Three Generations

The young girl looked out of the window in a state of awe, watching as thousands of people, her sister among them, marched through the streets with their confidence held high and their signs even higher. She stood up on her tiptoes as high as she could, and saw a street filled with people chanting as far as the eye could see. She wondered why they were shouting for equality in the streets, and why so many people would think of gathering together like this. She knew it was best she stayed inside, but she longed to go out and join her sister, an activist in the making. It was a scary time. If the world was moving forwards, then why did it feel as though we were going back in time? In the ongoing struggle for justice, people were doing what they did best. They were speaking up.

Her sister on the other hand, had experienced a fair share of protests. It felt like the world was slowly falling apart, bit by bit, a world begging to be changed but not forgetting the painful things it has endured. The sister, in the midst of all the rallies on the streets, knew that this was different. Everybody could feel it in their bones. The hardships that they had faced collectively as a community had all led up to this one moment. The boiling point of a never-ending battle of rising anger and intolerance. She was fighting. Not a war with weapons, and death and destruction. But a war of words, symbolism and a better future. 

The young girls’ mother looked at images of peace and power floating through her mind. Surely, she thought. Surely they’ve learnt from their mistakes? She remembered times when she too held up a piece of cardboard over her head and refused to back down until she too made an impact. She felt sad, knowing that they had come so far only for things to feel exactly how they did back then. She didn’t want her daughters to grow up being afraid of stepping outside the house, or being criticised for being in love. If she had protested all those years ago, then why was this happening now? 

She was fighting for a better world. For what they believed in. She was fighting for a life where love was love, where race didn’t matter and people could be free to do what they wanted and live their lives with the fullest acceptance of who they were. She knew that her daughter was only doing the same, making sure the people who were persistent in disrupting the lives of others would finally see a cause worth fighting for. The truth was that if nobody kept fighting, then it would have felt like a surrender. If they stopped now, then their voices would be drowned out by the very people and ideologies they were fighting against, only going back to square one. 

The girl knew, after helping her sister create a sign with a catchy but powerful slogan, that this was important. Not just to her but to everyone. In moments like this the world came together in ways that it never had before, despite the terrible things people had been through. Humans from different backgrounds, families, countries and ways of life, all together in the streets as one unit with the aim to make a change so that she wouldn't need to face those same struggles they did. 

The sister knew, after speaking to her younger sibling about the things happening in the world, that it was only a matter of time before she would be in the streets too, fighting for what she believed in. She only hoped she could promise that somehow, someday, there would not be any injustice to criticise and inequality to fight for, but that was a long way away. It was things like this, marching, joining together and chanting that sparked the flames which spread across nations like a wildfire in no hurry to burn out. The momentum might burn out from time to time, but their voices would be heard and their stories told. They would look back feeling pride of what they had achieved and were continuing to achieve. Someday, they wouldn’t have to fight anymore and instead be able to celebrate all of the things that went right, rather than all of the things that went wrong. 

It wouldn’t be all good. For every uplifting story there would be a handful of horrifying ones, filled with violence, brutality and poor leadership in a democracy gone wrong. Amidst the peace there would be chaos and uncertainty on a global scale. It would be tiring and terrifying at times, and some would be too afraid to stand up and speak out against injustice. There would be moments of doubt and fear, but the people would continue to fight as if their lives depended on it because they did. People stand up because they care. People speak out because they know someone that it could benefit, and while they may not be struggling, they would rather help those who are than hide in a state of ignorant bliss that had run rampant for decades beforehand. There would be hope because people are finally starting to wake up and see what is happening around them and deciding that enough is enough, things must change now otherwise life will go on as it was before and nothing will have been achieved. There is hope because we all share the same planet, and we are all a part of making it a better place for those we leave it to. In honour of the people lost along the way, the ones who lost hope and the ones who were taken too soon, they would keep marching and chanting and raising each other up in the hope that millions of voices would be heard. 

Their mother knew it all too well that change would take time, but they would get there eventually.