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 By Casey LaMarca In May 2020, my wife and I had to cancel our oldest daughter's first birthday party. The world was closed, and we couldn't give her the normal experience she deserved. The experience she deserved to look back on later in life when she needed comfort, knowing she had a big celebration surrounded by family and friends. Where she could have laughed at the fashion choices of the time and the questionable decision to choose a brewery for the party’s location (listen, first birthday parties are also for the parents). For almost two years, my wife and I worked from home during the pandemic without proper child care. I still get stressed thinking about all those days when we had to use the TV as a babysitter or risk missing a meeting. We didn’t have the luxury of living off one salary. People were losing their jobs; how could we risk it? And our village, while powerful, was relatively small. So what did we do instead of that big 1st birthday? We signed off work for the day, did a cake-smash photography session, and just unplugged. We lived off that day for a while, but what we would have given for that normal, right-of-passage birthday party. In 2026, birthday parties are back, but they still don't feel normal. Our oldest daughter is in first grade now, and our youngest is close to starting kindergarten. We’re fortunate and grateful to be in that “birthday party almost every weekend” phase. It gives our kids something to do during these frigid winter months.  But what should feel like celebrations are merely temporary distractions. This should be the time in our lives when we stress over little things, like whether our kids find a sport or a hobby they love. Wondering when they will meet their first real school friends. Watching them try to break those final baby habits like bedtime routines, meltdowns over whose toy is which, and balancing work and personal life to sneak in a date night or two with your significant other. But those are not the times we live in. The times we live in fill us with these daily questions: Will today be
Because I see you. And you are not alone. You are not crazy. You have every right to feel like things are not okay. Because they are not. But, and I can’t stress this enough, you still have the right to feel joy while also feeling dread. You have the right to fight for the happiness you deserve. And it’s okay to do that right now because we do not have another choice. If the last 10 years have taught us anything, it is that the next 10 years may be our last chance to show our kids that we said, "Enough is enough." That doesn’t mean we always need to attend every protest as the only way to fight back. In fact, I think of the scene from the extraordinary 2025 film, "One Battle After Another," when the character Bob Ferguson, played by Leonardo DiCaprio, tries to remember a password given to him by a fellow revolutionary so he can find his missing daughter. When the revolutionary finally tells him, it’s “time doesn’t exist, yet it controls us anyway.” A frustrated Bob replies with, “You obviously don't have kids, you f****** idiot!” What Bob knows that his fellow revolutionary doesn’t is that a parent’s time is surviving one day at a time, and within that time, our children come first. And sometimes, it isn’t always at the birthday party we envisioned. In fact, lately, it mostly consists of play dates that are half making sure your kids are having fun and the other half having side conversations with other parents that go something like this: How old is your kid now? Six. Wow. So the world is falling apart, huh? You ain’t kidding. It is within those moments of whiplash that we must try not to lose our sense of joy. We deserve to hold on to these memories without doomscrolling and heartache. We will need them later in life to keep going. That said, we need to acknowledge for our own sanity that the world is indeed trying to rob us of the most core time of our lives. To wit, I say to millennial parents: How resilient are we? Every time we think we’ve passed a historical event, another comes right at us. And you know what we do? We fight back by being decent. By calling things out. By saying, "This is not okay, and it never will be." It’s okay if you’re not okay. But what’s also not okay is that we have to wake up every day thinking that our children may not come home because our gun laws are asinine. It’s not okay for ICE agents to come to our neighborhood and terrorize our neighbors. It’s not okay for our children to wake up one day in a fascist state to wonder, “Why did my parents let this happen?” It’s not okay that we have to spend time Googling (yes, we millennials still Google things) “how to move to Canada.” But here we are, trying to stay decent while still finding joy. If anything else, for the millennial parents out there raising young children right now, just know there isn’t a generation I would want to go through this terrifying and magnificent moment with more. Casey LaMarca is a creative director and adjunct faculty at Southern New Hampshire University (SNHU). He has over 15 years of experience in digital video production, communication, and marketing. A graduate of Emerson College, where he earned his bachelor's in visual & media arts, concentrating on writing for film and television, LaMarca also earned his master’s in communication with a concentration in new media and marketing at SNHU. He co-founded a production company and created his first documentary film focusing on America's student loan crisis. Dedicated to his work at SNHU and volunteering with TEDxAmoskeagMillyard, LaMarca is a father of two daughters, Audrey and Ava, who inspired this blog contribution. Please note: We invite members of the greater Global Citizens Circle community to contribute to GCC Voices. The views and opinions expressed in each blog post are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Global Citizens Circle. You are not crazy. You have every right to feel like things are not okay. Because they are not. But, and I can’t stress this enough, you still have the right to feel joy while also feeling dread." - Casey LaMarca
