You shouldn't change your behavior because a government agency

Host: The city was quiet tonight, wrapped in the kind of silence that follows long rain. The streets glistened — wet asphalt catching the reflection of streetlights, the world painted in silver and amber. Up above, in a small apartment with half-drawn blinds, two figures sat across from each other at a kitchen table littered with coffee mugs, an open laptop, and the soft hum of moral exhaustion.

Jack leaned back in his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up, a trace of rebellion in his posture. His eyes — steel-gray and tired — lingered on the computer screen, where an open news article glowed faintly in the dark. Jeeny, opposite him, sat forward, elbows on the table, her expression a mix of concern and defiance.

The clock ticked softly, indifferent to their thoughts.

Jeeny broke the silence, her voice calm but edged with conviction:

“You shouldn’t change your behavior because a government agency somewhere is doing the wrong thing. If we sacrifice our values because we’re afraid, we don’t care very much about those values.” — Edward Snowden

Jack: (half-smiling) “Snowden always did have a way of making ethics sound simple. Like morality’s a light switch you can just leave on.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. The problem is, people keep turning it off when it’s inconvenient.”

Jack: “You talk like courage is easy.”

Jeeny: “No. I talk like fear shouldn’t make us dishonest.”

Jack: “But fear does make us human.”

Jeeny: “So does integrity.”

Host: The wind rattled the window slightly, a restless echo in the stillness of their conversation. Beyond the glass, the city hummed — the low, steady pulse of a world pretending to sleep.

Jack: “You know what scares me most? How fast people justify surrender. All it takes is the word security, and suddenly they’re willing to hand over everything — privacy, truth, conscience.”

Jeeny: “Because fear is efficient. It sells obedience faster than reason ever could.”

Jack: “And yet, Snowden says we shouldn’t change. Like resistance is just another habit.”

Jeeny: “It has to be. Because once you compromise your principles out of fear, fear becomes the new principle.”

Jack: “That’s poetic. But tell that to someone whose job, family, or freedom’s on the line.”

Jeeny: “Snowden did. And he lost all three.”

Host: The rain started again, soft and deliberate, whispering against the glass like a secret. The sound filled the pauses between their words — the soundtrack of reflection, of conscience flickering between defiance and doubt.

Jack: “You think he was right to do it? Leak everything? Expose it all?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because he believed people had the right to know how deep the deception went.”

Jack: “And if his truth endangered others?”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the danger wasn’t in the truth — it was in the lies that required hiding it.”

Jack: “You sound certain.”

Jeeny: “I’m not. But I’d rather live with doubt than with cowardice.”

Jack: “And if courage destroys your life?”

Jeeny: “Then at least it’s your life. Not one built from obedience.”

Host: The light from the laptop screen flickered, painting both their faces in pale blue — half illumination, half shadow. The air between them felt charged, like two opposing truths circling the same gravity.

Jack: “You know what I hate? How quickly people turned him into a symbol. Hero. Traitor. Patriot. Exile. They forgot he was just a person — scared, conflicted, human.”

Jeeny: “That’s what makes his words matter more. Heroes aren’t fearless. They’re just people who decide fear won’t dictate their ethics.”

Jack: “You make it sound like morality’s a choice you can make once and never question again.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s a choice you remake every day — in silence, in small things. The way you talk, the way you work, the way you live when no one’s watching.”

Jack: “And the way you resist when everyone’s watching.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The clock ticked louder now, as if measuring their hesitation. In that dim kitchen, two people wrestled with the oldest modern question — how much of yourself can you keep when the system wants it all?

Jack: “You know what’s ironic? We keep talking about freedom like it’s a public right. But it’s really a private discipline.”

Jeeny: “Beautifully said. Freedom doesn’t live in slogans. It lives in choices — the ones that no one claps for.”

Jack: “Like refusing to look away when the truth is ugly.”

Jeeny: “Or refusing to lie when the truth costs you everything.”

Jack: “That kind of honesty feels extinct.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s endangered — but still alive.”

Host: The rain intensified, slanting against the window. The reflections of streetlights rippled across the glass like broken stars. Inside, Jeeny’s eyes burned softly — not with anger, but with conviction that had learned to live beside doubt.

Jack: “You really believe values mean something when they hurt?”

Jeeny: “Especially then. Comfort tests your patience. Pain tests your principles.”

Jack: “So fear’s the final exam of morality.”

Jeeny: “Yes. And most people fail not because they’re evil — but because they’re tired.”

Jack: “You think Snowden was tired?”

Jeeny: “No. He was awake. And awakening’s exhausting.”

Host: The room fell silent again, except for the slow hum of the refrigerator and the steady rhythm of rain. The world outside felt far away — and yet, everything they said belonged to it.

Jack: (after a pause) “You know, when he said that — about not changing your behavior — it’s not just politics. It’s personal. It’s about character. About living in alignment with your own code even when the world bends.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Integrity’s not situational. It’s structural. Like the skeleton of who you are — break it once, and you walk crooked forever.”

Jack: “That’s… harsh.”

Jeeny: “So is truth.”

Host: The wind eased, the rain turning into a faint mist. The city outside began to glimmer again — reflections of headlights, neon, puddles, each light finding its place in the mosaic of night.

Jack: “You think we could do it? Live like that — no compromises, no fear?”

Jeeny: “Not perfectly. But maybe the point isn’t perfection. It’s refusal. Refusing to let fear write our moral code.”

Jack: “And if fear still whispers?”

Jeeny: “Then we answer louder.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “You’d make a terrible spy.”

Jeeny: “No. Just an honest one.”

Host: The laptop screen dimmed, fading into black. Their reflections merged briefly in the glass — two silhouettes caught between light and conscience.

Jack closed the lid and exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that sounded like surrender and resolve at once.

Jeeny: “You know, people think values protect them. But they don’t. Values expose you — they make you vulnerable in a dishonest world.”

Jack: “And still, they’re all we have.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s why we keep them — even when they hurt.”

Jack: “Even when they isolate us.”

Jeeny: “Especially then.”

Host: The storm finally stopped. The world outside looked washed clean — raw, reflective, honest. The first hint of dawn glowed faintly at the horizon, pale but steady.

And in that fragile light, Edward Snowden’s words seemed to hang in the air like a quiet vow:

that integrity must not depend on surveillance,
that fear cannot be the architect of our conscience,
and that when the world demands compromise,
the truest act of freedom
is simply to remain oneself — unaltered, unafraid, unbroken.

Host: The city began to stir.
The rainclouds lifted.
And two souls, still awake,
sat in the calm aftermath of truth —
their silence,
their defiance,
their shared belief
that values are worth the cost.