Welcome to my blog! My name is Rosie, and I am a sociologist of religion with a master’s degree in Middle East Studies. I also have a background in the public sector and government.
This blog serves as a platform for my reflections on current affairs, history, politics, and, of course, religion. As a passionate lover of the arts, I often draw on literature and other artistic forms to enhance and illustrate my thoughts. Alongside sharing my opinions, I aim to shed light on happenings that don’t always make it to the front pages of newspapers.
As a novice blogger, I greatly appreciate any feedback I might receive. At the same time, I reserve the right to express my opinions freely.
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Thank you for visiting, and I hope you find my writings engaging!
On Monday, I shared thoughts on the lived experience of disability. I unexpectedly received messages of gratitude from readers across the board. There is so much quiet hurt in the world—people feeling misunderstood, or navigating conversations about illness without care or compassion.
Yesterday, I had a conversation with a rehabilitation doctor. He asked whether I find it difficult to communicate what I go through as someone with an invisible disability. I explained that it’s not so much the ability to articulate it—that part, I’ve honed. The difficulty lies in being understood. People don’t always have the shared experience needed to grasp what the words truly mean. For example, chronic fatigue isn’t simply “being tired.” Tiredness can be resolved by rest. Chronic fatigue is unpredictable, invasive, and unrelenting.
I told him: the only way to bridge the gap is to shine a light on what invisible disabilities are, to inform the broader public about the challenges we face, and to make it part of our social conversation. Once we’ve done that—then ask me again if it’s hard to communicate what I go through.
More information and more visibility are urgently needed. And I’m more than willing to provide it. Today, I want to start by exploring what often goes unseen—what’s misunderstood, overlooked, or dismissed. Invisible disabilities can shape every aspect of a person’s life and may prevent full access to the world around them.
When people think of accessibility, they often picture ramps, lifts, or wide doorways. Those are vital—but accessibility goes far beyond bricks and concrete. For those of us living with invisible disabilities, access might mean flexibility with time. It might mean freedom from harsh lighting, loud noise, or overstimulating environments. It might mean understanding that energy is not just limited but also unpredictable, and that “pushing through” can have lasting consequences.
Access means being able to exist, participate, and belong—without having to constantly justify your needs.
In modern life, we’ve grown used to explaining how we feel, defending our thoughts, and using words to build bridges of understanding. But here’s the golden rule of communication: the message must be received and understood by the other person. If I tell you my dog has blue hair, but you don’t know what “blue” means, you’ll miss the point. So when I say that fatigue is a debilitating part of my condition, someone might hear “fatigue = tired,” and think, “I get tired too, but I push through and go to bed early—why can’t you do the same?”
That’s where miscommunication starts. And once misunderstanding sets in, it often leads to misplaced accountability and judgment.
We live in a culture that values performance and productivity. We hold people accountable for what they do—which, in many cases, is entirely reasonable. But what happens when someone is judged by standards shaped by assumptions? When a person is scrutinized for not working, simply because their disability isn’t visible? Or asked to explain why they can function one day and not the next?
The truth is, society isn’t designed with invisible challenges in mind. If your condition isn’t visible, many assume you’re fine. But this assumption erases the labor it takes just to show up. It dismisses the brain fog, the pain, the anxiety—and the constant effort to mask it all in order to be seen as “normal.”
And that masking itself is exhausting. The pressure to be believed, to seem capable, to avoid suspicion—it all adds to the weight we carry. It fuels stress, deepens isolation, and increases the distance between us and the world.
So how do we begin to make space for invisible disabilities? How do we make society more accessible?
It begins with a shift—from suspicion to trust. That’s not a small ask. In today’s world, it’s a paradigm shift. But it’s not about special treatment. It’s about equal footing. It’s about creating spaces where people don’t have to fight to be believed before they’re offered support.
How do we spark that shift? We start by listening. Without judgment. With open hearts. With a willingness to be wrong and to grow. We start by saying, “Even if I haven’t lived it, I believe you.” We start by giving people what they need to thrive—and valuing them for who they are, not for how much they produce.
