To say that any people are not fit for freedom, is to make

Host: The evening wind rolled across the Thames, carrying the scent of coal smoke, ink, and the slow hum of a city in restless debate. The streetlamps flickered to life one by one, casting golden halos onto cobblestones slick from the afternoon rain.

Inside a cramped coffeehouse near Fleet Street, the air was dense with tobacco smoke, voices, and the smell of brewed dissent. The walls were lined with newspapers and pamphlets, some bearing the familiar name Thomas Paine.

At a corner table, beneath the creak of an old ceiling beam, Jack sat with his coat unbuttoned, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup. Across from him, Jeeny leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes bright with fire — that rare light born of conviction.

Jeeny: “Thomas Paine once said, ‘To say that any people are not fit for freedom, is to make poverty their choice, and to say they had rather be loaded with taxes than not.’”

Jack: (dryly) “And yet, two hundred years later, people still say the same thing — that some are too ignorant, too unready, too dangerous to govern themselves.”

Jeeny: “That’s because fear still dresses itself up as wisdom. Every empire, every tyrant, every bureaucrat says the same thing: ‘We’re not denying them freedom — we’re protecting them from themselves.’”

Host: The fireplace crackled softly behind them, its glow flickering across Jeeny’s face — her expression a balance of tenderness and rebellion.

Jack: “You know what I like about Paine? He wasn’t just arguing for liberty — he was indicting arrogance. To say a people aren’t fit for freedom is to confess your own hunger for control.”

Jeeny: “Yes. It’s the oldest lie of power — that submission is safety. That people should trade autonomy for order.”

Jack: “And the tragedy is, most do.”

Jeeny: “Because fear sells faster than freedom.”

Host: A group of students near the bar burst into laughter, the sound cutting through the dense hum of debate and clinking cups. The city outside seemed to echo their words — horses’ hooves, newspapers flapping, the pulse of a civilization forever arguing with itself.

Jack: “Paine’s logic still stings. He equates denying freedom with choosing poverty. He’s right — dependency makes beggars of nations.”

Jeeny: “And of souls. A person who’s taught they can’t decide for themselves becomes complicit in their own chains. That’s why his words were dangerous — he wasn’t just calling out kings; he was calling out comfort.”

Jack: “Comfort?”

Jeeny: “Yes. The comfort of obedience. The illusion that it’s easier to be told what’s right than to wrestle with your own choices. Paine knew freedom isn’t easy — it’s a discipline.”

Jack: “You think that’s still true? That we’d rather be taxed by tyranny than tested by liberty?”

Jeeny: “Look around. People will give up anything — privacy, conscience, even compassion — if someone promises them stability in return. The chains have just gotten shinier.”

Host: The light from the fire flickered against the walls, where an old portrait of Paine hung crookedly — his gaze fixed forward, defiant, as though watching his descendants repeat his arguments in new disguises.

Jack: “Maybe that’s why revolutions repeat. We keep mistaking safety for civilization.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The real revolution isn’t fought with muskets or manifestos. It’s fought every day — in the human mind. Freedom isn’t something you’re granted; it’s something you refuse to surrender.”

Jack: “And yet, history keeps proving how fragile it is. France, America, Haiti — all fought for liberty and then built new hierarchies. It’s as if the price of freedom is amnesia.”

Jeeny: “That’s because most people think freedom means getting what you want. It doesn’t. It means owning the consequences of what you choose.”

Jack: (nodding slowly) “Responsibility — the part nobody romanticizes.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The crown and the mob both fall for the same illusion — that power without accountability can be good. Paine knew better. He saw that liberty’s greatest threat wasn’t tyranny — it was complacency.”

Host: The rain began again, a light patter against the glass. The café quieted, the world outside blurring into soft motion. Jack set his cup down, his expression turning inward.

Jack: “You know, I think what Paine meant by ‘poverty’ wasn’t just money. He was talking about spiritual poverty — the kind that comes from letting someone else think for you.”

Jeeny: “Yes. That’s why he called it a choice — because even the oppressed can forget they’re capable of deciding differently. Freedom’s not given; it’s remembered.”

Jack: “And forgetting is easier than fighting.”

Jeeny: “Always. That’s why every generation has to rediscover liberty like it’s new. Because for all our progress, the temptation to be ruled never disappears — it just rebrands itself.”

Host: The clock above the bar chimed softly — not marking the hour, but reminding them of time itself, relentless, circular, alive.

Jack: “You ever think about how radical this must’ve sounded back then? A man saying every person — not just nobles or scholars — was fit for self-rule?”

Jeeny: “It was blasphemy. Because he wasn’t preaching politics — he was preaching equality of the mind. And nothing terrifies power more than people who think they’re capable of their own salvation.”

Jack: “So he turned politics into philosophy.”

Jeeny: “And philosophy into fire.”

Host: The wind outside picked up, rattling the windows, as if echoing the ancient storm of revolutions past. Inside, Jeeny’s voice softened, but the conviction in it burned brighter.

Jeeny: “Paine’s words still matter because they strip away excuses. When we say a people aren’t ready for freedom, what we really mean is we’re not ready to let them have it.”

Jack: “And maybe we never are.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s what makes liberty sacred — that it’s always unfinished, always endangered, always demanding of us more courage than comfort.”

Host: The firelight dimmed, casting their shadows long across the wall — two silhouettes debating in the same glow that once lit revolutions.

Jack: “You know, Paine believed in humanity almost to a fault. He saw us not as sinners or subjects, but as potential. That’s why his writing endures — it isn’t a lecture; it’s a dare.”

Jeeny: “A dare to believe we’re capable of governing not just nations, but ourselves.”

Host: The camera panned slowly across the room — past the pamphlets, the worn tables, the fading embers — and out through the window, where the river gleamed faintly in the moonlight, forever moving, forever free.

Host: “And in that quiet corner of a London café,” the world seemed to whisper, “they understood Thomas Paine’s timeless warning — that to deny freedom is to invite poverty of the soul; that those who trade liberty for comfort do not escape burden, they inherit it; and that the true test of civilization is not in how we rule others, but in how we refuse to be ruled by fear.”

The rain continued, steady now — cleansing, eternal — as if the city itself, centuries later, was still washing the ink of Paine’s courage into the bloodstream of the world.