Society is notoriously stupid in its failure to harness the

Host: The office lights hummed softly, a low, electric drone against the city’s dusk. Beyond the glass windows, neon signs flickered and rain painted streaks of light across the skyline. Inside, a conference table sat like an island, scattered with coffee mugs, documents, and the ghost of another long day.

Jeeny sat near the window, her silhouette framed by the storm. She looked tired, but there was a still fire in her eyes. Jack leaned against the wall, jacket unbuttoned, his tie loosened, the weariness of the day etched in the lines of his face.

Host: A moment of silence hovered — that kind of silence that feels dense, filled with unsaid truths and unasked questions. The city’s pulse throbbed in the background, as if listening.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack… Victoria Coren Mitchell once said something that stays with me. ‘Society is notoriously stupid in its failure to harness the wisdom of older women.’ I think about that a lot — how we waste our best minds because they don’t fit the age we want them to be.”

Jack: (smirking) “Ah, that old argument. You make it sound like a conspiracy. Maybe the truth is simpler — maybe society just moves on. We value what’s new, what’s efficient, what’s adaptable. It’s not about age or gender, Jeeny. It’s about survival.”

Host: The rain hit the windowpane, faster now. Jeeny’s hand curled around her mug, the steam coiling like a small ghost.

Jeeny: “Survival? That’s a nice word for exclusion, Jack. We call it progress, but it’s just another form of erasure. We let men age into authority — their grey hair becomes a badge. But for women, it’s a warning sign. Look at the boardrooms, the parliaments, even the TV screens. You’ll see it. The absence of older women isn’t accidental.”

Jack: “You’re romanticizing it. The system doesn’t have time to pamper everyone’s identity crisis. People make choices. Some prioritize family, others career. No one forces anyone to do one or the other. The world rewards focus. That’s all.”

Jeeny: “But that’s exactly what Victoria meant — that women are forced to build their professional and financial lives right when they’re biologically expected to build families. Do you realize how cruel that structure is? Men don’t have to choose between creation and continuation. We do.”

Host: Jack shifted, his eyes narrowing, his fingers tapping the table. There was tension in the air, like a wire stretched thin between them.

Jack: “Life’s cruel to everyone, Jeeny. It’s not gender-specific. You think a man doesn’t sacrifice? Look at those who spend their best years grinding through corporate ladders only to retire lonely and forgotten. The world doesn’t owe fairness. It only owes opportunity.”

Jeeny: “Opportunity?” (her voice trembling slightly) “When women in their forties are passed over for younger faces, when mothers return to work and are seen as liabilities? You call that opportunity? That’s a rigged game with pretty language painted on the box.”

Host: The lights flickered once, as if agreeing with her. The room felt suddenly smaller, filled with the echo of her words.

Jack: “So what do you want then? Quotas? Sympathy? You can’t legislate respect or wisdom. If society doesn’t value older women, maybe it’s because — harsh truth — it doesn’t need what they offer anymore. The world is different now.”

Jeeny: “Different? No, Jack. Just louder. Not wiser. You think technology replaced experience? It didn’t. It replaced listening. And that’s our real tragedy. We’ve silenced the voices that actually understand the long game — the women who’ve lived, failed, endured.”

Host: Her voice softened, but her eyes hardened. The storm outside pressed its face against the window, like the world itself wanted to hear the argument.

Jack: (quietly) “You sound like my mother. Always saying the world’s deaf to wisdom. Maybe she was right, but she also refused to adapt. She held on to old ideals until they crushed her.”

Jeeny: “And yet you quote her. Maybe what crushed her wasn’t her ideals — maybe it was a society that taught her she was outdated for having them.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened, the muscle beneath his skin twitching. He looked away, out into the rain-soaked dark.

Jack: “She was a teacher, Jeeny. Worked thirty years. When she hit fifty, they replaced her with someone half her age — said she lacked ‘digital literacy.’ I remember her crying over that. But what could I do? The world doesn’t slow down for nostalgia.”

Jeeny: “It’s not nostalgia to want fairness. It’s not weakness to want balance. You know, in Iceland, they actually legislated equal parental leave — for men and women. It changed everything. Women could build careers without losing themselves, and men could share the weight of early parenthood. That’s what structures should do — balance, not erase.”

Host: The room grew quiet again. The rain had softened to a drizzle, the city lights outside blurring like melting stars.

Jack: “Maybe. But changing laws doesn’t change minds. You can’t force people to respect something they don’t understand. Respect is earned, not mandated.”

Jeeny: “Earned? Women have been earning it for centuries — running homes, raising generations, holding communities together while men went to wars or meetings. And still we have to earn the right to be heard after forty? How much more currency do you want?”

Host: Her voice cracked at the edge — not from anger, but from something deeper, a kind of aching truth that hovered between them. Jack looked at her, really looked, as if he were seeing something he hadn’t before.

Jack: “You really believe society can change? That it can unlearn what it’s built on?”

Jeeny: “It already has — every time a woman refused to disappear. Think of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, of Mary Beard, of Angela Merkel. Women who didn’t trade youth for relevance. They built new definitions of both.”

Host: Jack exhaled, a slow breath that carried a weight beyond words. The storm had passed, leaving a faint mist that glowed under the streetlights.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe what’s stupid isn’t society’s blindness — it’s our acceptance of it. I just… I don’t know where the fix starts.”

Jeeny: “It starts with listening, Jack. With realizing that wisdom isn’t a luxury. It’s a resource. And we’re wasting half of it because it doesn’t come in a young package.”

Host: A pause. The air felt lighter, but charged — like the world was briefly tilted toward clarity.

Jack: “You know, I’ve been mentoring a junior team. All fresh grads. Brilliant, fast, fearless. But sometimes… they make the same mistakes over and over. Maybe what they really need isn’t another innovation workshop. Maybe they need someone who’s seen it all before.”

Jeeny: (smiling softly) “Exactly. Wisdom isn’t about age, Jack. It’s about perspective. But age gives it roots.”

Host: The rain stopped. The city exhaled. Jack walked to the window, his reflection shimmering beside hers in the glass — two faces, different, but equal in the light of realization.

Jack: “Maybe it’s time society stopped pretending experience expires. Maybe we’re the ones who’ve been too young to understand what growing old actually means.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the beginning of wisdom — not youth, not age, but humility.”

Host: Outside, a tram bell rang faintly, distant but clear — a small sound of movement through the wet streets. Inside, the two of them stood in silence, their reflections merging with the city’s glow.

The camera pulled back slowly, past the window, past the storm-lit skyline, until the two figures became just shadows in a room full of light — a metaphor, perhaps, for what the world could become if it finally learned to listen.