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 By Andrew Boutselis One morning about a year ago, I was drinking coffee in my Brooklyn apartment when there was a knock on the door. My wife had left for the day and we were not expecting any deliveries, so I was naturally perturbed by the disturbance to such a sacred morning ritual. Like most New Yorkers, I contain that paradox of being openly friendly to strangers, while holding any waste of my time in utter contempt. It’s the same trait that leads us to yield to a pedestrian with a pleasant wave yet lean on our horn when they don’t cross the street quickly enough. Closing my robe tightly around my neck, I looked through the peephole to assess the uninvited visitor. Waiting patiently on the other side of the door, stood a bearded, Caucasian man roughly my age, with a Mets hat and stack of pamphlets. He’s either delivering lost mail or the good word of Christ, I assumed, and took my chance as I turned over the deadbolt and swung open the door. He was neither a neighbor nor a missionary but rather a political advocate, specifically for the Democratic Socialist mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani. I knew little of Mamdani beyond his striking name, made all the more memorable by the retro font used by his campaign that would look more at home on the front of a tiki bar than a political banner.  As a disillusioned Democrat who was quickly devolving into a full-blown curmudgeon since moving to Brooklyn many moons ago, the universal championing of Mamdani by hipster progressives primed me to write him off with little more than an eye roll without having done much investigation. Prescribing to neighborly etiquette more than any political philosophy, I gave the man the floor to sell me whatever rehearsed talking point he had. After a brief introduction, he asked me as a New Yorker what issues concerned me the most. Hoping to pass whatever moral purity test I anticipated coming my way and return to my coffee, I rattled off an uninspired sentiment about the homeless crisis and the need for the city to do more to protect its most vulnerable population. The man in the door nodded politely and agreed, as if I had said something of substance, before telling me his concerns: “I’m a dad,” he began, “and the things that keep me up at night at are the cost of rent and childcare.” Huh. That’s rather pragmatic for a socialist, I thought, embarrassed by my own grandstanding. He went on to tell me about candidate Mamdani, the energetic, 33-year-old assembly member from Queens, who was running an outright affordability campaign, promising to make life in New York easier by taking the financial burden off of residents struggling to meet ends meet, much like my wife and me. I listened to his case, confirmed that I was registered to vote, that I knew where my polling place was, and was left with some literature before he departed to continue his journey. As the door shut behind him I felt a familiar sensation creeping in that I wasn’t able to identify, like a song that comes on the radio that you haven’t heard since you were a kid but cannot put a name to. For a moment I allowed myself to daydream that should this Mamdani character be able to win and accomplish some of this wish list of ideas, how my dramatically that would improve life for my wife and I, who have been actively contemplating if we can still afford the city, let alone have children. I began to recognize the feeling as something from my 20s—hopeful. The feeling had just shown up, uninvited, even more intrusive than the man at my door, but extinguished almost as soon as it had arrived by a reflexive cynicism. Picking up my lukewarm coffee, for the first time in a long time, I considered the option of being hopeful.  I hadn’t always been this much of a grouch. Like Mamdani himself, I’m a 33-year-old millennial, a mix of people who I feel have had a particularly tough political journey in their third of a century on the planet. While I know that every generation has its own tragic historical landmarks to define them, the chasm between where our country was when we became of age to participate in politics, and America of 2026, feels like an indescribable decent into chaos. As with most people my age, one of the earliest national events burned into my memory was September 11th. For many of us, it was a coming online point, a complete loss of innocence, the first steps towards recognizing the world as a bigger, scarier and far more complicated place than our backyards. Tragedy birthed further tragedy and we saw our country dive headfirst into a war that we did not understand led by people, who even as a 10-year-old overhearing the nightly news was able to recognize as morally dubious characters. By the time I neared voting age, the country had been at war for more than half of my life and was in the depths of The Great Recession. Up until that point, it seemed in fashion among most people I knew to assume that the government was run by war criminals, the president to be a buffoon, my best friend’s father famously enjoying his coffee from a mug with a devil-horned George W. Bush on it. The biggest album of my graduating class was Green Day’s “American Idiot.” Something else had happened, however, by the time I turned 18. Barack Obama was elected president, a historical event that had such an impact on this young white kid from New Hampshire that I cannot fathom the effect it had on more disadvantaged people around the country, let alone the world. The significance was not lost on me, and for everything terrible I had known to be true about America in the present and it’s not-too-distant past, the 2008 election signified to me that change is possible, that things can actually get better. While a child may not understand the minutia of foreign affairs or puzzle of the American economy, I cannot stress enough the impact the character of a leader can have on a child.  