I think, increasingly, despite what we are being told is an ever

Host: The bar was dim, heavy with the scent of old whiskey and wet coats. Rain hammered the windows like impatient fingers, and a jazz record crackled somewhere in the corner — slow, mournful, the sound of nostalgia for something that maybe never existed.

Jack sat in a booth beneath a flickering neon sign, the glow staining his face in weary crimson and blue. Across from him, Jeeny stirred her drink with a quiet focus, watching the ice collapse slowly in the glass. Around them, the low murmur of late-night conversation filled the air — strangers talking, pretending to connect, words bouncing off surfaces slick with distance.

Jeeny: “John le Carré once said, ‘I think, increasingly, despite what we are being told is an ever more open world of communication, there is a terrible alienation in the ordinary man between what he is being told and what he secretly believes.’”
She looked up, her eyes catching the faint glint of the neon. “It’s terrifying how modern that still feels.”

Jack: quietly, almost to himself “That’s because it’s truer now than when he said it.”

Host: The rainlight reflected in the puddles outside — fractured, multiplied, like a truth no one could see whole anymore.

Jeeny: “We live in a world obsessed with communication, but we’ve forgotten how to listen. We post, we react, we perform. Everyone’s speaking louder, but saying less.”

Jack: nodding slowly “Yeah. It’s like we’re all drowning in noise pretending it’s connection. The more we talk, the less we mean.”

Jeeny: “And the less we believe.”

Host: She leaned forward, voice lowering. “That’s what le Carré was warning us about — the split between the public truth and the private conviction. We repeat what we’re told because it’s easier than confronting what we actually feel.”

Jack: “And if you speak your real mind, you risk being branded. Canceled. Exiled. Doesn’t matter from which side — the punishment’s the same.”

Jeeny: “So people stop talking honestly.”

Jack: “And start performing safety.”

Host: The music changed — a saxophone solo bending through the smoke, slow, melancholic, human.

Jeeny: “You think it’s always been this way?”

Jack: “Probably. But technology made it louder. We’ve built a machine that trades truth for engagement.”

Jeeny: “And calls it progress.”

Jack: smirking bitterly “Progress with a comment section.”

Host: She smiled, but it faded quickly, replaced by something heavier. “You know,” she said, “I think what le Carré really understood was fear — that deep, quiet fear of being alone in your own thoughts. You start to wonder if maybe you’re the one who’s crazy because everyone else seems fine with the script.”

Jack: “But deep down, everyone knows something’s off. You can feel it — that hum of dishonesty running through everything.”

Jeeny: “The dissonance between headlines and heartbeats.”

Jack: “Exactly.”

Host: He took a long sip of his drink, his reflection warping in the amber liquid. “You ever notice,” he said slowly, “how people online will argue about anything, except what actually matters? The big stuff — integrity, empathy, truth — that’s too raw. Too costly.”

Jeeny: “Because admitting truth means admitting complicity. It’s easier to hide behind outrage.”

Jack: “Le Carré wrote spies, but he was really writing about all of us. We’re all double agents now — torn between who we are and who we pretend to be.”

Host: The light from the neon sign flickered again, catching the cigarette smoke like threads of red fog.

Jeeny: “So what’s the cure? Honesty?”

Jack: “Honesty’s expensive. No one can afford it anymore.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not loudly. But quietly — in small acts. Like refusing to repeat lies. Like daring to think in private.”

Jack: “Private thought — now there’s a rebellion.”

Host: She smiled faintly, eyes dark with reflection. “Do you know the irony?” she asked. “We call this an age of transparency — but everyone’s hidden behind filters, algorithms, and slogans. We see everything and understand nothing.”

Jack: “And we applaud the illusion because the truth’s too damn inconvenient.”

Jeeny: “But that’s where alienation comes from — the gap between what we’re told to believe and what we feel is real. The body knows when the soul’s being lied to.”

Jack: “And eventually, that gap swallows you.”

Host: The rain softened outside, the neon light pulsing slower now — the city exhaling after its own confession.

Jeeny: “Do you think people even want truth anymore?”

Jack: “No. They want comfort that looks like truth. They want the illusion of certainty without the cost of doubt.”

Jeeny: “So we trade authenticity for belonging.”

Jack: “And call it connection.”

Host: The bar clock ticked, the sound sharp against the low hum of conversation.

Jeeny: “You know,” she said, “I think that’s why le Carré’s words sting so much. They remind us that alienation isn’t just loneliness — it’s the quiet betrayal of self. It’s knowing you’ve stopped trusting your own thoughts.”

Jack: after a pause “That’s the saddest kind of exile — from yourself.”

Jeeny: “But it’s reversible.”

Jack: looking up at her “You think so?”

Jeeny: “Yeah. If you start asking questions again. If you listen more than you post. If you remember that the truth doesn’t live in the loudest voice — it lives in the quiet one inside you.”

Jack: “So the revolution starts in silence.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: They sat there in that silence for a long while, the kind that felt heavy but clean — like the air after rain. Outside, the storm had stopped. The street shimmered under the streetlights, glistening with the reflection of everything still standing.

The camera would slowly pull back — two figures in a booth, surrounded by shadows and glass, the city beyond alive with neon lies and small, stubborn truths.

And as the scene faded into darkness, John le Carré’s words would echo like a whispered confession of an entire age:

“Despite what we are being told is an ever more open world of communication, there is a terrible alienation in the ordinary man between what he is being told and what he secretly believes.”

Because communication without honesty is noise.
And information without conscience is propaganda.

Somewhere between what we’re told and what we feel
lives the last quiet frontier of truth —
the place where silence dares to disagree.

And in that gap —
between deception and doubt —
the soul waits, listening,
for the courage
to believe itself again.