Hatred, anger, and violence can destroy us: the politics of

Host: The morning light was a trembling silver, cutting through the fog that hung over the riverbank. The city beyond was still waking — horns distant, footsteps sparse, the air crisp with the scent of rain-soaked stone.

A bridge arched over the slow-moving water, its surface scattered with fallen leaves. On the far side, a tea vendor’s stall smoked quietly, the kettle hissing like an old secret being told again and again.

That’s where Jack and Jeeny sat — on a worn bench, paper cups warming their hands, breath visible in the cold. The quote hung between them, printed on a torn newspaper clipping Jeeny had folded neatly:

“Hatred, anger, and violence can destroy us: the politics of polarization is dangerous.”
— Rahul Gandhi

Jeeny: “It feels simple, doesn’t it? Obvious even. And yet the world keeps choosing the fire.”

Jack: (staring at the river) “Simple words don’t change complex people. Everyone thinks they’re defending something sacred when they hate.”

Host: The wind stirred the fog, weaving strands of white between them. The river moved with slow certainty — indifferent, ancient.

Jeeny: “But that’s the danger, Jack. People forget that hatred is easier than understanding. Anger gives you purpose when truth doesn’t.”

Jack: “Yeah. And it sells better, too. Polarization is good business. Politicians, pundits — they’ve turned division into an industry. Anger’s the new oil.”

Host: He took a sip from his cup, the steam rising between his hands like ghosts of old wars. Jeeny watched him carefully — the lines on his face etched deeper when he spoke of the world like this: a place too clever to be kind.

Jeeny: “But people still have a choice. You can refuse to buy into it.”

Jack: “You can try. But the moment you say something, you’re already on one side or the other. There’s no middle anymore. Just walls, screens, and algorithms pushing us apart.”

Host: Jeeny’s brow furrowed, her voice softening as she leaned closer.

Jeeny: “Then we’ve made silence look like peace. And that’s just another kind of violence.”

Jack: “You sound like a campaign poster.”

Jeeny: “And you sound like someone who’s forgotten hope.”

Host: A small smile ghosted across Jack’s lips, not amusement — resignation. He looked out at the river, where the reflection of the city broke and mended with every ripple.

Jack: “Hope doesn’t pay rent, Jeeny. Anger does. It keeps people watching, voting, buying. We’ve industrialized rage — turned it into entertainment. Look at the news cycle. Every headline is a loaded gun.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But Gandhi — and I mean both Gandhis — would’ve said that’s exactly why we need empathy more than ever. Not as some soft ideal, but as resistance. Compassion is rebellion in a world that profits from division.”

Host: A bus passed over the bridge, sending a low rumble through the ground beneath them. The sound faded into the city’s heartbeat — a thousand small noises forming one restless pulse.

Jack: “You talk about compassion like it’s a weapon.”

Jeeny: “It is. The only one that doesn’t destroy the person holding it.”

Host: Jack’s eyes flicked toward her — sharp, then softened by thought. He didn’t answer immediately. The fog thickened, blurring the outlines of the buildings until the skyline looked like memory.

Jack: “You know what I think? Hatred survives because it gives people belonging. Anger makes them feel like they matter. You take that away, and they fall into emptiness.”

Jeeny: “So teach them another belonging — one that doesn’t need enemies.”

Jack: “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It isn’t. But neither is living like this — afraid of everyone who disagrees with you.”

Host: A pause. The wind shifted, bringing with it the faint echo of street preachers and morning arguments — the city’s daily ritual of noise.

Jack: “You think polarization can be undone?”

Jeeny: “Not undone. Transformed. Like heat into light. Like pain into empathy. It’s not about silence — it’s about seeing the human under the headline.”

Jack: (bitterly) “That’s the kind of line that wins awards, not elections.”

Jeeny: (leans forward) “Maybe the problem is that we stopped wanting to win people — and started wanting to win arguments.”

Host: Her words hit hard, soft at first, then sinking like a stone beneath calm water. Jack looked down, turning his cup between his hands, watching the steam twist into the cold air.

Jack: “You know, I used to believe in something like unity. Back when I was younger. Then I watched people tear each other apart online — neighbors, friends — over things neither of them understood. And I thought: maybe we’re addicted to hating each other.”

Jeeny: “Maybe we’re just scared of being powerless. Hate makes us feel strong. Violence gives us motion, even if it’s in circles.”

Jack: “So what breaks the circle?”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Listening. Real listening. The kind that costs you pride.”

Host: The light began to shift — the sun fighting through the fog, gold touching the surface of the river, catching the slow drift of a floating leaf. The world began to take shape again — buildings, outlines, color.

Jack: “Rahul Gandhi said hatred destroys us. But maybe it’s not the destruction that scares me. It’s how good it feels on the way there. How righteous. How justified. That’s the real poison — when anger feels like virtue.”

Jeeny: “Yes. That’s how civilizations die — not from chaos, but from moral certainty. When everyone’s right, no one’s kind.”

Host: She reached out, resting her hand gently over his. A small gesture, quiet but anchoring — the kind of touch that bridges arguments better than logic ever could.

Jack: “You still believe people can change?”

Jeeny: “I believe people remember. They just need a reason.”

Host: A long silence. The river moved on, unbothered, reflecting both faces — one lined with weariness, the other lit with stubborn grace.

Jack: (softly) “So we start with remembering.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Remembering we’re human first, political second.”

Host: The fog lifted fully now, revealing the city in its pale morning light. The tea vendor laughed softly with a passerby, the sound like a note of fragile normalcy in a dissonant world.

Jack stood, stretching, his eyes softer now, less guarded.

Jack: “Hatred, anger, violence — they build fast. But maybe peace… peace just takes patience.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And courage. Don’t forget courage.”

Host: They began to walk along the river, the sun breaking free above the skyline. The camera panned out slowly, catching the city bathed in gold, its chaos momentarily hushed under the fragile promise of morning.

And in the faint reflection on the water, two figures walked side by side — divided by belief, united by understanding — proof that even in a polarized world, empathy still knows the way home.