Photo credit: Courtesy Barack Obama Presidential Library. This optimistic outlook for the country mirrored a pivotal time in my own life as a I prepared for college and looked to my own future. Through graduation, college and the tumultuous post-grad years, there would be ups and in downs, but one constant in my life was my admiration for the president, the pillars of the Democratic Party aligning with my own values. The youngest of four children in a barely middle-class home, I was essentially raised by a single mother because of my father’s chronic, debilitating illness. Through this upbringing, I saw firsthand the importance of a strong social safety net, the value of the arts in public education, and the nightmare that is our healthcare system. In short, life was hard for my family, but we had leaders to look to and keep us inspired. Believing in my elected leaders and supporting their fight for a better future was an inherent part of my character, as essential to my identity as the books I read or the music I loved. This sentiment seems laughable now, as this romanticized idealism of politics in 2026 sounds as dated and quaint as stump speech given out of the caboose of a steam locomotive. As the Obama years wound down, I found both myself and the country preparing for an uncertain, new future. I had made up my mind to move to New York City to pursue a career in the film industry, and my final few months in New Hampshire were spent basking in the political frenzy that is this key state during an election year. Saddened by the end of a presidency that had defined my formative years, I saw an exciting, more progressive future in the senator from Vermont, Bernie Sanders. Much to my dismay, as well as virtually every other Democrat I knew, he was not our candidate. Dismissed by many establishment Democrats as “extreme” or “unable to win an election,” this seemingly blatant rejection of the will of the party’s base was the first crack in the foundation of my faith in the Democrats.  Photo credit: Facebook Nonetheless, my friends and I threw our support behind the Clinton-Kaine ticket enthusiastically, even having an opportunity to see the former first lady speak, introduced by then first lady Michelle Obama. Unstirred by the trollist rhetoric coming from the other candidate on the right, a friend and I had dinner on election night and even cheered to the presumptive first woman president. It was cold and grey when I moved to Brooklyn in January the following year. I found myself, as well as the country, in a new, unknown place. While exploring a new city was a welcome distraction, I couldn’t escape the existential dread of the direction our country was headed, like waiting for a diagnosis after the discovery of a potentially malignant lump. We looked to leaders but they were still licking their wounds. It felt quite powerless at times. The party was having an identity crisis and seemed to be trying to try to cleanse itself in any way it can. Progressive movements spiked up like #MeToo, leading to long overdue justice for so many women, but adding to further disillusionment of men in power. It was a confusing time and I did my best to listen and learn. I went to protests, met plenty of liberals in my community, but more often than not it appeared to me we were finding more reason to divide amongst ourselves at a time when we should be building a strong coalition more than ever.  Photo credit: Pamme Boutselis Things were reaching a boiling point when the pandemic hit, and a red-hot populace stayed home and had nothing but time on its hands—hands that were constantly holding their phones. Misinformation, toxic algorithms, and age-old police violence, now impossible to ignore, filled everybody’s screens. The American culture had become a dumpster fire and the first year of what should have been an exciting new decade did nothing but pour gasoline onto it. The beaten down idealist in me, still clinging to hope, believed that a new leader could emerge from this 24-hour a day shit show. We got Joe Biden. The next four years were a bit of a respite, but it felt like a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound, a minute to catch our breath in the corner of the ring before hearing the bell and going another eight to ten rounds. There were whispers of something called Project 2025—and in seeing the growing lack of faith in Biden, it became increasingly apparent to me that in 2024 there would need to be new energetic leadership to seize this moment and protect the country from the monster waiting in the wings. By July of 2024, as I watched the addled, feeble president fumble his way through the most important debate of his life, I felt a long way from the young man who had watched Barack Obama’s inauguration speech 15 years ago. It was a fittingly frigid day when the orange man was sworn in for his second term. Record-low temperatures moved the ceremonies indoors, although the chill was felt far beyond the borders of the capital. As I watched him take his oath, surrounded by many of the people responsible for eroding the decency of our culture, I felt any hope left in me expire. I wasn’t sad. I was angry, bewildered, and felt that my own party had failed me, the country, and future generations. All these things were on my mind as I drank my cold coffee and looked at the big, yellow letters on the pamphlet in my hands. ZOHRAN. I cast it to the purgatory of unread mail in my office and assumed I’d forget about the wonder kid from Queens. History proved to make this impossible over the next several weeks. I could not escape the name Zohran Mamdani. Posters in bodega windows, stickers on the Q train, wheelbarrows of mail, and above all, a relentless social media presence speaking directly to voters.  