mid-speech, his expression caught between charm and warning.

Jeeny watched the river, the reflections of city lights rippling across it like broken truth.

Jeeny: “Reagan once said, ‘Don’t be afraid to see what you see.’”

Jack: (exhaling smoke) “A rare moment of honesty from a politician. Most tell you not to look too closely.”

Host: The streetlamp above them buzzed softly, struggling against the fog, its light stretching long, uncertain shadows over the bench.

Jeeny: “He meant it as a warning — against denial. Against the kind of blindness people choose because reality’s too heavy to hold.”

Jack: “Or maybe he meant it as permission — to justify seeing only what fits your worldview. That’s the trick of power. It tells you the truth — but lets you decide what parts you want to hear.”

Jeeny: “That’s too cynical, even for you. He was talking about courage — moral vision. The ability to face things as they are, not as we wish them to be.”

Jack: “Courage? Maybe. But truth, Jeeny, is a knife. The more clearly you see, the more it cuts. Most people prefer the blur. It’s warmer there.”

Host: The river murmured softly, carrying a piece of the city’s noise out to sea — a whisper of history drifting toward oblivion.

Jeeny: “And yet, the blur is what keeps us asleep. That’s how lies take root — not through malice, but comfort. People would rather dream of peace than face the war in front of them.”

Jack: “You’re quoting every revolutionary ever born. But tell me, what good is truth if no one can bear it? Look at this city — built on ideals, held up by illusions. Every marble column hides compromise.”

Jeeny: “And still it stands. Maybe that’s what seeing really means — not tearing illusions apart, but holding them accountable to reality.”

Jack: (smirking) “You make it sound poetic. But politics isn’t poetry, Jeeny. It’s theatre — truth rewritten by whoever has the best lighting.”

Jeeny: “And yet, theatre needs an audience that can see the stage.”

Host: The wind picked up, carrying with it the faint sound of church bells from somewhere deep in the city, tolling eleven. The light trembled, their faces glowing and fading in its pulse.

Jack: “You know what scares me most? How easily people convince themselves that blindness is virtue. That refusing to see evil somehow keeps them innocent.”

Jeeny: “Because seeing makes them responsible. Once you see, you can’t pretend you didn’t. Vision demands action — and action costs comfort.”

Host: A sirens’ wail echoed far off, dissolving into the night. The river shivered.

Jack: “I remember watching the Berlin Wall fall on TV. Everyone cheering, believing they were watching the end of lies. But history’s clever — it just builds new walls with different words.”

Jeeny: “And yet people still chipped at the concrete. That’s the part that matters.”

Jack: “You always look for redemption in rubble.”

Jeeny: “Because rubble is proof that someone tried.”

Host: The streetlight flickered once more, sputtering, then steadied — a fragile, golden persistence against the night.

Jack: “You think Reagan’s words still mean anything? ‘Don’t be afraid to see what you see.’ It sounds noble — until what you see breaks you.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s when you truly start living. When comfort dies, awareness begins. It’s the price of being human.”

Jack: “Awareness without power is torment.”

Jeeny: “And power without awareness is corruption.”

Host: The pause between them stretched, as silent and taut as a wire. Jack’s cigarette had gone out. He didn’t light another. His hands rested still, his eyes fixed on the river — on the faint shimmer of the Capitol reflected there, beautiful and warped.

Jack: “You ever notice how reflections lie? The water shows you the shape, but never the truth.”

Jeeny: “That’s because truth isn’t still. It moves — like the river. You have to keep watching, even when it changes.”

Jack: (after a moment) “Seeing takes courage. But believing what you see — that’s something else entirely.”

Jeeny: “And yet, denial’s what kills us slowly. Not ignorance — denial. We see the homeless man under the bridge, the inequality, the planet burning — and we scroll past it. We all see. We just refuse to feel what seeing demands.”

Host: The fog thickened now, swallowing the lights one by one. The city dimmed to silhouettes and faint whispers.

Jack: “So you think seeing is salvation?”

Jeeny: “No. But it’s the beginning of it.”

Host: A long silence. Somewhere across the river, a lone train groaned past, metal wheels crying on metal tracks — the sound of movement, inevitability, the turning of time.

Jack: “Funny, isn’t it? How the truth can be so close and still invisible. Maybe Reagan was right — we’re afraid to look. But maybe that’s because what we see is ourselves.”

Jeeny: “Yes. And maybe that’s the point — to face it anyway. Not to judge it, not to run from it. Just to see.”

Host: The light dimmed once more, their faces half-hidden in the dark. Jeeny’s eyes caught what little light remained — steady, unflinching, luminous in their conviction.

Jack: (softly) “You know, sometimes I think the bravest thing anyone can do is open their eyes in the dark.”

Jeeny: “And keep them open, even when it hurts.”

Host: The camera would pull back now — the bench, the river, the city breathing its slow, restless rhythm. Two figures in silhouette, caught between the glow of civilization and the truth beneath it.

The Capitol shimmered faintly through the fog — proud, imperfect, enduring — a symbol of both vision and blindness.

And above the murmur of water and wind, Reagan’s words seemed to linger in the air, not as command, but as challenge:

Don’t be afraid to see what you see.

Because sight, when unafraid, is not just perception — it is responsibility.
And in that, perhaps, lies the only real kind of freedom left.