I love discussing social issues, but I'm not interested in scare

Host: The rain had stopped, but the city still shimmered as if it were crying in secret. The pavement glowed with the reflection of passing headlights, and somewhere far away, a church bell rang — its sound carried through the damp air, slow and forgiving.

Inside a small community center, the kind that smelled faintly of chalk, wet coats, and hope, Jack and Jeeny sat on folding chairs in a circle of emptiness. The evening’s meeting was over — the crowd gone, the debate finished — but the energy still lingered in the walls like heat after a storm.

Flyers about social justice, addiction recovery, and climate change fluttered on the bulletin board. A banner read: “Awareness Through Empathy.”

Jeeny leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice soft but steady.
She had just repeated Brie Larson’s words:

“I love discussing social issues, but I’m not interested in scare tactics. I believe there is a way to bring awareness in tandem with forgiveness and love.”

Jack smiled faintly — the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Jack: “Forgiveness and love. That’s a nice bumper sticker, Jeeny. But the world doesn’t change because people feel forgiven. It changes when they feel fear.”

Jeeny: “Fear doesn’t awaken people, Jack. It paralyzes them.”

Host: The light above them flickered. A few leftover chairs creaked as the wind slipped through a half-open window. The smell of rain mixed with the faint scent of burnt coffee from the hallway.

Jack: “Tell that to history. Fear ended wars, stopped crimes, forced governments to act. No one cared about pollution until rivers caught fire. No one marched for rights until they saw dogs and hoses turned on children. Awareness comes when people are shocked awake.”

Jeeny: “And then what? They march, they rage, they repost — and when the noise fades, the hearts stay cold. You can’t build peace on panic, Jack. It burns out too fast.”

Jack: “Maybe peace doesn’t come from hearts. Maybe it comes from pressure.”

Jeeny: “Pressure without compassion crushes, not changes.”

Host: The wind outside grew louder, rattling the glass like an impatient truth trying to get in. Jack stood, pacing slowly, his hands deep in his pockets. His reflection in the window looked like a ghost arguing with himself.

Jeeny watched him — patient, unwavering.

Jeeny: “When you talk about fear, you sound like a general preparing for battle.”

Jack: “Maybe that’s what we need — a war on apathy.”

Jeeny: “No. What we need is a resurrection of empathy.”

Jack: “You think love alone changes systems?”

Jeeny: “Not alone. But it’s the only thing that can heal what change breaks.”

Host: Her voice trembled, not with doubt, but with conviction. She gestured toward the bulletin board — the flyers of missing faces, of food drives, of promises written in bold type.

Jeeny: “Every poster here came from pain. But if pain is all we use to teach, people will stop listening. Fear numbs. Love sustains.”

Jack: sitting back down slowly “You sound like a preacher.”

Jeeny: “Maybe the world needs a few more of those. Not the kind who threaten hell — the kind who remind us we still have heaven inside.”

Host: A long silence settled. The clock ticked on the wall, its sound too steady for a room filled with ghosts of argument.

Jack stared at the floor, then spoke, his tone softer now — almost tired.

Jack: “When I was a kid, my mother worked in the hospital. She used to tell me the hardest part wasn’t telling patients the truth — it was doing it without taking away their will to live.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Jack: “She said the truth could either be a scalpel or a torch. It could cut or it could guide.”

Jeeny: “That’s the whole point, Jack. Awareness doesn’t mean terror. It means illumination.”

Jack: “You think the world wants illumination? People like the dark. It hides their comfort.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe love is the only thing bright enough to make them open their eyes willingly.”

Host: The rain began again — gentle this time, like a lullaby sung by the earth. Jeeny leaned back, eyes half closed, voice distant, reflective.

Jeeny: “When Brie Larson said that, I think she meant that awareness without forgiveness is violence of another kind. You can’t save people by shaming them into goodness.”

Jack: “But shame works. Ask any politician.”

Jeeny: “It works like poison works — quick, effective, and deadly to the soul.”

Jack: “So what? You want to hold hands and hope the world gets better?”

Jeeny: “No. I want us to fight — but with mercy. To argue, but still listen. To expose injustice without losing our humanity in the process.”

Jack: “You think mercy has power?”

Jeeny: “It’s the only kind of power that doesn’t destroy what it touches.”

Host: Jack rubbed his temples, staring at the faint steam rising from his untouched tea. The fluorescent light buzzed softly above them, the hum blending with the rhythm of the rain.

Jack: “You talk like you believe people can handle truth gently. But they don’t. They need to be shaken.”

Jeeny: “No — they need to be seen. The world is full of people screaming to be understood, not condemned. The loudest anger always hides a quiet wound.”

Jack: “So what do we do with the ones who hurt others? The corrupt, the cruel?”

Jeeny: “We hold them accountable. But we don’t strip away their humanity in the process. Otherwise, we become what we’re fighting.”

Jack: “You’re saying love even the ones who don’t deserve it?”

Jeeny: “Especially them. Because that’s when love is strongest — when it costs us.”

Host: The window rattled once more, then stilled. Outside, the streetlights glowed in perfect silence. Inside, the two of them sat like survivors of a war they hadn’t agreed to fight.

Jack looked at her — truly looked this time — and something in his expression changed. The usual sharpness softened, replaced by something that looked almost like surrender.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe fear builds walls, and love builds bridges. But bridges collapse too.”

Jeeny: “Then we rebuild them. That’s what awareness is — not just knowing what’s broken, but believing it can be mended.”

Jack: “And forgiveness?”

Jeeny: “Forgiveness is the blueprint.”

Host: The rain stopped for good this time. The night exhaled. The clock ticked once more, steady as breath.

Jack reached for his tea at last, took a small sip, grimaced, and smiled.

Jack: “Cold.”

Jeeny: “That’s what happens when you keep the world waiting too long.”

Host: They both laughed quietly — the sound small, fragile, but pure.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack… bringing awareness isn’t about shouting the loudest. It’s about whispering truth in a way the heart can hear.”

Jack: “You think the world’s ready for that?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But we can be.”

Host: The camera would have pulled back then — the two figures small against the vast room, surrounded by flyers and fading light. The window reflected them both: the cynic and the believer, the skeptic and the empath — two sides of the same human hunger to make sense of suffering without multiplying it.

And as the final streetlight flickered outside, Jeeny whispered, almost to herself:

Jeeny: “Love doesn’t silence pain. It translates it.”

Host: Jack nodded slowly, his eyes steady on hers. For a long, fragile moment, they sat there in the tender stillness of shared understanding — two souls learning that awareness, when born of forgiveness, does not weaken the truth.

It dignifies it.