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 An Introduction by Judith Thompson, senior advisor, Global Citizens Circle I have been to Gaza twice. My first visit was in 1991, following a conference at Hebrew University, “Children in War,” which examined the psychological impact of war and communal violence on children. At the time, I had already spent more than a decade working with young people from conflict zones through Children of War, the organization I co-founded in 1984 and was joined by my work partner Arn Chorn-Pond, a survivor of the Cambodian genocide who was the keynote speaker. After the conference, I traveled with my colleague Dr. John Mack—founder of Harvard’s Center for Psychology and Social Change where I was a board member—to refugee camps in the West Bank and then to Gaza, where we met Dr. Eyad El-Saraj, founder of the Gaza Community Mental Health Programme. A psychiatrist of extraordinary courage, Eyad endured repeated detention and intimidation by both Israeli and Palestinian authorities for his outspoken opposition to torture and abuse. His work remains a lasting model of ethical, trauma-informed mental health practice rooted in truth and compassion. My second visit, in 2008, was meant as a return—to Eyad to discuss a dialogue project I had been asked to facilitate between Palestinian and Israeli mental health workers. Instead, it coincided with the opening moments of what would later be called Operation Cast Lead, a 3-week war that resulted in 1,400 Palestinian and 13 Israeli deaths After crossing through the Erez checkpoint between Israel and Gaza on foot and hearing a missile pass overhead, I entered Gaza City in a waiting van. As we drove deeper into the city, the streets began to fill and the first casualties appeared—people chanting and carrying a body above their heads. We were forced to turn back. I walked alone across the barren no-man’s land and separating Gaza from Israel. I have never been able to return. To see Gaza now, as you can in this video—its once-vibrant society, reduced to rubble—is almost beyond belief. And yet, when a dear friend from Ramallah recently sent me this article about Lema Marwan, it felt like a shaft of light breaking through the devastation. Through her work and our correspondence, Lema embodies what “rising from the ashes” truly means—not as metaphor, but as disciplined, courageous stance, spurred on by a passionate vision. I am honored to welcome her into the Global Citizens Circle community and invite others to support her aspirations with the relationships and opportunities that allow such brilliance to endure. In a fractured world, stories remain among our most powerful bridges. May this one move you—not only to witness, but to respond. Below is her story, in her own words.  By Lema Marwan In the narrow alleys of Gaza, a city echoing with the weight of war and the silence of siege, emerged to tell a story the world has never seen. My narrative isn’t written in ink alone; it is painted with light, born from ashes, and sculpted at the intersection of my humanity, my art, and cutting-edge technology. My life has been a series of survival since the day I was born in 2003. I grew up in the shadows of constant wars, surrounded by a reality that no human should ever have to adapt to. I never knew material luxury, but I was raised with 'Spiritual Luxury' and dignity—a gift from my mother, my first anchor, after I lost my father when I was only thirteen. However, he remains the mountain that never bowed, granting me strength even in his absence. Before he passed, he planted the seeds of noble morals within me. I still remember how he would call my name before going to sleep to teach me Quranic verses, encouraging me to forgive others and to respond to unkindness with the grace and patience taught in our faith. It is his legacy that keeps me standing tall today. That loss did not break me; it ignited a fire within me to chase ambitions that others find impossible. Deprivation was the foundation of my story, but it also became the source of my strength. My ultimate ambition is to complete my education and pursue a master’s degree in Artificial Intelligence (AI), a field I am passionate about. I only dream of having the basic rights and necessities of life to continue my journey. My journey with deep expression began in 2021. I remember feeling a heavy need to cry, but not with tears—it was as if my heart wanted to weep. So, I wrote about Gaza. That was the moment I discovered that writing is my soul's voice. Now, I am living through this devastating war. I have seen the world turn completely black. I have endured displacement and hunger. I can never forget the night we fled under white phosphorus, shells, and tanks. We ran in the dark, our feet racing against time, searching for a piece of ground to hold our tent—a tent to cover the disappointment of our dreams. I still hear the sound of dogs howling in the night while I sat in the car, waiting for them to find any land where we could exist. Currently, I am in Khan Yunis, staying in a partially damaged building near the Nasser Medical Complex. It is no longer a "home" in the true sense, but rather a temporary shelter where we try to survive. Two apartments in the building were completely destroyed, and the rest sustained significant damage. Living so close to the hospital means we are constantly in the heart of the crisis, struggling every day to find a sense of safety or even a quiet moment to focus. It wounded my pride—I, who always lived in grace—to find myself standing in public streets just to catch an internet signal to see the world. During my displacement, our solar energy was stolen, leaving us in total darkness. While many of my colleagues