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 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
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 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 Elizabeth Richards Like so many people, I frequently face today’s news with feelings of despair and hopelessness. But in a world that often feels divided and uncertain, one of the most powerful sources of hope I encounter is working with college students who are deeply committed to social change and community engagement. As the leader of The Chandler Center (Southern New Hampshire University’s center for service and community engagement), I daily witness young people’s passion, creativity, curiosity, and determination in service to their community. This reminds me that the future is not only in capable hands, but also in hands that care deeply about justice, equity, and collective well-being. Young adults today are facing a world that is complex and full of challenges—climate change, systemic inequality, political polarization, and rising costs of living, just to name a few. And yet, rather than turning away from these issues, many of them are choosing to lean in. They are volunteering in local food pantries, organizing voter registration campaigns, facilitating difficult conversations, and developing innovative solutions to problems that affect their communities. It’s not performative. It’s personal. They believe they have a role to play in creating a better world—and they act on that belief. They lead with collaboration rather than competition. They prioritize listening and learning over ego and expertise. Many of them approach community work with humility, understanding that change doesn’t come from “saving” others, but from partnering with communities, sharing power, and building relationships grounded in mutual respect. That mindset represents a profound shift from older models of leadership and service—and it’s a shift we desperately need. They’re also unafraid to ask hard questions. They challenge institutions, including their own universities, to live up to their stated values. They push for inclusive policies, more equitable systems, and meaningful opportunities for civic learning. They are not satisfied with symbolic gestures; they want structural change—and they are willing to do the work to make it happen. Of course, young people don’t have all the answers. None of us do. But the energy they bring, the values they live by, and the solidarity they practice remind me every day that positive change is not only possible—it’s already underway. The future is being shaped right now in student-led meetings, community forums, voter registration drives, mutual aid projects, and classrooms where difficult truths are being confronted with courage. Working with college students doesn’t just give me hope—it keeps me going. It reminds me why this work matters. It provides daily evidence that the legacy of our elders lives on in the courage and conviction of young people and in their belief that a better world is possible. Elizabeth Richards serves as the assistant vice president of The Chandler Center, Southern New Hampshire University’s center for civic and community engagement. The Chandler Center envisions a community where every individual is empowered to be curious about and committed to social action and works to meet that vision through the cultivation of community-based leadership opportunities, meaningful community partnerships, and social issue education for students. Elizabeth holds a Bachelor of Specialized Studies in Conference and Event Planning & Master of Education in College Student Personnel from Ohio University in Athens, Ohio. She has held professional roles in residence life, student conduct, student leadership, and community engagement. Elizabeth has presented at state, regional, and national conferences on the Social Change Model of Leadership, the challenges faced by first-generation college students, and the role of white people in anti-racism work. She teaches courses related to race, gender, and power and has 15+ years as a social justice educator. When she’s not working, Elizabeth is reading queer romance novels, crocheting, baking, or volunteering in her community. She lives near Concord, New Hampshire, with her wife, two children, and a very fluffy cat. 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. Of course, young people don’t have all the answers. None of us do. But the energy they bring, the values they live by, and the solidarity they practice remind me every day that positive change is not only possible—it’s already underway. 
