Jobs for every American is doomed to failure because of modern

Host: The rain fell in long, unbroken sheets against the windowpane, drumming a rhythm of unease that matched the city’s heartbeat below — a restless, electric sound of machines, sirens, and invisible struggle. The office was dim, lit only by the faint orange glow of the streetlights outside. The neon signs reflected on the glass: EMPLOYMENT CENTER – OPEN 24 HOURS.

Jack sat on the worn leather couch, his jacket soaked, the edge of a newspaper still dripping onto the floor. Jeeny stood by the window, arms crossed, her silhouette outlined against the rain. Between them, a silence thick enough to feel — the silence of two minds circling the same thought from different directions.

On the coffee table lay a folded clipping, headline underlined in red ink. Beneath it, the quote that had sparked their evening’s argument:

“Jobs for every American is doomed to failure because of modern automation and production. We ought to recognize it and create an income-maintenance system so every single American has the dignity and the wherewithal for shelter, basic food, and medical care. I'm talking about welfare for all. Without it, you're going to have warfare for all.” — Jerry Brown

Jeeny: Reading the line aloud again, quietly but firmly. “Welfare for all, or warfare for all.”

Jack: Dryly. “Catchy. Sounds like a campaign slogan written by a philosopher who’s lost faith in work.”

Jeeny: “No. It sounds like someone who understands where society’s headed — fast. You’ve seen the reports, Jack. Factories empty. AI systems replacing analysts, cashiers, drivers. People aren’t lazy — they’re obsolete.”

Jack: Leaning forward, voice rough. “Obsolete? You’re telling me human beings can be outdated like operating systems?”

Jeeny: “Not outdated — outpaced. And unless we find a way to support them, to give them dignity outside of work, we’re going to watch the country tear itself apart.”

Host: The rain intensified, hammering against the glass as though the sky itself demanded to be part of the debate. The room flickered with light from passing cars — red, white, red again — reflections of a world rushing nowhere in particular.

Jack: Shaking his head. “You sound like a utopian, Jeeny. You start handing out checks to everyone, you take away the engine that built this country. People need purpose, not pity.”

Jeeny: Sharply. “You think starving people can philosophize about purpose?”

Jack: “No, but they can fight for it. Work gives meaning — structure. It’s not just a paycheck; it’s identity.”

Jeeny: “Identity built on servitude. On systems that don’t need you anymore.”

Host: Her voice cracked slightly, not from anger, but from compassion stretched thin. The light flickered, thunder rolling distantly — a sermon of modern times echoing above their argument.

Jeeny: “Jerry Brown wasn’t talking about killing ambition. He was talking about replacing humiliation with humanity. If the machines do the work, let them — but don’t let them strip the people of worth.”

Jack: “And how do you measure worth when effort no longer counts?”

Jeeny: Softly. “By existence. By the simple fact of being human.”

Host: The room fell silent again, except for the steady hum of the vending machine in the corner — the sound of automation at work, tirelessly dispensing the illusion of convenience.

Jack: “You can’t sustain a nation on charity, Jeeny. Someone always pays the bill.”

Jeeny: “It’s not charity — it’s evolution. Every great civilization redefines fairness when its tools change. We moved from farms to factories, from factories to finance — and each time, people fell behind until someone built a bridge.”

Jack: “And you think welfare for all is that bridge?”

Jeeny: “No. I think dignity is. Welfare’s just the foundation that keeps the bridge from collapsing.”

Host: Jack rose, pacing, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. He looked out the window — the streets below glimmered with rain and headlights, alive with both movement and despair.

Jack: “You ever notice how easy it is for politicians to talk about dignity while sitting in offices like this? They don’t see the dependency, the inertia. Give everyone a cushion, and some will never get up.”

Jeeny: Quietly but fiercely. “You say that like the cushion’s the problem, not the fall.”

Jack: Turning toward her. “You can’t build resilience on comfort.”

Jeeny: “No — but you can’t build a society on suffering either. What you call comfort, I call the bare minimum of decency.”

Host: The rain slowed, softening into a rhythmic whisper. The city lights blurred into halos through the glass, like visions of a future both dazzling and dangerous.

Jeeny: “Automation isn’t the enemy. Indifference is. We can let technology free us, or we can let it divide us. One leads to community. The other — to chaos.”

Jack: Sighs, sitting again. “You really think it’s that simple? Just give everyone a universal income and the world finds peace?”

Jeeny: “No. I think it’s that necessary. Because hunger breeds anger, and anger needs no ideology. When people feel forgotten, they don’t ask for justice — they demand revenge.”

Host: Her words landed heavy. Even Jack couldn’t deflect that. He stared down at the newspaper, the ink slightly smeared from rain. The photograph beside the quote showed workers leaving a shuttered plant — faces blurred, expressions unreadable.

Jack: “You think this is the beginning of warfare?”

Jeeny: Softly. “No. I think it’s the warning before it.”

Jack: “And what if we build this income system, and people still feel empty? What if all we’ve done is buy peace without purpose?”

Jeeny: “Then we teach them new forms of purpose — creativity, caretaking, community. Not everything valuable can be measured in GDP.”

Host: The lights flickered once more, then steadied. The storm outside began to lift, the sound of rain thinning into silence. Somewhere, a train whistle echoed — distant, melancholic, endless.

Jack: After a long pause. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the old way’s dying, and I just don’t want to admit it. But it’s hard to imagine a world where people exist without striving.”

Jeeny: “They’ll still strive — just differently. Not for survival, but for meaning. That’s the evolution we’ve been avoiding.”

Jack: Nods slowly. “And if we don’t evolve?”

Jeeny: Looks toward the window, where dawn was beginning to smear the clouds with light. “Then Brown’s prophecy comes true. No welfare — just warfare. Not between nations, but between the fortunate and the forgotten.”

Host: The camera would pan slowly outward — through the glass, into the wet streets of a sleeping city. Machines hummed in warehouses, street sweepers moved like ghosts, and neon signs blinked through puddles — fragments of a world in transition.

Because Jerry Brown was right —
the promise of modernity is double-edged.

Automation gives us abundance,
but strips away the work that once gave us worth.

To pretend every person can be employed
in a world run by machines
is to deny the mathematics of progress.

And so we must redefine what dignity means —
not as labor done,
but as life sustained.

For if we fail to share the fruits of the machine age,
we will not face unemployment —
we will face uprising.

Welfare for all,
or warfare for all.

The choice, as it always has been,
rests not in our machines,
but in our morality.