I Have a Dream, Too.

245 years since the founding of the “great” country of America. 245 years, forty four White male presidents, one Black man. Zero women. 232 years for the “great” country of America to elect someone of color to the highest position of power. 141 years for the “great” country of America to elect the first woman to congress. 244 years for the “great” country of America to elect a woman as vice president. ___ years for the “great” country of America to elect a woman as president. ___ years for the “great” country of America to elect a member of the LGBTQ+ community as president.

America is a rusty and broken machine, covered in a thin layer of peeling gold paint. Except, that paint is only visible to the White men in power. The rest of us? That rusty old machine peeked through a long time ago. It’s not our fault you can’t see it.

I have a dream, too.

I have a dream that, one day, mothers across the country won’t have to sit in silence—like mine did—when their young daughters ask them why women aren’t allowed to be president. Believe me, their daughters will remember that conversation. Believe me, their daughters will lay with them and sob as they watch the first woman elected as vice president of the “great” country of America. Believe me, they’ll do it again as they watch her inauguration. Believe me, they’ll sob harder when they realize that a woman still hasn’t been elected president.

I have a dream, too.

I have a dream that, one day, nobody will have to listen to catcalls as they walk down the street. It is terrifying that feminine presenting people are taught from a young age—often inexplicitly—that you don’t drink too much if you go out at night, you don’t wear the wrong clothes, you don’t say the wrong thing. You don’t, you don’t, you don’t. What can we do? It is terrifying that we have conversations with our friends at age fifteen about our fear of going to college—with three years still to go—and being raped or assaulted on the street. It is terrifying to watch our male classmates repost videos on their Instagram stories about how rape/assault/harassment/*insert form of violence here* statistics are false, misleading, attention-grabbers.

I have a dream, too.

I have a dream that, one day, we won’t have to watch our friends shrink into themselves as they come out to us. Won’t have to watch them become themselves again as they realize that they have gained the absolute bare minimum of our respect and support. Won’t have to watch them shrink again as their parents come to pick them up. Won’t have to watch them become someone that they are not. Won’t have to watch them rant about their lack of representation in politics and the media. Won’t have to watch them worry about the discrimination they might face.

I have a dream, too.

“I have a dream that, one day, the government will listen to our younger generation.”

I have a dream that, one day, the phrase “all men are created equal,” inked into the foundation of the “great” country of America like a red stain on a white shirt, will apply not only in postulation, but in practice. It is not enough to say that all men are equal, and then throw more Black people into prison, leave them in poverty, and allow the police force we so support to brutally murder them at ridiculous rates. It is not enough to say that all men are equal and then let those around you deny the existence of the wage gap, of the degrading and dehumanizing nature of comments about women’s bodies, of the inescapable beauty standards that demolish self-esteem of people of any gender. It is not enough to say that all men are equal and then, 239 years later, allow same-sex marriage in all fifty states. It is not enough to say that all men are equal and still, still, allow bakeries and adoption agencies to turn away same-sex couples looking to buy wedding cakes and adopt children.

I have a dream, too.

I have a dream that, one day, the government will listen to our younger generation. Our younger generation that will have to deal with the consequences of their actions long after they are dead and buried. Our younger generation that has been begging, pleading, with them to do something, anything to save our planet, and has been greeted with empty words and plans that they won’t live to see the end of. What does it matter to the eighty-year-olds in Congress and the White House that have lived their whole lives in peace what they do to the planet? Our younger generation that has had our teenage years upended by a global pandemic and natural disasters linked to climate change. Our younger generation that does not want children that will have to live in a world worse than the one we have right now. Our younger generation that cares versus the older generations in power that are callous and lack anxiety over what will happen to this broken machine we call home.

I have a dream, too.

And I will not stop caring about my people and the planet.

I have a dream, too.

But I am not naive enough to be confident I will see these dreams play out in my lifetime.