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 Photo by Gary Butterfield on Unsplash By Mariam P. Sometimes, late at night when I’m studying or the internet is slow, I catch myself wondering about big things , like why people believe what they do, or how the world could be different. In those quiet moments, I realize curiosity isn’t just something nice to have. It’s actually a strong way to deal with a world full of arguments and divisions. We live in times where information comes at us constantly : news alerts, social media threads, heated family dinners. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed and retreat into certainty. We scroll past opinions that don’t match ours, mute notifications from “that one friend,” or just nod along in conversations to avoid conflict. But I’ve noticed something: the moments when I push past that instinct and get genuinely curious are the ones that stick with me. They don’t always change minds (mine or anyone else’s), but they change the energy. They make space for something human instead of just positions. Right now, a lot of people pick a side fast and stick to it. They stop listening. But asking questions changes that. A simple “Why do you think that?” or “What made you feel this way?” can open the door to real talk instead of shouting matches. Those basic questions are powerful because they shift the focus from winning to understanding. When we ask them sincerely, we’re saying, “I see you as more than your opinion.” We’re inviting the other person to share the story behind their view , the experiences, fears, hopes, or values that shaped it. Often , people aren’t used to being asked. They expect attack or dismissal so when curiosity shows up instead, it disarms defensiveness. Suddenly, the conversation isn’t a battle; it’s an exchange. I’ve seen it happen in small ways. In online chats with people from different places, when someone asks a real question instead of arguing, the whole mood shifts. People start sharing stories. They don’t always agree, but they start to understand each other a little better. That small shift matters. This works on a bigger scale too. Whether it’s arguments about politics, climate, or rights, things get stuck when everyone thinks they already know the full truth. Questions break that stuck feeling. They let us see new sides, find common ground, and maybe even solve problems together. Think about how polarized things have become , elections, social issues, even basic facts get twisted into team sports. When we assume we already know everything about “the other side,” we stop learning. But curiosity reminds us that no one has the complete picture. Every perspective is shaped by partial experiences. Asking questions helps fill in the gaps. It reveals shared human concerns underneath the divide like wanting safety for our families, fairness in opportunities, or a planet that future generations can thrive on. Those common threads don’t solve everything overnight, but they make collaboration possible instead of impossible.  Photo by Nicole Baster on Unsplash Global Citizens Circle shows this in action. Their Circles bring people together from all ages and places to talk without needing to win. Questions are welcomed, not shut down. Listening happens first. I’ve seen how that builds trust. When people feel heard, they open up. When they open up, change becomes possible. It builds trust and shows that understanding can come before agreeing. Young people especially have this superpower. We’re growing up in a noisy, divided world, but many of us still ask “why” and “what if.” We wonder about fairness, about the future, about how to make things better. That wondering keeps hope alive. It reminds us that the world isn’t finished changing. Every question we ask is a step toward something kinder, fairer, more connected. Of course, asking questions isn’t always easy. It can feel risky especially when opinions run hot or when you’re afraid of looking unsure. But that’s why it’s powerful. It takes courage to say, “I don’t know; tell me more.” It takes strength to listen without jumping in to correct. In divided times, that’s revolutionary. When we choose questions over conclusions, we choose connection over isolation. We remind ourselves and others that people are more than the side they choose to take. We’re stories, struggles, dreams. Curiosity just lets us meet each other there. Here’s something simple anyone can try this week: When you see or hear something you disagree with — in person, online, or even in your own head — stop for a second and ask one honest question. “What’s behind that view?” or “What part of this is hardest for you?” Just one question. And remember: the goal isn’t to agree; it’s to learn something new about the person across from you. If this speaks to you, feel free to share your own question or join a Circle — small steps go a long way. “The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.” — Albert Einstein Mariam P. is a young Afghan woman passionate about technology, education, and creating opportunities for women. She continues her studies online while volunteering and participating in global leadership programs. She enjoys reading, exploring art, and engaging in a variety of extracurricular activities, including digital projects. Living through years of conflict and restrictions has shaped her belief that learning, commitment, and community are powerful forms of healing and hope. 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. When we choose questions over conclusions, we choose connection over isolation. We remind ourselves and others that people are more than the side they choose to take. We’re stories, struggles, dreams. Curiosity just lets us meet each other there." -Mariam P.