Photo credit: Kara McCurdy My knee-jerk reaction was to dismiss the digital blitzkrieg as a shameless attempt to seem relevant to younger voters, until remembering Mamdani was my age and, in fact, a young voter himself. This was not a typical candidate awkwardly appearing on podcasts and desperately speaking to influencers in a calculated ploy to assimilate to the next generation’s language. Mamdani spoke that language. Additionally, he was an immigrant from a working-class neighborhood in Queens, understood the hustle culture of New York City, and even more importantly, had a sense of humor. Most impressive was the clear communication and frank goals of his campaign that you could rattle off the top of your head: freeze rent, universal childcare, free buses. No grandiose statements about equity or demonizing folks who had a different perspective. Direct messaging, instead, to voters about how he will improve our lives. Inevitably, Mamdani’s candidacy became the main talking point over drinks or dinner with friends, whether it be their fiery support or outright dismissal based on the scope off his ambitions. Always more comfortable seated at the skeptic table, I largely agreed with the latter and found the Mamdani agenda a bit fantastical. The rest of the democratic establishment seemed to agree, everyone from the governor to mainstream podcasters labeling him as “radical.” Despite following this logic, emotionally it didn’t sit well with me, perhaps bringing back memories of that old senator from Vermont and his ill-fated nomination back in 2016. As time went on, my flirtation with the omnipresent Mamdani developed into full-fledged support when it became clear the alternative was none other than disgraced former Governor Andrew Cuomo. Having resigned over sexual misconduct, Cuomo’s brand of politics reeked of a bygone era, like the stench of cigar smoke in the woodwork of an Albany steakhouse. Positioning himself as a political heavyweight who had the strength to go toe-to-toe with the President, he seemed to think the title of Mayor was nothing more than a consolation prize that he was entitled to. Contrasted with Mamdani’s direct to the people approach, Cuomo barely did interviews or made his case for himself. He didn’t seem to be seeking people’s vote but rather demanding it. His statements regarding his past lewd behavior can be summed up as “boys will be boys,” a total parade of arrogance not too dissimilar to the president he claimed that only he could stand up to. For anyone on the fence about Mamdani, the choice seemed crystal clear in my mind, as this was a decision between returning to the past or stepping into the future.  Photo credit: Kara McCurdy Faced with the choice between fresh idealism and business as usual, I was frustrated to find many of the people in my life, who I was ideologically aligned with, still weren’t convinced. “He just won’t be able to get anything done,” they’d proclaim with tired eyes and defeated certainty. No rational person could argue against the mountain of improbability facing the young candidate, but is dreaming big not the purpose of seeking higher office in this country? Obama spoke of the audacity of hope. For eight years in this country, we said yes we can, even when we were defeated and the odds stacked against us. Did John F. Kennedy tell us we would go to the moon because it would easy? Hell, the current president has spent the last decade making promises that he cannot deliver. That is not to equate his incessant lies to Mamdani’s lofty agenda—no, but it is to say that the goals of a candidate don’t inform you of what they for certain will accomplish, but to inform you of who for certain they will be fighting for. The word that came up over and over in this dialogue was “radical.” Every time I would hear this word, I felt an anger growing inside of me. When I looked around, there were plenty things that seemed radical to me beyond Zohran Mamdani. What seems “radical” to me was accepting the status quo, that so many New Yorkers worked more than 50 hours a week and struggle to pay their rent. What was “radical” was expecting people who had been living under an authoritarian to elect a sexual predator as the mayor of their city. It is “radical” to accept that we cannot choose a leader who will fight for us because we need to accept that large-scale change in this country is no longer possible. Surrounded by such rank pessimism, I found myself for the first time in a decade feeling like an idealist. And it felt good. Even if Zohran can only accomplish a fraction of what he has promised, he will have mobilized a new generation.  Photo credit: Kara McCurdy It was a bright, brisk day on January 1, 2026. As the world celebrated a New Year and nursed their hangovers, my city celebrated a new chapter. The sun beamed hard as the young mayor was sworn in by none other than the senator from Vermont himself. It was the beginning of what would be a historic, brutal winter, but I felt some of that cynicism in me melt away. “Beginning today, we will govern expansively and audaciously. We may not always succeed. But we will never be accused of lacking the courage to try.” In those remarks, Zohran Mamdani articulated a core tenet of American idealism. Falling short in the pursuit of a better world is not a failure, but a noble effort, one that is essential to the American story. A lot has been said about the state of our democracy because of the current administration. While it is true that the president is morally bankrupt, culturally poisonous, and globally harmful, he was brought to power by the will of the American people. Rather than let that understandably horrify me and shatter my hope for a better world, I choose to focus on the fact the American people can still choose their leaders, no matter how “radical” they may be perceived. We can educate, inspire, and mobilize an electorate that can make a tidal, historical change in this country. Andrew Boutselis is a writer and filmmaker, currently working in location management in the film and television industry. He studied film production at Fitchburg State University and earned a bachelor’s in communication at Southern New Hampshire University. After two-plus decades of New Hampshire life, he now resides in Brooklyn, New York. Connect with him on LinkedIn. 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. I choose to focus on the fact the American people can still choose their leaders, no matter how “radical” they may be perceived. We can educate, inspire, and mobilize an electorate that can make a tidal, historical change in this country." - Andrew Boutselis
