I have never found, in a long experience of politics, that

Host:
The evening wind moved through the open windows of the study, rattling the pages of old newspapers pinned to the wall. The room smelled of ink, tobacco, and tired conviction. A desk lamp cast a pool of amber light over scattered documents — speeches, reports, and the morning edition already yellowing at the edges.

Outside, the city murmured — the kind of restless sound only democracies make: cars, chatter, protest chants fading into the dusk. Inside, Jack leaned over the desk, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the smoke curling up like a question. Across from him, Jeeny sat in an armchair, legs crossed, reading from an old clipping. Her tone was cool, precise — the voice of someone who has learned to see through slogans.

Jeeny: [reading aloud] “Harold MacMillan once said — ‘I have never found, in a long experience of politics, that criticism is ever inhibited by ignorance.’”
Jack: [half-smiling] “That’s the politest way anyone’s ever said ‘people will talk nonsense forever.’”
Jeeny: [grinning] “Yes. British diplomacy at its sharpest — the blade wrapped in civility.”
Jack: “He’s not wrong though. The less people know, the louder they seem to speak.”
Jeeny: “Because ignorance has one superpower — confidence.”
Jack: [exhaling smoke] “And democracy mistakes confidence for credibility.”
Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s the tragedy of public opinion — it never asks for qualifications.”

Host:
The lamp flickered faintly, shadows stretching long against the walls, like the ghosts of forgotten arguments. The air was thick with fatigue, the kind that comes not from work, but from witnessing history repeat itself too often.

Jack: “You know, politicians like MacMillan — they didn’t just endure ignorance, they courted it. They understood that you can’t govern reason. You govern perception.”
Jeeny: “True. The crowd’s voice doesn’t have to be informed — it just has to be loud enough to echo.”
Jack: “And when the echo gets strong enough, it becomes reality.”
Jeeny: [nodding] “Which is why truth is never enough in politics. You need narrative.”
Jack: “So ignorance fuels criticism, and criticism fuels attention.”
Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s a perfect ecosystem of outrage.”

Host:
A gust of wind blew through the window, scattering papers across the floor. Jack crouched to pick them up, muttering something under his breath that sounded halfway between a prayer and a curse.

Jeeny watched him, then continued, her voice low but steady.

Jeeny: “You know what’s fascinating about MacMillan’s quote? He wasn’t complaining. He was observing — almost amused by it.”
Jack: “Because he accepted it as a law of nature.”
Jeeny: “Yes. Like gravity. Or gossip.”
Jack: “He must have realized that knowledge rarely motivates people. Emotion does.”
Jeeny: “Exactly. The public doesn’t want accuracy. It wants affirmation.”
Jack: [smirking] “And politicians are just the best-paid actors in that theater.”
Jeeny: “With critics as the unpaid extras who think they’re directing.”

Host:
The clock on the wall ticked softly, its rhythm steady, almost defiant against the chaos of their conversation. Outside, the faint sound of a radio carried through the street — commentary, opinion, prediction — the endless hum of analysis.

Jack: “It’s funny. The more access people have to information, the less they seem to know. It’s like the volume of noise cancels out the clarity of thought.”
Jeeny: “Because information isn’t knowledge, Jack. It’s raw material. And most people never refine it.”
Jack: “So they react instead of reason.”
Jeeny: “Yes. Criticism without comprehension. It’s practically a sport.”
Jack: [laughing softly] “And ignorance gives you stamina.”
Jeeny: “Exactly. The less you know, the less you doubt — and doubt is exhausting.”

Host:
The cigarette burned low in Jack’s fingers, the ember glowing like a dying comet. He crushed it into the ashtray, leaving a small black scar in the glass. The act felt symbolic — the slow erosion of something fragile, maybe faith.