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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  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  A Declaration of Moral Power RIGHT We affirm that Right precedes Might. As citizens of humanity, we choose Right Action—especially in times when human rights are dismissed, distorted, or deliberately dismantled. We refuse the false doctrine that force determines truth or that dominance confers legitimacy. We bind ourselves to a moral code grounded in the inherent dignity of every human being, without exception—across borders, beliefs, identities, and legal status. Human worth is not granted by the state. It is not earned. It is not revocable. In moments when fear is weaponized and cruelty normalized, we choose conscience over compliance, courage over convenience, and humanity over silence. MAKES Right does not remain an idea. Right becomes real through action. As people of conscience, we take a stand against the erosion of civil liberties, the criminalization of compassion, and the misuse of power, and for the protection of human dignity, due process, and truth. We commit to doing right—now through daily, measurable acts that multiply when practiced together:
MIGHT Might is power—but not all power is equal. We reject domination, coercion, and fear as false strength. We affirm that the only power capable of sustaining human dignity is moral power:
This is the power that outlasts regimes. This is the strength we claim—together. RIGHT MAKES MIGHT.
ACT NOW: If you believe that Right Makes Might, we encourage you to click through to Change.org and sign the petition with your pledge to act upon this declaration. JOIN US at our next virtual Circle by registering here. Does Might Make Right: The Moral Cost of Power When: January 28, 2026 Time: 12:00-1:00pm EST Where: Zoom Circle  By Theo Spanos Dunfey September 21st – International Day of Peace – Earth, Wind and Fire day – the birth of my first grandchild, Milo. Oh, how the confluence of these events gives me pause to reflect on this past year. You see, I became a grandmother on the 21st of September, a date I had forgotten, until a colleague reminded me, was established in 1981 by the United Nations as the International Day of Peace. It’s also a date that is recognized especially by my generation as the night when the band Earth, Wind and Fire sang and asked the question, “Do you remember/ The 21st night of September?/Love was changing the minds of pretenders/ While chasing the clouds away.” There’s surely something profound for me in this mix of the pursuit of global peace, the music of my late teens, and now the birth of my first grandchild. Though I won’t do justice to describing why it’s profound for me, I will give it a try. The ideal of achieving global peace is something that I’ve worked towards throughout my career. Listening deeply to and learning so much from those who have faced the unimaginable horrors of conflict and war have left me humbled and committed to doing what I can to advance, if only a small bit, the prospects for peace. Those prospects grow when we come together to talk and we pay attention to how we talk to one another. It is with respect and an abiding trust in the inherent dignity of all people that “talk” can lead to understanding and ultimately to peace. It’s not an easy, straight or short line between the two, but history has proven its worth. I think of Northern Ireland and the countless hours, days and years that it took to find a semblance of peace through the Good Friday Agreement. I believe the words of Nelson Mandela when he said, “The best weapon is to sit down and talk.” I respect the insights of Gloria Steinem, when she wrote in her book "My Life on the Road," “If you want people to listen to you, you have to listen to them. If you hope people will change how they live, you have to know how they live. If you want people to see you, you have to sit down with them eye-to-eye.” I’ve seen where prospects for peace expand with respectful, civil dialogue, and I feel hope in the act of nurturing it. I’m no less moved by the power of music to motivate, heal and inspire activism for a more peaceful world. It is a universal language that can sometimes soothe the soul. For me, a child of the 60s and 70s, music that brought me solace in that particular time of upheaval was soft, melodic, and soothing, or happy, lively and fun. Some were undoubtedly moved more by the hard rock of the day, but that wasn’t me. I return to the significance of Earth, Wind and Fire, a band whose songs featured poetic lyrics about universal love, harmony, spirituality, and consciousness. That’s what I liked, that’s what made me smile and sing along. When my grandson Milo was born on the 21st night of September, how I smiled and sang silently in my head the words of Earth, Wind and Fire’s perennially popular song, “September.” Of course I was beyond happy and filled with the peace and joy of knowing Milo and my daughter McKayla were healthy, safe and surrounded by family and friends filled with love for them and Nolan, the proud father and partner.  