It is the duty of government to make it difficult for people to

Host: The night hung like a curtain of smoke over the city, its lights trembling through the mist like dying embers. In a dimly lit street café, two figures sat across from each other — Jack and Jeeny. The rain had just stopped, leaving the air thick with the smell of wet pavement and coffee. A faint jazz tune drifted through the window, the piano notes dissolving into the darkness.

Jack leaned back, his grey eyes reflecting the streetlight like shards of steel. Jeeny, with her hands wrapped around a cup, watched the steam rise as if it carried her thoughts upward. The moment was quiet, yet heavy — like a breath waiting to become a word.

Jeeny: “Do you know what William Gladstone once said, Jack? ‘It is the duty of government to make it difficult for people to do wrong, easy to do right.’”

Jack: smirking faintly “Gladstone was an idealist — a man who thought virtue could be engineered. But you can’t build morality with laws and barriers, Jeeny. You can only teach people to pretend.”

Host: A faint wind swept through the alley, carrying the sound of distant laughter from a passing group of students. Jeeny’s eyes flickered toward them, softening for a moment, as if remembering a time when hope still felt easy.

Jeeny: “But that’s exactly what government is for, isn’t it? To make it easier to choose what’s right. When we build schools, provide healthcare, create justice systems — we’re not controlling people, Jack. We’re guiding them. We’re making the path to good visible.”

Jack: “And what happens when the path becomes a cage? When governments start deciding what’s ‘good’ and what’s ‘wrong’? History’s full of nations that tried that — and ended in tyranny. The Soviets, the Inquisition, even modern surveillance states — all claimed to make it easy to do right. They just redefined ‘right’ to mean ‘obedient.’”

Host: The light above their table flickered, throwing shadows across Jack’s face, slicing his expression into fragments — part truth, part tiredness. Jeeny inhaled slowly, her fingers trembling slightly against the cup.

Jeeny: “You always think of the worst in people, Jack. But what about the social democracies — Sweden, Norway, Denmark? They made it easy to live with dignity, to choose decency without having to fight for survival. Doesn’t that prove that laws can nurture what’s good?”

Jack: “They can nurture comfort, not virtue. Give people enough security, and they’ll stop thinking about what’s right — they’ll just do what’s easy. And that’s the danger, Jeeny. If the government makes it too easy to be ‘right,’ people forget how to choose.”

Host: A pause fell, like a weight between them. The clock on the wall ticked with the deliberate rhythm of doubt. Outside, a car passed, its headlights cutting through the mist like a blade.

Jeeny: “Then what would you prefer? A world where it’s easy to steal, to lie, to destroy — and people are left to stumble through chaos, hoping their conscience saves them? No, Jack. We build structure not to trap people, but to protect them from their own shadows.”

Jack: “And yet those same structures often become the shadows, Jeeny. You say it’s the government’s duty to make it easy to do right — but what if the government is wrong? The Nazi regime made it ‘easy’ to report your neighbor, ‘easy’ to conform, ‘easy’ to be complicit. People followed laws — but every law led to hell.”

Host: The café’s light dimmed further as the barista began closing up. The smell of burnt espresso lingered. The street outside shimmered under the reflection of puddles, as if the city itself was questioning its own morality.

Jeeny: “But that’s not what Gladstone meant. He believed in moral architecture — a society where the framework supports the soul. It’s not about obedience; it’s about opportunity. If governments can make it easier for a child to get education than to join a gang, isn’t that making it easy to do right?”

Jack: “Education can open a mind or indoctrinate it. It depends on who holds the chalk, doesn’t it?”

Jeeny: leaning forward, her voice low but burning “You twist everything into cynicism. You speak like someone who’s lost faith in humanity.”

Jack: “No, Jeeny — I’ve lost faith in systems. Humanity, I still believe in. But I’ve seen too many good people crushed under ‘good intentions’. The more you try to legislate virtue, the more you invite corruption to wear its mask.”

Host: A flash of lightning split the sky, though no thunder followed. The air was electric — the kind that hums before a storm, or a revelation. Both sat silent, their breathing the only sound. The tension felt almost sacred.

Jeeny: “Then what’s your answer, Jack? Do nothing? Let people rot in temptation because ‘freedom’ demands it?”

Jack: “Freedom demands responsibility, Jeeny. And responsibility only exists when choice is real. If the government holds your hand every time you choose, you’re not a citizen — you’re a child.”

Jeeny: “And what’s wrong with protecting a child until they can stand? That’s what civilization is — guardrails until we learn to walk without falling into the dark.”

Jack: “But the guardrails grow higher until we can’t see the world beyond them.”

Host: Silence expanded, stretching like fog. A truck passed by, spraying a sheet of water across the window, distorting the city into a painting of blurred lights.

Jeeny: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe power always carries that danger. But without it — without someone trying to make it easier to do right — we fall into something worse. Anarchy doesn’t breed morality, Jack. It breeds desperation. And desperate people don’t do what’s right; they do what’s necessary.”

Jack: his tone softening, almost reflective “And yet sometimes, Jeeny, what’s necessary is what’s right. Maybe that’s the tragedy. We keep trying to simplify a moral universe that was never meant to be simple.”

Host: The rain began again, softly this time, as if hesitant to disturb them. Jeeny’s eyes shimmered — not from tears, but from a deep awareness that something inside her had shifted.

Jeeny: “So you think Gladstone was naïve?”

Jack: “No. I think he was hoping. Hoping that governments could be wiser than the people who build them. But power doesn’t make people wiser, Jeeny — just louder.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s not about wisdom, but direction. Governments should set the wind, not steer the ship. The people must still sail, still choose. But if the current is fair, maybe fewer will drown.”

Host: Jack’s gaze softened. The hardness in his eyes melted into something quieter — a kind of respect. He looked at her for a long moment, as if seeing the faith he’d lost.

Jack: “You always find poetry where I see politics.”

Jeeny: “And you always find danger where I see duty.”

Host: The clock struck midnight. The barista turned off the lights, leaving only the street glow spilling in through the window. Jack and Jeeny sat in the half-dark, shadows and light mingling across their faces — as if both truth and doubt were sharing the same space.

Jack: “Maybe the answer is balance. Make it easy to do right — but never too easy. Make it difficult to do wrong — but not impossible. Leave room for the human soul to breathe.”

Jeeny: “Because without that choice, even goodness becomes another form of tyranny.”

Host: The rain slowed to a whisper. A single drop slid down the window, tracing a delicate path, catching the light — like a tear on the face of the world.

The camera of the night pulled back — showing two souls, divided and united, beneath the same rain, still arguing, still hoping — for a world where it was neither too hard nor too easy to be good, but simply, beautifully, human.