The power of the individual, market forces, and the private

Host: The city was breathing — not in peace, but in exhaustion. The air shimmered faintly with heat and haze, the evening sun sinking behind steel towers that glowed like exhausted titans. Below, the streets were a restless current of movement: cars idling, horns calling, lights changing, people rushing.

Inside one of those towers, behind a pane of glass so clean it looked like absence, two people sat in a quiet conference room that overlooked the chaos. The room was bare except for a long table, a pot of coffee, and two voices.

Jack, in his late thirties, wore his suit like armor — neatly pressed, unwrinkled, too deliberate. His grey eyes were sharp, calculating, the kind of gaze that saw numbers before faces. Across from him sat Jeeny, smaller, her dark hair tied back, her expression open yet resolute. The kind of woman who carried conviction like a steady flame.

The projector hummed faintly, illuminating the quote on the wall behind them:

"The power of the individual, market forces, and the private sector permeate our lives. With that power comes responsibility to address huge challenges. Climate change cannot be solved by governments alone. Xenophobia, hatred, and intolerance — more business leaders have to play a role in trying to be positive leaders, civic leaders." — Daniel Lubetzky

The light from the projector pulsed gently, as if even the words themselves were alive with urgency.

Jeeny: (quietly) He’s right, you know. We’ve built a world that worships the market. Now it’s time for that same market to repent.

Jack: (scoffs) “Repent”? That’s not how economics works, Jeeny. You can’t guilt a system into morality.

Jeeny: (leans forward) I’m not talking about guilt, Jack. I’m talking about responsibility. The private sector isn’t just an engine — it’s a driver. It decides where the world goes next.

Jack: (leans back) And if it stops driving, the world stalls. You start weighing every decision on moral scales, you’ll never move fast enough to survive competition.

Jeeny: (firmly) Maybe survival isn’t the highest goal anymore. Maybe decency is.

Host: The lights flickered faintly overhead, as if uncertain whose argument they belonged to. Jack’s fingers drummed against the table, steady, controlled — the rhythm of someone who believes time is always running out. Jeeny’s gaze, however, didn’t move. It held him like truth does — gently, but without retreat.

Jack: Look, Jeeny, I get the sentiment. I really do. But we’re not saints — we’re shareholders. Climate change, xenophobia — these are social problems. We build products, not policy.

Jeeny: (shakes her head) That’s exactly the lie we’ve told ourselves. “We’re not responsible.” But who funds the governments, Jack? Who builds the cities, owns the media, controls supply chains? The private sector already rules the world. Pretending it’s neutral doesn’t make it so.

Jack: (dryly) So now we’re supposed to fix everything?

Jeeny: (calmly) No. But we can stop breaking it.

Host: The sunlight on the glass shifted, catching the outline of their reflections — two figures divided by light, both staring at the same skyline, both believing they were right.

Jack: (rubbing his temple) You make it sound simple. But there’s a reason corporations avoid politics — the second you take a stance, half the world hates you.

Jeeny: (softly) Half the world already hates us, Jack. For the pollution, the exploitation, the silence. Neutrality isn’t safety. It’s complicity.

Jack: (snaps) You can’t fight every injustice and still keep a business alive.

Jeeny: (sharp now) And what’s the point of keeping it alive if it feeds the very system that’s killing us?

Host: The tension in the room tightened, the air dense enough to feel. Jack’s jaw clenched; Jeeny’s hands trembled slightly as she spoke, though not from fear — from the kind of conviction that shakes even its own foundation.

Jack: (after a pause) Do you really think a CEO can stop climate change? That a company slogan can end hate?

Jeeny: No. But they can start something that governments are too slow to finish. They can influence what people buy, how they think, what they believe progress looks like. Culture doesn’t follow laws, Jack — it follows stories. And who tells the stories now?

Jack: (mutters) We do. Advertising, branding, influence...

Jeeny: (nodding) Exactly. Then we have a moral duty to tell better ones.

Host: The projector light flared briefly, illuminating the quote again on the wall — the words “power” and “responsibility” glowing brightest, like they refused to be separated.

Jack: (quietly) You talk like capitalism can be redeemed. But maybe it can’t. Maybe greed isn’t a flaw — maybe it’s the core code.

Jeeny: (leans forward) Then rewrite the code.

Jack: (laughs bitterly) You make it sound easy. You ever tried convincing a boardroom that compassion is profitable?

Jeeny: (steadily) Yes. And sometimes it is. The companies that invest in sustainability, inclusivity, empathy — they don’t just survive. They outlast trends. Because people remember who tried.

Jack: (rubbing his face) You sound like a preacher.

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) Maybe I’m just tired of being an accomplice.

Host: The rain outside began suddenly — soft, insistent — tapping against the glass like fingers demanding to be heard. The skyline blurred, the bright edges of skyscrapers fading into a watercolor of ambition and regret.

Jack: (after a long silence) You know what scares me? That you might be right. That the world doesn’t need more geniuses — it needs more grown-ups.

Jeeny: (quietly) It needs leaders who understand that power isn’t permission. It’s burden.

Jack: (nods slowly) You really think a company can have a conscience?

Jeeny: I think it already does. It’s just sleeping — drowned out by profit reports. But every time a leader stands up and says, “This is wrong,” the company wakes up a little.

Host: The lights dimmed as the projector shut off, plunging the room into a softer half-dark. Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the windows streaked with trails of silver.

Jeeny: (gently) You know, Daniel Lubetzky built KIND Bars because he believed kindness could be scalable. People laughed at him. Said there’s no market for virtue. But he was right — there’s always a market for meaning.

Jack: (half-smiling) Meaning doesn’t pay quarterly dividends.

Jeeny: Maybe not. But it pays in continuity. In legacy. The kind of profit you can’t measure until you’re gone.

Jack: (softly) You ever think the world’s too far gone for that kind of idealism?

Jeeny: (looks at him) I think cynicism’s just cowardice wearing logic’s clothes.

Host: Her voice hung there — gentle, steady, final. Jack’s eyes met hers, not in debate this time, but in understanding — the kind that doesn’t agree, but respects. The kind that moves worlds in small, invisible ways.

Jack: (finally) So what do we do, Jeeny? Where do we even start?

Jeeny: (smiles faintly) Right here. With whatever we control. Every product we design, every decision we make, every person we choose to listen to instead of ignore.

Jack: (nodding slowly) Responsibility.

Jeeny: (softly) Not as burden — as privilege.

Host: The sky outside began to clear, the last rays of the sun reflecting off the glass towers until they gleamed like hope made tangible. Jack stood, hands in pockets, gaze distant but softened.

Jeeny gathered her notes, slid them into her bag, and stood beside him. Together they looked out over the city — its traffic, its lights, its pulse — the organism they were both part of, both guilty of, both still trying to heal.

The city hummed, alive and indifferent, but in that room — high above its noise — something small and significant had shifted.

Because perhaps, as Lubetzky said, responsibility doesn’t belong to institutions or titles — but to individuals brave enough to act like the world depends on it.

And for a single, electric moment — the city outside felt just a little more awake.