If fighting for healthcare as a human right makes me a radical, so be it. If demanding that no one sleep on the streets while billionaires hoard wealth makes me a lunatic, I’ll wear that label with pride. If standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the marginalized, the oppressed, and the unheard makes me dangerous to the status quo—then maybe the status quo is the problem.

 “Radical” simply means looking at the root. I want to get to the root of injustice, the root of inequality, the root of why so many suffer while so few thrive. That’s not insanity—that’s clarity.

 When your house is on fire, you don’t ask for a slightly better extinguisher—you demand a hose and you kick down doors. That’s not lunacy. That’s urgency. That’s love in action.

 Being a proud radical leftist isn’t about chaos. It’s about imagination. It’s about believing we can build something better—a society where dignity isn’t a luxury, where justice isn’t selective, and where love, not profit, is our guiding force.

 Call me a radical. I’ll take it as a compliment. Because change has always come from the so-called lunatics—the dreamers, the fighters, the ones who couldn’t settle for “the way things are.” 

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