Still Here, Still Building

I was 14 when I saw George Floyd die on my phone screen. 15 when I marched downtown. 16 when I got tear-gassed for holding a sign that read “Am I next?”

Justice isn’t theoretical for my generation. It’s urgent. It’s now.

They told us we were too young to understand. But we understood the weight of silence. We knew the names, the hashtags, the rituals of mourning performed in protest.

I organized a walkout at my school when they banned a book about racism. I wrote letters. I spoke at city council. They rolled their eyes.

But we’re still here. Still voting. Still writing. Still demanding.

Justice isn’t a gift. It’s a claim. And we’re not asking. We’re building.