Not everyone’s experience looks the same. But every voice deserves to be heard. Let’s listen to those voices. And let’s make space—for all of us.
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Dealing with an invisible chronic illness isn’t easy. Beyond the fatigue, physical pain, and brain fog, there’s another layer of struggle: people don’t see how unwell you are. They see the outside—maybe a sun-kissed face, some makeup, a well-put-together outfit, a warm greeting—and they draw their own conclusions.
They see you show up at a birthday party and think, “She must be doing better.” They don’t know that you had to sleep for two hours beforehand and will now be in bed—or glued to the couch—for the next three to five days because you went. They ask how you’re doing, and you say, “I’m fine.” Not because it’s true, but because sometimes you’re simply tired of talking about being sick.
In my case, I really do get sick of talking about being sick.
So yes, people sometimes assume I’m better than I am. Some may even think I exaggerate my illness. After all, lots of people are tired—and they still get up and go to work. Why can’t I?
It’s okay. I understand how society copes with things it can’t see or make sense of: it labels, defines, reduces. It filters experience through its own lens so the unfamiliar becomes manageable. Living with an invisible illness for the past five years has taught me to tune out those voices. I’ve learned to define myself based on my own sense of worth, not the value placed on me by others.
When ‘Illness” becomes “Disability”
Still, that definition of self took a jolt last week. While doing research for my book on invisible illnesses, I came across something unexpected: several major health organizations now classify my condition as an invisible disability. That word stopped me cold.
According to the World Health Organization’s World Report on Disability (2011), disability is defined using the International Classification of Functioning, Disability and Health (ICF), which breaks down functioning into three interconnected categories:
Impairments: problems with body function or structure
Activity limitations: difficulties in executing tasks or actions
Participation restrictions: challenges with involvement in life situations
Disability, then, isn’t about one diagnosis—it’s about how health conditions interact with personal and environmental barriers to limit engagement in life. The ICF uses neutral language and doesn’t distinguish between physical or mental origins. If your condition affects your ability to function and participate fully, it qualifies.
Suddenly, I found myself staring at the screen thinking: Wait. You mean I’m disabled?
The word “disability” has always carried a specific image in my mind—something concrete, visible, undeniable. I never thought to put my illness, or any chronic illness, in that category. Illness felt like a challenge, something to fight, to manage, to overcome. Disability felt… definitive. Permanent.
But that’s the thing: having a chronic illness is a disability. It impacts my ability to participate in society. It limits what I can do. It interferes with basic functioning. And it’s real, whether people see it or not.
Seeing the Unseen
According to Hidden Disabilities Sunflower, one in six people globally live with a disability. Of those, an estimated 80% are non-visible. That’s over a billion people, most of them unseen—and undervalued. Yet every one of them has something meaningful to offer. We want to engage. We want to be included. We deserve the space to contribute.
Maybe “disability” is a better word after all. “Illness” often implies recovery is coming, or should be. There’s an unspoken apology in it, a pressure to heal. “Disability,” on the other hand, demands society’s acceptance. It calls for accessibility, empathy, and policy that affirms our worth.
So here I am: a woman with an invisible disability. And an awful lot to give—to those who acknowledge my boundaries, honor my integrity, and respect my value.
Maybe it’s time we all reconsider what disability really looks like—and who we assume doesn’t carry it.
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For the first time ever, I find myself saying: “Hurray for Netflix!”—because it just might have saved Sesame Street.
Like many American children, I grew up watching Sesame Street. As a first-generation viewer, I was captivated by Big Bird, learned to count with Count von Count, and happily sang along with Ernie to Rubber Ducky. My fondness for that little yellow duck runs so deep that I still have its birthday marked on my calendar—January 13th, for those who want to celebrate too! But beyond the songs and characters, Sesame Street gave me something even more valuable: the foundational knowledge, social skills, and essential tools I needed to prepare for kindergarten.
The Vision Behind Sesame Street
The idea for Sesame Street was born in 1966, when Joan Ganz Cooney, executive director of the Children’s Television Workshop, and Lloyd Morrisett, vice president of the Carnegie Foundation, envisioned a children’s television show that would harness the power of TV for education. As Cooney described it, they wanted to “master the addictive qualities of television and do something good with them” (Michael Davis, Street Gang: The Complete History of Sesame Street).
