There is a tendency to attack some particular group of people and

Host: The train station was nearly empty, its corridors echoing with the distant sound of wheels against tile and the soft announcement of departures. The air carried the faint scent of sanitizer and rain-soaked concrete. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead—too bright, too sterile—casting long shadows that trembled each time a train passed.

Outside, the city slept uneasily under a gray sky. Posters warning of “Public Health Precautions” still clung to the walls, their edges curling, their faces of masked figures faded.

Jack leaned against a steel pillar, his hands buried in the pockets of his worn jacket, his eyes scanning the empty platform like a man trying to remember what normal used to look like. Jeeny sat on a nearby bench, her mask pulled down around her chin, a paper coffee cup cooling in her palms.

Jeeny: “Park Won-soon said something once… ‘There is a tendency to attack some particular group of people and scapegoat them, but this is not the right attitude to cope with epidemics.’”

Host: Her voice was soft, yet heavy—like the echo of a sermon in a cathedral of exhaustion.

Jack: “Sounds noble. But it’s human nature, isn’t it? When we’re afraid, we look for someone to blame. It’s easier than fighting what we can’t see.”

Jeeny: “Human nature doesn’t mean human right. Fear doesn’t justify cruelty.”

Jack: “Tell that to the mobs. To the people who lost their jobs, their homes. They need something tangible to hate. You can’t punch a virus, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: “No, but you can hold someone’s hand. You can choose not to make an enemy out of your neighbor.”

Host: A train passed—its windows empty, its sound a long metallic sigh fading into distance. The platform filled briefly with light before falling back into gray.

Jack: “You sound like you’ve never seen panic up close. When the fear hits—when the hospitals overflow, when people start dying—kindness becomes a luxury.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s exactly when we need it most. That’s what makes it powerful.”

Jack: “You think empathy stops a virus?”

Jeeny: “No. But hatred spreads faster than any disease. History’s full of proof. During the Black Death, Jews were burned alive in Europe because people thought they’d poisoned the wells. In 1918, Americans blamed immigrants for the flu. During AIDS, they blamed gay men. And again, during COVID, Asians were attacked for existing. It’s always the same story—fear looking for a face to wear.”

Host: Jack’s eyes shifted downward. A faint tremor passed through his jaw. The echo of her words seemed to ricochet against the cold metal of the station walls.

Jack: “And yet… the anger feels real. It gives people control. You can’t reason with panic. It’s primal.”

Jeeny: “But that’s the tragedy, isn’t it? We confuse control with cruelty. Blaming others gives us the illusion of power while we lose the real fight.”

Host: She rose slowly, stepping toward the edge of the platform. Her reflection trembled in the glossy tiles beneath her boots.

Jeeny: “Pandemics don’t just test immune systems—they test morals. They show who we are when everything else is stripped away.”

Jack: “And what if what’s underneath isn’t good?”

Jeeny: “Then we face it, not hide behind scapegoats.”

Host: A distant thunder rolled outside, soft but steady, like the drumbeat of a world still recovering.

Jack: “You’re idealistic. You always are. But when you’ve lost people… when you’ve watched bodies carried out of hospitals at dawn, covered in plastic—that idealism turns to ash.”

Jeeny: “I lost people too, Jack. My uncle died alone, no funeral, no closure. I watched my mother leave food at the door of a stranger’s house because she couldn’t bear to see someone hungry. That wasn’t idealism—it was defiance. Compassion in the middle of contagion is rebellion.”

Host: Her eyes glistened—not with tears, but with something sharper: conviction. The fluorescent lights flickered once, then steadied. Jack’s gaze lifted to meet hers.

Jack: “Defiance, huh? You make kindness sound like a revolution.”

Jeeny: “It is. Every time you choose empathy instead of anger, you rewrite history’s pattern.”

Jack: “And yet, people forget. Every generation repeats the same mistake. Fear wins.”

Jeeny: “Only if we let it. Park Won-soon knew that. He wasn’t just talking about epidemics—he was talking about the disease of blame. The virus mutates, but the hatred stays the same.”

Host: The sound of rain intensified, splattering against the platform roof. Jack turned toward the open doorway, watching the water blur the distant lights into streaks of silver.

Jack: “You know what’s strange? During lockdown, I saw people clapping for doctors from their balconies—same hands that later typed hate online. It’s like humanity’s got two faces: one that prays, one that points.”

Jeeny: “Maybe both are real. Fear and grace live in the same body. But one has to learn to forgive the other.”

Host: She took a slow sip from her coffee, then set the cup down beside her. The steam rose and vanished into the chill.

Jeeny: “You can’t cure fear with punishment. You cure it with presence—with truth, with listening. People attack what they don’t understand.”

Jack: “And what if understanding comes too late?”

Jeeny: “Then at least we’ll know we tried to be human.”

Host: The clock above the platform ticked softly, its hands creeping toward midnight. A lone janitor swept the far side, his broom whispering across the floor.

Jack: “You know, during the height of the pandemic, I saw something strange. A man on my street—he was from Wuhan—someone threw rocks at his window. The next morning, he left a note on the glass. It said, ‘I still wish you health.’”

Jeeny: “That’s strength, Jack. Not the strength of survival—but of mercy.”

Jack: “Mercy in the face of hate. Feels almost… divine.”

Jeeny: “That’s the only kind of strength that matters when everything else collapses.”

Host: They stood side by side now, the distance between them small but weighted with meaning. The rain softened outside, melting into a quiet drizzle. The world seemed to breathe again.

Jack: “Maybe Park was right. Maybe blaming others just blinds us. Epidemics don’t destroy humanity—they expose it.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The sickness isn’t just in the body—it’s in the instinct to turn on each other when we should be holding each other up.”

Host: A final train arrived—its doors sliding open with a sigh. Empty seats, a hollow echo of journeys that might have been.

Jack: “You getting on?”

Jeeny: “No. I think I’ll wait for the next one. I like this silence. It feels like the world’s heartbeat coming back.”

Jack: “You think it’ll ever go back to what it was?”

Jeeny: “No. And maybe that’s good. Maybe we needed to learn how fragile togetherness really is.”

Host: Jack nodded slowly. He reached for his mask, tugged it over his face, then looked at her one last time.

Jack: “You always manage to find light in the ruins.”

Jeeny: “That’s where it hides.”

Host: The train pulled away, its lights stretching into the dark, leaving Jeeny alone on the platform—small, steadfast, framed in the ghostly blue of a post-pandemic night. The rain stopped. The city, somewhere above, exhaled.

And in the lingering silence, Park Won-soon’s truth hung like a faint benediction over the empty space: that fear divides, but compassion endures—and that the truest cure for any plague is the courage to stay kind when the world forgets how.