Many a time freedom has been rolled back - and always for the

Host: The city square was quiet that night — too quiet. The lampposts burned with pale orange halos, casting long, uncertain shadows across the empty benches and rain-dark pavement. The flag above the courthouse fluttered weakly, its sound like paper tearing in the wind.

In the distance, you could still see traces of the protest — the chalk slogans washed half away by drizzle, the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air, and the echo of chants swallowed by exhaustion.

Two figures stood near the edge of the square — Jack, collar turned up against the chill, and Jeeny, hands buried in her coat pockets, eyes searching the wet concrete as if for the right words.

Between them, a poster fluttered at their feet, half-soaked, its ink bleeding into abstraction. But one line still stood clear, black against gray:

"Many a time freedom has been rolled back — and always for the same sorry reason: fear." — Molly Ivins

Jeeny: softly, looking at the words “Fear. It’s always fear, isn’t it?”

Jack: nodding slowly “Yeah. People dress it up in patriotism, or policy, or ‘public safety,’ but underneath, it’s just that same old panic — fear of losing control.”

Host: The wind picked up again, tugging at the corners of old flyers taped to the lampposts — Justice Now, No More Silence, Let Us Breathe. The words, even tattered, still refused to die.

Jeeny: bitterly “You’d think we’d learn. Every generation swears it won’t happen again. And then it does. The same mistakes, just with shinier excuses.”

Jack: hands in pockets “That’s because fear’s contagious. It spreads faster than truth. You scare people enough, they’ll build their own cages and call it protection.”

Host: Jeeny crouched, picking up the wet poster, her fingers tracing Molly Ivins’ name. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the puddle below, distorted but defiant.

Jeeny: quietly “When I was a kid, I thought freedom meant doing whatever you wanted. Now I think it’s the courage to do what terrifies you.”

Jack: watching her, voice low “Yeah. Freedom isn’t comfort. It’s risk. It’s choosing uncertainty over obedience.”

Host: The church bells downtown began to toll, slow and distant — twelve chimes marking midnight. A new day. Or maybe just another one exactly like the last.

Jeeny: standing, brushing rain from her hands “You know what’s strange? People talk about freedom like it’s permanent. Like once you win it, it just… stays. But it doesn’t. It decays when you stop defending it.”

Jack: nodding “It’s like a muscle. Stop using it, and it withers.”

Host: The streetlights flickered, briefly dimming the world into shadow before returning — weaker, but still burning.

Jack: after a pause “Molly Ivins was right. Every rollback, every law that silenced, every war that justified — all of it was fear pretending to be reason.”

Jeeny: bitterly “Fear of the different. Fear of change. Fear of losing power.”

Jack: looking up at the courthouse steps “And fear of the truth. That’s the biggest one.”

Host: A gust of wind swept through, rattling the chains on the courthouse doors. Jeeny’s hair whipped across her face, but she didn’t move — her eyes fixed on the flag above, barely visible through the mist.

Jeeny: softly “You know what I think scares them most? The idea that freedom might belong to everyone.”

Jack: smiling faintly “Yeah. Equality’s terrifying if your identity depends on standing above someone.”

Host: A siren wailed far off, fading into the night like a cry too tired to reach its destination.

Jeeny: sighing “We’ve turned fear into policy. We legislate it. We broadcast it. We sell it in headlines and call it awareness.”

Jack: quietly “Because fear makes money. And courage doesn’t trend.”

Host: The rain started again, soft but steady. The water collected in the cracks of the square, reflecting fragments of the courthouse and the flag — distorted symbols of something once pure, now fragile.

Jeeny: turning toward Jack “So what do we do? Keep shouting into the wind? Keep pretending that hope still listens?”

Jack: after a moment “We keep showing up. Fear feeds on silence. But courage — even quiet courage — starves it.”

Host: The lamplight shimmered across their faces, catching the glint of wet eyes and weary determination.

Jeeny: after a pause “You know, sometimes I wonder if freedom’s even real. Or if it’s just a story we tell ourselves between wars.”

Jack: softly “It’s real. But it’s fragile. It’s made of people — the brave ones who refuse to kneel to fear, even when their knees shake.”

Host: The rain eased, leaving a soft hush over the square — the kind of silence that isn’t absence, but waiting.

Jeeny: quietly “You think we’ll ever stop being afraid?”

Jack: after a long pause, smiling faintly “No. But maybe one day we’ll stop letting it make our choices.”

Host: They stood there a while longer, the rain dripping softly from the courthouse steps, the flag above whispering its quiet, restless flutter.

And beneath it all — the hum of the city, the pulse of history, the stubborn persistence of belief — Molly Ivins’ words lingered, steady as a heartbeat:

“Many a time freedom has been rolled back — and always for the same sorry reason: fear.”

Host: The camera of the moment panned out — two small figures in a square built on promises, surrounded by rain, silence, and the ghosts of courage.

Because freedom isn’t lost in one grand betrayal.
It’s surrendered in small moments —
when fear wins the argument,
and the brave stay home.

But as long as even two people stand in the rain
and remember that truth outlives fear,
freedom still breathes.