Technology is making it easier for women to connect to business

Host: The night was a mosaic of city lights and raindrops, each reflection trembling on the glass like uncertain stars. From the window of a rooftop café, the streets below shimmered with the motion of neon and ambition. Laptops glowed against the dark, and voices hummed in a dozen languages — a chorus of ideas and commerce, spinning the threads of a new world.

At a corner table, Jack sat with his hands around a cup of black coffee, his eyes a cold, reflective gray, as if they saw through the surface of everything. Across from him, Jeeny leaned forward, her dark hair loose, her expression alight with quiet fire. She had been talking for a while — her words woven with hope and conviction — and he, listening, had that half-smile that meant he was about to disagree.

Host: The air between them was charged — not with anger, but with the slow electricity of two minds on opposite poles.

Jeeny: “Technology is making it easier for women to connect to business opportunities around the world, Jack. But it’s not just about profits or markets — it’s about justice. Arancha Gonzalez said it clearly: discrimination shouldn’t be the law. Isn’t that something worth fighting for?”

Jack: “It’s a nice sentiment,” he said, his voice low, steady. “But law isn’t built on sentiment. It’s built on systems, on power structures that don’t bend just because they’re unfair. You can’t just program equality into an algorithm.”

Host: A faint rumble of thunder echoed beyond the windows, the sky split by a thread of lightning. Jeeny’s eyes glimmered in the flash, but her voice remained soft, deliberate.

Jeeny: “Then maybe the system itself is wrong. Maybe we need to rewrite the code, not just work inside it. Technology is giving women a voice — a network. The law should be the one catching up, not standing in the way.”

Jack: “And yet,” he countered, leaning back, “for every woman with Wi-Fi and a startup dream, there are hundreds who can’t even own a phone, or inherit property, or walk to a bank without a guardian. Technology is a tool, not a solution. It’s still governed by the same people who write those laws.”

Host: The rain began to fall harder, a steady curtain of silver cutting the city into fragments. The café lights flickered, then steadied, casting their faces in amber glow. Jeeny’s hand trembled slightly as she lifted her cup, then steadied — her resolve hardening like glass cooling in flame.

Jeeny: “You sound like you’ve already given up, Jack. As if change is impossible unless the powerful allow it.”

Jack: “I’m saying change comes with costs. You can’t wish away centuries of law, religion, and custom with hashtags and mobile apps.”

Jeeny: “But every revolution starts with a whisper, not a law. Technology is that whisper now — it’s women in villages selling their crafts online, students coding from their rooms, lawyers networking across continents. That’s not just business — that’s freedom in motion.”

Jack: “And yet,” he said, his tone cool, “the same technology that frees can also enslave. The same networks that empower can be used to control. Do you really think liberation comes from machines built by men who still profit from inequality?”

Host: The words hung between them, sharp as glass shards under dim light. Jeeny’s eyes flared — not in anger, but in a kind of sadness. She looked down, tracing the rim of her cup with one finger, as if drawing a circle around all the barriers she had fought against.

Jeeny: “You’re right. Technology can enslave. But so can silence. So can fear. The difference is that technology lets women speak — and once voices are heard, they can’t be unheard.”

Jack: “You have too much faith in human nature. Voices get heard, yes — and then they get muted, ignored, or monetized. The market doesn’t care about justice; it cares about efficiency. You talk about discrimination as if it’s a virus we can delete. But it’s human — it’s coded into the system of survival.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe we need to evolve, not just survive.”

Host: The rain softened, becoming a mist. A passing train below sent a low hum through the floor, like the heartbeat of the city itself. For a moment, both were silent, each lost in the echo of their own truth.

Jack: “You know,” he said after a pause, “when I was in Cairo, I met a woman who ran an import business entirely through her phone. She told me she had never been allowed to open a bank account, but through a mobile wallet, she bypassed the law. She was smiling, proud. But when I asked if her husband knew, she said — ‘Of course not. He’d take it all.’”

Jeeny: “And yet she did it. That’s resistance. That’s bravery.”

Jack: “That’s desperation,” he said softly. “The system forced her to hide. Technology didn’t liberate her; it just gave her a secret way to survive.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s how freedom begins — in secrecy, in shadows. Until one day it steps into light.”

Host: Jack’s eyes flickered — a momentary crack in his armor. Outside, the rain thinned into threads, the moonlight beginning to filter through the clouds. The city below glistened, half-wet, half-awake.

Jack: “You make it sound so noble, Jeeny. But what happens when that freedom you’re building runs up against tradition, law, and faith? You can’t just delete all that. Some people believe the world should have order, even if that order is unequal.”

Jeeny: “Then it’s not order, Jack. It’s submission. And faith that justifies injustice is nothing but fear dressed in holy words.”

Jack: “You talk like a revolutionary.”

Jeeny: “Maybe I am. Maybe every woman who refuses to be silent is one.”

Host: Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and in that fracture was something pure — not anger, not rhetoric, but pain. The kind of pain that changes people. Jack looked at her then — really looked — and for the first time that night, his eyes softened.

Jack: “You really believe we can make the law follow the heart?”

Jeeny: “I believe we can make the heart remind the law what it was meant to protect.”

Jack: “And what’s that?”

Jeeny: “The dignity of every human being.”

Host: The café grew quieter as the rain stopped. The sound of typing, murmured voices, and clinking cups faded into a kind of gentle hush, as if even the world was listening. A breeze moved through the window, cool and clean, carrying the scent of wet earth and possibility.

Jack: “You know,” he said after a long silence, “maybe technology isn’t the solution. Maybe it’s just the mirror — showing us what we’ve always been, and what we could still become.”

Jeeny: “Then let’s at least make sure that mirror reflects justice, not power.”

Host: A small smile touched Jack’s lips — not a smirk, but something genuine, almost tired. He reached for his coffee, now cold, and lifted it like a quiet toast.

Jack: “To justice, then. And to the women who are still writing the code of a fairer world.”

Jeeny: “And to the men who are brave enough to listen.”

Host: The rain had stopped, but the streets still shimmered, as if holding onto the memory of the storm. In that reflection, two figures sat across from one another — not as opposites, but as equals, framed by the light of a world still becoming.

The camera would pull back now — past the window, past the skyline, into the wide, breathing dark of a planet humming with connection. Somewhere, voices continued to rise, typing, speaking, building — a quiet, unstoppable revolution.

And in that stillness, the words of Arancha Gonzalez would echo like a promise:
“Discrimination shouldn’t be the law — not because it’s economically smart, but because it’s humanly wrong.”