Theo and her grandson Milo. But, my dearest Milo, my prince of peace, I can’t help but worry. It is what I do best, though I try my hardest to overcome it. The world you have been born into will confront you with great challenges, and that scares me, not because I think your generation will be unable to survive. I believe you will, but it will take great effort, strategic initiative, perseverance and hope to envision and forge a new world of peace, justice and prosperity for all. You will need to work together in a world that tries to divide. You will need to learn the difference between fact and fiction in a world that tries to confuse and conflate the two. You will need stay true to your values in a world that tries to pull you away. I know you and your peers will do it, but the unknown still scares me. Nonetheless, it’s a new year and I refuse to succumb to the messages the world has imposed on me this past year. I can acknowledge and feel the pain of loneliness, the despair of war, the devastation wrought by climate change and the chaos of collapsing democratic values and institutions, but I will not and cannot give up hope for a more peaceful world. I will continue to put that hope into action for my own sweet Milo and for all of the precious new lives that come into our world with nothing but the expectation of nourishment, warmth and love. Theo Spanos Dunfey is president and executive director of Global Citizens Circle. She has over 30 years of global experience in non-profits, higher education, and international affairs. Dunfey is a graduate of the Fletcher School of Law & Diplomacy at Tufts University, where she earned a Master of Arts in Law and Diplomacy, concentrating on American diplomatic history, international communication, and international development. It was during her studies at the Fletcher School that she first began volunteering with Global Citizens Circle’s Boston programs. She also earned a bachelor’s in international relations and French at Brown University. With a primary focus on global issues, Dunfey taught international development at the University of New England, led student groups on global citizenship service-learning trips abroad, directed the World Affairs Council of Maine, and produced numerous global editorial conferences for The WorldPaper before taking the helm at Global Citizens Circle. Listening deeply to and learning so much from those who have faced the unimaginable horrors of conflict and war have left me humbled and committed to doing what I can to advance, if only a small bit, the prospects for peace." By Stanley Thomas Reaching the midpoint of my master’s in nonprofit administration at Notre Dame has been a moment of profound reflection. Beyond the academic rigor, it’s the heart of this community that has truly filled my cup. The skills I’m gaining here feel less like 'tools' and more like a commitment—one I am eager to pour back into organizations like GCC that are changing lives.  Artist Akosua Bandele, Stanley Thomas, and Marguerite Mariama A special shoutout to Marguerite Mariama, who has offered me a true “safe harbor” in Chicago. Through her generosity and presence, I’ve found space to grow, reflect, and feel grounded. As I step into this new chapter, her guidance, insight, and wisdom have been nothing short of a blessing.  The author, far right foreground. My recent time in Boston and New Hampshire transformed that commitment into something personal. Meeting the GCC family in person, sitting in the circle, and co-facilitating a mental health session with the bright students at Breakthrough Manchester wasn't just 'fieldwork.' It was a reminder of why I do this. Those faces and stories are now the heartbeat behind my studies. I share my gratitude for these experiences with all of you and wish you each a joyous holiday season and hope the new year is filled with conversations that further connect us in powerful ways. As a dedicated mental health advocate and counseling psychology graduate, Stanley Thomas Asango is committed to promoting mental health and wellbeing. Through his active involvement with nonprofit organizations like Miracle Corners of the World Global (MCW Global) and Global Citizens Circle (GCC), he has honed his leadership skills and gained a global perspective. These experiences have fueled his passion for making a positive impact on mental health, both nationally and internationally. Stanley's goal is to leverage his knowledge and skills to drive meaningful change and support communities in achieving better mental health outcomes. Now, he is moving toward a greater role in the nonprofit world by earning his master's in nonprofit administration.Please note: Each week, 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.