left Gaza through scholarships, I lived through a difficult conflict as I watched my dreams fade in a land that hasn't seen peace for a single day. But I could not be selfish and leave my family while they faced death, destruction, and hunger thousands of times a day. I stayed because I know that my mother’s happiness is worth giving up everything else in this world. All these scenes echo inside me. I haven't forgotten, and I don't believe I will ever be able to move past them. My journey with writing and AI is my only way to survive these memories. Simply sitting with my laptop to practice design is a luxury I fight for. This digital world is my only window to a world I have never seen with my own eyes. The Deep Shift: When Art Meets AI My journey began as a student of Management Information Systems, but I found my true pulse in the rhythm of colors and pixels. Starting as a graphic and UI/UX designer, I soon realized that images are more than just tools—they are windows into the soul and a language for the unspeakable pain of my city. The rise of AI provided me with a new vocabulary to redefine the Gazan scene, turning raw emotions into immersive visual realities. As an AI Visual Storyteller, I harness tools like Midjourney, Runway, ElevenLabs, Grok, and Veo to create works that mirror the spirit of Gaza: resilient, hauntingly beautiful, and profoundly honest. This wasn’t just experimentation; it was a deep-seated need to find a new voice in a world drowning in noise. "Blood Writings": A Whisper in a Storm A defining moment in my journey was the release of my AI-generated short film, "Blood Writings." It was more than a film; it was a personal scream. I carried this vision to the 1Billion Summit 2025, seeking a bridge to the world. However, the stars did not align, and the opportunity remained out of reach. Yet, I realized that my path was never about "luck," but about the relentless will to turn rubble into beauty, even when the wind blows against me. A Global Embrace: Finding the Soul's Companion After a journey of independent struggle, a simple social media interaction led me to Judith Thompson. When I met Judith, it was as if I had found a companion and a kindred soul who helped heal my spirit from its pains. Her messages were always as light as a breeze, bringing immediate happiness to my soul. My joy became complete when I got to know her and her family during Christmas, and when I met the members of the Global Citizens Circle (GCC). Being part of this community, alongside voices like Phoebe de Larrabeiti, Theo Spanos Dunfey, and many others, was the true meaning of a soul finding joy in the heart of conflict. Today, I stand proud as a selected Emerging Leader and a contributor to the “AI for Good” program—a place where my light was finally seen. The Journey is Just Beginning I am a visual architect of hope. I operate independently, reviving the cause of my people through my art, and building my brand without leaning on any institution. My message is clear: Gaza is not just news of war; it is faces, dreams, and hands that craft light every single day. For me, the digital canvas is only the beginning. I believe that in a world separated by borders, stories are the only bridges that remain. My dream is to take this 'language of light' to global stages, turning every pixel into a conversation and every frame into a call for human connection. I don't just want the world to see Gaza through my AI art; I want the world to hear the heartbeat behind the technology—a voice that refuses to be silenced. I am happy to share my latest AI creation here: The Resilience Algorithm Explore My Work: • Professional Portfolio: • Latest AI Film (Blood of Writing ) • Connect with me LinkedIn Lema Marwan is a 23-year-old Palestinian visual storyteller, UI/UX and graphic designer, and writer from Khan Younis, Gaza. She is a graduating student of Management Information Systems, combining structured thinking with visual narrative and human-centered design. Marwan works at the intersection of design, storytelling, and digital creativity, using visual language to document memory, identity, and lived experience. She explores artificial intelligence as a creative and expressive tool—not as an industry role—to expand the emotional reach of her visual stories. She was selected as a success story by Leaders International through the DigiWork training program, recognizing her creative journey and digital skills. Alongside her artistic practice, Marwan is a photographer and community volunteer, actively involved in children’s entertainment and psychosocial relief activities through art and visual expression. She is the author of "Writings of Blood" and a contributor to global conversations on creativity, dignity, and human-centered storytelling. Judith Thompson, Ph.D., has a 40-year history with Global Citizens Circle and currently serves as a senior global advisor. A scholar-practitioner, she has devoted her career to compassion-based approaches to healing divisions and historic trauma in communities affected by conflict. She co-founded and directed Children of War, Inc., an internationally recognized initiative engaging youth from more than 42 war zones, which received numerous honors, including the Reebok Human Rights Award and a Peace Fellowship at Harvard’s Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study. Her work has included convening global learning communities of peacebuilders and supporting dialogue, reconciliation, and trauma-informed practice in divided societies worldwide. Please note: We invite members of the greater Global Citizens Circle community to contribute to GCC Voices. The views and opinions expressed in each blog post are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Global Citizens Circle. My message is clear: Gaza is not just news of war; it is faces, dreams, and hands that craft light every single day. - Lema Marwan |
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