We have gotten to the point where everything the government does

Host: The wind howled across the city’s skyline, scattering paper and dust like confetti from some forgotten revolution. The streets below glowed in fractured light, yellow from the lamps, blue from the screens. Somewhere between them — in a dim warehouse that once stored coal and now housed conversations — two voices waited to collide.

Jack leaned against a rusted pillar, a cigarette burning slow between his fingers. His eyes, sharp and tired, followed the slow drip of water from a crack in the ceiling. Jeeny sat cross-legged on an overturned crate, her face lit by the flickering hologram of a news broadcast showing the day’s economic unrest — protests, inflation, and speeches drowned by their own noise.

The quote hung between them like a blade of cold reason:
“We have gotten to the point where everything the government does is counterproductive; the conclusion, of course, is that the government should do nothing at all, that is, should retire quickly from the monetary and economic scene and allow freedom and free markets to work.” — Murray Rothbard

Jeeny: “So that’s it, then? Rothbard’s vision — a world where government steps back and leaves humanity to the mercy of its own hands. It sounds like freedom until you remember what we do with it.”

Jack: “No, Jeeny. It sounds like responsibility. The kind no one wants anymore. Rothbard wasn’t dreaming of chaos — he was warning about control. Every time the state tries to fix something, it breaks three others. Look around — debt, bureaucracy, inflation. The cure’s worse than the disease.”

Host: The light from the screen flickered over Jack’s face, cutting sharp lines across his cheekbones. His tone carried the precision of an economist and the weariness of a man who’d seen promises rot.

Jeeny: “You make it sound so simple. But history doesn’t back you. The Great Depression wasn’t cured by the market; it was eased by intervention. The New Deal didn’t enslave people — it fed them.”

Jack: “Fed them, yes. And taught them to wait for handouts ever since. Dependency dressed up as compassion.”

Jeeny: “Or compassion misunderstood as weakness.”

Host: The air thickened between them. The hum of an old generator rose and fell, like the city itself breathing in the dark. Jack took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling upward, framing his grey eyes in spectral haze.

Jack: “Rothbard was right — every act of government becomes counterproductive because it assumes it knows better than the market. But markets are organic. Self-correcting. When you interfere, you distort the signals — like tuning a piano with a hammer.”

Jeeny: “And when you let it run wild, people die, Jack. Do you remember 2008? The housing crash, the suicides, the families that lost everything because ‘free markets’ were trusted too blindly? Unregulated greed can destroy faster than any government decree.”

Jack: “And yet it was government-backed guarantees — Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac — that built that illusion in the first place. The market didn’t fail. The false safety net did.”

Host: Her eyes flashed. She stood now, her hands trembling, not from fear but conviction.

Jeeny: “No. It was people who failed — people who forgot morality when chasing profit. The invisible hand can’t hold a conscience, Jack. It moves without empathy.”

Jack: “And government has empathy? Have you ever stood in a welfare office? Watched the paperwork bury the human being it claims to help? Bureaucracy isn’t compassion. It’s apathy in uniform.”

Jeeny: “But isn’t that our own fault — not the system’s? We made those offices. We elected those officials. You talk about the state as if it’s some alien force, but it’s us. Our reflection.”

Host: The warehouse groaned under the wind, as if the steel itself wanted to join their argument. The rain began outside — heavy, steady, a rhythm to their tension.

Jack: “Then our reflection’s ugly. You can’t polish corruption with democracy. Every politician starts as a reformer and ends as a dealer. Power corrupts because power exists. Remove it — let the market breathe.”

Jeeny: “Without regulation, the market doesn’t breathe — it devours. Do you think child labor disappeared out of moral awakening? It was law, Jack. Law drew the line where profit couldn’t cross.”

Jack: “And yet, for every law, ten loopholes were born. Government can’t keep up with evolution — especially economic evolution. You can’t command prosperity. You can only unleash it.”

Jeeny: “Unleash it? Like a beast? That’s exactly what scares me. You think human nature corrects itself. I think it corrupts itself.”

Host: Her voice quivered, a mix of anger and plea. Jack’s silence stretched long, the rain filling it like static between stations. He flicked the cigarette away, the ember hissing on the wet concrete.

Jack: “You talk as if government is a shield. But every empire that fell — Rome, Britain, the Soviets — collapsed under its own bureaucracy. Control strangled creativity. Centralization killed initiative. Rothbard understood: real freedom is messy, yes, but it’s the only system that doesn’t pretend to be divine.”

Jeeny: “And I suppose the hungry can eat freedom for dinner?”

Jack: “They can earn dinner without waiting for permission.”

Host: The tension snapped. Jeeny slammed her hand on the crate, the sound echoing through the hollow space. Her eyes burned — not in anger alone, but grief.

Jeeny: “You sound like someone who’s never watched a child starve while the ‘free market’ set prices. You talk about liberty as if it were oxygen — something everyone breathes equally. But it isn’t. Some are born choking.”

Jack: “And what’s your answer? Eternal guardianship? Let the state be mother and father? That’s not compassion — that’s infantilization.”

Jeeny: “It’s balance, Jack. It’s remembering that freedom without fairness becomes tyranny by another name.”

Host: For a moment, the storm outside reached its height — thunder rolling like an ancient argument from the gods. The warehouse flickered with the pulse of lightning. Both stood still, caught between shadow and illumination.

Jeeny’s voice softened now, almost breaking.

Jeeny: “Maybe Rothbard’s right — maybe government has gone too far. But do you really believe people will govern themselves with justice? Without greed? Without exploitation?”

Jack: “No. But they’ll fail honestly — not bureaucratically. When people act freely, their mistakes teach them. When governments act freely, their mistakes bury us.”

Host: Silence again. Only the rain, the heartbeat of the night. Jack’s last words hung in the air — hard, metallic, but oddly human. Jeeny sank back onto the crate, her eyes unfocused, the storm-light tracing silver across her cheek.

Jeeny: “Maybe we’re both wrong. Maybe it’s not about control or freedom. Maybe it’s about trust — and we’ve lost that completely.”

Jack: “Maybe.”

Host: His voice softened for the first time, low and rough, almost vulnerable. He sat beside her. The air still smelled of smoke, rain, and rust — the scent of cities forever rebuilding themselves.

Jeeny: “Rothbard believed in human capacity. I want to believe in human goodness. Maybe those two are the same thing — just spoken in different languages.”

Jack: “Freedom and fairness. Two sides of a coin no one’s managed to keep balanced.”

Host: The light outside began to dim. The storm eased, leaving only the steady drip from the ceiling. A faint warmth returned to the air — fragile, like reconciliation after years of distance.

Jeeny: “You still think the government should retire?”

Jack: “Maybe not retire. Maybe just... remember its place.”

Jeeny: “And maybe people should remember theirs.”

Host: They exchanged a quiet smile, the kind that holds both defeat and understanding. The screen finally went dark, leaving only the reflection of their silhouettes in the window — two figures framed by the faint glow of a city trying to balance order and chaos, faith and freedom.

And in that silent equilibrium, Rothbard’s echo lingered — a question, not an answer. A reminder that between control and chaos, there is always the trembling heartbeat of human choice.