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By Jerry Dunfey and Nadine Hack Jerry Dunfey is the 1974 founding president of Global Citizens Circle. Nadine Hack has been actively involved with GCC for 42 of its 52-year history. They have been citizen activists for decades. We asked them to share their reflections about their friend Reverend Jesse Jackson, an international icon, who died at 84 on February 17, 2026.  Reverend Jesse Jackson was a larger-than-life force of nature who deeply inspired people from all sorts of backgrounds, especially but not only African Americans. His ability to build coalitions resonates deeply with Global Citizens Circle mission. We were among those who were privileged to know and work with him for many decades. The first time Rev Jesse climbed aboard Jerry’s motor home that he drove around the country to support important political campaigns was in Atlanta when Ambassador Andrew Young was running for the US Congress. Andy is the honorary co-chair with President Mary Robinson of Global Citizens Circle international advisors. He was the first African American elected to Congress from Georgia since Reconstruction.  Local volunteers and others who’d come to Georgia and joined the bandwagon on Jerry’s RV for Andy’s historic races between 1972 and 1976, along with Rev. Jackson, included US Congress woman Maxine Waters then in the California State Assembly, and Harris County Commissioner Rodney Ellis, a Global Citizens Circle board member for many years, then a legislative assistant to US Congressman Mickey Leland.  In 1984, Jerry’s son Peter Dunfey, brought Rev Jesse to the campus of the University of New Hampshire to register student voters. In 1988, aboard the RV plastered with Keep Hope Alive posters, we traversed through Manhattan, Brooklyn and the Bronx, carrying, as always, campaigners famous and unknown. We have fond memories of dancing in the streets as Jesse got the crowds ‘fired up and ready to go’ long before that chant was used by presidential candidate Barack Obama. The moment the camera focused on Rev. Jesse weeping as 2008 Democratic presidential nominee Obama stepped on the stage in Chicago, was as profound as the Red Sea splitting open. We too wept knowing the pivotal role Rev. Jesse had played in getting our nation to that bittersweet yet joyous hour. Our interactions with Rev. Jesse were not just political. We hosted him and his family at the Parker House Hotel in Boston in the 1980s when his youngest daughter attended boarding school in the region. She most recently visited us in Lutry, Switzerland in 2019 and we remain connected with the other members of his family. From 1974 until the present, Global Citizens Circle has highlighted the voices of social justice activists throughout the world. Coretta Scott King and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’.s granddaughter Yolanda Renee King co-led a 2019 Circle "In the Footsteps of Giants: Grounding and Growing the Dream." Rev. Jesse was with Dr. King when he was assassinated, as was our Global Citizens Circle co-chair, Ambassador Andrew Young. From 1960 as a student in Greensboro, North Carolina, when Rev. Jesse became active in the civil rights movement, joining the local Congress of Racial Equality chapter participating in sit-ins, through 1966 when he began to lead Operation Breadbasket, a Southern Christian Leadership Conference program in Chicago, until his death, Rev. Jesse “fought the good fight, finished the race, kept the faith.” May his example continue to inspire all of us to create a more just world. 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. May Reverend Jesse Jackson's example continue to inspire all of us to create a more just world." - Jerry Dunfey and Nadine Hack  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 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."  By Nilab Ahmadi My journey to becoming my current self began when I realized women are often viewed as inferior to men in my community. I was born in a country where fathers would be upset if they were told they would have a girl. I later learned that these beliefs and misogynistic attitudes originate from a lack of education and are deeply embedded in Afghan culture. Growing up, I committed myself to working hard to transform my community and demonstrate women's strength. Since childhood, I have been passionate about leadership, community transformation, and supporting Afghan girls. As an Afghan girl often seen as inferior to men, I have always empathized with the struggles faced by others. At the age of 14, I began working with Afghan girls, teaching them basic English in a center specifically designed for women and young girls. In Afghanistan, girls and women were often restricted from work and education and had limited learning opportunities. Following the Taliban's rise to power in August 2021, women and girls were completely erased from the community, locked in their homes.  