I don't think well of people who are prejudiced against people

Host: The train station was almost empty — a cavern of echoing footsteps and lingering dust. The evening light spilled through the high windows, gold fading into gray, casting long, trembling shadows on the tiled floor.

Somewhere down the platform, a train horn groaned, distant and tired, like the voice of history itself.

Jack sat on a wooden bench, coat unbuttoned, a newspaper folded neatly beside him. Jeeny stood nearby, her hands tucked into her coat pockets, her eyes fixed on the tracks as if waiting for something more than just a train — maybe a reckoning.

The loudspeaker crackled, then fell silent again. Only the faint hum of time filled the space.

Jeeny: “Rosa Parks once said, ‘I don’t think well of people who are prejudiced against people because of race. The only way for prejudiced people to change is for them to decide for themselves that all human beings should be treated fairly. We can’t force them to think that way.’”

Jack: leans back, exhaling “She said that after changing the world by sitting down. Funny, isn’t it? How someone who refused to move could move mountains.”

Jeeny: softly “Because her stillness was louder than all the shouting around her.”

Jack: “Maybe. But her words there — they’re more bitter than hopeful. She’s saying we can’t fix them. That hate has to burn itself out from the inside.”

Jeeny: “Not bitter, Jack. Honest. You can’t legislate the human heart. You can make laws, but laws don’t teach empathy.”

Jack: “No, but they can stop bullets.”

Host: The wind rushed through the open platform, carrying with it the smell of steel and rain. A loose poster flapped on the wall — its corners torn, its message faded: Equality is not optional.

The words trembled with the rhythm of the approaching train.

Jeeny: “That’s the problem though. We keep building systems to manage hate instead of healing it. Rosa wasn’t just tired that day — she was done waiting for humanity to evolve on its own.”

Jack: “And yet she still believed people had to decide for themselves. That’s the paradox. You can’t drag someone into compassion.”

Jeeny: “No. But you can stand in front of them long enough for them to see what it looks like.”

Jack: grins faintly “So resistance as a mirror?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You reflect back their cruelty until they can’t stand to look anymore.”

Jack: “That takes faith. More than I’ve got.”

Jeeny: turns to him “Faith isn’t certainty, Jack. It’s courage without evidence.”

Jack: “Sounds like a bad investment.”

Jeeny: “Then tell me, what’s the alternative? Despair? Indifference?”

Jack: shrugs “Realism.”

Jeeny: “Realism built the walls. Faith breaks them.”

Host: The train arrived with a roar — brakes screeching, doors hissing open. A burst of cold air filled the platform, carrying snippets of other people’s conversations, fragments of their lives.

Jack and Jeeny didn’t move. They just watched as strangers passed, faces blurred by motion and light.

Jack: “You ever wonder what kind of world she imagined when she sat on that bus? Not just equality — but what it felt like? A world where no one had to prove their humanity?”

Jeeny: “Maybe she didn’t imagine it. Maybe she just decided to live as if it already existed. That’s how revolutions start — not with demands, but with examples.”

Jack: “That’s idealistic.”

Jeeny: “And necessary. If no one lives the ideal, how does the world know it’s possible?”

Jack: “You make it sound so simple. Just act like hate doesn’t exist.”

Jeeny: “No. Just refuse to let it define your response. Rosa didn’t fight back with violence. She fought by sitting still — by denying them the satisfaction of fear.”

Jack: quietly “Stillness as defiance.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. She showed that dignity isn’t something they can take from you — only something you can surrender.”

Host: A child’s laughter drifted from the far end of the platform — brief, bright, and innocent. The sound echoed against the high arches, lingering long after the child was gone.

Jack’s eyes softened, following the sound. For a moment, the cynicism in his voice faded.

Jack: “You know, I used to think change came from argument. Convince enough people, shout loud enough, and you can change a mind. But Rosa — she didn’t argue. She just made injustice visible.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. She knew you can’t shame hate out of people. You can only make it impossible for them to ignore.”

Jack: leans forward, elbows on knees “So what are we supposed to do with the ones who never change? The ones who look right at truth and still choose hate?”

Jeeny: “You outlast them. Like she did. History doesn’t belong to the loudest voices — it belongs to the most enduring.”

Jack: “That’s a long game.”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “The only one that ever works.”

Host: The train doors closed. Its engines hummed low, like a heartbeat preparing to leave. The station grew quieter, the echoes settling into memory.

A small moment of stillness stretched between them, fragile but profound.

Jack: “It’s strange. Her words — they sound resigned. But maybe that resignation is the purest kind of hope. The kind that doesn’t need applause.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Hope that understands the world might never be perfect — and still chooses to act anyway.”

Jack: softly “I wonder if I’d have that kind of strength.”

Jeeny: “You would, Jack. Maybe not in a bus. But in your own way. The courage to stay kind — that’s where it starts.”

Jack: “Kindness feels small against hate.”

Jeeny: “So does a spark against darkness. But you’ve seen what one spark can do.”

Host: The train began to move, its motion stirring the air around them, lifting loose papers from the ground, brushing against their coats. The light flickered through the windows, moment by moment — illumination, shadow, illumination again.

Like history repeating, learning, failing, trying again.

Jack: stands slowly, picks up the old newspaper “You think people can really change?”

Jeeny: “Not all at once. But one by one — yes. It starts when someone decides to see others as human. And that decision can’t be forced — it has to be chosen.”

Jack: “Like love.”

Jeeny: “Exactly like love.”

Host: The last car of the train disappeared into the distance, leaving behind only a faint rumble fading into quiet. The station was still again. The light had dimmed, but not gone.

Jack looked at Jeeny, something heavy but tender in his expression — the understanding that change, real change, isn’t about conquest. It’s about patience.

And as they stood there in the dim gold of evening, surrounded by stillness and echoes, the truth of Rosa’s words lingered in the air — not as resignation, but as instruction:

You can’t force the human heart to awaken.
You can only keep the light burning,
until it chooses, on its own,
to see.