by Kayla Stoll
Education is the bridge that separates world crises from global understanding. A single piece of knowledge, combined with the right intentions, can be the deciding factor in history's course. When intertwined with widespread acknowledgment, mankind can work to reshape the world through language and by breaking down barriers. Even if our opinions do not match, educated understanding among a population recognizes all issue sides with equal merit, and uses it to build relationships, even among disagreement. Education lacks when deprived of the opportunity to experience the world… even the most intellectual person secluded to confinement will have nothing to found curiosity. Cities, technology screens, and poverty are mankind’s modern confines, drifting away as “separate” from the natural world, fueling this lack of education. Community, connections, and compassion are the principles that can save the world. The environment maintains its secrets, openly exposing its true colors, whilst keeping surprises—like the “how” and “why” behind such complexities—hidden, waiting for the next pioneers, filled with innate curiosity about its processes, to claim the next discoveries. Yet in our solidarity among our manmade pleasures, too many are not granted the chance to foster such curiosity. It is in the presence of a village—such as the international Global Citizens Circle—that we share knowledge and observations, wholeheartedly raising these future pioneers, who will inspire all generations. Many environmental crises could be remedied through the spread of education—microplastics, greenhouse gas emissions, and fast-fashion waste. The truth behind these issues are masked by a facade of convenience and economic benefit, driving a great canyon between Mother Nature and mankind; a canyon that can only be bridged by awareness. Achieving eco-friendliness is an adaptation, requiring lifestyle commitments for long-term effects, such as adopting reusable cotton bags, metal water bottles, and even switching your plastic cutting board for wood or bamboo. Yet humans innately resist contributing to long-term solutions—yet unwitnessed—compared to immediate, tangible results. Awareness, inspired by community connections, can open this narrow frame of time into a world view: a mental picture of our actions’ consequences, fueling the positive evolution of mankind’s relationship with our planet. Education—the bridge that separates world crises from global understanding. A united society, universally connected through relationships, working for the common good. Global Citizens Circle seamlessly weaves endless backgrounds, ethnicities, and lifestyles through the work of compassionate individuals who instinctively know which connections will change society for the better. This network is the foundation for educating others, making all the world’s stories into a single anthem for us all. Community, connections, compassion; the principles that will safeguard our planet for future generations and save the world.
Kayla Stoll is a 20-year-old naturalist and passionate environmental educator from Bedford, NH. Throughout the last decade, she has been committed to planet advocacy—from organic agriculture to plastic pollution—focused on influencing positive change. She has spent the past seven years researching the plastic pollution crisis, encouraging individuals to take small steps toward improving their environmental footprint.
Kayla is an ecohydrologist finishing her sophomore year at SNHU, earning a degree in environmental science and hopes to pursue environmental engineering in the future. She is also an avid snowboarder, rock climber, herbalist, hiker, and photographer. With published environmental articles in Greet Bedford Magazine, Planet Forward Magazine, Kayla also has an Earth-education YouTube channel (Earthling Impact). She has been featured in SNHU productions and was a TEDxSNHU speaker in February 2025, speaking about environmental education in schools. it is her dream to influence others to step away from plastics and lead more planet-friendly lives. Kayla is part of Global Citizens Circle’s Emerging Leaders program, with a desire to further spread the message of hope and education toward bettering our 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.
It is in the presence of a village—such as the international Global Citizens Circle—that we share knowledge and observations, wholeheartedly raising these future pioneers, who will inspire all generations.  By Pamme Boutselis Throughout the past 50 years, Global Citizens Circle has created essential dialogue around serious societal issues throughout the U.S. and across the world, especially at Circle events. I appreciate the sense of connection each Circle has given me, the opportunities to connect with others globally, and, notably, the access to people I most likely would never have experienced otherwise – and for that I’m grateful. One Circle, in particular, the first virtual Circle actually, made a marked impression on me at a time when we were all feeling especially vulnerable. I invite you to think back to where you were in early April 2020 and consider what your mindset might have been. As for me, I was working from home for several weeks at this point, having gone remote for what we thought would be just two weeks as the coronavirus ramped up stateside. Before March was out, though, the university I work at was partnering with the city to provide