The leaders come up from the volunteers that do the work, and

Host: The community hall in East Los Angeles buzzed with the quiet chaos of a hundred small dreams trying to organize themselves. The walls were lined with posters — faded but proud — Sí se puede, Justice for All, Farmworkers United. The smell of coffee, paper, and determination hung in the air.

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, throwing long stripes of light through the open door. Inside, Jack and Jeeny sat at a folding table, surrounded by flyers, markers, and half-empty cups of water. A hand-painted banner lay drying beside them: “Community Clean-Up Day — Tomorrow at 8AM.”

Jeeny’s hair was pulled back, a smudge of ink on her cheek. She looked tired, but her eyes glowed with purpose. Jack’s shirt sleeves were rolled up, his forearms marked with streaks of paint.

Pinned on the wall behind them was a quote written in bold red letters:
“The leaders come up from the volunteers that do the work, and it’s amazing because then they do these incredible things in their community that they never thought they had the power to make that happen.” — Dolores Huerta.

Jeeny: “You know, I read that quote last night. Huerta said it decades ago, and it still feels like a secret everyone keeps forgetting.”

Jack: “Yeah. Probably because people like secrets that let them stay comfortable.”

Jeeny: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jack: “Everyone loves to talk about leadership, Jeeny. Workshops, books, TED Talks. But when it comes to actually doing something — volunteering, picking up trash, knocking on doors — no one shows up. They want to skip the dirt and go straight to the photo op.”

Host: His voice carried that gravelly skepticism that came from too many years of watching people make promises and then forget them. He leaned back in his chair, the legs creaking under him.

Jeeny: “You sound bitter.”

Jack: “I’m realistic. The world runs on talkers, not doers.”

Jeeny: “And yet the world changes because of doers. Dolores Huerta wasn’t sitting in an office drawing flowcharts — she was walking the fields with the workers, organizing under the sun. You think that’s just talk?”

Jack: “No, that’s sacrifice. But that’s rare. Most people don’t volunteer because they believe they can’t make a dent. They think change is reserved for the powerful, not for people cleaning up graffiti on a Saturday morning.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly why Huerta’s words matter. She’s saying power isn’t given — it’s grown. You plant it in the ordinary, and it becomes something extraordinary.”

Host: The hall lights flickered slightly as the old wiring struggled against the evening’s humidity. A group of teenagers outside were laughing, stacking boxes of supplies for tomorrow’s clean-up. Their laughter drifted through the air like a reminder of why they were there.

Jack watched them through the doorway, his expression softening, almost imperceptibly.

Jack: “You think any of them really believe they can make a difference?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not yet. But they’re here. That’s the beginning.”

Jack: “Beginnings are easy. Endings are the test.”

Jeeny: “You always measure everything by the finish line. Some things matter just because they start.”

Jack: “Tell that to the city council when they cut funding again.”

Jeeny: “I will. And I’ll bring them photos of those kids picking up trash on their own street. You’d be surprised how courage looks when it’s printed on paper.”

Host: Her words hung between them, stubborn as sunlight through smog. Jack rubbed the back of his neck, his voice quieter now.

Jack: “You really believe people can change their communities without permission?”

Jeeny: “I don’t believe it. I’ve seen it.”

Jack: “Give me one example.”

Jeeny: “Remember when the park was falling apart? Graffiti everywhere, swings broken, benches rusted? Everyone said it was the city’s problem. Then Mrs. Delgado — seventy years old, widow, retired nurse — started sweeping the sidewalk every morning. Alone. Within a week,