That's what liberalism is all about, is promoting incompetence on

Host: The night was thick with static, as if the airwaves themselves were alive. In a downtown radio station, long past closing hours, a single red ON AIR light glowed like a watchful eye. The studio was dim, filled with the soft hum of equipment, the smell of coffee gone cold, and the faint crackle of thunder outside.

Jack sat behind the microphone, his sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened, a man made of logic and lines, not sentiment. Jeeny sat opposite, her hands folded, her expression calm but her eyes fierce — like someone preparing to walk through a storm barefoot.

They were off the air now, the show finished, but the argument had not ended. Rush Limbaugh’s quote still hung between them — heavy, dangerous, electric:

"That's what liberalism is all about — promoting incompetence on the basis it's fair, because people would be the best if they weren't discriminated against."

Jack: “You know, for all the outrage that line gets, there’s a kind of truth to it. Society’s turned into a charity, Jeeny. Everyone wants a trophy, not because they’re the best, but because they’re trying. We’ve made fairness more important than competence.”

Jeeny: “And yet, you forget why fairness had to exist in the first place. You call it charity — I call it justice. For centuries, people were kept out of the room not because they couldn’t perform, but because they didn’t belong to the right class, color, or creed. Liberalism didn’t promote incompetence, Jack. It tried to unshackle potential.”

Host: The neon rain outside streaked the window in blurred colors — red, blue, white — a mirror of the words flickering between them. The microphones, though turned off, still stood like silent witnesses to their clash.

Jack: “That’s the ideal, sure. But look at what it’s become. We’re lowering standards just to make people feel equal. Schools, companies, even governments — they don’t reward excellence anymore; they reward narratives. Limbaugh wasn’t wrong — liberalism’s turned fairness into a kind of affirmative pity.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack — it’s turned meritocracy into something more honest. You talk about standards like they were handed down by God, but whose standards? A system built on centuries of bias? You think a woman denied education or a black man denied a job because of his race were somehow ‘incompetent’? They never got the chance to prove otherwise.”

Jack: “And yet now, we overcompensate. We promote the unready, the underqualified, because it looks fair. That’s not progress — that’s reverse discrimination with better PR.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it’s a correction — an overdue one. You call it incompetence, but sometimes what you’re seeing is new competence in a language you don’t understand yet. When the first woman became a CEO, people said the same thing. When Barack Obama became president, they said it again. Funny how every generation’s equality looks like incompetence to those who were already comfortable.”

Host: A low rumble of thunder rolled through the city. Jack lit a cigarette, the flame catching his grey eyes in a brief, flickering reflection. He leaned back, smoke curling in the dim light like a thought taking shape.

Jack: “You always defend the ideal, Jeeny, but ideals don’t run economies. You can’t fill hospitals, run tech firms, or fly planes on diversity goals. It’s not about bias anymore — it’s about ability. If we lose that, we lose the foundation.”

Jeeny: “And if we lose fairness, we lose our humanity. The foundation you’re talking about was built on someone’s exclusion. You call fairness a weakness — I call it evolution. It’s not about who can fly the plane; it’s about making sure everyone had the runway to learn.”

Jack: “But that’s the illusion — you can’t legislate equality of outcome, only of opportunity. And liberalism’s forgotten that line. It’s gone from ‘give everyone a fair chance’ to ‘give everyone a ribbon.’ That’s what Rush was mocking — and maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong to.”

Jeeny: “You think Limbaugh ever cared about fairness? His words weren’t born of logic — they were born of fear. Fear that the world he knew was changing. That people who were once silent now had voices, and those voices demanded room at the table. That’s not incompetence, Jack — that’s redistribution of dignity.”

Host: Her voice cut through the quiet like a blade wrapped in velvet. Jack’s jaw tightened, but there was something in his eyes — a flicker of reflection, almost reluctant respect.

Jack: “You talk like equality is a zero-sum myth — like we can all win if we just care enough. But power doesn’t work like that, Jeeny. When someone gains, someone else loses. That’s not oppression; it’s arithmetic.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. That’s cynicism pretending to be math. You think progress steals from you because you mistake privilege for merit. The old guard called the civil rights movement ‘disruptive.’ They called feminism ‘unfair.’ And every time someone rises who wasn’t supposed to, the powerful cry ‘incompetence.’ It’s the same story — just new characters.”

Host: The rain softened, the storm retreating, leaving behind the low hum of the city — like the world itself was catching its breath.

Jack: “But where does it end, Jeeny? How much do we bend before we break? You can’t make everyone equal without breaking the idea of excellence.”

Jeeny: “Excellence isn’t broken by inclusion, Jack — it’s refined by it. If a system can’t survive fairness, maybe it wasn’t excellence at all — maybe it was gatekeeping dressed as greatness.”

Host: A silence filled the studio, dense and trembling. The old clock on the wall ticked softly, counting time like a judge waiting for a verdict.

Jack: quietly “You make it sound noble. But I wonder if it’s naïve.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. But I’d rather live in a world naïve enough to believe in potential than one cynical enough to worship privilege.”

Host: Jack’s hand brushed the mic switch, almost absently. The red light flickered on — not because he meant to speak, but because he wanted to hear his own thoughts aloud.

Jack: “You know, sometimes I think fairness and freedom are enemies. The more you guarantee one, the less you have of the other.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the goal isn’t to choose between them — but to learn how to balance them. Fairness gives freedom its soul; freedom gives fairness its edge.”

Host: For a moment, all the noise — the storm, the hum, the city — faded. There was only the glow of the radio light, the weight of unspoken truth, and two people facing each other across the dark.

Jack exhaled, smoke curling in the air like surrender.

Jack: “Maybe the real incompetence isn’t in liberalism. Maybe it’s in all of us — thinking we can fix what’s broken without breaking something else.”

Jeeny: softly “Maybe. But the difference between liberals and cynics, Jack, is that liberals still try.”

Host: The rain stopped. Outside, a thin dawn light began to bleed through the clouds — hesitant, pale, but steady. Jeeny stood, gathering her coat. Jack stayed seated, staring at the console, his reflection caught between shadow and glow.

As she reached the door, she turned back.

Jeeny: “Maybe fairness doesn’t make people better, Jack. But believing they could be — that’s where progress begins.”

Jack: “And maybe doubt’s what keeps progress honest.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe we need both.”

Host: The door closed, leaving Jack alone with the faint hum of machines — the rhythm of a city trying to define itself.

He looked at the microphone, then out the window at the soft, silver morning.

Somewhere between fairness and freedom, between competence and compassion, the truth shimmered — fragile, uncomfortable, but alive.

And as the sunlight broke through, it fell across the ON AIR sign one last time, glowing not red, but gold — as if reminding him:

that the conversation, like the world, was far from over.