Leadership that exploits and sacrifices young people on the altar

Host: The night hung heavy over the abandoned parade ground, where flags once waved proudly and voices rose in chant and promise. Now, only the wind spoke — a lonely whisper moving through the bent poles and torn banners, carrying with it the echo of marching feet that once believed they were following something noble.

In the center, the bonfire’s glow flickered against the wet ground, throwing long, trembling shadows that seemed to remember more than they revealed. Jack stood by the fire, his coat unbuttoned, the flames reflected in his gray eyes. He looked like a man who had seen too many speeches, heard too many lies, and was now trying to distinguish warmth from manipulation.

Jeeny approached quietly, her face half-lit, half-hidden, the orange glow tracing the soft determination in her eyes. She held a photo in her hand — young faces, smiling, bright with faith, taken years before on this very ground.

Jeeny: quietly, her voice firm but mournful “Daisaku Ikeda once said, ‘Leadership that exploits and sacrifices young people on the altar of its goals is nothing more than raw, demonic power. Genuine leadership is found in ceaseless efforts to foster young people, to pave the way forward for them.’”

She looked down at the photo, her voice trembling slightly. “Tell me, Jack… which kind of leadership were we following back then?”

Jack: staring into the fire “Both. That’s what made it so hard to see the difference. It started as belief — ended as obedience. We thought we were serving vision, but we were just feeding vanity.”

Jeeny: steps closer, softly “You knew, didn’t you? Somewhere deep down — you knew it had changed.”

Jack: nods slowly “The moment they started calling it sacrifice, I should’ve known. Every time a leader says, ‘They’ll thank us later,’ what they mean is ‘We need them to suffer now.’ That’s not leadership, Jeeny. That’s possession.”

Host: The flames crackled, throwing sparks into the air like the souls of burned ideals. The ground beneath them bore scars of boots, ashes of slogans, fragments of flags. The night was not quiet — it was haunted.

Jeeny: staring at the fire, voice tightening “How many times in history has it happened? Young people turned into fuel for someone else’s ambition. They call it ‘progress,’ ‘revolution,’ ‘order.’ But it’s all the same story — the youth marching, the old watching, and the power smiling.”

Jack: bitterly “Because youth is hope — and hope is the easiest thing to exploit. You just have to tell them they’re part of something greater. That’s the trick. Every tyrant learns it early.”

Jeeny: turns sharply toward him “But that’s why Ikeda’s words matter. He wasn’t talking about the powerful, Jack — he was talking to us. To anyone who ever stands in front of the next generation and dares to call themselves a guide.”

Jack: his tone softens “You think we can still guide anyone after what we’ve seen?”

Jeeny: nods slowly “Yes. But only if we start by listening to them first.”

Host: The fire flared, light reflecting off her face — fierce, alive, and unforgiving. The wind rose, carrying distant sounds of the city — sirens, laughter, youthful chaos — the living world moving beyond their reckoning.

Jack: low, reflective “You know, when I was their age, I thought leadership meant standing above people. Being the one who could see further. But now I think real leadership means kneeling — to plant something you may never live to see grow.”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “That’s what genuine leadership does, Jack — it’s not about commanding others to move. It’s about clearing the ground so they can.”

Jack: half-smile, weary “Clearing the ground… even if it means being buried in it.”

Jeeny: softly, with conviction “Especially then. The truest leaders aren’t remembered as heroes — they’re remembered as foundations.”

Host: The fire began to fade, its heat lowering, its light softening into something human again — not divine, not consuming, just warm. The darkness returned around them, but this time it felt earned, not imposed.

Jack: after a long silence “Do you think they’ll ever forgive us? The ones we told to fight, to endure, to trust that pain was purpose?”

Jeeny: quietly “Forgiveness isn’t what they owe us, Jack. It’s what we owe them — for using their faith to fix our failures. The only way to repay that is to protect their future from our mistakes.”

Jack: sits slowly, staring into the embers “That’s what Ikeda meant, isn’t it? That real leadership isn’t about being followed — it’s about making sure they can walk without you.”

Jeeny: nods, voice softening with grace “Yes. Leadership that raises others, not uses them. That believes in youth, not because it needs them, but because it trusts their potential more than its own legacy.”

Host: The first traces of dawn began to creep across the horizon, pale blue seeping into the black, light folding over the landscape like forgiveness made visible. The fire’s last flame gave a final flicker, bowing to the coming day.

Jeeny stood, the photo still in her hand, the faces in it now glowing faintly under the morning’s light — the young, the hopeful, the unforgotten.

Jack: looking up at her, voice low but certain “We can’t give them perfection. But we can give them protection. We can make sure that no one ever calls their sacrifice a strategy again.”

Jeeny: smiling through the ache “Then we’ve already begun to lead differently.”

Host: The sun breached the edge of the sky, gold light spilling across the field, illuminating the ashes of banners, the scars of memory, and two people who had finally learned that leadership is not a crown, but a vow.

And as the light touched their faces, Daisaku Ikeda’s words seemed to rise like the morning itself —

that leadership without love is tyranny disguised as destiny;
that those who build on the backs of the young create only ruins;
and that the true measure of power
is found not in how many kneel beneath it,
but in how many rise because of it.

For the leaders who will last,
are not the ones who demand loyalty,
but the ones who create a world worthy of youth’s belief —
and then step aside,
so that they may inherit it in peace.