 By Dr. Esperanza Freitchen Webster’s Dictionary defines pivot as: to adapt or improve by adjusting or modifying something (such as a product, service, or strategy). At this stage in my mid-to-late career, after decades in higher education, nonprofits, and K–12 charter schools, I find myself reflecting deeply on that definition. My entire professional life has been rooted in expanding educational access for marginalized and underserved communities. I’ve been doing what we now call “DEI work” long before the acronym existed. Two years ago, I stepped into what felt like the pinnacle of that work — a senior leadership role at a major university in my hometown. It pulled together every thread of my experience: higher education, multicultural student affairs, diversity and inclusion, and community impact. The opportunity felt aligned with my purpose. And as a bonus, my youngest daughter attended the same university, receiving a tuition discount because I was an employee. From the outside, and honestly from the inside too, it looked like I had finally landed the job. I was back on a campus, shaping strategy, rebuilding a team, and steering initiatives that mattered deeply. It was hard at first — my team had been through significant turmoil. They were skeptical, guarded, unsure of my intentions and leadership style. But I trusted my belief in authentic leadership. I showed up every day with consistency, transparency, and empathy. Slowly, brick by brick, trust formed. By the six-month mark, we were healing, rebuilding, and imagining new possibilities. By late summer 2024, I felt confident enough to discuss my role with my supervisor. I was underpaid and carrying far more responsibility than the position reflected. She agreed we should work with HR to re-map and elevate the role. For the first time in a long time, I felt aligned, valued, and hopeful. I was thriving. Then came November. The unexpected results of the 2024 election hit like a boulder. Almost overnight, discussions about growth and promotion evaporated. Higher education nationwide was thrust into upheaval. Policies affecting minority-serving institutions, women’s research, global microcampuses, outreach services, and anything that resembled DEI were called into question or outright dismantled. When the U.S. Department of Education released its “Dear Colleague” letter that February, I felt the rumbling under my feet. Something foundational was shifting. By early spring, the environment in my division grew increasingly tense. Micromanagement escalated. Decisions were increasingly made to dilute, minimize, or erase student-centered initiatives, especially those supporting students of color, queer students, disabled students, and other marginalized identities. It felt like we were being asked to hide our work — as if equity had become a liability rather than a value. And that was the moment I realized my values were in jeopardy. So I began to explore new roles — first casually, then more urgently. Internal postings, other universities, local nonprofits, national organizations, EdTech. I wanted to stay connected to education and community, but I also needed to protect my integrity, my energy, and frankly, my sanity. May confirmed my fears. A meeting between my supervisor and the incoming provost created a tension I couldn’t ignore. Her sudden withdrawal and silence said everything she didn’t. My intuition — that familiar, uncomfortable knowing — pulsed louder and louder. On May 20, my supervisor told me verbally that she would likely not be retaining me — and that my direct reports would be laid off as well. She questioned my work, my capacity, and even my dedication. It was cruel, abrupt, and deeply personal. I tried to reason with her, but the door was closed. The next day, she confirmed it: eight positions, including mine, would collapse into two. When I asked about applying, she told me I shouldn’t bother — that even my own team would be “more competitive” than I was. In that moment, my years of work, leadership, and contributions were reduced to nothing. She offered empty reassurances — references, placement support, HR transfers — but I see now they were attempts to soften her own fear and preserve her own position. On June 2, 2025 — my birthday — I received my official layoff notice. I stayed until June 23, closing out projects and packing up my office, holding back tears I didn’t want to shed in a place I once loved. Then began the grind. I applied for over 300 jobs from February through September. I invested in career coaching, résumé rewrites, and new job boards. Out of hundreds of applications, I received nine interviews and three second rounds. One organization took me through three rounds only to tell me I was “overqualified.” I applied in every sector imaginable: healthcare, gaming, utilities, social media, education, defense, even industries I’d barely considered before. I leaned on my transferable skills like they were life rafts. Then, almost randomly, I applied to an EdTech company providing supplemental transportation