Nilab with her GCC family The restrictions and setbacks placed on women initially discouraged me. However, I saw these challenges as an opportunity to step up and speak out. I actively supported Afghan girls through social media, writing, and volunteering. This involvement led to my participation in Global Citizens Circle (GCC) in 2023, where I was a guest speaker at a Circle event, “Youth Resilience in Times of Conflict.” I spoke about the difficulties faced by Afghan girls and the education ban following the Taliban's return, addressing hundreds of attendees from around the world. I never expected this experience to unlock many meaningful opportunities and allow me to connect with amazing people who now feel like family. Today, I see GCC as my family—a safe space for growth, love, and support. In August 2023, I left Afghanistan to attend Duke University in the U.S. and pursue my graduate degree. My life changed dramatically after arriving in the U.S. I began my Master of Public Policy program at Duke University, a dream university, in a country I had wished to study in since childhood. Reflecting on 2023, I see a girl faced with numerous obstacles and challenges yet driven by a hunger for education. My resilience and passion for learning helped me persevere and achieve my goal of attending Duke University. Duke University has offered me numerous growth opportunities and helped me increase advocacy for Afghan girls and their issues through policy initiatives. This advocacy earned me the 'Forever Duke Student Leadership Award, a prestigious honor typically awarded to graduate students in recognition of their leadership contributions to the Duke community, and beyond.  Driven by my passion and enthusiasm for advocating Afghan girls' education—especially after the Taliban's rise—I recently launched a network called Rise Up To Learn. This initiative offers online schooling using STEAM-based apps for Afghan girls who have been prevented from attending school since the Taliban's takeover. Beyond education, Rise Up To Learn also provides opportunities for these girls to earn money by working on our projects, addressing the lack of employment opportunities in their country. The platform aims to be a safe, growth-oriented space where hundreds of girls can develop both professionally and economically. My vision for Rise Up To Learn is highly ambitious. I plan to grow this network into one of the world’s largest, so that no Afghan girl fears her future. With the Taliban closing schools, we will transform every home into a classroom. Additionally, as a policy professional, I aim to develop sustainable education policies in Afghanistan, strengthen the education system, and foster economic development opportunities upon my return. I eagerly anticipate a future where women and girls worldwide are liberated from the stress resulting from the denial of education and basic human rights. Nilab Ahmadi is a passionate advocate for youth and women’s education from Afghanistan, committed to advancing educational equity for women and girls. In response to the Taliban’s ban on education, she founded Rise Up To Learn, an initiative that provides digital learning and economic opportunities for Afghan girls. Her work bridges policy and practice to empower girls, challenge systemic barriers, and foster long-term social change. 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. Growing up, I committed myself to working hard to transform my community and demonstrate women's strength. Over the past year, we’ve celebrated the 50th anniversary of Global Citizens Circle—reflecting with gratitude on a remarkable journey, the people who’ve shaped it, and the lasting impact of its work. As we honor this legacy, we are also looking ahead—committed to ensuring that our mission continues to thrive for generations to come. On May 23, so many came together globally to celebrate the 90th birthday of GCC’s founder, Jerry Dunfey. As part of this heartfelt tribute, a very special short film premiered during a private virtual screening. Created by GCC Board Member Michael Lockett and narrated by Global Advisor Marguerite Mariama, the film tells the story of GCC’s evolution and the many activists across the globe who have fueled its mission. It also highlights a new generation of emerging leaders poised to carry this important work forward. We invite you to watch “Global Citizens Circle: Forward to Fifty and Beyond” and be inspired by the journey—and the path that lies ahead.  By Marguerite Mariama, Ph.D. Dr. Mariama was a featured speaker for our recent Circle, “Uniting in the Face of Fear: Building Transformational Alliances.” If you weren’t able to attend, the video is now available. The lived experiences of some elders like me know that LOVE is the answer. I know many of you are tired of the darkness that is engulfing our world, from endless international wars to political battles here in the United States. Most of us are fed up with the toxicity spewing from so many. We find ways to escape, but denial and retreat do not solve the problem. We do not have to live like this! We do not have to be consumed by darkness. With the love light residing within us all, we can lean into the darkness with beacons to expose its hollow foundation built on lies, obfuscation, projection, denial, bullying, and gaslighting. These are the hallmarks of fear. The antidote to darkness is light and love. A few months ago, I watched the series, “My Generation” with bright-eyed enthusiasm and great expectations. I loved revisiting my teen and early adult years of art and activism, spiritual and historical awakenings, and the richness of multi-cultural and multiracial coalitions. We were evolving and leaning into an understanding of our interconnectedness in this human experience. We were learning unconditional love. During the 60’s and 70’s, civil rights advocates, Black power activists, environmentalists, artists, hippies, and flower children enjoyed an informal bond. Borne from a desire to live free from war, and the autonomy to be our trueselves, as well as loving whom we wanted, we sought to create an inclusive world that celebrated our shared humanity. Characteristics such as truth, justice, empathy, peace, beauty, love, and joy, helped shape our behaviors towards one another.  