overflow hospital space on our campus. The mom of four now-grown kids, two of my sons lived local to me in New Hampshire, one with his wife and two recently adopted kids – and a baby soon to join their family that summer – and the other with his wife, also pregnant and due in May. My daughter, her husband and two kids had just moved back from Vermont to the town where she’d grown up (and where I still live). My youngest lived in Brooklyn, where he and his girlfriend worked in hospitality. Just a few days after NYC shut down in mid-March, my youngest son tested positive for Covid-19, and his girlfriend also did just a week or so later. In those early days, of course, there were no vaccines, and the uncertainty of the virus’s severity was incredibly alarming, with media stories of deaths worldwide coming at us daily. The length of time those diagnosed with Covid-19 had to quarantine was much longer than it is today. As our family in Brooklyn remained isolated in their apartment, we pondered how to get them safely back to NH once they were able to go out again. It was a surreal time, and one like nothing none of us had ever experienced before. Like many, I was scared – and watching the news each day with growing concern. And then I received an email from Global Citizens Circle, telling of a virtual Circle planned for April 7, 2020: “Connection & Action in Uncertain Time.” Having witnessed the power of an in-person Circle firsthand, I wondered what this might feel like online, particularly as we were all just beginning to get our feet wet in this new digital meeting space. But I knew I needed to be on that call.  Until now, most of what I knew about this global pandemic was what I saw in the media and briefly heard from a friend or two across the sea. April 7th brought this all home, allowing me to bear witness to what others were experiencing in a way I never could have imagined. As participants joined the Circle, there were a few that I knew, but so many others coming together from throughout the world. Two people will always stay with me. Ralph Zhang, a man in Wuhan, the capital of Hubei, China, a place I’d only recently become acquainted with via the news. His city had been released that day from a two-plus-month lockdown – and as he spoke with us, his face close to the computer screen, what he had been through over the past few months was evident with every word and facial expression he shared. It was haunting in many ways, but I also recognized that the virus had advanced earlier in that area. We had not yet entered into that stage yet in the U.S., although we were certainly heading there. While Ralph Zhang’s experience gave me trepidation, it also gave me hope; that there would be light eventually as we continued down this tunnel. Another man shared what he was witnessing – this time, more local in Manhattan. Although I don’t recall his name, I do remember what he had to say. He spoke of living near one of the big hospitals in the city, and on his noontime walks each day seeing the refrigerated trucks – something I had heard about and seen pictures of in the news. This was where the remains of people who had passed from Covid-19 were being housed. Hearing this took my breath away, lending credence to what I had already known to be true but now cementing it solidly as something real happening not too far away. It added to my urgency in wanting to get my son and his girlfriend out of the city as quickly as possible. It also grew the empathy I felt for those who died away from loved ones in those hospitals, for those who didn’t have an opportunity to say good-bye, to mark their deaths in the ways we normally might, or to grieve with others. I thought about the healthcare workers experiencing all of this and what the long-term effects would be on each of them – and the man who walked by those trucks each day. And while both of these accounts I shared – along with those I haven’t – might have you thinking this was a Circle I may have wanted to avoid – it was completely the opposite. These were scary times and I had been on my own in my house, working remotely, connected with friends and family virtually but feeling cut off from the world in so many ways. I could take in news reports each day but this didn’t compare at all with hearing experiences firsthand from people throughout the world. It gave me a sense of connection – of understanding that this truly was a global pandemic that affected us all in a way that I hadn’t felt as deeply before. It put faces and sometimes names, along with countries, cities and towns in my heart and head, reinforcing how important it was to work together to come out the other side of this global crisis. I know Global Citizens Circle has always been engaged in connection and conversation, no matter how hard or uncertain the times are. I’ve borne witness to this time and time again. But as I think back to that day in April 2020, when I felt quite scared and often alone – GCC came through in a big way offering connection and potential action to help us get through that very uncertain year. And I’m grateful not only for that day but for all of the virtual Circles since that allow us to connect regularly from so many places globally, to connect and communicate no matter what we are facing. 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. As I think back to that day in April 2020, when I felt quite scared and often alone – GCC came through in a big way offering connection and potential action to help us get through that very uncertain year.   