for McKinney-Vento students — something that still connected to educational access. I moved through a phone screen and three interviews in less than 30 days and received an offer. The speed and efficiency shocked me. I began the role last month. The learning curve has been steep. Shifting from the public sector to the private sector has required rewiring how I think, work, and communicate. I stepped back from leadership into an individual contributor position with a level of oversight and structure that feels unfamiliar. I’ve had to learn new software at lightning speed and adjust to a new culture. But I’m also relieved. I have income again. Health insurance. Stability. The ability to contribute to my household without fear or guilt. I work remotely, which has its own advantages. And while the pay is lower than my previous role, it aligns with the market — and right now, employment itself is a blessing. And yet… I feel lost. I feel disconnected. I miss community. I miss being where the people are. I miss leading, mentoring, problem-solving, and building something greater than myself. I feel grateful, yes — but also restless, conflicted, and hungry for alignment again. This pivot has taken a toll. It has challenged my identity and my sense of purpose. It has forced me to confront uncomfortable questions about what I truly want versus what I can reasonably expect in this job market. And just when I began to wonder whether I should settle into this new reality, three different people — who don’t know each other — sent me two CEO job openings in my local community. Completely unprompted. Maybe it’s coincidence. Maybe it’s intuition. Maybe it’s a sign that the story isn’t over — that this pivot is still unfolding. Time will tell. But for now, I’m learning, adjusting, and listening closely for what comes next. Dr. Esperanza Freitchen is a native of Tucson and a lifelong Arizona resident. She has over 20 years of experience working in nonprofits and higher education organizations in a variety of capacities, including fundraising, grant writing, project management, and executive leadership. As a consultant, she focuses on leadership development and strategic planning for community-based organizations. Her work has led her to speak at statewide conferences and offer training on workplace communication, cultural competence, allyship, and intersectionality. Dr. Freitchen was a first-generation student and has dedicated her career to removing barriers to accessing postsecondary education for historically marginalized populations. She holds a BA in Spanish Literature from the University of Arizona, an MS and MBA from Western Governors University, and an Ed.D. in Leadership and Innovation from Arizona State University. She is a graduate of UC Berkeley’s Executive Leadership Academy, the Hispanic Leadership Institute, Greater Tucson Leadership’s Lead Tucson, CSU Fullerton’s LIFT program, and is a member of the Sunnyside Foundation’s Hall of Fame. She is also a proud Star Wars nerd and shameless Disney Adult. She and her family own Presidio Comics, a Tucson-based comics and collectibles retail store. 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. Decisions were increasingly made to dilute, minimize, or erase student-centered initiatives, especially those supporting students of color, queer students, disabled students, and other marginalized identities. It felt like we were being asked to hide our work — as if equity had become a liability rather than a value." - Dr. Esperanza Freitchen  By Mariam P. When people hear about Afghanistan, they often think of war, loss, and restrictions. But behind all the headlines, there’s another story that is less told but deeply true. It’s the story of Afghan youth who, despite living in crisis and uncertainty, continue to find strength, hope, and purpose. I have seen this resilience in the faces of young people around me — friends, classmates, and even strangers online. Many of them have lost access to schools, jobs, and even basic freedoms, yet they still find ways to learn, to dream, and to stay connected. Hope has quietly become our form of resistance. For many Afghan youth, mental health has become one of the biggest challenges. The constant fear of the unknown, not knowing what tomorrow will bring, often leads to anxiety, sadness, or hopelessness. Yet, we rarely talk about mental health openly. In Afghan culture, these topics are still surrounded by silence. People are taught to “be strong,” to not show emotion, and to move on. But strength doesn’t mean hiding pain. Sometimes, real strength is found in facing it and choosing to grow from it. Learning as Healing Education has always been more than just lessons and grades for us; it has become a lifeline. When girls’ schools were closed and universities restricted, many young people turned to online learning. They joined free virtual programs, watched lessons on YouTube, or created small online study circles. These moments of learning make us feel alive again. Even though our opportunities are limited, we try