Sustainability is important because we all are responsible to

Host:
The city farmers’ market was almost closed. The late sunlight bled gold through the canvas tents, the last few customers wandering past crates of bruised apples and wilting basil. The air smelled of earth, citrus, and tired hope — that particular scent that exists only at the end of long days spent trying to do good in a world too distracted to notice.

Near the last stall — a small wooden table piled with jars of honey and hand-printed signs about “local sourcing” and “ethical food chains” — Jack and Jeeny stood facing each other. Jack’s sleeves were rolled up, his hands streaked with soil; Jeeny held a notebook under her arm, the corner damp from the evening humidity.

Behind them, a truck rumbled, loading unsold produce. The sound was heavy, rhythmic, indifferent.

Jeeny: “You look like you fought the Earth and lost.”

Jack: (smirking, wiping his hands on a rag) “I did. She’s undefeated.”

Jeeny: “At least you’re still trying.”

Jack: “Trying doesn’t feel like enough anymore. People buy ‘organic’ because it looks good on Instagram, not because they understand the soil it came from.”

(He picks up a tomato, turning it in his hand — red, imperfect, real.)

Jeeny: “Denise Morrison once said, ‘Sustainability is important because we all are responsible to nourish our planet. And real food should be delicious, safe, affordable, and accessible to all. All without compromise.’”

Jack: “Yeah, well, she’s never tried to sell heirloom lettuce next to a discount drive-thru.”

Jeeny: “You sound bitter.”

Jack: “I sound realistic.”

Host:
The camera lingers on the market — the emptying crates, the fading light, the hum of city life beyond this small island of conscience. Jeeny leans on the edge of the table, her gaze steady, her tone even — calm meeting cynicism, heart meeting fatigue.

Jeeny: “You think sustainability’s a dream for rich people?”

Jack: “I think it’s a slogan for companies who forgot what hunger feels like.”

Jeeny: “That’s not fair.”

Jack: “Neither is charging twelve bucks for something that grows out of dirt.”

(He sets the tomato down, frustration simmering just beneath his calm.)

Jeeny: “You’re angry because you care.”

Jack: “I’m angry because caring doesn’t seem to change anything. The same people talk about saving the planet while throwing out half their lunch.”

Jeeny: “So you’d rather stop trying?”

Jack: “No. I’d rather stop pretending we’re doing enough.”

(The air thickens — not with hostility, but with the raw honesty of two people who want the same thing and hate how impossible it feels.)

Host:
The light dims further, orange turning to violet. The last vendor pulls down their canopy, the sound of zippers and flapping fabric echoing softly through the square.

Jeeny: “You know what I like about Morrison’s quote?”

Jack: “Enlighten me.”

Jeeny: “The word nourish. She didn’t say ‘save.’ She said ‘nourish.’ There’s humility in that. It’s not about being heroes. It’s about being caretakers.”

(He looks at her, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing.)

Jack: “Caretakers. Sounds poetic. But we’re caretaking a dying system.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But dying systems have come back before. Ecosystems rebuild themselves — when we stop treating them like factories.”

Jack: “And what about people? You can’t talk sustainability without talking about class. It’s easy to nourish the planet when you’re not starving.”

Jeeny: “True. Which means sustainability can’t just be green — it has to be just.”

(Her voice gains quiet intensity. The rhythm of her conviction balances the heaviness of his realism.)

Jeeny: “Real food should belong to everyone — not as a luxury, but as a right. Safe, affordable, accessible. That’s what she meant by ‘without compromise.’”

Jack: “And how do you make that happen? Education? Policy? Good vibes?”

Jeeny: “All of it. Mostly accountability.”

Host:
The camera pans wider, showing the last bits of the market being packed away — the end of commerce, but not of conversation.

Jack: “You talk like belief can bend the system.”

Jeeny: “Belief built the system. It can rebuild it too.”

Jack: “You’re too idealistic.”

Jeeny: “You’re too tired.”

(They lock eyes. The moment isn’t antagonistic — it’s intimate, like two sides of the same truth confronting each other.)

Jeeny: “Look, I get it. The planet feels too big to fix, and people too selfish to save. But maybe we’re not supposed to fix everything. Maybe we’re just supposed to refuse to give up on what feeds us.”

Jack: “Even when the soil’s poisoned?”

Jeeny: “Especially then.”

(He studies her, the flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth. The defiance in her hope softens something in him.)

Host:
The streetlights flicker on, bathing the empty market in a strange, sacred light — part artificial, part grace. The hum of the world carries on beyond, but here, time seems to slow.

Jack: “You really believe it can be done — sustainability without compromise?”

Jeeny: “I believe it has to be. Otherwise, we’re just feeding ourselves extinction.”

Jack: “And what if it’s too late?”

Jeeny: “Then we fight anyway. Because the act of fighting for something sacred makes us human.”

(A pause — the kind that breathes between truth and acceptance.)

Jack: “You ever notice how people call it ‘Mother Earth’ but treat her like a maid?”

Jeeny: (softly, almost a whisper) “That’s because they’ve forgotten mothers get tired too.”

(Silence. The kind that feels earned.)

Host:
The camera zooms slowly, framing them against the darkening market — two small figures surrounded by crates, compost, and conviction.

Host: Because Denise Morrison was right — sustainability isn’t a trend; it’s a moral inheritance.
To nourish the planet is to acknowledge the debt we owe it — for every meal, every breath, every sunrise that doesn’t choke on smoke.

Host: Real food isn’t a luxury brand.
It’s the covenant between earth and hunger — between what grows and what survives.

Host: But nourishment, like justice, requires balance:
flavor with fairness, affordability with dignity, accessibility with respect.
Without those, the planet will feed no one — not even the privileged.

Jeeny: “You know what I think?”

Jack: “What?”

Jeeny: “The real revolution isn’t in policy or science. It’s in appetite.”

Jack: “Appetite?”

Jeeny: “Yeah. If people learned to crave sustainability the way they crave comfort, the world would heal itself faster than any reform could.”

(He laughs softly, shaking his head.)

Jack: “You always make saving the planet sound like poetry.”

Jeeny: “Because it is. The earth doesn’t need speeches — it needs love songs.”

(He picks up a leftover tomato from the table, weighing it in his hand before setting it back gently, almost reverently.)

Jack: “Then I guess we better start singing.”

Jeeny: “Or at least stop pretending we can live without the chorus.”

Host:
The final shot widens: the empty market bathed in orange streetlight, the two of them walking away side by side, shadows long against the wet pavement. The crates are empty, but the soil — somewhere, unseen — is waiting to give again.

Host:
Because nourishment is not an act of indulgence.
It’s an act of responsibility — a promise to feed life without forgetting where life begins.

And the planet, patient but not infinite,
is still listening.

(Fade to black. The sound of a distant breeze carries the faint hum of cicadas — the earth breathing, asking softly to be cared for.)