Racism exists, but it is far less rampant than ignorance, and

Host: The sun hung low over the train station, spilling its fading light across cracked concrete and scattered pigeons. A soft wind carried the scent of diesel, dust, and old paper—like the remnants of forgotten departures.

Inside the small waiting hall, two figures sat opposite each other on wooden benches, a battered suitcase between them. The walls were painted in peeling beige, and a single fan turned lazily overhead, cutting through the heavy heat.

Jack’s face was tired but steady, his hands clasped loosely in front of him, his eyes cold steel under the warm gold of dusk. Jeeny sat across from him, her hair pulled back, her expression thoughtful, her eyes glowing with that deep, stubborn empathy that refused to die in the face of cynicism.

Jeeny: “Candace Owens once said, ‘Racism exists, but it is far less rampant than ignorance, and ignorance can be cured through experience.’”

Host: Her voice carried softly in the empty station, echoing faintly off the tiled walls, mixing with the distant whistle of a departing train.

Jack: “Hmm. That’s an interesting way to downplay a fire—call it smoke.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it’s calling attention to the air that keeps feeding it. Ignorance.”

Jack: “You make ignorance sound harmless. But ignorance burns too. Sometimes worse than hate—because it doesn’t even know it’s on fire.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. But that’s why it can be cured. Hate often chooses to stay blind. Ignorance just hasn’t learned to see yet.”

Host: The light flickered from a tired bulb above them. A small boy ran past with a plastic train toy, his laughter cutting through the tension for a moment, like sunlight on broken glass.

Jack: “You really believe ignorance can be cured through experience? I’ve seen people live their whole lives in the same city, see the same injustice, and still blame the wrong people.”

Jeeny: “Because they haven’t experienced enough. They’ve existed, but they haven’t met the world. Ignorance doesn’t vanish just because time passes. It vanishes when the heart gets confronted with something it can’t deny.”

Jack: “You sound like you’re giving ignorance too much credit. Some people cling to it like faith. They wear it like armor.”

Jeeny: “And some wear it like skin because they don’t know it’s something they can shed.”

Host: A train rumbled in from the distance, its headlights cutting through the station like twin spears of gold. The low hum filled the silence, the sound vibrating through the worn floorboards beneath their feet.

Jack: “You know, Jeeny, I’ve worked construction half my life. I’ve heard every kind of word, every kind of slur, from people who’d still offer you their lunch five minutes later. Are they racist? Or just stupid?”

Jeeny: “Maybe just scared. Fear breeds ignorance faster than any school can cure it.”

Jack: “Fear of what?”

Jeeny: “Losing what they think they understand. The moment you show people a world bigger than their own, they panic. It’s not the stranger they hate—it’s the unknown.”

Jack: “So we should just hand out experiences like medicine? A trip here, a friend there, and suddenly everyone’s enlightened?”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “If only it were that easy. But even small experiences can shift a soul. Remember that kid who joined our team from Nigeria? You told me you thought he’d never fit in.”

Jack: (pauses) “Yeah. I did.”

Jeeny: “And three months later, you were sharing lunches with him and watching football together.”

Jack: “He made it easy. He wasn’t one of those loud, angry types.”

Jeeny: “Maybe he didn’t need to be. Maybe you finally saw him, not the idea you had of him.”

Host: Jack looked away, his jaw tightening slightly. The station clock ticked above them, every second falling heavy as if marking the weight of something deeper than time.

Jack: “You think I’m ignorant, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “I think you’ve learned. That’s what makes the difference. We’ve all been ignorant at some point. The tragedy isn’t being ignorant—it’s staying that way.”

Jack: “So what about racism? You think it’s less rampant?”

Jeeny: “I think it’s more exposed now. Ignorance used to hide in quiet corners. Now it’s got Wi-Fi and a microphone.”

Jack: “You sound almost hopeful.”

Jeeny: “Because awareness is the beginning of experience. Once people see the mirror, some choose to look closer.”

Host: The train doors hissed open, a burst of air sweeping through, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and metal. A few passengers shuffled past, their faces weary, eyes fixed forward.

Jack: “You know, I remember when I was sixteen. I got into a fight with this kid from Mexico. We both worked at the same junkyard. He said something, I said something worse. And after we brawled, he sat me down and made me try tamales for the first time.”

Jeeny: (smiling softly) “And?”

Jack: “And I couldn’t stop eating. We laughed until our boss kicked us out for being late. Funny how fast a meal can do what speeches can’t.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly what Owens meant. Experience breaks ignorance because it humanizes what we’ve dehumanized.”

Jack: “Maybe. But not everyone gets that kind of meal.”

Jeeny: “Then it’s on us to invite them to the table.”

Host: The light outside dimmed as another train passed, its wheels screaming against the track like a song of departure and return. Jeeny’s voice softened.

Jeeny: “You know, I once met a woman in Alabama. She told me she used to cross the street whenever she saw a black man. One day, her car broke down in the rain, and the only person who stopped to help her was a black mechanic. She said she’s never looked at people the same way since.”

Jack: “One experience changed her?”

Jeeny: “One experience opened her eyes. The rest of her life changed her heart.”

Host: The station was quieter now. The clock ticked softer. Jack stared down at his hands, his rough, calloused fingers moving slowly as if feeling the shape of her words.

Jack: “You think ignorance will ever die?”

Jeeny: “No. But it can evolve. Every generation burns away a little more of it. The question is whether we pass down our scars or our lessons.”

Jack: “You sound like you’ve got faith in people.”

Jeeny: “I do. Even when they don’t deserve it. Especially then.”

Host: Jack leaned back, exhaling. His eyes softened—less guarded now, touched by the slow warmth of something remembered.

Jack: “You know, maybe ignorance isn’t cured by experience alone. Maybe it’s cured by humility. The moment you realize you could’ve been wrong all along.”

Jeeny: “That’s experience, Jack. The most important kind.”

Host: A final whistle sounded. The train began to move, pulling out of the station, slow at first, then faster, until its light disappeared into the dark horizon.

Jeeny stood, lifting her small bag, the fabric worn, the handle frayed.

Jeeny: “Ignorance is darkness, Jack. But darkness isn’t evil—it’s just the absence of light. We just need to keep lighting candles.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “Even when the wind keeps blowing them out?”

Jeeny: “Especially then.”

Host: The station fell quiet again. A single lightbulb flickered above, humming softly in the silence. Jack watched Jeeny walk toward the exit, her silhouette framed against the pale glow of the night.

He picked up the old suitcase, stood slowly, and looked once more toward the empty tracks—the place where ignorance departs and understanding arrives, again and again, like trains that never stop coming.

Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall—each one a small baptism for the world still trying to learn.