to create our own. Some teach younger students at home, some start small study groups, and others volunteer online. Through these efforts, we remind ourselves that education cannot be fully banned, not when it lives inside us. Community as a Source of Strength In difficult times, community becomes everything. In Afghanistan, we rely on each other to survive — emotionally and practically. But for girls, this connection has a deeper meaning. We often say that we are all we have because society doesn’t protect or support us the way it should. Patriarchy still controls every part of our lives, from what we wear to whether we can study or work. So we lift each other up. We share resources, lessons, and opportunities. When one of us learns something new, we teach the others. We encourage each other not to give up, even when everything feels unfair. This sisterhood among Afghan girls is one of the strongest communities I have ever seen. It’s where we find hope, love, and the courage to continue. Online spaces have also created a kind of global community for Afghan youth. Through digital programs and leadership fellowships, we meet people from other cultures who remind us that we are not alone. Intercultural dialogue gives us a sense of belonging that many of us have lost in our own country. Learning from people who listen, understand, and support us helps rebuild our confidence and reminds us that our stories matter.  Finding Purpose Amid Pain When your country is in crisis, it’s easy to lose sight of purpose. But Afghan youth continue to prove that purpose can grow from pain. Many young people are using their voices to raise awareness about mental health, equality and education rights. Some start small campaigns on social media, while others join global programs or local volunteer groups. We don’t have perfect systems or many resources but we have determination. Our hope doesn’t come from comfort; it comes from the belief that one day things can be different. Resilience isn’t something we are born with; it’s something we build, piece by piece, through every hardship we face. For Afghan youth, resilience has become a quiet revolution. It shows in how we keep learning, helping and dreaming even when the world feels heavy. The Role of Global Solidarity Support from international communities matters more than many realize. When global organizations open doors for Afghan youth to learn or share their voices, it gives us visibility and hope. It reminds us that our stories are not forgotten. Intercultural dialogue and inclusion are key to healing divided societies. When people from different cultures listen to one another, stereotypes begin to fade and understanding grows. That’s why spaces like Global Citizens Circle are so meaningful. They bring people together not just to talk but to truly see one another as human beings with shared struggles and dreams. A Message of Hope Despite everything, I still believe in the power of youth especially Afghan youth to create change. Even if we can’t always change our environment, we can change how we respond to it. We can continue to learn, support each other and speak up for those who cannot. One day, I hope mental health will no longer be a taboo topic in Afghanistan. I hope that every young person, especially girls, can study freely and chase their dreams. Until then, we will keep doing what we can: learning, teaching, connecting, and hoping. Because sometimes, resilience is not about winning. It’s about refusing to give up. Mariam P. is a young Afghan woman passionate about technology, education, and creating opportunities for women. She continues her studies online while volunteering and participating in global leadership programs. She enjoys reading, exploring art, and engaging in a variety of extracurricular activities, including digital projects. Living through years of conflict and restrictions has shaped her belief that learning, commitment, and community are powerful forms of healing and hope. 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. Resilience isn’t something we are born with; it’s something we build, piece by piece, through every hardship we face. For Afghan youth, resilience has become a quiet revolution. It shows in how we keep learning, helping and dreaming even when the world feels heavy." - Mariam P.  