Modern tyrants are terror managers. Do not allow your shock to be

Host: The night was soaked in neon, a restless pulse of electric blue and amber bleeding through the rain-streaked windows of a downtown bar. Outside, sirens echoed somewhere in the distance, blending with the low hum of traffic and the muffled chatter of a city that never truly slept.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the scent of cheap whiskey. Televisions above the counter flashed breaking news, the images a blur of faces, flags, and fear.

At a small table near the back, Jack sat with his coat still on, his hands wrapped around a glass he hadn’t touched. Across from him, Jeeny leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her eyes sharp, alive with something that burned deeper than anger — conviction.

Jeeny: “Timothy Snyder once wrote, ‘Modern tyrants are terror managers. Do not allow your shock to be turned against your freedom.’”

Jack: “Yeah, I’ve read that one. Sounds dramatic — like something you’d find printed on a protest sign.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it should be.”

Jack: “Please. We’re not living under a tyrant. People throw that word around like confetti. Everyone with a smartphone thinks they’re in a revolution.”

Jeeny: “And that’s exactly how it starts — when people stop recognizing what power looks like until it’s too late. Tyranny doesn’t always march in with boots anymore. It just slides in, politely — managing your fear for you.”

Host: The lights flickered slightly as thunder rolled far away, distant yet deliberate. Jack finally took a sip from his drink, his eyes narrowing as if weighing her words against his own disbelief.

Jack: “Managing fear? You mean like governments warning people about danger? That’s not tyranny, Jeeny — that’s responsibility.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It’s manufacturing consent. You create enough fear, you control the reaction. Look at the last two decades — from 9/11 to pandemics to surveillance states. Fear has become the currency of modern politics. We don’t need dictators anymore — we have algorithms.”

Jack: “Oh, come on. Not everything’s a conspiracy. Fear keeps people cautious. It keeps society functioning.”

Jeeny: “Cautious, yes. But what happens when fear becomes comfort? When safety starts to feel holier than freedom?”

Host: A man at the bar laughed too loudly, his voice cutting through the low drone of news anchors. The rain outside began to fall harder, beating against the windows in sync with the rhythm of Jeeny’s words.

Jack: “So what do you suggest? Anarchy? No borders, no order? You think people are ready for that kind of freedom? Half of them can’t handle a day without Wi-Fi.”

Jeeny: “Freedom isn’t comfort, Jack. It’s risk. That’s what people forget. Every generation trades a piece of it for the illusion of safety, until one day there’s nothing left but monitored obedience.”

Jack: “You’re exaggerating. Democracies don’t just collapse overnight.”

Jeeny: “No — they erode. Bit by bit. That’s Snyder’s point. The modern tyrant doesn’t shout. He whispers: ‘It’s for your protection.’”

Host: The television above them switched to footage of crowds, riots, parades, and flags. The sound was low, but the images were loud — chaos framed as control.

Jack: “You really think we’re that powerless?”

Jeeny: “No. I think we’re distracted. Shocked into numbness. Every headline designed to paralyze us — every image meant to tell us, ‘Be afraid, but don’t act.’”

Jack: “Fear motivates people too. It keeps them vigilant.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It keeps them obedient. There’s a difference.”

Host: Jeeny leaned back, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the window behind her — a ghost of conviction flickering in the neon glow.

Jack: “So what do you call vigilance then? Denial?”

Jeeny: “Vigilance is awareness. Obedience is surrender. Snyder’s warning isn’t about paranoia — it’s about perception. The moment you stop questioning, you’ve already given someone permission to define reality for you.”

Jack: “That’s philosophy, not survival. Most people don’t have the luxury to question the system when they’re busy trying to live in it.”

Jeeny: “That’s how tyranny wins — by making survival seem like enough. When the dream shrinks to just getting by, freedom becomes ornamental.”

Host: A brief silence fell. The only sound was the rain hitting the glass like soft, relentless applause. Jack’s eyes darted toward the television again, where images of masked police and burning streets played in muted color.

Jack: “You talk like the world’s ending.”

Jeeny: “No. I talk like it’s being managed.”

Jack: “You make it sound like fear is a product.”

Jeeny: “It is. And we buy it every day. We subscribe to it, scroll through it, vote with it.”

Host: Her words hung heavy between them. Jack leaned forward, his voice low, almost defensive now.

Jack: “You think you can live without fear? That’s naive. Fear’s part of being human.”

Jeeny: “I’m not saying to erase it. I’m saying don’t outsource it. Don’t let someone else tell you what to fear — or who.”

Jack: “So what’s your solution? Fight everyone? Distrust everything?”

Jeeny: “No. Think. That’s the rebellion now — to think when thinking’s inconvenient.”

Host: A flash of lightning lit the entire bar for a heartbeat — every face, every shadow visible in stark white. When the light faded, Jack looked older somehow, like a man realizing his arguments were armor, not truth.

Jack: “You know, you sound like those resistance types — always ready to fight an invisible enemy.”

Jeeny: “The enemy isn’t invisible, Jack. It’s just wearing a suit. It smiles. It says ‘we’re doing this for your safety,’ and you believe it because it feels polite.”

Jack: “And what about the people who actually are in danger? You want leaders to do nothing while chaos burns?”

Jeeny: “No. I want leaders who don’t use chaos to stay in power. Who don’t turn every crisis into a leash.”

Host: The bartender switched off one of the TVs. The sudden quiet felt almost holy. The rain had softened, but the air still carried its weight.

Jeeny: “Fear is meant to wake us, not chain us. That’s what Snyder meant. Don’t let shock paralyze you. Let it make you aware.”

Jack: “So awareness is the cure for fear?”

Jeeny: “Awareness is the start. Courage is the cure.”

Host: The rain tapered off entirely now, leaving the city’s hum exposed — raw, real, unfiltered. Jack finished his drink slowly, his reflection fractured by the empty glass.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe tyranny doesn’t look like it used to. Maybe it just feels… comfortable.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Comfort’s the softest kind of control.”

Jack: “And freedom’s the most uncomfortable truth.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “That’s why it’s worth it.”

Host: Outside, the streetlights shimmered against the wet pavement, and the last remnants of thunder dissolved into silence. The two sat there — no longer opponents, but participants in a shared unease, a fragile understanding.

Jeeny reached across the table, her hand brushing his — a small, human act in a conversation about systems and shadows.

Jack didn’t pull away.

For a long moment, they simply sat — two souls holding still in the crossfire of history — listening not to fear, but to the sound of their own quiet freedom.

And as the lights dimmed, the television finally went dark, leaving only the hum of the city, the scent of rain, and the faint echo of a truth too easily forgotten:

Freedom doesn’t vanish in fire. It fades in silence.