Peace, unity, love, and nonviolence should be our rallying cry

Host: The city lay in a strange stillness — a quiet that didn’t feel peaceful but heavy, like the air before a storm. Sirens murmured faintly in the distance, dissolving into the hum of streetlights and the faint crackle of a radio somewhere far away. It was late — that hour when shadows seem longer, and truth feels closer.

In a small community hall, its walls covered with faded posters and bulletin boards full of faces and names, Jack and Jeeny sat across from each other. The floor still bore chalk lines from an old protest meeting, and the air smelled faintly of paper, dust, and hope long carried.

Jack leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped, his face drawn with the weary logic of someone who had seen too much to believe in slogans anymore. Jeeny sat upright, her eyes alive with that particular light that only conviction could ignite.

Jeeny: “Tony Evans once said, ‘Peace, unity, love, and nonviolence should be our rallying cry and the catalyst for change in our nation.’”
(she paused, her voice trembling slightly)
“I think he was right, Jack. If we can’t lead with love, we’ll just repeat the same cycles of hate — over and over.”

Jack: (low voice, almost bitter) “You sound like the kind of person who thinks peace alone can fix a burning house. But tell me — what do you do when the ones who light the fire refuse to put it out?”

Host: A faint rumble of thunder rolled outside. The lights flickered, then steadied, throwing long shadows across the walls. Jack’s eyes, cold and analytical, met Jeeny’s soft but defiant gaze.

Jeeny: “You can’t fight fire with fire, Jack. History’s full of people who tried that — and all they left behind were ashes. Martin Luther King Jr. changed a nation with nonviolence. Gandhi freed millions with it. They understood something you refuse to see — that love disarms power in ways bullets never can.”

Jack: “Love doesn’t stop bullets, Jeeny. It doesn’t stop corruption, or greed, or systems that thrive on division. You can march with flowers all you want, but sooner or later, someone with a gun decides how history moves.”

Jeeny: “Then you’ve already surrendered, haven’t you? You’ve accepted violence as the only language left.”

Host: The sound of rain began to fall — slow, deliberate, as if the sky itself was eavesdropping. A single lightbulb swayed gently from the ceiling, its glow dimming and brightening with the storm.

Jack: “No. I’ve accepted reality. You think unity and love are enough? Look around you. This city tears itself apart every month — protests, riots, police, politicians… everyone shouting ‘peace’ while sharpening their knives.”

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s because people like you stopped believing it was possible.”

Jack: (leaning forward, voice sharper now) “Possible? Tell that to the mother who lost her son in a peaceful protest. Tell her to keep chanting ‘love and nonviolence’ while she buries what’s left of her world.”

Jeeny: “And yet — she still stands up. Still holds a candle instead of a gun. That’s what makes her stronger than those who pull the trigger.”

Host: A gust of wind rattled the windows. Jeeny’s hair fluttered against the faint light, her face glowing with quiet resolve. Jack’s fist tightened on the table, his knuckles pale.

Jack: “You talk like hope is armor. But it’s not. It’s fragile — breaks the moment reality hits it.”

Jeeny: “And yet it’s the only thing that’s ever rebuilt anything worth living for.”

Jack: “Maybe. But love doesn’t hold the line when the world pushes back.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe we’re supposed to hold it anyway.”

Host: A deep silence filled the room — the kind that feels alive, almost breathing. The rain outside grew harder, a relentless drumming on the roof that matched the tension inside.

Jack: “You think peace is strength. I think peace is a luxury built on someone else’s fight.”

Jeeny: “And I think peace is the courage to refuse that fight. The hardest courage of all.”

Jack: (gritting his teeth) “Tell that to Ukraine. To Gaza. To every nation that’s had to defend itself against people who don’t understand peace. Should they just love harder?”

Jeeny: “They should never stop loving, even when they fight. That’s the difference. The moment you lose love, you become the thing you’re fighting against.”

Host: The lightbulb swung again, throwing erratic patterns across their faces — one side bright, one side shadowed. Jack’s breath grew heavier, Jeeny’s voice steadier.

Jack: “You think love changes anything. But people need justice, not hugs. They need action.”

Jeeny: “Love is action. Unity is resistance. You think of peace as silence, but it’s not. Peace is the loudest thing in the world when it’s real.”

Jack: “Then why don’t we see it?”

Jeeny: “Because we keep confusing peace with surrender. Real peace isn’t giving up — it’s choosing to heal when it’s easier to hate.”

Host: The thunder cracked — sharp, startling. For a brief moment, the light died completely. In the dark, their voices became softer, more human.

Jack: (quietly) “You think there’s still a way back? After everything?”

Jeeny: “There has to be. Every revolution that changed humanity started not with violence — but with someone who believed in compassion when no one else did. You can’t build a better world with blood alone.”

Jack: “But blood is what built this one.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe ours will be the first to build it differently.”

Host: The lights returned — a weak, trembling glow. Jack leaned back, his face half-lit, half in shadow. His eyes, for the first time, carried something less like cynicism and more like grief.

Jack: “You ever wonder if peace is just another word for pretending?”

Jeeny: “No. Pretending is what we’ve been doing all along — pretending hate doesn’t consume us, pretending division is destiny. Peace is what happens when we finally stop pretending.”

Host: The rain softened, now just a quiet murmur against the windows. Outside, the first light of dawn touched the edge of the horizon, silver and uncertain.

Jack: “You really believe love can change a nation?”

Jeeny: “I believe it’s the only thing that ever has.”

Jack: (after a pause) “Maybe… maybe peace isn’t the absence of struggle. Maybe it’s the choice to fight differently.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Exactly.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked softly. The storm had passed, but the air still shimmered with something — not quite calm, not quite unrest — like the fragile balance of hope.

Jack looked at Jeeny, his eyes tired but gentler now. She met his gaze, and for a long moment, neither spoke.

Host: The light outside grew stronger, cutting across the floor, illuminating the old posters that read “UNITY. LOVE. NONVIOLENCE.” They looked worn, faded — but not dead.

And as the sun rose, washing the room in gold, the silence between them became something new — not surrender, but understanding.
Because in that moment, they both knew what change truly costs — and why it’s still worth everything.

The rain stopped.
The city breathed.
And peace, fragile and alive, stood quietly in the corner — waiting.