On April 2, 2025, GCC's President and Executive Director Theo Spanos Dunfey was awarded The Fitzwater Center Medallion for Leadership in Public Communication at Franklin Pierce University's Marlin Fitzwater Center for Communication. Theo delivered The Medallion Lecture: "I'm No Expert: Confessions of a Generalist." Here's what she had to say. Before I begin with what I prepared several months ago when this event was originally supposed to take place, I want to first acknowledge how much has changed and continues to change every day since then. Changes that I believe are leading our country into unknown, and frankly frightening, territory in terms of our democracy, freedom of speech and civil discourse. I’m not going to address these issues directly – we hear about them everywhere, all the time from historians, political pundits, journalists and other so-called experts. Today, I’d like to speak with you about being a generalist, and I hope it will resonate with you as we all think about how we navigate these troubled waters. How did I end up here – accepting an award for communication? You see, I was this very shy little girl from Claremont, New Hampshire who relied on her sister (who’s sitting here in the audience) to speak for me. If someone asked me what my name was and how old I was, my sister would confidently answer: “Her name is Theo and she’s 5-years-old. I’m Kass and I’m 6!” I probably let this dynamic go on much too long, but that’s a story for another time and, honestly, for a therapist to hear.  Theo and Kass  Phoebe de Larrabeiti and Theo Spanos Dunfey The irony sure isn’t lost on me that I’m receiving the Fitzwater Medallion for Leadership in Public Communication but let me say what an honor it is to have been chosen for this award. I want to thank Sean O’Kane, chair of the board of Global Citizens Circle and former trustee of Franklin Pierce University, for first introducing me to the amazing Kristen Nevious, Director of the Fitzwater Center, who then introduced me to the very generous Christina Cliff, associate professor of political science and security studies. Together, along with Phoebe de Larrabeiti, assistant director for Global Citizens Circle, we worked on a series of critical issue discussion guides to accompany edited videos of Circle programs on topics such as monuments and their power to unite and to divide, the hard realities of police reform, as well as healing divisions and finding our common humanity. Neither Kristen nor Christina ever asked for anything in return but gave us confidence and the skills to begin a project that would allow hard but critical conversations to continue beyond our 90-minute programs, making them available to a wider public audience. For their help and friendship, I am most grateful. Let me also thank Marlin Fitzwater, whose prescience to found the Fitzwater Center “to prepare students for the responsibilities of inspired leadership and service in vibrant public discourse” is a lasting gift to Franklin Pierce University, to its students and scholars, and to the state of New Hampshire. As a native New Hampshirite and someone whose career began just about the same time that Mr. Fitzwater was establishing himself as a leader in political communications, I remember him well and I’d like to think that his passion for presidential politics was in the crisp NH air when I returned to Claremont after college for my first “real” job in a presidential primary campaign in 1983. It was just prior to this that my story of being a generalist really starts. I went to college and studied international affairs, which was a mix of courses in political science, economics, history, and anthropology. These weren’t the kinds of courses (except for history) that I had learned about at Stevens High School. I needed to know something about all of them before I could decide what I would really want delve into. Four years later, when I graduated, I realized I wasn’t an expert in any one discipline, though I felt I’d had a well-rounded education and that I’d enjoyed learning a little about a lot of topics. So, what else could I do but go home and work on a presidential campaign and use my broad knowledge to help organize and persuade people to support my candidate. Of course, that was a challenge too, because I still had those shyness tendencies and making cold calls to potential voters was something I really had to get used to. Though my candidate, astronaut and senator John Glenn, lost in the NH primary, I had found my voice, if not any particular expertise. Continuing a bit longer in NH politics, I worked on a gubernatorial campaign, before I decided to go back to studying international affairs. This time I thought, I’ll come out with a master’s degree that would convey on me a certain sense of expertise. I got a master’s in law and diplomacy from the Fletcher School at Tufts University. Sounds pretty expert, don’t you think? Guess what? I’m neither a lawyer nor a diplomat, nor have I ever been. Why that’s the name of the degree, I don’t know because Fletcher is a school that distinguishes itself for turning out generalists. I had to pick three fields of study, not one concentration – I chose international development, US diplomatic history, and international communications. Again, just as I had as an undergraduate, I learned a little about a lot. And no, I’m not diminishing that – I’m getting