Millions of children all over the world live in silence and face

Host: The evening air is calm, the faint rustle of leaves outside blending with the quiet hum of the city. The room feels still, almost heavy with anticipation, as though the weight of something important is just waiting to be shared. Jeeny sits near the table, a book open in front of her, but her eyes are far off, lost in thought. Jack stands near the window, his back to the room, gazing out into the dimming skyline. The silence between them is comfortable, yet there's a sense of something unspoken, something that waits to be addressed.

Jeeny: “I came across something earlier today by Rachel Shenton that struck me. She said, ‘Millions of children all over the world live in silence and face communication barriers – and, particularly, access to education.’” Her voice is gentle, but there’s an underlying urgency in it, like a question waiting to be asked. “What do you think of that?”

Jack: He pauses, his posture stiffening slightly as the weight of her words sinks in. “It’s sobering, isn’t it? The idea that millions of kids, who should be full of potential, are limited by things like language or disability or simply not having access to an education that could give them a voice.” His voice softens, the usual edge in it replaced by a quiet understanding. “I guess we take a lot of things for granted, don’t we? We don’t always realize how privileged we are, how much opportunity we have.”

Jeeny: “Exactly,” she says softly, her eyes steady, filled with compassion. “We live in a world where we have access to almost everything, yet so many children live in silence, unable to communicate or learn the way they need to.” She pauses, letting the weight of her words sink in. “It’s not just about having the resources; it’s about having the right resources, the ones that allow every child to be heard and given the tools to shape their future.”

Host: The room feels quieter now, the gravity of their conversation holding both of them in a quiet contemplation. Jack shifts, his gaze now more focused, the usual skepticism fading as the deeper reality of what Jeeny has said begins to settle in.

Jack: “It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it?” His voice is gentler now, more reflective. “That so many kids, kids who deserve the chance to dream, are left behind because they can’t communicate, because they can’t get the education they need to even start. It’s almost like a whole group of people have been silenced by forces they can’t control.” He looks over at her, his tone almost resigned. “And we don’t see it. We don’t hear it. It’s all so far from our reality, it feels like a different world.”

Jeeny: “But it’s not a different world, Jack,” she says quietly, her voice firm but soothing. “It’s part of the world we live in. We’re just too detached from it. But it’s real, and it’s happening every day.” Her eyes meet his now, filled with a sense of urgency. “Education is power. If we can’t give children the tools to communicate, to connect with the world around them, we’re limiting their ability to reach their full potential. We’re denying them the freedom to be part of the conversation.”

Jack: “So what’s the solution?” he asks, his voice still soft, but filled with a growing sense of resolve. “How do we reach those kids, those millions who can’t speak for themselves? How do we break down those barriers?”

Jeeny: “It starts with awareness,” she says, her voice steady, like she’s speaking about something deeply personal. “Awareness of the problem, and the realization that we all have a role to play in changing it. It’s about giving those kids the resources they need — specialized education, tools for communication, a world that listens.” She smiles faintly, a quiet hope in her gaze. “It’s also about creating spaces where those children can be seen and heard, where they don’t just survive, but thrive. Inclusion is a powerful thing, Jack. When you start to include those who’ve been left out, the whole world changes.”

Host: The room seems quieter still, as if their words have settled into a space of shared understanding. The city outside, with its lights flickering in the distance, feels farther away, as though the conversation has created its own world, one where these children, these voices, matter.

Jack: “I never thought about it like that,” he admits, his voice softer than usual, his thoughts now more connected to what they’ve been discussing. “It’s not just about throwing money or resources at the problem. It’s about making the world listen, creating a world where those voices are heard, where their needs are met. It’s about changing the narrative.”

Jeeny: “Exactly,” she says, her voice calm and affirmative. “And it’s not just the responsibility of governments or organizations. We all have a role to play. Every time we choose to see those kids, to give them a platform, to support the work that helps them communicate, we make a difference.” Her gaze softens, the words carrying a sense of hope. “It starts with the simple truth that every child deserves to be seen and heard.”

Host: The stillness in the room deepens, as if something has been unlocked between them. Jack sits back, lost in thought, while Jeeny watches him, her eyes filled with quiet understanding. The weight of their conversation hangs in the air, a quiet call to action — a recognition that change begins with awareness, and that inclusion is not just a luxury, but a necessity.

The world outside continues on, but inside, there’s a sense that the conversation has shifted, that something has clicked. Access to education, communication, and equality for all children is not just a cause. It’s a shared responsibility, and it’s something that can be changed, layer by layer.

As the evening draws on, the silence between them is filled with the understanding that while the challenges are great, the solutions lie in listening, in connecting, and in giving every child a voice.