Our songs and mantras spoke volumes: We shall overcome, Black Power, Praise the Red, the Black and the Green, peace and love, and make love not war rang out as soul-filled expressions resonating with joy and the promise of a bright future. Young and somewhat naïve, we believed we could bend our country towards an embrace of its full democratic potential. The series “My Generation” ended with a message suggesting that we Baby Boomers had all abandoned the exquisite principles that shaped us and the world we were crafting. According to the producers, we sold out, bought in, or surrendered to a status quo that was rife with consumerism and greed. Of course, not all of us fit that description or played that game. Yes, that happened to have been the case for many, but some of us resisted the devouring of our Divine energy. As an artist, I saw the potential to opt on to the band wagon as soul stealing. Truth, purpose, beauty, and a love of people, using my art as a primary vehicle, fueled my passion. I kept going – bobbing, and weaving into several roles, and degrees, all the while the encroachment of oppressive forces were just around the next corner, ready to offer riches and comfort in exchange for my soul. I resisted then and continue to do so today. There are many others who also stayed the course and are still around actively working, and or mentoring younger generations. Our stories were omitted in the series, but “we know what time it is.” This is a term coined by activists during the 1960’s to mean the importance, ramifications, and consequences of what is happening at the moment. It also implies an understanding of what we must do to survive and thrive. The African adage, “The young can run fast but the elders know the way” reflects this way of knowing. Those of us who made it through American apartheid – Jim Crow, segregation, learned lessons that will help guide us through what is now shaping into a 2025 version of this atrocious period in history. That knowing underscores the importance of love, the bedrock for our survival and ability to thrive.  For some, the idea of love is vague. But that is not true for those of us who have lived through apartheid or fascism – especially Black women, who have remained rooted in love. Some have said, God is love, the source of the ultimate power, the highest vibration. I agree. Love is a verb that suggests an active participation in exhibiting a host of characteristics including kindness, joy, abundance, prosperity, balance, order, truth, justice, beauty, creativity, expansiveness, compassion, discipline, dominion, sensitivity, positive intellect, spiritual power and more. On the other hand, there is love’s opposite: Fear. Fear induces the false notion of scarcity, and anxiety, toxic competition, hate, envy, jealousy, violence, bigotry, racism, sexism, inhibitions, and phobias of all sorts. As unique expressions of the Divine source, there ought to be no room for any of the elements associated with fear. Love is light. Fear is darkness. Love expands, fear contracts. Humanity will either expand into the promises of love and light or devolve into fear and darkness. When humans awaken into adulthood, into maturity, we recognize the fallacy of a human hierarchy that defines or limits our value based upon our race, gender, ethnicity, culture, and class. The biases that crippled our hearts and closed our minds are replaced with a recognition and acceptance of a shared humanity centered in Divine love. At this moment of human reckoning, and as our planet cleanses itself of the humans who never learned to appreciate her hospitality, it is imperative that we choose love and light. Our survival depends on this reawakening. It is now time to transcend to the next level of our development in this human incarnation. Forward motion is necessary, essential – buoyed by joy. Holding on to that joy in the face of this challenging moment in history is vital to the achievement of human solidarity. As a reminder the Holy Bible beautifully states: “For we walk by FAITH not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7). An embrace of love despite what we see, with its warmth and coziness can be a segue to our freedom. Constant and consistently advancing, evolving, deepening, and elevating, we embrace life as a journey to enjoy the fruits of the existing physical reality. Those of us who consciously live in a state of openness and awareness to the voicings of spirit and have lived through ‘tryin’ times’ are here to tell the stories. There is a psychological muscularity that we have gained because of the lessons we’ve learned. As instruments of Divine essence, many of us are closer to the ancestral realm than we are to our youth and have lessons to reveal to all who will listen. We are spirits in human form with a mission to share our gifts in service to the new emerging paradigm. The old one with historical and political toxins would suggest otherwise. To do this, we need to understand that the power and freedom we seek is within. Nothing and no one outside of ourselves can take this power without our permission. Nope. It is not about other people who seem to be in power via outward manifestations including money and pseudo power. Pseudo power is energy that is limited to what we see manifested including outward displays such as money, roles played, land, and material possessions. But where is the intrinsic value? The answer: There is none, which is why in an effort to fill the void, those with the resources must constantly replenish the supply. That hungry obsession will continue to prevail, unless and until there is an embrace of the true keys to living in abundance, prosperity, and the like. Altering our mindsets to embrace guidance from within and to live from the spirit of light and love is the answer that will fill the internal longing for more. It is an internal game not an external one. Fulfilling the intrinsic via purpose and meaning fuels our lives. And, that does not preclude having and owning possessions. It simply means we become balanced. We seek inner fulfillment which attracts the resources that showcase the Divinity that resides within us all. The spiritual guidance that will provide that balance relies on an open mind, a mind that comprehends a consciousness beyond what we see, hear, touch, and feel (with our physical bodies). Our ways of knowing ought to be connected to a higher understanding of this truth