to my point really. And that is that being a generalist offers unique strengths in communication by fostering adaptability, empathy, and the ability to connect ideas across disciplines, with storytelling as a key tool. So why did I feel, and, to be honest, still sometimes feel, that I should be an expert in something? I believe there’s societal pressure to specialize. Society often equates expertise with authority. We live in a world that celebrates specialists. Think about it—doctors, scientists, engineers—they’re revered for their deep expertise. But with specialization comes a challenge: communication. Specialists often fall into "expert blind spots," using jargon or focusing so narrowly on their field that they struggle to connect with others outside their domain. I’ve felt this firsthand. In conversations with specialists, I’ve sometimes been overlooked because I didn’t have a single label—like “data analyst” or “Middle East expert.” Yet, what I’ve learned is that this lack of a defined niche allows me to see things from multiple perspectives. And here’s the problem with hyper-specialization: when we don’t communicate effectively, we limit innovation, collaboration, and progress. That’s where generalists step in. Being a generalist means being adaptable, empathetic, and able to see the bigger picture. First, adaptability. Generalists excel at translating complex ideas for diverse audiences. For instance, I once explained what it means to be a global citizen to a group of emerging leaders by comparing it to a conversation at a Global Citizens Circle program. I explained how open and honest discussions, even when they are about hard topics (which is really what Global Citizens Circle is all about), help everyone to understand our shared humanity. It isn’t just about simplifying; it’s about making the information relatable. Second, empathy. When you’ve dabbled in multiple fields, you start to understand the challenges and perspectives of different groups. This makes you a bridge-builder. I’ve worked to bring people of differing backgrounds, races, religions, and opinions together for respectful dialogue that advances solutions to problems that sometimes seem intractable. By reframing their disagreements as dialogue rather than debate, I’ve helped people find common ground. Finally, big-picture thinking. Specialists dive deep, but generalists connect the dots. We see patterns, relationships, and opportunities that others might miss. This broader perspective makes conversations richer and more dynamic. It also helps us form relationships and identify partnerships that provide give and take and benefit all. Here’s where storytelling comes in. Stories are universal. They break down barriers and make abstract concepts relatable. As generalists, we’re uniquely positioned to craft multidimensional stories because we draw on diverse experiences. For example, I’ve had the privilege through Global Citizens Circle to meet and converse with world leaders, local activists and emerging leaders from all over and from different sectors, and when I tell others about these interactions, I’m able to speak about them on a human level because I’ve listened to their stories even more than to their expertise, and this allows others to understand the shared humanity that doesn’t put one person above another. Stories don’t just explain; they inspire. And for generalists, they’re a way to translate the value of our diverse knowledge into something that resonates with everyone. This is why when we begin a Global Citizens Circle program, we always ask our discussion leaders to start with a personal story that relates to the topic at hand. It may be, “why did you get involved in this issue? And what has kept you going even when you thought you wanted to quit?” It’s through these kinds of questions that we hear answers that are relatable and have the power to inspire others. Of course, being a generalist isn’t always easy. Sometimes, I’ve felt like an outsider in conversations dominated by specialists. I’ve struggled with imposter syndrome, questioning whether I’m “enough” without a defined expertise. But here’s what I’ve learned: being a generalist is not about knowing everything. It’s about being curious, adaptable, and willing to learn. It’s about asking the right questions, connecting people, and telling and listening to stories that bridge gaps. The reward? Seeing people collaborate in ways they couldn’t before. Watching ideas flourish because you helped connect the dots. That’s the magic of being a generalist.  Theo Spanos Dunfey, Ukrainian Nobel Peace Laureate Oleksandra Matviichuk, and Phoebe de Larrabeiti Let me leave you with one final story. I never imagined as that shy little girl from a mill town in New Hampshire that I would travel the world and in so doing have opportunities to impact positive change. I never thought I would be able to help a young Afghan woman to leave Afghanistan to come to the US where she could get the education she wasn’t allowed in her country. I couldn’t imagine I’d meet a young Syrian peacebuilder who travelled with me to the west coast of Africa this past October for a peace conference and was so inspired to learn more about Africa that he is hoping to do a master’s program in African studies so that he can use lessons from that continent to help him make change in his own country. And I wouldn’t have imagined I would ever feel confident enough to share lunch and conversation with a