That's why I want to change Mississippi. You don't run away from

Host: The air over the Delta hung heavy, thick with humidity and the smell of earth after rain. The sun had just fallen, leaving a purple bruise across the sky. Cicadas hummed from the trees, and the dirt road outside the small church was still wet, glistening beneath a single streetlight.

Inside, a few folding chairs leaned against peeling walls, a chalkboard half-erased with the words “Freedom Meeting Tonight.”

Jack stood near the door, his shirt collar unbuttoned, his hands deep in his pockets. Jeeny sat on the old piano bench, her hair loose, her eyes distant but alive — lit with that quiet fire she always carried when she spoke of what mattered most.

Jeeny: “Fannie Lou Hamer once said, ‘That’s why I want to change Mississippi. You don’t run away from problems — you just face them.’”

Jack: (gruffly) “That’s easy to say when you’ve got an army behind you. But she didn’t, did she?”

Host: A truck rumbled past outside, its headlights spilling through the window, flashing across Jack’s face — a face carved by weariness, but marked by thought.

Jeeny: “No, she didn’t. That’s what makes it mean something. She was beaten, jailed, threatened — and still she said it. Still she stayed.”

Jack: “Stayed and suffered. Sometimes, Jeeny, running isn’t cowardice. It’s strategy. You live to fight another day.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “And if everyone runs, who’s left to fight at all?”

Host: The wind outside shifted, rustling the trees. Somewhere down the road, a dog barked, the sound echoing in the darkness. The world felt both vast and intimate, like the breath between two arguments that were about to matter.

Jack: “You know, not everyone’s built like her. Not everyone can face their demons and survive. People leave Mississippi, or anywhere like it, because they have to. Because staying means drowning in the same mud that’s swallowed generations.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But if no one faces the mud, it just gets deeper. Look at what Hamer did — she stood in front of Congress in ’64, told them what they didn’t want to hear. She didn’t speak for comfort. She spoke for truth. She didn’t run, and because of that, the world couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t know.”

Jack: “And still, the world didn’t change overnight. People still died poor, still lost their votes, still worked fields for pennies. You think one woman’s courage can fix that?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But it starts something. Courage isn’t about winning, Jack. It’s about showing up when it’s hopeless and doing it anyway.”

Host: The lamp on the table flickered, its flame dancing like a small, defiant heart. Jack moved closer, his shadow stretching across the floorboards, his voice low and rough.

Jack: “You ever been in a place that won’t change, no matter how hard you fight it? I have. Sometimes the rot’s too deep. You can tear your hands bloody trying to dig it out, and it still grows back.”

Jeeny: “Then dig anyway. Even if you only make a crack. Because one day, someone else will dig where you left off.”

Jack: (scoffs softly) “You sound like my mother. She used to say the same thing — back when she still believed in saving this country from itself.”

Jeeny: “And what happened to her belief?”

Jack: “It died with her patience. She saw too many promises broken. Too many marches that led nowhere.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it didn’t die, Jack. Maybe it just passed to someone else — like Hamer, or you, or anyone still standing here tonight.”

Host: Jeeny’s voice carried through the room, soft but unyielding. The rain began again — a light drizzle, tapping on the roof, like the sky itself was listening.

Jack: “You think I’m like her? I don’t have that kind of faith.”

Jeeny: “Faith isn’t a feeling, Jack. It’s a choice. Hamer didn’t wait to feel brave. She acted like it until it became real.”

Host: Jack turned away, staring at the chalkboard. His eyes caught on the half-erased words, the ghost of old dreams that refused to vanish. He reached out, brushed the chalk dust from the surface.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what we all need — a bit of stubbornness. But what if facing the problem just breaks you?”

Jeeny: “Then you get up broken. And you keep walking.”

Host: Her tone was firm, not cruel — the kind of truth that cuts because it’s the only kind worth hearing.

Jack: “You think facing pain makes people better. I think it just makes them tired.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it makes them both. But only one of those leads to change.”

Host: The church clock struck nine, its echo rolling through the empty pews. A moth danced near the lamp, desperate for the light, wings beating against flame and fate.

Jack: “You ever think about leaving? Just starting over somewhere no one knows your name?”

Jeeny: “Every day. But then I remember — if everyone who cares leaves, the ones who don’t will own everything.”

Jack: “That’s a hell of a burden to carry.”

Jeeny: “It’s not a burden, Jack. It’s belonging. The kind that hurts, but roots you deep.”

Host: The rain outside grew stronger, pounding now — each drop a drumbeat on the old tin roof. Jack and Jeeny stood in silence, listening. The storm seemed to agree with both of them — relentless, weary, unending, but alive.

Jack: “You really think one person can change a whole place?”

Jeeny: “I think one person can change the story of it. And that’s enough. Change doesn’t start with crowds; it starts with one person too stubborn to leave.”

Jack: (after a pause) “So maybe Fannie Lou wasn’t brave because she stayed. Maybe she stayed because she knew running would mean letting the same pain win again.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Exactly. Courage isn’t always loud, Jack. Sometimes it’s just staying put when the world tells you to go.”

Host: The lamp flame steadied. The rain softened to a whisper. The church creaked like an old soul exhaling after a long night.

Jack: “So… we face it. Whatever comes.”

Jeeny: “We face it. Together.”

Host: They stood, side by side, looking out through the open door, where the storm had eased into a thin mist. The fields stretched endlessly, the earth rich, dark, and waiting — like a promise half-kept.

In the distance, a faint thunder rolled. But there was no fear now, only resolve.

Host: The light from the lamp flickered once more, casting their shadows long and bound — two figures standing against the night, small against the world, but unmoving.

Because some things, as Hamer knew, aren’t meant to be escaped.

They’re meant to be faced.