Speaking for the unspoken is a difficult task.  

Trying to do good while being aware of the privilege of not dealing with the consequences for your actions.

April 13th, 2022.  The Arrowhead High School board will decide in three hours whether to pass a policy that prevents transgender students from using their preferred bathroom at school.

“I can’t believe this is even being debated on'' and other comments are said at the table my friends and I sit at.  Over the past week my brother and I organized a group of people to speak against the policy being discussed. 

“Shouldn’t we be focusing more on stopping bullying for all kids?” says a parent trying to divert attention from the cause.  

 It's been over an hour and public comment hasn’t begun, but public annoyance has.

At 7:15, the first of many speakers goes up. 

An educated parent speaks for those who can’t.

An uneducated parent speaks against those who can’t.

A lawyer preaches the illegality of the policy itself.

My father relays statistics.

My brother speaks of the consequences of the policy.

I echo the voices of wise words from those before.

A friend tells chilling experiences of transphobia he has faced himself.

Although strength in numbers exists, so does stress in numbers.  Tears are shed from the audience all while the school board appears to have the emotional spectrum of a wax museum.

It’s 8:30: we’ve done the best we can while waiting for a ticking time bomb to explode.  I head home in an attempt to sleep, but how can I rest when the magnitude of the policy’s effects could be so big?

    The next day, my school alarm rings and I creep downstairs after a night of unrest.  My dad tells me the unspoken news,

    “The school board voted against the policy.”

Change was made, but more importantly transgender students are safe.  It's difficult to change the minds of people so stuck in the past, but at least for this, it was possible.