By Pamme Boutselis From the time I was a small kid, I had a sense there was a far bigger world than the one I was seeing in my suburban Massachusetts town. Sure, I’d catch a glimpse of it on TV, whether it was through “The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau” or maybe even “Daktari” (my favorite show), but over time it was books that broadened my lens into how different and alike people and their stories could be–yet completely unique at the same time. In elementary school, I became a Campfire Girl, and had an opportunity to go to an international fair in Boston on a troop field trip. That one day, filled with song, dance, languages, food and drink beyond anything I had experienced before, made an impact on me and fueled a desire to learn as much as I could about people and cultures globally. When the niece of a Scottish woman I babysat for was looking for a penpal in the U.S., you can bet I expressed my interest immediately–how I cherished that correspondence. I loved telling my mom about all the things I was learning through my penpal’s letters. I still remember my delight when I received a small bottle of heather-scented perfume from my penpal, along with beautiful, delicately embroidered handkerchiefs bearing heather buds. Looking back, it’s no surprise really that I would become a writer–and one that most enjoyed hearing people’s stories and having the chance to share them across many types of publications and platforms. The thrill has never worn off, nor has my desire to learn about people worldwide and their lives. It’s one of the things that drew me to Global Citizens Circle and its mission and work. I had written this past spring about the role GCC played in April 2020 in allowing me to understand the full effect of the pandemic through a virtual circle that offered a glimpse of what we were all experiencing and how it affected our families, our communities, and our countries. I embraced the shared humanity of that difficult, frightening time and found solace in our global connection. While the virtual component of that circle was a first for GCC, it created a way for us to move forward virtually to many more circles. In the five years since, these virtual circles have helped us face uncertainties, conflict, issues, and challenges with a global perspective and connection to others that wouldn’t be possible for most of us otherwise. Like so many, I am deeply troubled by much of what’s going on both domestically in the U.S. and throughout the world. I grapple at times with finding and holding onto hope in such precarious times. GCC is a purveyor of hope in all that it does but it’s up to each of us to also sow the seeds of hope wherever we can to help lift others and create connections that matter. An activity that has not only brought me hope, but also a fair amount of joy, over the past few months is a global project called Postcrossing. The premise is simple; participants send and receive postcards throughout the globe. This project was started by a young man back in 2005, as a student in Portugal, who had an interest in connecting and communicating with others beyond his immediate world. This past spring, I was teaching a feature writing course. One of the first assignments required students to write a story, the topic of their own choosing, which they would write and pitch to a publication. While the topics broached were all good, one especially caught my eye–someone who had been participating for some time with Postcrossing wanted to tell its story. Suddenly, I was that young girl again, excited by the possibilities of new connections and the opportunity to learn about people across so many countries.. So, I gave it a whirl and what a pleasure it has been to engage with people from all over. Thus far, I’ve sent two dozen postcards out and received 25 from16 countries. Each postcard is registered upon receipt and it allows us to send a note to the sender and connect a bit more. And you might wonder, how much can you really learn in such brief correspondence? Turns out a lot. I have the chance to read biographical info offered up by the Postcrossing member before I send a postcard, and sometimes a bit more when they receive it. For those who send me postcards, I hear about where they live, often accompanied by highlights about that region. People will share details about their families, their pets, their travels, their aspirations, and what’s happening in their world. No matter where the postcard comes from, there are commonalities: joy in connection, the desire to have others know something about them and, often, what they love to do, whether it’s travel, volunteering, hobbies, their work or time with their families. They admit to frailty, from physical ailments or serious illnesses to the effects of aging. There is tremendous pride in where they live, and what’s special about that locale. Some choose specific postcard designs that are meaningful to them or showcase their country or local interests and culture, along with stamps that tell something about their country and its history. It’s those commonalities that allow me to further recognize how much humanity we share–and that no matter where someone is, we all have built lives that matter in so many ways and have people we love deeply around us. And when I see atrocities, natural disasters, and conflict in various areas of the world, immediately I think of the folks I’ve come to know in those places and consider the effect on them and so many others, deepening my empathy, care and desire to help. I see so many parallels to GCC and the communities and people I’ve come to know through its work. And all of this gives me hope, not just for myself but for others throughout the world too. This is important. In the words of the late