Each one of us can make a difference. Together we make change.

Host: The harbor wind was cool that evening, carrying the scent of salt, diesel, and rain. The sky over Baltimore was turning indigo, flecked with the last orange light of the day. On the pier, strings of old bulbs glowed faintly, their reflections trembling across the dark water. Somewhere, a radio played Bill Withers’ “Lean on Me” — the sound drifting through the open air, lonely but hopeful.

Jack stood at the edge of the dock, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the water met the shadow of the city. Jeeny approached from behind, scarf fluttering, her footsteps soft on the wooden planks. She stopped beside him, watching the waves push against the pier’s edge.

Jeeny: “Barbara Mikulski once said, ‘Each one of us can make a difference. Together we make change.’”

Jack: half-smiling “Sounds like something they’d engrave on a community center wall.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But she meant it.”

Jack: “Everyone means it when they’re running for office.”

Jeeny: quietly, with a small smile “She wasn’t running. She was remembering.”

Host: A cargo ship horn echoed across the bay — long, mournful, majestic. The lights of the city flickered in the water, rippling with each passing wave. The sound seemed to hang between them, heavy with history.

Jack: “You really think one person makes a difference anymore? Feels like the world’s gotten too big for that. Everything’s global, corporate, algorithmic.”

Jeeny: “And yet every global movement starts with one person refusing to stay quiet.”

Jack: glancing at her “You sound like a poster.”

Jeeny: “No. I sound like someone who’s tired of watching people wait for heroes.”

Host: The wind picked up, tugging at their coats. Jeeny tucked her hands into her pockets, her eyes never leaving the restless water.

Jeeny: “Mikulski said that because she knew politics wasn’t power — it was participation. She came from the streets, Jack. She used to organize neighborhood meetings before she ever stepped into the Senate. That’s where change begins — in small, human places.”

Jack: “Small doesn’t feel like enough anymore.”

Jeeny: “That’s because you keep looking for results instead of ripples.”

Host: A small wave splashed against the dock, wetting Jack’s shoes. He didn’t move. He just looked down at the water, the way it moved endlessly and without permission.

Jack: “You think ripples matter when the tide’s this strong?”

Jeeny: “They’re the only thing that ever has. Enough of them, and the tide is the ripple.”

Jack: quietly “You really believe that?”

Jeeny: “I have to. Otherwise what’s the point?”

Host: The radio crackled, the song changing to silence and static before finding another melody — an old folk tune about working hands and hope.

Jack: “You ever notice how change feels romantic in quotes but miserable in reality? People love the idea of unity until it means losing comfort.”

Jeeny: “Change always costs something. That’s why it’s valuable. But it’s not misery, Jack — it’s growth. It’s what happens when we stop pretending comfort and goodness are the same thing.”

Jack: after a long pause “You know, I used to believe in big movements. Thought you could organize the world with enough willpower. Then I watched them crumble — bureaucracy, ego, fatigue. People lose interest once the cameras leave.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s why Mikulski said together we make change. She knew together doesn’t mean perfect agreement — it means persistence. Real change isn’t a firework; it’s erosion. Slow, steady, unstoppable.”

Host: The light from the city skyline shimmered on the waves like molten metal. The air felt charged — not with lightning, but with meaning.

Jack: “You ever think about how many people must’ve said those same words before her? Each one believing it was their time to change the world?”

Jeeny: softly “And maybe that’s why the world has changed — because they kept saying it. Over and over. Passing it like a torch.”

Jack: “You sound like faith.”

Jeeny: “No. Just memory.”

Host: A seagull cried overhead, then vanished into the gray distance. The wind carried a faint drizzle, beading against their coats.

Jack: “So what’s your change, Jeeny? What’s the difference you think you’re making?”

Jeeny: “Listening. That’s where it starts. People shout to be heard but no one listens to understand. You can’t build change on noise — only on empathy.”

Jack: nodding slowly “You know, when I was younger, I thought change meant power — laws, votes, protests. But maybe it’s smaller than that.”

Jeeny: “It always was. You want to change the world? Start by changing the room you’re standing in.”

Host: The rain began to fall in earnest, the drops pattering on the wooden boards like applause from an unseen crowd. Jeeny lifted her face toward the sky, letting the water touch her skin.

Jeeny: “That’s what Mikulski was saying. One person can make a difference — but only when they realize they’re not alone.”

Jack: “Together we make change.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Exactly.”

Host: The rain blurred the horizon, merging sky and sea into one vast gray body. Jack watched her — her calm, her certainty, the way conviction looked like quiet rather than noise.

Jack: “You think people still believe that?”

Jeeny: “Some do. Enough to keep trying. And that’s all history ever asks of us — to keep trying.”

Host: The radio sputtered, the voice of the announcer breaking through the static: “This is WJZ Baltimore, signing off with a reminder — stay kind, stay safe, and stay hopeful.”

Jack: smiling “Hope. The most overused word in politics.”

Jeeny: “Only because it keeps refusing to die.”

Host: The rain slowed, the city lights glistening in the puddles beneath their feet. Jeeny looked at him, her eyes shining with something steady, something unbreakable.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack, maybe the world doesn’t need another revolution. Maybe it just needs people who show up — for each other, again and again.”

Jack: “And maybe that’s what she meant — that change isn’t loud. It’s consistent.”

Jeeny: “Yes. It’s the slowest kind of love.”

Host: The rain stopped completely, leaving behind the scent of earth and steel. The water in the harbor went still for a moment, catching their reflections — two figures side by side, small against the world, but not powerless.

And in that fragile calm, Mikulski’s words seemed to rise from the waves themselves — not as a slogan, but as a promise:

That even the smallest hand, when joined with another,
can move the weight of the world.

And together — quietly, stubbornly, humanly —
we make change.