human rights lawyer and Nobel Peace Laureate from Ukraine. But those are all things that I’ve experienced in just the past few years. How did it happen? Well, I’ve used my knowledge and curiosity as a generalist. So, my message to you is this: Don’t underestimate the power of being a generalist. Embrace your unique ability to connect ideas, people, and disciplines. Use storytelling to bridge divides and inspire action. We may not be experts in one thing, but we are experts in weaving the threads of our experiences into stories that inspire, connect, and transform. And in a world that is clearly struggling to communicate in ways that bring out the best of humanity, that might just be the most valuable expertise of all. Thank you. When we don’t communicate effectively, we limit innovation, collaboration, and progress. We recently became aware of "Black and white," a poem written by 10-year-old Olivia Harris, and asked if we might republish it on GCC Voices. According to her mom, Carrie Huggins Harris, Olivia wrote this poem because she wanted to share a piece of herself at her school’s open mic night--and she was excited to be chosen to perform. Through this poem, she explores her identity in a way that invites others to listen, learn, and reflect. Her words speak not just to being biracial, but to anyone who’s ever felt like they don’t fully fit into one box or another. Olivia’s message is powerful: you don’t have to choose just one part of who you are—you can proudly be all of you. Her poem reminds everyone, no matter their age, that their identity is something to be celebrated!  Black and white We are sunshine and moonlight Different like night and day Not stuck between two worlds We make our own way. We are Black and we are white Like zebra stripes Like piano keys Like day and night. Everything in life is different Although it may not seem We all have a purpose We all have a dream. Our hair may be different From braids to curls to waves to swirls Our hair is unique And oh sooo chic. The world will have its rules A box we have to check But there is no box That determines what's next. I am Black I am white I am mom’s sunshine And dad’s moonlight. I am Jamaican I am Bahamian I am British And Romanian. People ask “What are you?” And I say I am me I hope that I am someone Everyone can see. All of us are different But in a way the same Strong and proud and free Our parents' legacy. - Olivia Harris   Olivia Harris is a bright, creative, and confident ten-year-old who lives in Queens, New York. She’s passionate about dance, acting, traveling, and finding new ways to express herself through various forms of art. Whether she’s on stage performing or dreaming up her next project, Olivia shines with imagination and energy. She’s known for dancing and twirling her way through life—literally—spreading joy wherever she goes with her infectious spirit. One of the things she’s most proud of is being biracial. Olivia speaks openly and proudly about her identity and enjoys helping others understand what it means to live in both worlds at once—something she does with wisdom well beyond her years. 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. I am Black  By Kibar Moussoba I was sitting in my classroom on 9/11 when someone turned to me and said: “Kibar, was that you? What did you do? Was your dad flying that plane?” I froze. It took me a moment to even process what had just been said. The news had been playing on all TVs showing footage of smoke, destruction, and fear. And now, somehow, I was being linked to it. I didn’t have the words to explain how wrong that moment was. All I knew was that things were changing, and quickly. In the weeks and months after 9/11, I was no longer just a kid in high school. I was an Arab-American that constantly had to look over my shoulder. It didn't matter that I was 15 years old. It didn't matter that I was Christian. It didn't matter that I lived in rural New Hampshire with absolutely no connection to any terrorist organization. The bullying, name calling, and snickering at my expense continued longer than I care to explain. What I learned years later is this: when people don’t understand you, they create their own version of your story. And the best way to change that was to tell your own story before they tell it for you. For a long time, I stayed silent. I kept my head down. I knew that if I ignored the comments, they would simply go away. The following year, my English teacher announced a school-wide essay contest inviting students to share their reflections on 9/11 and what freedom meant to us. At first, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to participate. After all, I was not in a positive state of mind about this topic so I saw no reason to subject myself to this exercise. But, of course, the same day they announced this essay contest, the kid that was making my life miserable for a year decided to take another stab at me. I wrote the whole thing that night. I wrote about my family’s journey to America. About what it meant to leave behind a war-torn country. About how proud we were to become citizens. And about how, after 9/11, that sense of belonging was gone for me and most Arab-Americans in this country. When I was selected to read my essay in front of the entire school, I was terrified. The same students who had been bullying me, who had laughed, who had made me feel like an outsider — they would all be in that room. What felt like the next day, I