Feminism is doomed to failure because it is based on an attempt

Host: The rain drummed steadily on the tin roof of an abandoned warehouse by the river, where the city lights flickered across puddles like broken mirrors. Inside, the air smelled of rust, coffee, and electric silence.

Jack stood near a cracked window, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers, smoke curling upward like a slow thought. Jeeny sat on an overturned crate, a folder of papers beside her, her eyes reflecting the neon blue that leaked through the glass.

The evening had that strange stillness before revelation — the kind where even the rain seemed to be listening.

Jeeny: “Phyllis Schlafly once said, ‘Feminism is doomed to failure because it is based on an attempt to repeal and restructure human nature.’”

Host: Her voice was soft, but the words fell heavy — like a gavel on a table.

Jack: (taking a drag, exhaling slowly) “She wasn’t wrong, you know. You can’t rewrite what’s written into our bones. Men and women are different — biologically, psychologically. You start pretending otherwise, and you end up building a world out of denial.”

Jeeny: (leaning forward) “You think that’s what feminism is? Pretending? It’s not about erasing difference, Jack. It’s about dismantling the hierarchy built on that difference. There’s a difference between nature and narrative.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, beating in sync with the rhythm of their words. The light from passing cars sliced through the darkness, then vanished again.

Jack: “You talk about hierarchies, Jeeny, but they’re not just cultural. They’re biological. Look at any species — dominance and submission, protector and nurturer, they’re all part of the order that keeps things running. Evolution didn’t make us equal; it made us complementary.”

Jeeny: “And yet, for centuries, that word ‘complementary’ has been used as a cage. Tell me, Jack — was it evolution that decided women couldn’t vote? Or was it fear dressed as order? Don’t blame biology for what men have written into law.”

Host: The sound of thunder echoed faintly in the distance, a deep murmur that lingered like an unspoken warning. Jack’s jaw tightened; his eyes turned toward the window, where the rain ran down like veins.

Jack: “You’re mixing nature and culture again. Maybe not all inequalities are man-made. Maybe feminism keeps trying to force equality where there’s only balance. You ever notice how the more society ‘liberates’ women, the more unhappy they seem? Rates of depression, loneliness, burnout— they’ve all gone up. Maybe nature is pushing back.”

Jeeny: (sharply) “Or maybe society is. Women are free to work now, but the system never changed to support them. You can’t tell someone to fly and then cut off their wings. The problem isn’t that we’re trying to restructure human nature — it’s that we’ve never really understood it.”

Host: A pause. The rain softened. The echo of a train horn drifted faintly from across the river, low and distant. The air between them thickened — not with anger, but with the slow gravity of meaning.

Jack: “So you’re saying human nature is… flexible?”

Jeeny: “I’m saying it’s alive. It evolves. Once upon a time, people said slavery was natural. They said monarchy was divine. They said love between two men was an illness. And yet — here we are, rewriting what it means to be human. Every century, we push that line a little further.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Until it breaks?”

Jeeny: “Until it frees.”

Host: The sound of her voice lingered in the air, trembling like a flame that refused to die. Jack’s eyes met hers, his usual cynicism flickering with something softer — curiosity, maybe even respect.

Jack: “You sound like you think we can just evolve out of biology.”

Jeeny: “Not out of it — beyond it. Feminism isn’t about pretending men and women are the same. It’s about giving both the choice to be who they are, not who they’re told to be. Look at Malala Yousafzai — she didn’t fight to be a man. She fought to be a girl with a voice.”

Jack: “Yeah, but for every Malala, there’s a movement that goes too far. People demanding to erase every trace of gender, to pretend there’s no difference at all. That’s where Schlafly was right — it becomes an attempt to restructure what can’t be changed.”

Jeeny: “It’s not about erasing — it’s about expanding. Do you know what happens when you stop forcing people into roles? You get a spectrum — not a void. You get possibility. You get men who can cry without shame, women who can lead without guilt. Isn’t that what evolution is, Jack? Adapting to survive?”

Host: Jack dropped the cigarette, crushing it beneath his boot. The rain had stopped, leaving a low hum of dripping water and distant traffic. His reflection shimmered in the puddle at his feet, distorted but somehow familiar.

Jack: (quietly) “You talk like someone who’s still trying to believe the world can change.”

Jeeny: “And you talk like someone who’s afraid it already has.”

Host: For a moment, they both laughed, not from humor, but from that strange recognition that comes when two opposing truths collide.

Jack: “You know, I think about my mother sometimes. She worked two jobs, raised us without a father, never complained. She said she didn’t need feminism — she just needed a fair shot. Maybe Schlafly’s kind of woman wasn’t against strength; maybe she just didn’t want to be told how to define it.”

Jeeny: “And maybe your mother was a feminist without the word for it. Isn’t that the irony? The label divides what the heart already understands.”

Host: A silence unfolded — deep, reflective, almost tender. Outside, the river caught the city’s light, turning it into a trembling ribbon of silver.

Jack: (softly) “Maybe feminism isn’t doomed, then. Maybe it’s just… unfinished.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Because the moment you call it finished, you’re saying equality is done — and it never is. Every generation writes its own version of what it means to be free.”

Host: The warehouse filled with the faint hum of electricity, as though the walls themselves were breathing again. Jack picked up his coat, Jeeny closed her folder. The rain outside began again, light and uncertain, like a heartbeat resuming after a pause.

Jack: “You really believe we can change human nature?”

Jeeny: (smiling) “No. But I believe we can expand it.”

Host: The words lingered — fragile, luminous — as the two of them stepped out into the rain. The streetlights glowed through the mist, blurring everything — the lines, the shapes, the certainties.

And in that soft blur, there was something neither of them could deny anymore — that human nature itself might not be a law, but a story, still being written, drop by drop, in the rain.