of our being. In this human incarnation, we are at a moment of convergence and can be the architects of a beautiful version of our experience as spirit beings. Nefarious forces seek to stymie or stagnate this moment or take us backwards. Spiritualist Michael Bernard Beckwith describes who we are in this human incarnation as “growth-centric beings.” As such, we must transcend the old paradigm that seeks to impede the progress that is about to be made. As former Vice President Kamala Harris said during her campaign for the highest office in the land, “We are not going back.” No matter how well-funded and ferocious the backlash, when we stand in solidarity with conscious sisters and brothers, we have the power to evolve into our next version. The light within coupled with that of others becomes a beacon to transform ourselves and our world. In our transparent world, we can find truths in many places. The trick is to know where to look. This takes a deep and abiding connection to spiritual discernment, or connections to those whose voices are tried and true with lessons learned and shared. In other words, you have to know both where to look and who to trust. The inner voice will guide us towards thriving beyond our toxic thinking. These lyrics from the song, “Wake Up Everybody” by Harold Melvin and the Bluenotes are apt: “Wake up everybody no more sleepin’ in bed. No more backward thinking, time for thinking ahead.” Ahhh, and that’s where we find the good news. There is tremendous joy in escaping the matrix of mental programming. Deconstructing the toxicity of this indoctrination is liberating beyond belief. The world of abundance opens within to greet the willing receiver. And, the accompanying relief, release, and abandonment of the biggest obstacle, fear, is lovingly replaced with love and its many iterations. It does require and open heart, and vulnerability is essential. Clearly, trust is integral to this unfolding. So, the action plan is to find trusted folks. As an elder, I would suggest that we take a page from other cultures, and from what we African Americans of a certain age remember, where ways of knowing are passed on from generation to generation. Elders, those who have done the consciousness-building self-work and are attuned to both the Spiritual Realm and the Ancestral Realm can be trusted to support engagement with the deeper recesses of our current reality. These trusted resources are all around waiting to exchange knowledge with other generations whose ways of knowing might be different, but valuable none-the-less. Despite what is happening at the highest levels of government in the United States and abroad, now is a time to be bold, receptive, and fearless! Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, teachers and others who “know the way” are eager to provide guidance, counsel, and last but not least, love. It is still the answer!  “Keep your love light on.” Lui Satterfield (Earth, Wind, and Fire) Black cultural pride and nationalism during the ‘60’s and ‘70’s gave rise to artists who used their craft to affirm Black culture as a tool for Black ‘upliftment.' These “cultural workers” launched the Black Arts Movement – where social justice, history, the arts and education intersected. One such artist – activist, performing artist, educator, Dr. Marguerite Mariama, has never wavered in her commitment to the arts as a tool for social, cultural and historical consciousness and liberation. A trained professional in music, dance and theatre arts, this former college professor also has clinical experience as a dance/movement therapist. Her early civil rights activism began as a teen in Chicago and included protest marches and rallies, including one led by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Dr. Mariama was “raised up” as an artist by great teachers including Katherine Dunham (dance). “Sitting at Ms. Dunham’s feet and hearing her stories was awesome; she reminded us of our social responsibility as young artists, and we answered the call in our performances.” She is currently a member of the Chicago Bulls Basketball Team’s Swingin’ Seniors Dancers. As a national and international big band and small ensemble jazzy blues stylist, she has traveled the world as a resident music artist and performed with some to the “greatest musicians” on the planet. She has enjoyed acting roles in theatre, films, commercials and print – and is also a voice actor. As a professor in New York City’s CUNY System, she created the arts integration theory and methodology, Performance Pedagogy® for personal and collective development and transformation. An SIU CoLa Distinguished Alum, and former Illinois Humanities Council Road Scholar, Dr. Mariama produces, presents and performs worldwide. She holds a Ph.D. in Performance Education/specializing in African American Musical Culture. She is represented by Stewart Talent Group and the theatrical union, SAG/AFTRA. Her upcoming book, "Artivism: A Sixties Artist/Activist’s Memoir and Guide for Embracing Our Shared Humanity and Transforming Our World" will be released this summer. 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. The antidote to darkness is light and love.  