If Trump publicly commits to embrace science, stops threatening

Host: The city was a collage of light and glass, pulsing like circuitry against the dark — every tower a glowing vertebra in the mechanical spine of power. From the fortieth floor of a Manhattan office, the world below looked small, almost pixelated, as though reality itself were streaming through a low-resolution feed.

Inside, the air was sharp with the scent of espresso, silicone, and discontent. Monitors flickered across the room, scrolling endless headlines, angry hashtags, and algorithmic outrage. A muted television replayed footage of the 2016 election aftermath — crowds chanting, pundits shouting, faces divided by blue and red light.

At the large glass table in the center sat Jack, hunched over a laptop, his grey eyes hard with exhaustion. Across from him, Jeeny leaned against the window, her reflection merging with the skyline — a ghost of empathy in a city that worshipped velocity.

Between them, on the screen, glowed a quote — pinned in an internal memo from a once-beloved tech investor:

“If Trump publicly commits to embrace science, stops threatening censorship of the Internet, rejects fake news and denounces hate against our diverse employees, only then it would make sense for tech leaders to visit Trump Tower.”
— Chris Sacca

The words pulsed with both reason and rebellion — a manifesto in twelve lines.

Jack: (dryly) “Idealism disguised as policy. Classic Silicon Valley.”

Jeeny: (turning) “It’s not idealism, Jack. It’s decency. He’s just saying what every rational person should be thinking.”

Jack: “Rationality’s a luxury in politics. Especially now. You can’t reason with a man who built an empire on spectacle.”

Jeeny: “Then what? We all go quiet? Pretend reason doesn’t matter? That science and truth are negotiable?”

Jack: “Science isn’t negotiable. But politics is. That’s why people like Sacca shout into microphones instead of rooms that make change.”

Jeeny: “No, he shouted because silence stopped working. Tech used to believe it was neutral — it isn’t anymore.”

Host: The office lights dimmed automatically, leaving the room awash in the pale glow of monitors. The city below moved like data — endless, self-replicating, loud.

On one of the screens, a news alert scrolled by: “Tech CEOs to meet at Trump Tower — Debate over attendance continues.”

The cursor blinked beside it like a heartbeat, waiting for an answer neither of them could code.

Jack: “You think refusing to meet him fixes anything?”

Jeeny: “I think legitimizing him breaks everything.”

Jack: “That’s sentimental. Leaders don’t get to act out of moral purity. They act to protect what’s real — infrastructure, markets, stability.”

Jeeny: “And what’s the point of stability if it comes at the cost of integrity? Science, truth, equality — those aren’t luxuries, Jack. They’re the foundation of the world we’re trying to build.”

Jack: “You sound like a manifesto yourself.”

Jeeny: “Maybe the world could use a few more of those right now.”

Host: The rain began to fall, streaking the glass with blurred trails of light — red and white reflections of the city below. It was the kind of rain that made sound feel like static, as though the whole world had tuned to a frequency of unease.

Jack stood, walking toward the window, his reflection swallowed by hers. Two outlines in the glass — divided by belief, united by fatigue.

Jack: “You think science is a moral force. It isn’t. It’s neutral. It’s data without conscience.”

Jeeny: “And yet conscience is what gives data meaning. Without it, you can use science to cure disease or to build weapons. Neutrality is just another word for abdication.”

Jack: “But if every scientist becomes an activist, who does the work?”

Jeeny: “And if every activist becomes silent, who saves the world?”

Host: The tension between them pulsed like static electricity. The thunder outside cracked — not loud, but deep, as if the sky itself were arguing.

Jeeny’s voice softened, but it carried a quiet fire.

Jeeny: “Do you know what Sacca meant by that quote, Jack? He wasn’t saying tech should pick a side. He was saying tech already has a side — whether it admits it or not.”

Jack: “We build tools, Jeeny. Not ideologies.”

Jeeny: “You build mirrors, Jack. Don’t you see? Every line of code reflects a choice — who gets access, who gets silenced, who profits, who disappears. You think neutrality absolves you, but it’s complicity by design.”

Jack: “That’s moral absolutism. The world doesn’t run on ethics; it runs on systems.”

Jeeny: “And systems are just ethics written in code.”

Host: The screens flickered, flashing graphs and newsfeeds — images of protests, hashtags, men in suits shaking hands beneath gold chandeliers.

For a moment, the glow cast strange shadows on their faces — Jeeny’s eyes fierce, Jack’s expression haunted, like a man torn between his intellect and his apathy.

Jack: “You think refusing to meet him makes a difference. But power doesn’t vanish just because you boycott it. It adapts.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe resistance needs to adapt too. Science isn’t just about discovery anymore. It’s about defense.”

Jack: “Defense of what?”

Jeeny: “Reality.”

Host: The word hung there, trembling like the flame of a candle caught in a draft.

Reality.

Outside, the lightning flashed again — for a moment illuminating the city in sharp relief: steel towers, endless movement, billions of tiny decisions building the machinery of a civilization that didn’t know how to pause.

Jack: (after a long silence) “You think he could ever change? If the right people — the right words — reached him?”

Jeeny: “Change isn’t the point. Boundaries are. When someone treats truth like a tool, you don’t negotiate — you draw a line.”

Jack: “And if the line costs progress?”

Jeeny: “Then maybe progress was heading the wrong direction.”

Host: The rain eased, softening to a mist that blurred the skyline. The neon signs below shimmered, fractured by droplets on the glass.

Jeeny crossed to the table, closed her laptop gently, and looked up at him. Her voice was quiet — almost tender.

Jeeny: “You know what scares me most about our world, Jack? Not the liars. The brilliant people who convince themselves that silence isn’t a choice.”

Jack: “And what scares me,” (he said, after a beat) “is the thought that outrage can start to feel like virtue.”

Jeeny: “Maybe both are true. Maybe the real danger is when outrage stops, and we start to call it peace.”

Host: The room was still now — filled with the faint hum of servers and the quiet exhaustion of ideals colliding.

They stood by the window, looking out at the city. Neither of them spoke for a long while.

And then — softly, like a confession:

Jack: “You think Sacca would’ve gone to Trump Tower?”

Jeeny: “Not until the truth was welcome there.”

Jack: “Maybe truth doesn’t need an invitation.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Maybe. But it deserves a door that isn’t locked.”

Host: The storm cleared, and the first trace of dawn began to bleed into the skyline — a pale blush of light brushing against towers of glass and ambition.

The screens dimmed, the city hummed, and the two figures stood suspended between cynicism and conviction — the eternal coordinates of the human mind.

Outside, America’s newest morning stirred — divided, digital, alive.

Inside, the silence between them carried something raw and sacred — a shared awareness that science and morality, reason and courage, were not opposite forces but reflections of the same fragile truth:

That knowledge without conscience builds empires that forget their architects.
And power without principle invents machines that no one remembers how to turn off.

Host: As the light rose, their reflections vanished from the glass — replaced by the city itself.

The screens flickered one last time, and Chris Sacca’s words glowed once more before fading to black:

“Only then it would make sense for tech leaders to visit Trump Tower.”

A reminder — not of resistance,
but of responsibility.

The sun broke through,
the world rebooted,
and for a moment,
reason shone like truth finally remembered.