If terrorism is to be defeated, the world of Islam must take on

Host: The café was nearly empty, tucked deep in a corner of the city where the noise of traffic softened into whispers. Rain tapped against the glass windows, tracing thin silver rivers down their surface. The dim light above the counter flickered every so often, like a heartbeat that couldn’t quite decide whether to stay.

On a small wooden table near the back, Jack and Jeeny sat opposite each other. Between them lay two cups of untouched tea, steam rising in faint curls — fragile, impermanent, and human.

Jeeny’s eyes were focused, distant. Jack’s posture was slightly slouched, his expression unreadable, half fatigue, half reflection.

Jeeny: reading quietly from her notebook, voice steady, deliberate

“If terrorism is to be defeated, the world of Islam must take on board the secularist-humanist principles on which the modern is based, and without which Muslim countries’ freedom will remain a distant dream.”
— Salman Rushdie

Host: The words hung in the space between them — not light, not heavy, but dangerous. They vibrated with the tension of history and blood, belief and betrayal.

Jack: after a long silence, his voice low “Leave it to Rushdie to say the thing everyone else is afraid to.”

Jeeny: quietly “And to pay the price for saying it.”

Jack: nodding slowly “Yeah. He’s lived his philosophy — the cost of speech, the exile of honesty.”

Jeeny: looking down into her tea “The cost of being caught between worlds — faith and reason, devotion and doubt.”

Host: The sound of the rain grew stronger, as if the city itself were eavesdropping.

Jack: leaning forward slightly “You know, people always read Rushdie politically. But what he’s really talking about here isn’t just Islam — it’s any civilization that refuses to evolve. The danger isn’t faith. It’s stagnation.”

Jeeny: nodding “Yes. When belief becomes fossilized, it stops feeding the soul and starts feeding fear.”

Jack: sighing “And fear breeds fanaticism. It’s the oldest equation in history.”

Host: The lights dimmed slightly as thunder rolled in the distance — a reminder that the storm outside was both literal and symbolic.

Jeeny: “You know, what he’s asking for — secular humanism — it’s not the rejection of God. It’s the acknowledgment of humanity first.”

Jack: quietly “Exactly. A faith that doesn’t cancel thought, a freedom that doesn’t demand surrender.”

Jeeny: “But to say that in certain parts of the world is heresy.”

Jack: bitterly “It’s heresy everywhere, in one way or another. Try telling any institution — religious, political, or corporate — that its dogma needs humility.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “They’ll call it rebellion. Or madness.”

Jack: after a pause “Or literature.”

Host: The faintest trace of a smile crossed Jeeny’s face. For a moment, the heaviness in the air eased — laughter as the briefest reprieve from despair.

Jeeny: “You think he’s right, though? That the Islamic world needs secularism to find freedom?”

Jack: thoughtful “I think freedom requires it — everywhere. The secular humanist principles Rushdie’s talking about — reason, equality, the sanctity of the individual — they’re not Western inventions. They’re human inventions. The tragedy is that we’ve turned them into weapons of identity instead of tools of liberation.”

Jeeny: “And yet, his argument feels sharper because of where it’s pointed.”

Jack: nodding “Because Islam, like Christianity before it, is standing at a crossroads — the choice between power and renewal. Between controlling truth and questioning it.”

Host: The rain softened, a steady hum now — the sound of cleansing, of continuation.

Jeeny: softly “You know, it’s easy for people to forget that secularism isn’t atheism. It’s coexistence. It’s saying: belief belongs to the private self; compassion belongs to the public one.”

Jack: leaning forward “And when you separate them properly, both survive. The soul can stay sacred while society stays sane.”

Host: The camera shifted closer, catching the candlelight reflecting off their eyes — two minds orbiting around a shared gravity of thought.

Jack: “But it’s not just religion that resists secularism. Ideology does too. Any system that claims absolute truth can’t coexist with freedom.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “Because freedom is the right to doubt. To question even what you love.”

Jack: quietly “And that’s the hardest part. Questioning what you love.”

Host: A silence filled the air — thick but alive. The kind of silence that follows revelation, not absence.

Jeeny: after a pause “Maybe that’s what Rushdie meant by freedom being a distant dream. Not because it’s impossible — but because most people are afraid to wake up to it.”

Jack: smiling faintly “Freedom’s frightening. It hands you responsibility where you wanted rules.”

Jeeny: softly “And mirrors where you wanted gods.”

Host: The storm had passed. The café lights glowed warmer now, the world outside washed clean. A few patrons returned to their quiet conversations — laughter, murmurs, the clinking of spoons — life, as it always does, returning to motion.

Jack: finishing his tea, his tone quiet but sure “Maybe Rushdie’s not just talking to Islam. Maybe he’s talking to all of us. Every person who hides behind certainty to avoid courage.”

Jeeny: “Because faith without freedom isn’t faith. It’s fear dressed in holiness.”

Jack: softly “And fear builds prisons where love should build bridges.”

Host: The camera began to pull back, the two of them still at their table — framed by the glow of candlelight and the faint shimmer of rain on glass. Outside, the city lights blinked through the mist like scattered stars, the modern world reflected in every drop.

And as their voices faded into the murmur of the night, Salman Rushdie’s words echoed, steady as conviction, alive as warning:

That faith and freedom
are not enemies,
but siblings estranged by fear.

That true liberation
cannot grow from dogma,
but from doubt —
the kind that seeks truth,
not victory.

And that the dream of modernity —
of equality, of reason, of peace —
will remain distant
until the human heart
learns that God and freedom
were never meant
to be apart.