Thanks to the rise of cloud computing, collaboration tools are

Host: The city lay beneath a curtain of mist, its glass towers glimmering faintly like ghosts of ambition. Inside one of those towers — a co-working space buzzing with screens, voices, and the low hum of servers — Jack and Jeeny sat opposite each other in a small meeting room. The air smelled faintly of coffee and electricity.

Host: A projector flickered to life, throwing graphs and numbers across the wall. Outside the window, a fine rain traced thin lines down the glass, like data streams falling from the sky.

Jeeny: “It’s strange, isn’t it? We used to think only big corporations could afford real collaboration — networks, servers, fancy platforms. Now even a two-person start-up can have a global presence. That’s what Jean-Philippe Courtois meant — cloud computing leveled the field.”

Jack: “Leveled?” He gave a small, dry laugh. “No, Jeeny. It didn’t level anything. It just moved the hill somewhere else. The cloud is owned by giants — Microsoft, Amazon, Google. You think small firms are free? They’re just standing under someone else’s sky.”

Host: The lights above flickered slightly, reflecting the tension that had begun to pulse between them. Jack’s voice carried the calm of someone who’d seen the underbelly of progress; Jeeny’s, the fire of someone who still believed in change.

Jeeny: “That’s such a cynical way to see it. Don’t you remember how hard it was ten years ago? Remote teams couldn’t share a single file without a USB. Now, a kid in Nairobi can design an app with someone in São Paulo in real-time. That’s power — distributed power.”

Jack: “Distributed? Sure. But controlled. You’re mistaking convenience for empowerment. The ‘cloud’ isn’t some heavenly place of equality — it’s a rented room in someone else’s mansion. You stop paying, and you’re out in the rain.”

Host: Jack’s fingers drummed on the table, slow, rhythmic, like a metronome counting down to something unsaid.

Jeeny: “But you can’t deny the collaboration it’s created. Look at how teams survived the pandemic — tools like Zoom, Slack, Teams, they kept people connected. They kept businesses alive. You talk like the cloud is a prison, but it’s what kept us breathing.”

Jack: “And in exchange, we handed over our privacy, our autonomy, our every typed thought. Collaboration, sure — but under surveillance. You think your firm’s conversation about innovation is private? It’s stored, analyzed, maybe even sold.”

Jeeny: “So what’s your solution? Go back to fax machines and locked filing cabinets? You can’t fight modernity by calling it corrupt.”

Jack: “No, but we can stay awake while using it. That’s the difference. We built these tools to connect — and somehow, they made us dependent.”

Host: A pause — a long, reflective one. The projector light painted their faces in soft, digital blue. Jeeny’s eyes followed the flicker of a chart showing growth — upward, unbroken — while Jack’s gaze lingered on the fine print below.

Jeeny: “You always see the cracks first.”

Jack: “Because that’s where the truth leaks through.”

Host: The room felt smaller now, the air thicker with the hum of machines. Outside, the rain grew heavier, streaking the windows like code dissolving into water.

Jeeny: “Listen. You say dependency — I say connection. You say surveillance — I say accessibility. I’ve seen tiny nonprofits use these tools to reach people across continents. Farmers in rural India checking weather data in real time, teachers in South Africa conducting online lessons — do you call that dependence?”

Jack: “I call that borrowed power. They can connect only as long as the gatekeepers allow it. Remember when AWS shut down Parler overnight? Millions lost access instantly. That’s not democracy — that’s digital feudalism.”

Jeeny: “But even in feudal systems, revolutions started in the fields, Jack. People find ways to break free — to use the master’s tools to build their own houses.”

Host: Her words carried a sharp grace, like a spark against the cold air. Jack looked up at her, something almost like admiration flickering in his eyes.

Jack: “So you think we’re in a revolution?”

Jeeny: “I think we’re in a translation — from isolation to connection, from ownership to access. We just need to make sure we don’t lose our humanity in the process.”

Jack: “That’s the problem. We think digital connection equals human connection. But it’s not the same. A thousand Slack messages can’t replace one handshake, one look across a room.”

Jeeny: “True. But when distance is the enemy, data becomes the bridge.”

Host: The rain softened, tapping gently now — like fingers on a keyboard. The city lights below blurred into a soft mosaic of gold and silver, like an endless circuit board pulsing with life.

Jack: “You know, I read about a company in Tokyo — they went fully remote last year. Productivity soared at first. Then, six months in, half the team reported burnout, loneliness, disconnection. They had all the collaboration tools money could buy — but they lost their sense of belonging.”

Jeeny: “And yet, for every Tokyo story, there’s a Manila one — where people who couldn’t commute or afford childcare finally got to work and earn from home. The cloud isn’t perfect, but it’s merciful. It gives choices where there were none.”

Host: Jeeny’s words hung like rainlight over the room, soft but heavy with truth. Jack leaned back, his grey eyes reflecting the flickering screen, where a file slowly synced — Uploading 97%...

Jack: “So maybe it’s not about freedom or control. Maybe it’s about balance. Between reach and roots. Between cloud and ground.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The cloud doesn’t replace the earth — it mirrors it. And if we’re wise, we’ll learn to plant both seeds and servers.”

Host: The lights dimmed slightly as the building’s energy-saving system kicked in. The hum of machines softened to a low whisper. For the first time, both of them were quiet — two thinkers caught between optimism and warning, between the electric pulse of progress and the quiet ache of its cost.

Jack: “You know what Courtois really meant? That even small firms can now play in the big leagues.”

Jeeny: “And what do you think of that?”

Jack: “That maybe we should stop trying to play in leagues at all. Maybe we should build new games.”

Jeeny: “Then at least we’ll need good servers for them.” She smiled — small, tired, but real.

Host: The projector faded to black, leaving them in a pool of quiet blue light from their screens. Outside, the storm had cleared. Clouds drifted apart, revealing a stretch of sky that looked almost tangible — soft, infinite, and waiting.

Host: And as the room fell into silence, Jack and Jeeny sat there — two figures surrounded by circuits and air — realizing that the future was not somewhere above them, but between them, built line by line, like code written in faith.