I'm afraid, based on my own experience, that fascism will come to

Host: The night was thick with fog, curling through the alleyways of Washington Square like a memory that refused to fade. The lamplight flickered across wet cobblestones, and in the corner café, the world seemed to hold its breath. Television screens glowed with breaking news, the words “National Security Act – Emergency Amendments” scrolling in red across the bottom.

Jack sat near the window, his coat collar turned up, a half-burned cigarette dangling between his fingers. His eyes, grey and steady, watched the headlines the way a soldier watches storm clouds. Jeeny entered, her face pale, her hair clinging to her cheeks from the rain, her hands clutching a folder marked Confidential.

The air buzzed with unease, and when she sat across from him, neither spoke for a moment. The city’s hum was the only sound — that, and the heartbeat of fear that moved beneath their words.

Jeeny: “Jim Garrison once said, ‘I’m afraid, based on my own experience, that fascism will come to America in the name of national security.’”

(She paused, her voice trembling, the weight of the quote hanging like smoke.) “Tell me, Jack — do you think he was right?”

Jack: (dryly) “Right? He was prophetic. But you make it sound like it’s new, Jeeny. Fascism never marches in uniform anymore — it signs bills, wears flags, and smiles on television.”

Jeeny: “Then why don’t people see it? Why don’t they speak?”

Jack: “Because it doesn’t look like tyranny when it’s wearing your team colors.”

Host: The rain tapped against the window, steady as a heartbeat. The neon signs from the street bled their colors into the glass, painting their faces in shifting hues — blue, red, white — like a flag caught in a storm.

Jeeny: “You think we’re already there?”

Jack: (takes a drag, exhales) “We’ve been drifting there for decades. Every time we trade a little freedom for safety, we move closer. It’s subtle — CCTV cameras, internet surveillance, ‘temporary’ emergency powers that never end.”

Jeeny: “You sound like a conspiracy theorist.”

Jack: “No, I sound like a citizen who remembers. You ever read the Patriot Act, Jeeny? That thing opened the door. After 9/11, we said, ‘Whatever it takes.’ And now, the eyes that watch us never close.”

Host: A flash of lightning illuminated the café, freezing their faces for a moment — Jack’s with iron certainty, Jeeny’s with doubt and fear. The rain grew louder, thundering like an audience applauding the fall of something fragile.

Jeeny: “But maybe… maybe security isn’t always the enemy. People are scared, Jack. The world feels like it’s burning — cyberattacks, bombings, diseases. What do you expect governments to do? Just watch?”

Jack: “No, I expect them to remember who they serve. But fear is the perfect currency, Jeeny. Once you spend it, you can buy anything — obedience, silence, even patriotism.”

Jeeny: “You make it sound like caring about your country is a crime.”

Jack: “Not a crime. Just a weapon. National security becomes a shield for national control. You think fascism comes shouting through the streets? No — it signs an executive order, smiles, and says, ‘It’s for your protection.’”

Host: The coffee machine hissed, a steam-cloud rising like a ghost between them. Outside, a police drone hovered, its red light pulsing against the windowpane. The sound was faint, but constant — a mechanical heartbeat of surveillance.

Jeeny: (softly) “I want to believe in good intentions, Jack. I have to. My brother works in homeland security — he’s not a monster. He just wants to protect people.”

Jack: “And so did every soldier who stood at a checkpoint in Berlin, every officer who said, ‘Just following orders.’ It doesn’t start with monsters. It starts with believers.”

Jeeny: “That’s cruel.”

Jack: “It’s the truth.”

Host: Thunder rolled, deep and hollow, like a verdict delivered from the sky. The café’s light dimmed, then returned, casting long shadows that stretched across the floor.

Jeeny: (quietly) “Do you ever get tired, Jack? Of being so cynical? Maybe some people are just trying their best. Maybe it’s not fascism — maybe it’s just fear.”

Jack: “That’s exactly what fascism feeds on. Fear dressed up as patriotism. Control disguised as order. You can’t defeat it with good intentions — only with awareness.”

Jeeny: “Then what do we do? Just distrust everyone in power?”

Jack: “No. We question them. We hold them accountable. That’s the difference between a citizen and a subject.”

Host: A silence fell, heavy as rain-soaked coats. The TV in the corner crackled — the anchor’s voice steady, almost soothing, as he announced the new legislation. “Temporary surveillance expansion to ensure national safety…”

Jeeny’s hand tightened around her cup, knuckles white. Jack’s eyes narrowed.

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s like you said — maybe it’s already here. But if it is… if we’re already living in that shadow, what can we do?”

Jack: (leans forward) “We speak. We write. We refuse to forget what freedom feels like. You can’t outgun a system, Jeeny, but you can outlive its lies.”

Jeeny: “And if they silence us?”

Jack: (smirking faintly) “Then we whisper louder.”

Host: The fog pressed closer to the windows, the streetlights blurring into pale halos. Inside, the world had shrunk to that small table, to the weight of two voices in a city that had forgotten how to listen.

Jeeny: “You think we’ll make it through this?”

Jack: “We always do. But the question isn’t if we survive, Jeeny — it’s what we’ll become when we do.”

Host: A pause, and then, slowly, Jeeny reached across the table, placing her hand on his. Her eyes met his — not in agreement, but in understanding.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the only security we can trust — the kind that comes from each other.”

Jack: (nodding) “That’s the kind they’ll never control.”

Host: The lights from the café dimmed, the rain eased, and the city exhaled. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, then faded into the night.

The camera would have pulled back, capturing the café, a small glow in a vast darkness, two figures silhouetted against the fog, still talking, still believing.

And in that moment, the words of Jim Garrison echoed, not as a warning, but as a truth — that the greatest danger to freedom is not the enemy outside,
but the fear we invite inside,
and name it security.