We should believe in the strength and vitality of the values

Host:
The rain had stopped, but the city still glistened with its afterglow — cobblestones slick with silver, streetlights shimmering in the puddles like fractured stars. The air carried the faint scent of coffee, iron, and hope — that peculiar kind of stillness that falls after debate, after noise, after nations have spoken.

They sat at a café terrace in Brussels, just beyond the Grand-Place, where the old gothic towers loomed above them, their stones heavy with centuries of arguments and dreams.

Jack leaned back in his chair, his grey eyes tracing the wet reflections of the flags that lined the square — blue, gold, white, fluttering faintly in the night breeze. Across from him, Jeeny sat poised, her brown eyes bright beneath the flickering light of a streetlamp, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea.

The rain had left the air clear, sharp, alive with the faint hum of the city rebuilding its quiet. Somewhere nearby, a group of students sang in French, their voices light and ragged, carrying through the open air like the heartbeat of something too stubborn to die.

And in that hum — that mingling of silence and song — Donald Tusk’s words rose like a promise wrapped in realism:

"We should believe in the strength and vitality of the values which constitute the E.U. and which neighbouring states can believe in and aspire to join."

Jeeny:
(softly)
“Believe in the values.” It sounds so simple when he says it. But belief — real belief — is the hardest part, isn’t it?

Jack:
(smiling faintly)
Yeah. Especially when the values are old enough to start feeling like slogans.

Jeeny:
(sighs)
You sound cynical tonight.

Jack:
Not cynical. Just… cautious. Belief gets complicated when politics wraps itself in it.

Jeeny:
But isn’t that the point of what he said? That belief has to exist before politics? That values — things like dignity, democracy, freedom — are stronger than any flag, stronger even than borders?

Jack:
(pauses)
Maybe. But values only live if people keep choosing them. And right now, it feels like half the world’s too tired to keep choosing.

Host:
The café lights flickered, catching in the wet sheen of the pavement. Across the square, a small busker began to play a slow tune on a violin, the sound drifting between them like an argument softened by music.

Jeeny:
I don’t think people are tired of believing. I think they’re tired of being disappointed.

Jack:
(grimly)
There’s a difference?

Jeeny:
Of course. Disappointment is the cost of idealism. The stronger your belief, the deeper your ache when it’s betrayed.

Jack:
So you’re saying disillusionment is proof that people still care?

Jeeny:
Exactly. No one mourns something they don’t love.

Jack:
(chuckles softly)
You make it sound poetic.

Jeeny:
It is poetic. The E.U. itself is a poem — written after centuries of war, written in the hope that maybe cooperation could heal what conquest couldn’t.

Host:
Her voice carried the rhythm of conviction — soft but steady, like a hymn rising above fatigue. The violinist’s melody threaded through the air, slow, wistful, resolute. Jack tapped his fingers absently against the table, the gesture small but restless.

Jack:
You really believe in it — the European project, the unity, the shared values?

Jeeny:
(looking out toward the square)
I do. Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s human. And humans, when they build together instead of breaking apart, create beauty, even through failure.

Jack:
(smiles faintly)
Sounds almost religious.

Jeeny:
Maybe it is. A kind of secular faith — faith in people’s ability to learn from blood and ashes.

Jack:
But what about those outside of it? Those “neighbouring states” Tusk talked about? You think they still believe in that dream — or just in what it can offer them materially?

Jeeny:
Maybe both. But belief doesn’t always start pure. Sometimes it begins as necessity — and grows into conviction.

Jack:
So you think hope is contagious?

Jeeny:
(smiling)
It has to be. Otherwise, borders become graves for ideals.

Host:
The wind brushed through the square, rippling the puddles. A few late pedestrians hurried past, their umbrellas like dark sails against the wet light. The violin faded into silence, leaving the faint echo of strings trembling in the air.

Jack:
(quietly)
You know, I used to think unity was just a fancy word for control.

Jeeny:
And now?

Jack:
Now I think it’s survival. The world’s too fragmented for small dreams.

Jeeny:
(smiling softly)
That’s what he meant by “strength and vitality.” Not power — resilience. The ability to hold onto principles when the world tempts you to let them go.

Jack:
And when others look at you and see something worth joining.

Jeeny:
Exactly. You don’t build influence by force. You build it by example.

Host:
Her words hung there, gentle yet unyielding. Jack took a long sip of his coffee, the steam curling upward like a quiet benediction. Beyond them, the EU flag waved lazily in the damp air, its stars blurred but unbroken.

Jeeny:
You ever think about what “values” really means anymore?

Jack:
All the time. I think they’ve become quieter. Less about grand speeches — more about small choices. Tolerance. Empathy. The courage not to look away.

Jeeny:
(nods)
That’s the vitality Tusk was talking about — not institutions, but the heartbeat beneath them.

Jack:
(half-smiling)
A heartbeat’s a fragile thing to build a union on.

Jeeny:
Maybe. But it’s the only thing strong enough to survive without breaking.

Host:
The night deepened. The church clock struck ten. A fine mist began to rise again, softening the glow of the lamps. In the distance, the students’ voices returned — laughter, song, the sound of youth claiming tomorrow as if it already belonged to them.

Jack:
You think they’ll keep believing — the next generation?

Jeeny:
(pauses)
I think belief is a muscle. You have to keep using it or it weakens. But nights like this — cities like this — remind me that it’s still alive.

Jack:
(looking around)
Alive, yeah. Bruised, but alive.

Jeeny:
And that’s enough. Because the story of Europe — the story of humanity — has never been about perfection. It’s about persistence.

Jack:
(smiling faintly)
So we keep building, even when it cracks.

Jeeny:
Especially when it cracks.

Host:
The rain began again, soft and cleansing. They sat beneath it, neither reaching for shelter. The sound was rhythmic, like applause — quiet but steady, falling over cobblestone and stone alike.

Jeeny’s voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke again.

Jeeny:
Belief isn’t blind. It’s brave. It’s knowing everything could fall apart — and still choosing to care.

Jack:
(softly)
That’s what it means to be European. To be human.

Jeeny:
Exactly. The courage to keep uniting what the world keeps breaking.

Host:
They raised their cups in a quiet toast — not to nations or treaties, but to endurance, to shared ideals, to the fragile, radiant thing that is hope.

And as the night wrapped its arms around the city, Donald Tusk’s words took on new life — no longer just about borders or policy, but about something older, something universal:

That strength and vitality are born not of wealth or armies,
but of values —
of empathy, cooperation, and belief that tomorrow can be better.

That every generation must learn again
to choose unity over division,
dignity over dominance,
and hope over history.

The rain fell harder now —
and still, the flags above them waved,
defiant and luminous,
as if even in the storm,
they remembered why they were raised.