The Diet was dissolved by a Reich Government decree.

Host: The rain fell in thin, unbroken lines, drumming against the cracked windows of an abandoned parliament hall. The air was thick with the smell of dust, paper, and old wood — the echoes of debate now replaced by silence. Light from a lone bulb flickered, casting long shadows across the walls where portraits of men in suits once watched history unfold.

At the center of the room, Jack stood by the speaker’s podium, his hands resting on the wood, his grey eyes fixed on the darkened chamber. Jeeny sat in one of the front benches, her coat damp, her hair glistening from the rain, her gaze locked on him — curious, cautious, sad.

Jack: “Fritz Sauckel once said, ‘The Diet was dissolved by a Reich Government decree.’ Just like that — a sentence that erased a nation’s voice. Law, parliament, debate — all gone, replaced by a signature and a salute. That’s the beauty of power, Jeeny — it doesn’t need to scream to destroy.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “You call that beauty, Jack? I call it terror. When a government can silence its people with a decree, it’s not power, it’s murder — the murder of reason.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, pattering against the glass dome above them, the sound like whispers of the past, accusing, pleading. Jack walked slowly down the aisle, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor, each one a reminder of the void left behind when democracy dies.

Jack: “Terror, yes — but necessary. You can’t build a new order on argument and sentiment. The Weimar Diet was a circus, a collection of voices shouting for their own interests. A nation can’t survive in that kind of chaos. Unity requires silence. Someone has to decide, even if it means dissolving the room.”

Jeeny: (rises, her eyes burning) “You mean killing the room. Silence doesn’t unite, Jack — it erases. That’s how tyranny starts — not with violence, but with obedience. You think the Reich was born out of order? It was born out of fear — the kind of fear that makes people mistake submission for stability.”

Jack: “Fear can be a teacher, Jeeny. The German people were starving, humiliated, broken. The Treaty of Versailles had stripped them of dignity. The Diet was just a stage where weak men argued while the nation bled. When Hitler dissolved it, he didn’t destroy Germany — he rescued it from its own paralysis.”

Host: The light flickered, casting Jack’s shadow across the wall, tall, distorted, looming over Jeeny like a ghost of the past. She stared at it, her voice low, but steady, each word cutting like glass.

Jeeny: “And how long did that rescue last, Jack? How many lives were burned in the fire of that so-called unity? You can call the Diet chaotic, but chaos is the sound of freedom. It’s messy, yes — but it belongs to the people. Once you replace it with a command, you lose the soul of a nation.”

Jack: (turning sharply) “You sound like every idealistic dreamer who’s never had to lead. Democracy is a luxury until the world is burning. Sometimes you have to break the machine to save it.”

Jeeny: (approaches, her voice rising) “No, Jack — you break the machine, and you become it. That’s the trap. The Reich didn’t save Germany — it consumed it. One decree, one man, one voice — and suddenly, millions stopped thinking. They followed. They obeyed. And they died.”

Host: The wind howled through a crack in the window, rattling the old curtains, blowing a few sheets of paper across the floor — ghosts of laws and debates that once mattered. Jack stared at them, the pages fluttering at his feet like fallen wings.

Jack: (softly) “Maybe that’s what freedom really is — a burden too heavy for most to carry. Give them order, and they thank you. Give them choice, and they tear themselves apart.”

Jeeny: “You’re confusing freedom with comfort. Order without choice isn’t peace, it’s paralysis. The moment you silence the Diet, you silence the mirror of truth. And when a nation can no longer argue with itself, it’s already dead.”

Host: The rain slowed, the light from outside casting a faint silver glow over the hall. Jack walked toward the window, his reflection fractured in the glass, his voice now lower, almost tired.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I just envy the simplicity of it — a world where one decision could erase all doubt. Debate is a beautiful thing, Jeeny, until you’ve seen how slowly it saves.”

Jeeny: (softly) “And yet, it’s the only thing that ever has. Democracy isn’t a machine, Jack — it’s a conversation. The moment it stops, the moment we let a decree end it, we’re no longer human. We’re just voices waiting for permission to exist.”

Host: The camera would have panned across the empty benches, the desks covered in dust, the echo of her words lingering in the air. For a moment, the light caught on a single placard, its letters faded but still legible: Volksvertretung — The People’s Representation.

Jack turned, his face softened, the armor of logic cracking just enough for something human to breathe through.

Jack: “Maybe it’s not the silence that kills a nation, but the moment it forgets how to listen.”

Jeeny: (smiles faintly) “Then maybe that’s where it begins again — with someone willing to speak, even in the ruins.”

Host: The rain stopped. A beam of light broke through the clouds, falling across the podium, illuminating the dust like ash in motion. The hall was still, but not dead — waiting, perhaps, for voices to return.

And as the camera pulled back, the echo of Sauckel’s decree faded into the distance, replaced by the softer, steadier sound of rainwater dripping — not a dirge, but a promise. A reminder that even after dissolution, dialogue is what rebuilds the world.