stepped onto that stage as the last finalist to read their essay. I closed my eyes, and with slight anger in my voice I belted out the first words, "I was born during a war." Over the next 4 minutes I spoke about freedom from my lens, but what it could truly look like. I spoke about the façade of unity in this country. I spoke about pride and perseverance; how escaping war from my birth country only led to war in this country. When I finished, there was silence. I could practically hear the jaws hitting the floor. I was unsure if what I had just done was going to help me or hurt me, but the principal encouraged everyone to applaud and I walked off stage. As we exited the assembly, something unexpected happened. The one kid who led the charge at making my life miserable for the past year stopped me in the hallway. He looked at me, but didn't say anything this time. As he stuck out his hand, his blank face turned to remorse. He didn’t say a word. But he didn’t have to. That moment told me everything. He saw me. That moment taught me a lesson I will never forget: stories have the power to shift perspectives in ways that arguments never will. People fear what they don’t understand. When we don’t know someone’s story, we fill in the blanks with assumptions. The best way to break down bias is to make yourself known. Stories create connection. Facts inform. But stories connect. When someone hears your lived experience, they don’t just process information — they feel it. When you share your truth, you take back control. For a short amount of time, I let others define my identity. But telling my story helped me reclaim it. So, if you feel misunderstood — don’t allow yourself to shrink. Share your story. Let people see you. Because when they do, their perspective might change forever. We all have a story that could change someone’s perspective. My story brought me to the TEDx stage. Ask yourself, what’s one part of your story that others could benefit from hearing? Kibar Moussoba is the senior program manager of People Experience at Southern New Hampshire University, where he leads strategic Inclusive Listening initiatives to enhance employee engagement and equity, diversity, and inclusion. With a deep passion for fostering meaningful workplace experiences, he helps drive key initiatives aligned with the university’s strategic goals. Beyond his role at SNHU, Kibar is an award-winning entertainer and professional DJ, known for creating unforgettable experiences at events across New England and beyond. His love for music began at the age of five with piano lessons, and by 19, he had launched his professional DJ career with Main Event Entertainment. Originally from Beirut, Lebanon, but having spent most of his life in Southern New Hampshire, he developed his DJing skills early and quickly became a sought-after performer. His ability to blend diverse musical influences and craft dynamic atmospheres has made him one of New England’s top DJs. In addition to his professional commitments, Kibar serves on the Board of Directors for the Mental Health Center of Greater Manchester and has been recognized with several accolades, including the prestigious 40 Under Forty award in New Hampshire. He is also a TEDx speaker, sharing insights on resilience, perspective, and personal growth. A husband and father of two, Kibar balances his career with his dedication to family, mentorship, and making a meaningful impact in every space he enters. 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. When we don’t know someone’s story, we fill in the blanks with assumptions. The best way to break down bias is to make yourself known. Stories create connection. Facts inform. But stories connect. When someone hears your lived experience, they don’t just process information — they feel it. When you share your truth, you take back control.  By Michael Lockett This past summer, I shared a bit about me and how I first got involved with Global Citizens Circle. I invite you to check out "The Not-So-Accidental Activist" if you haven't had the chance. If, like many of us, you're feeling a bit stuck these days, perhaps this video I created will spur you into action. You may start small, but you can still do big things. While International Women's Day was recognized on March 8, Global Citizens Circle has partnered with Southern New Hampshire University for a breakfast program on March 11, 2025, from 9-10:30 EST. You're welcome to attend in person (at the university's upper dining hall) or virtually. The details are available here. We hope you'll join us at this special Circle event: "From Crisis to Change: Addressing Gender-based Violence in Conflict Zones," featuring Theresa de Langis and Rashida Eltag Mohamed. Michael Lockett is a New York screenwriter, director, and sometimes producer, as well a member of Global Citizens Circle’s Board. A lifelong storyteller, Michael graduated from the University of Delaware with a degree in visual communications. After a stint in advertising, periodical design, and marketing/PR, he delved back into the longer storytelling forms with film and TV screenwriting. Although specializing in horror with dark, thought-provoking overtones, Michael is always prepared and happy to lend a hand or idea to make his or others' projects a success. 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. Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” ― Margaret Mead |
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