How can people change their minds about us if they don't know who

Host: The afternoon light slanted through the windows of a half-empty train, painting long golden bars across the seats. The city was pulling away — steel, smoke, glass, and memory blurring into one endless motion. Jack sat by the window, his reflection superimposed on the landscape, his jaw tense, a newspaper folded in his lap. Jeeny sat beside him, knees crossed, a small notebook in her hands, her eyes calm but burning with purpose.

Between them, written in neat ink on the margin of the paper, was the quote:
“How can people change their minds about us if they don’t know who we are?” — Harvey Milk.

Jeeny: “He said this in the 70s, when just existing was an act of rebellion. Imagine the courage, Jack. To stand there and say — ‘See me. Know me.’ That’s all he asked for.”

Jack: (eyes still on the window) “And you think that’s enough? Visibility? You think people change because they see you? People see what they want to see, Jeeny. They build their narratives and then call them truth.”

Host: The train hummed, its wheels grinding against the tracks. The rhythm was steady, but the air between them began to shift — like a wire tightening.

Jeeny: “You sound like a man who’s stopped believing in people altogether.”

Jack: “I believe in patterns, not people. We repeat ourselves. We judge, we fear, we divide. History’s full of it. Jesus, Galileo, Rosa Parks, Harvey Milk — every one of them had to be sacrificed before anyone bothered to ‘know’ them.”

Jeeny: “And yet — they changed the world. Don’t you see? They were seen, Jack. Finally, the world saw their faces, heard their voices, and that changed everything. The act of being known is what broke the silence.”

Host: The sun slid lower, bathing their faces in amber. Jack turned his head, his grey eyes flicking to hers — curious, skeptical, but not entirely cold.

Jack: “You think people change through empathy? That the heart overrules the tribe?”

Jeeny: “Yes. When the story becomes personal, the wall begins to crack. When a man sees that the person he hated loves the same music, worries about the same rent, bleeds the same color — that’s when the myth dies.”

Host: Jeeny’s fingers traced the edge of her notebook. Jack’s eyes followed the motion, distracted for a moment — the gesture was soft, human.

Jack: “You’re giving people too much credit. The world’s too noisy now. Everyone’s shouting their truth into the void. Nobody’s really listening.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the problem isn’t the truth, Jack. Maybe it’s that too few people are telling it with their faces. You can’t change minds from behind a wall. You have to stand there, exposed, vulnerable. That’s what Harvey Milk did. He came out not because it was safe — but because it was necessary.”

Host: The train plunged through a tunnel, the light flickering, their faces alternating between shadow and glow. The silence between words was electric — full of something neither wanted to name.

Jack: “So what, we all just stand naked in the public square? Tell the world every truth, every scar? That’s not courage — that’s suicide. People weaponize your vulnerability, Jeeny. They twist it.”

Jeeny: “Yes, they do. But they can only twist it if you hide it. The moment you own your story, it stops being their weapon. That’s what he meant — ‘How can they change their minds if they don’t know who we are?’ He was saying — become undeniable.”

Host: The train emerged from the darkness, and the fields beyond were washed in sunlight. For a brief second, the world outside looked endless — like a place where names and categories had dissolved.

Jack: “You ever think it’s easier for some people to be seen than others? Some stories are safe to tell. Others — not so much.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly why we have to tell them. The more dangerous the truth, the more necessary its voice.”

Host: A small child laughed two seats ahead, pressing her hand against the glass. The gesture broke something in the tension, pulling both of them briefly out of themselves.

Jack: (softly) “You know… when I was a kid, I wanted to be a writer. But I never told anyone. My old man said words were useless. He said they don’t change the world — only power does.”

Jeeny: “He was wrong. Power without truth is just noise. Words — when they come from the heart, not the ego — they move people. That’s how every revolution begins. With someone daring to say, ‘This is who I am.’”

Host: The sound of the train deepened, the rails beneath them singing with a kind of mechanical sadness. Jeeny’s voice softened but carried an edge that glowed like steel under silk.

Jeeny: “You hide behind your cynicism like it’s armor, Jack. But what if the world doesn’t need more armor? What if it needs someone brave enough to take it off?”

Jack: (quietly) “And get cut to pieces?”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But at least you’d be alive when it happens.”

Host: Her words hung in the air, raw and shining. The sunlight tilted again — long, trembling lines across Jack’s face. His hand came to rest on the window, palm open against the glass. His voice was lower now, stripped of its edge.

Jack: “You think anyone ever truly knows anyone, Jeeny? You think if I stood up and showed them who I really am, it would matter?”

Jeeny: “It would matter to the one who needs to see it. That’s how change starts — one mind, one heart at a time. That’s what Harvey believed. He didn’t expect everyone to change — just someone.”

Host: The train began to slow, the brakes releasing a low metallic cry. The station ahead came into view, washed in white light, people waiting with bags, phones, and faces turned toward nowhere in particular.

Jack: (after a pause) “You know what scares me most? Not being hated. Being misunderstood.”

Jeeny: “Then stop letting them misunderstand you.”

Jack: “And if they still do?”

Jeeny: “Then at least you’ll know you didn’t hide. That’s how dignity works — not in being liked, but in being known.”

Host: A faint smile crossed Jack’s face, the kind that carried both resignation and revelation. He looked at the crowd gathering outside the window, all those faces, each carrying their own unspoken stories.

Jack: “You think it’s worth it, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “Every time. Because the moment someone knows who you are — really knows — they can never go back to pretending you’re invisible.”

Host: The doors slid open. A wave of sound and air rushed in — the city’s pulse, alive and waiting. Jack stood, lifting his coat, and for a moment, his reflection and his real face aligned perfectly in the glass.

Jeeny closed her notebook, tucked it under her arm, and followed him into the light.

The station was loud, full of voices, footsteps, and motion — but somehow, they walked through it in silence, their shadows stretching side by side.

Host: Behind them, the train doors closed with a hollow echo. Ahead, the street unfurled like an unwritten page. And in that instant, something had shifted — not the world, not the crowd, but the quiet conviction in two human hearts that being seen, no matter the cost, was the beginning of every real change.

The sunlight caught the edge of the departing train, glinting like a promise — that truth, once revealed, could never again be hidden.