Dr. Maya Angelou, "It's very hard to hate someone if you look them in the eye and recognize them as a human being.” While I am not a person that ever holds hate in my heart, I see the vitriol spewed by too many these ays. Despite our differences, the friction between so many, if we can find a way to connect, to learn about people, and see them and their lives through that very human lens, imagine the connection and conversation that can ensue. I’m hopeful for that possibility. Pamme Boutselis is an award-winning writer and content producer, currently serving as a senior director of content marketing and a communication adjunct at Southern New Hampshire University. She loves hearing and sharing stories. As a writer spanning a 25-plus-year career, her work has been featured in print and online via news media, career and education-focused blogs, regional magazines, technology publications and more. A serial volunteer, Boutselis has been a TEDx organizer since 2013 and a speaker coach. She’s been fortunate to work with dozens of nonprofits throughout the years and serves as a communication advisor for Global Citizens Circle. Connect with her on LinkedIn. Please note: Each week, 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. It's very hard to hate someone if you look them in the eye and recognize them as a human being."  By Steve Dunfey As a member of the Dunfey family, I feel privileged to write about two people who have influenced my life for the better. One is my father Jack and the other is Manny Diaz. We all knew Jack as the leader of the Dunfey family business enterprises. He also built bridges in many foreign countries. Most significantly were his efforts in Cuba and dealings with Fidel Castro. Manny Diaz is the former mayor of Miami and has been a close friend of mine since 1976. He served two terms as mayor and became the president of the U.S. Conference of Mayors. My father was introduced to Castro by Congressman Mickey Leland, who unfortunately died in a plane crash in Africa in 1989. He continued meeting with Castro close to a dozen occasions and I was lucky enough to join him on one of those visits. We started out in Santiago de Cuba in Cuba’s east end. While there, we visited Boniato Prison and interviewed several political prisoners. Then on to Holguin, where we were treated to inspecting the tourist industry.
 Fidel Castro with Steve Dunfey  Jack Dunfey with Fidel Castro Global Citizens Circle made a trip to Cuba in 2001. The delegation met with government officials, activists and the famous Cuban writer Miguel Barnet. It would be great to hear any feedback about that trip from those that were there. Manny Diaz was born in Cuba and came to the United States with his mother in 1961. His father was a political prisoner and came to the U.S. when he was released. I met Manny when I worked for Mike O’Donovan who ran for State Representative in Miami in 1976. Manny was Mike’s campaign manager. Unfortunately Mike died soon after losing a close election. But Manny and I remained friends. He became an attorney and also a businessman working for Terremark, a real estate development firm. He also became co-owner of Monty Trainer’s, a popular Miami restaurant. Manny got into politics in a big way in 2001 when he ran for mayor of Miami, his first attempt at elected office. He wrote a book about his experience titled “Miami Transformed: Rebuilding America One Neighborhood, One City at a Time.” According to the former Mayor of Chicago Richard M. Daley, “Miami Transformed is the story of a doer, a big thinker with a passion for improving the lives of people. Manny Diaz is undaunted by the challenges that inevitably arise in government and business but always squarely focused on the agenda he has carefully set to reach his goals. That’s the definition of a good leader, and that, based on my experience, is Manny Diaz.” Dr. Eduardo J. Padron, president of Miami Dade College, said, “Manny Diaz became the mayor of Miami during a critical time, when professional leadership was needed. He took the city to new heights and also represented Miami nationally and internationally as president of the U.S. Conference of Mayors. Manny is a visionary leader who has never lost his footing or his roots. He epitomizes the immigrant success story and the fruition of the American Dream.” Steve Dunfey is a freelance writer, writing primarily for InDepthNH and the Seacoast Jazz Society. Dunfey has extensive background in politics having served as State Representative and Assistant Democratic Leader in New Hampshire. He was appointed by Governor Hugh Gallen to serve as Vice-Chairman of the New Hampshire State Port Authority. He also has experience as a professional musician and writer for Modern Drummer magazine. Dunfey has been a member of several boards of directors and as a Taxi Commissioner for the City of Portsmouth. 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. Through his efforts my father helped nearly 100 prisoners obtain their freedom." |
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