The proletariat uses the State not in the interests of freedom

Host: The factory lights hummed above a vast, empty hall, their cold fluorescence stretching across concrete floors stained by grease and memory. The machines had been shut down for the night — their metal jaws silent, their belts still. The air smelled faintly of iron and tiredness.

Jack stood near the window, his hands blackened with oil, a cigarette burning between his fingers. Jeeny sat on a stack of wooden crates, her eyes following the faint shadows that the streetlights cast through the high windows.

Outside, the city murmured with the muffled sounds of distant protests, chants rising and fading like the tide — echoes of a world demanding to be heard.

Host: The air was electric — a quiet before the storm, a pause before a question that had divided every generation that came before them.

Jeeny: (softly) “Engels once said, ‘The proletariat uses the State not in the interests of freedom but in order to hold down its adversaries, and as soon as it becomes possible to speak of freedom the State as such ceases to exist.’”

Jack: (exhales smoke, voice dry) “And you think that’s still true? In a world where freedom’s just another brand?”

Jeeny: “It’s not about brands, Jack. It’s about power — who holds it, and why.”

Host: The smoke from Jack’s cigarette curled upward, catching the light like a phantom rising toward the ceiling.

Jack: “Power never disappears, Jeeny. It just changes costumes. Engels dreamed of a world without the State, but even revolutions end up building their own prisons.”

Jeeny: “Because people forget that the State was never meant to be permanent. It was supposed to dissolve — once equality wasn’t just a slogan.”

Jack: “Equality?” (chuckles) “You’ve worked on the floor long enough to know that word doesn’t fit in reality. It’s too clean for these walls.”

Jeeny: “It doesn’t fit because people stop believing in it. Because those who could change things decide it’s impossible. Engels wasn’t naive, Jack — he knew the proletariat would use the State to fight back. But he also knew the fight wasn’t the end.”

Host: The machines, silent in the background, seemed to watch them — hulking, cold reminders of a system that had replaced flesh with function.

Jack: “You sound like my father. He used to quote Marx like scripture. Worked his hands raw, waiting for a world that never arrived. You know where it got him? A pension barely enough to buy medicine.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Then maybe he was part of the fight that keeps the idea alive.”

Jack: “Ideas don’t pay rent, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: “No, but they pay history. Without them, we’re just machinery wearing skin.”

Host: The rain began to fall — a soft, relentless drumming against the metal roof — echoing through the hollow space like the rhythm of forgotten labor songs.

Jack: “You think we can live without the State? Look around you. The world’s too complicated. Too corrupt. Without structure, there’s chaos.”

Jeeny: “There’s already chaos, Jack — it’s just organized. The State pretends to protect us while deciding who gets to eat, who gets to speak, who gets to breathe.”

Jack: “And your alternative?”

Jeeny: “A society that governs itself — where the tools of power belong to everyone. Where freedom isn’t permission, it’s participation.”

Jack: “Sounds like utopia.”

Jeeny: “So did electricity once.”

Host: Her words landed like sparks in the dark, lighting his expression for a brief, unguarded moment — a mix of skepticism and ache.

Jack: “You believe in dismantling everything we’ve built?”

Jeeny: “No. I believe in evolving it. Engels didn’t dream of destruction for its own sake — he dreamt of transcendence. The State is scaffolding. Once the structure stands — the structure of true freedom — the scaffolding comes down.”

Jack: (rubbing his temple) “You really think people can handle that much freedom? Most folks can’t even handle a day without Wi-Fi.”

Jeeny: “Maybe because they’ve never tasted real freedom — only the illusion of it.”

Host: The rain grew heavier now, a metallic symphony above them. Jack’s reflection flickered in the window, half-shadow, half-light — as though he were caught between belief and resignation.

Jack: “Every revolution becomes a bureaucracy. Russia, China, Cuba — they all started with dreams of liberation and ended with control. The proletariat didn’t end the State. It just became the new State.”

Jeeny: “And yet, in each failure, something survives — an ember. Because even if they built new prisons, they built them with cracks where light could enter. Freedom isn’t an event, Jack. It’s an evolution — a slow dismantling of fear.”

Jack: (grimly) “Fear’s the glue that keeps society standing.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s time to let it fall.”

Host: A long silence. The rain softened, became a whisper. The sound of a police siren wailed faintly in the distance, fading into the hum of the city.

Jeeny: “You know what I think Engels meant by ‘the State ceases to exist’? Not that power disappears — but that it stops being a weapon. When justice doesn’t need enforcement, when people protect each other instead of property — that’s when the State ends.”

Jack: “You’re describing a dream that eats itself. Humans are built to compete, to defend, to want more. You take away control, you don’t get harmony — you get hunger.”

Jeeny: “And yet, every time we reach our breaking point, we rebuild again — not because we’re perfect, but because we keep imagining better. That’s what separates us from the machines we build.”

Host: The wind rattled the windows, sending a faint tremor through the factory walls. Jack dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his boot, watching the ember die like a symbol of something older, heavier.

Jack: (quietly) “Maybe freedom’s not meant to be permanent. Maybe it’s just something we chase — to remind ourselves we’re still alive.”

Jeeny: (softly) “Then chasing it is the purest act of being alive.”

Host: The lights above them flickered once, then steadied. Jeeny stood, crossing the floor to the window, where the rain ran down like molten glass.

Jeeny: “The State will end, Jack — not with explosions or manifestos, but with understanding. When people stop needing to be ruled. When compassion becomes governance.”

Jack: “You’re saying love replaces law?”

Jeeny: “It’s the only thing that ever has.”

Host: The storm outside began to ease, the clouds thinning to reveal a sliver of moonlight. It fell across the factory floor, silvering the steel, washing the room in fragile peace.

Jack: (after a long silence) “If that day ever comes, Jeeny — when the State fades, and freedom finally breathes without permission — I hope you’re there to see it.”

Jeeny: “I won’t need to see it. I’ll feel it — in every hand that helps, in every wall that falls.”

Host: The machines loomed silently, ghosts of industry and control, but beneath their shadow stood two figures — human, flawed, and unyielding.

The rain stopped. The moonlight brightened. And for a fleeting moment, the factory no longer looked like a place of labor — but of awakening.

Host: Perhaps Engels had been right after all — that freedom is not born from the State, but from the soul’s refusal to obey what dehumanizes it. And that one day, when power no longer needs walls or weapons, the State will quietly cease to exist — not as a conquest, but as a surrender.

Host: The city hummed outside. The machines slept. And somewhere deep within the silence, something ancient — and dangerously beautiful — began to stir.