By Suraj Budathoki I am making my first-ever trip to the African nation of Sierra Leone, a nation finally beginning to reconcile after decades of bloody civil war. As someone who survived forceful expulsion from his country at an early age, and where the division is chronic and shows no sign of improving, this journey is crucial. My journey into reconciliation within myself began not as a grand declaration, but as a deeply personal quest for healing—healing for myself, for my community, and ultimately, for my birth homeland of Bhutan. Because I have, early in my life, experienced displacement, a reasonable part of my life has been dedicated to the pursuit of a serene environment where peace, dignity, and understanding thrive. I couldn’t find a guideline for my healing journey until I crossed paths with the wisdom of the great peacemakers, Mahatma Gandhi, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. My physical journey from a Bhutanese refugee camp in Nepal where I spent almost 20 years to the United States was just part of the struggle; I knew that too well. The invisible wounds—those of trauma, loss, humiliation, and disconnection—could not be healed simply by crossing borders or leaving decades behind. Another type of journey was necessary, a journey that gravitated inward toward self-discovery and outward toward community and collective healing. I’ve learned that it is critically important to engage in a healing process prior to engaging in peacebuilding and reconciliation work, especially for a person that has been strongly impacted by historical trauma or other forms of personal pain. Unsettled trauma does not only cloud judgment but also sustains cycles of pain and hampers the ability to stimulate authentic reconciliation. As we’ve often heard, "Hurt people hurt people." In other words, individuals whose wounds are not yet healed may, often unknowingly, transfer their aggression to others, aggravating dispute instead of finding a solution to them. For that reason, healing is not just a personal necessity but a necessary condition for contributing to the greater collective settlement process. To honestly offer the empathy, patience, and understanding required to close gaps and promote a more peaceful future, individuals must first tend their own wounds. Reading the works of Gandhi, Tutu, and MLK, Jr., I realized how crucial it is to respect and honor those on the other side of the conflict, not as foes, but as equal contenders in a shared game. Each of these peacemakers confronted strongly ingrained injustices but believed in the transformative power of nonviolence, forgiveness, and reconciliation. The ahimsa principle of Mahatma Gandhi—the nonviolence practice—profoundly resonated with me. Gandhi taught that true peace emanates from understanding one’s opponents. Through his belief in satyagraha, or the force of truth, I realized that reconciliation starts from accepting the humanity and dignity of the other side, even when their actions have caused harm. From the Bhutanese point of view, it implies understanding the historical and political intricacies without giving in to bitterness or displeasure. My understanding of collective healing is strongly impacted by Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s role in South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission. “No future without forgiveness,” as he believed, particularly stands out to me. According to Tutu, forgiveness is not just for the one who has been wronged, it is also for the wrongdoer as well. He also argued that it is a requisite step toward freeing both parties from the cycle of pain and violence. The caveat we need to understand, however, is that righteous closer of the conflict is necessary for forgiving wrongdoers. I have given this idea the utmost attention in my work with Peace Initiative Bhutan. I have realized that true reconciliation is about transforming our thoughts about the past, not about wiping them away. The primary aim is to openly confront the injustices we endured and not to forget them and to seek a path that heals rather than encourages division. Dr. King’s vision of a “Beloved Community” sustained my hope for what is possible, even when confronted with deep-rooted conflict. From Dr. King, I learned that justice and peace are attainable realities and not unachievable dreams, as long as we are committed to nonviolent struggle and hold firmly to the belief in human dignity. The idea that peacebuilding must be grounded in empathy, compassion, and a refusal to treat the other side as if they are lesser humans was strengthened by his philosophy of love as a driving force in social change. Today, as I go on with my work in peacebuilding, both in Bhutan and with Bhutanese communities around the world, I am accompanied by the lessons of these exceptional leaders. I am reminded by their teachings that peace is not just an absence of war or violence, but a state of mind, a way of living, and a commitment to healing the wounds of the past. The path to sustainable peace in Bhutan demands that we all come together as equal players, believing in each other’s humanity, while committing to the tough but crucial work of restoring trust. This journey is about learning to see further than the pain of the past and toward the potential for a future that inculcates all of us. And just as Gandhi, Tutu, and MLK Jr. have taught us, this journey needs immense courage, patience, and, above all, love. As I strive to bring healing and reconciliation to my people, the wisdom of these extraordinary leaders keeps me grounded and focused. Their words serve as a constant reminder that peace is not just an aspiration but a tangible possibility—one that requires us to see each other not as adversaries, but as partners in a shared journey. Each of us has a role in building a world that is more just, compassionate, and peaceful. Stay tuned for Part 2. Suraj Budathoki is the co-founder and president of Peace Initiative Bhutan, which is committed to fostering positive change in Bhutan through reconciliation. His organization partners with Global Citizens Circle, collaborating to share resources and knowledge in peacebuilding through sincere dialogue. In addition to his peace work, Suraj is a doctoral student in Transformative Social Change at Saybrook University in California, and he was recently elected to serve in the NH State House of Representatives. 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. Because I have, early in my life, experienced displacement, a reasonable part of my life has been dedicated to the pursuit of a serene environment where peace, dignity, and understanding thrive. by Theo Spanos Dunfey  Eleanor Dunfey presenting the Catherine A. Dunfey Award to Wilma P. Mankiller
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