Jack: “You think it’s worse now than in MacMillan’s time?”
Jeeny: “No. Just louder. Ignorance has always been there — now it’s amplified.”
Jack: “So the only difference between 1960 and now is Wi-Fi.”
Jeeny: [smiling faintly] “And algorithms. They’ve made ignorance efficient.”
Jack: “And profitable.”
Jeeny: “That too. Outrage is currency. Attention is the stock market.”
Jack: [leaning back] “And truth? Just another commodity.”
Jeeny: “One that rarely trends.”

Host:
The city’s noise seemed to swell for a moment, like the pulse of a living organism — restless, opinionated, unending. Jack poured two drinks, the clink of the ice the only pure sound in the room.

Jeeny: “You know, what MacMillan said — it’s not just about politics. It’s about humanity. Ignorance and criticism are inseparable because both give people power. One pretends to know, the other insists on judging.”
Jack: “So everyone becomes an expert in everyone else’s mistakes.”
Jeeny: “Yes. Because understanding takes time, but judgment takes seconds.”
Jack: “And seconds are all anyone has patience for now.”
Jeeny: “That’s why wisdom feels obsolete. It doesn’t fit in a soundbite.”

Host:
Jeeny sipped her drink, her eyes distant, reflecting the dim city lights outside. Jack leaned against the desk, his tone quieter now, touched with that peculiar sadness reserved for realists.

Jack: “You know, there’s something tragic about it. The smarter the world gets, the less wise it feels.”
Jeeny: “Because wisdom requires humility, and humility can’t compete with headlines.”
Jack: “MacMillan must’ve known that too. Maybe that’s why he said it so dryly. He didn’t hate ignorance — he just stopped expecting it to stay quiet.”
Jeeny: “He understood that leadership isn’t about enlightenment. It’s about endurance.”
Jack: [nodding] “To survive being misunderstood.”
Jeeny: [softly] “And to keep doing the work, even when the noise mocks you.”

Host:
The wind outside calmed, and the room fell into a kind of peace. The scattered papers lay still now, as though even the air had grown tired of argument.

Jack turned off the lamp, leaving only the city glow spilling through the window — silver and unjudging.

Jeeny: [after a pause] “You know what’s ironic? Ignorance can’t inhibit criticism — but criticism can inhibit courage.”
Jack: “You mean the fear of being wrong stops people from being bold.”
Jeeny: “Yes. The ones who know the least talk the most. The ones who know the most stay silent — afraid of being torn apart by the noise.”
Jack: [thoughtfully] “So ignorance wins twice. First in speaking, then in silencing.”
Jeeny: “Exactly. And that’s the cost of a culture that values opinion over understanding.”
Jack: “Then maybe the real wisdom is not to argue — but to endure.”
Jeeny: “That was MacMillan’s secret. He didn’t try to silence ignorance. He outlived it.”

Host:
A siren wailed faintly in the distance, the city’s lullaby for those still awake. The clock struck eleven, and its echo hung in the air like punctuation at the end of a long debate.

Jack raised his glass, half in jest, half in reverence.

Jack: “To Harold MacMillan — the man who knew that ignorance talks and wisdom listens.”
Jeeny: [clinking her glass lightly against his] “And to every leader who still dares to think in a world that only shouts.”

Host:
The night deepened, swallowing sound, leaving only the quiet glow of understanding between them — the kind of understanding that doesn’t demand agreement, only reflection.

Outside, the city’s lights blinked like tired eyes. Inside, the two of them sat in that small, honest silence that follows truth — the silence MacMillan himself might have appreciated.

And in that silence,
the truth of Harold MacMillan’s words lingered —

that ignorance does not silence criticism,
it fuels it.

That those who know least
often speak most,
because certainty is the child of shallow thought.

But wisdom —
that quieter, rarer virtue —
does not argue with ignorance.
It observes.
It endures.
It waits.

For in the long rhythm of history,
the noise of the uninformed fades —
but the calm of understanding remains.

And perhaps,
as the city breathed its restless lullaby,
Jack and Jeeny understood —

that the true test of intelligence
is not in silencing the ignorant,
but in remaining unbroken
while they speak.