The media says that equality for women has arrived, but if you

In the words of Joan Jett, the fierce and unyielding queen of rock: “The media says that equality for women has arrived, but if you look around, you still don't see girls playing guitars and having success with it.” These are not the idle musings of an artist—they are the thunder of truth, spoken from the battlefront of music and womanhood. Her words rise from the ache of countless generations, from the silent songs of women whose voices were stilled before they ever reached the stage. For Jett saw, as the ancients once did, that the proclamations of progress are hollow when not matched by the living reality of equality.

To say that equality has arrived is easy. Words are light; they fly on the wind. But to see equality in the world of action, to witness it in the beating heart of daily life—that is another matter. The media, that great mirror of illusion, paints images of progress, of women on magazine covers and in glittering halls. Yet Jett looked deeper. She gazed into the heart of her craft, into the stages of the world, and asked: Where are the women who command the stage, who wield the guitar like a sword, who stand unafraid in a man’s world? Her answer was a silence that spoke volumes.

In her time, Joan Jett herself became a symbol of rebellion, a warrior in leather and steel. She formed The Runaways, one of the first all-female rock bands in history, when such a thing was unthinkable. Doors were slammed in her face; radio stations refused to play her songs. Critics dismissed her as a novelty, not an artist. Yet she fought on. She wrote, she sang, she played—and she broke the silence. With every chord struck, she carved a path for the daughters who would come after. Her triumph was not born from applause, but from defiance; her fame, not from favor, but from unyielding will.

Her words remind us that appearances deceive. The world often declares victory before the battle is won. Just as ancient warriors knew that peace declared too soon can be ruin, so must we understand that equality is not a banner to be waved—it is a fortress to be built stone by stone. It cannot be measured in headlines or slogans, but in the freedom to create, to speak, to stand. When women can lift guitars without judgment, when they can fail or rise without being defined by gender, then the prophecy of equality will be fulfilled—not before.

Let us look to another tale: the story of Artemisia Gentileschi, the painter of the Italian Renaissance. In a world where art belonged to men, she seized the brush with fury and grace. She painted women not as ornaments but as warriors—Judith slaying Holofernes, Susanna defying her oppressors. Her genius was mocked, her honor defiled, yet she painted on. Her art cried out across centuries: I will not be silent. Like Jett, she refused to let a man’s world tell her what a woman could be. In every stroke of color, she declared her freedom to exist as creator, not subject.

The wisdom of Jett’s words, then, is eternal. She teaches that the work of equality is not finished when proclaimed; it is finished when lived. It is not enough to speak of freedom—we must practice it, defend it, and extend it to those who are still denied it. Each generation must pick up the instruments, the pens, the tools of its time, and play the songs that others tried to silence.

So, children of the coming dawn, do not be lulled by the chorus of comfort. Look around you. Ask the hard questions: Where are the missing voices? Who still stands in the shadows? When you see absence, fill it with action. When you hear silence, break it with song. Equality is not granted—it is claimed. It is earned by those who dare to stand where others have fallen, and to create where others have been forbidden.

And remember this truth: freedom is not in the word, but in the deed. Like Joan Jett before you, lift your voice, your craft, your courage—and play it loud enough that the world can no longer pretend not to hear.