At a press conference on May 6, 1969, Sesame Street was officially announced as an innovative program that would use commercial television techniques to teach young children. By blending live-action sketches, animated cartoons, and puppetry, the show would introduce preschoolers to essential concepts—letters, numbers, vocabulary, shapes, and reasoning skills. Repetition throughout each episode would ensure young audiences remained engaged while absorbing important lessons. The name Sesame Street itself was chosen to evoke the magic of discovery, inspired by the phrase “Open Sesame!”—suggesting a place where exciting things happen.
When the show premiered on November 10, 1969, its mission was clear: to prepare children for school, particularly those from low-income backgrounds who might not have access to early education. By 1996, a staggering 95% of American preschoolers had watched it by age three, and by 2018, it was estimated that 86 million Americans had grown up with Sesame Street.
The Fight for Accessibility
From its inception, Sesame Street aired on PBS, a public broadcasting network offering free programming. This accessibility was crucial for low-income families who depended on the show as an early education tool. However, when the Trump administration reduced funding for PBS, Sesame Street faced an uncertain future. The potential loss of free access meant that the very children who needed Sesame Street the most could lose their connection to its invaluable lessons.
The decision to slash funding for PBS was deeply distressing—not just because it affected educational programming, but because it signaled a fundamental misunderstanding of how critical early childhood education is for children who cannot afford preschool. These kids wouldn’t just miss out on learning letters and numbers—they’d lose the examples of kindness, diversity, self-worth, and the power of positive social interactions. For many, Sesame Street is their only exposure to these essential developmental values.
Why It Matters
In a world increasingly divided by socio-economic disparities, investing in early education is not optional—it is essential. Children need education, healthcare, and stable environments to thrive and grow into balanced, engaged citizens. These future generations will shape our society, and it is our responsibility to ensure they have the tools to do so.
And that’s where Netflix comes in. By stepping up and ensuring PBS can continue broadcasting Sesame Street, Netflix has done something truly meaningful. It has recognized the importance of preschool education for disadvantaged children and preserved a program that has enriched young minds for over five decades.
So yes, Netflix—you’ve found your way to Sesame Street, and in doing so, you’ve helped keep its doors open for those who need it most.
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Some time ago, I ran into an old acquaintance I hadn’t seen in years. As we engaged in the expected exchange of updates, I asked about her eldest daughter. She told me her daughter was doing well—she had recently married—but when I asked whether she planned to have children soon, her answer was sobering: “No, she’s too concerned about what’s happening in the world. She feels it isn’t a safe place to have children.”
Her daughter doesn’t live in a war-torn or impoverished country. She lives in Western Europe, holds a stable job, and comes from a loving home. Yet, despite having every material advantage, she fears the future enough to forgo motherhood.
At another social event, I spoke separately with two young women in their early thirties, both struggling with mental health issues. They shared their fears about not being able to function in today’s world, burdened by pressure and uncertainty about their futures.
In yet another conversation, a friend’s acquaintance told me she had to force herself to leave the house because agoraphobia was creeping in. She was seeing a mental health specialist to address her anxiety and other struggles.
These encounters left me deeply unsettled. Mental health issues, especially among young women, are nothing new. History reminds us of the struggles faced by Virginia Woolf, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and Sylvia Plath—women who grappled not only with personal turmoil but also societal pressures. More recently, we have seen reports detailing the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on younger generations. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that something more is happening. It seems that more young women than ever before are struggling to cope.
The Statistics Speak Volumes
According to a 2017 report by Mental Health UK, women are three times more likely than men to experience common mental health problems such as depression and anxiety. In 1993, this risk was twice as likely, meaning the disparity is growing. Rates of self-harm have tripled since 1993, and young women are three times more likely than men to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. Additionally, anxiety-related conditions are most prevalent among young women.
These statistics are mirrored across Western Europe and North America, and numbers have continued to rise since the pandemic. But why do women experience more mental health challenges than men?
The Weight of Modern Pressures
The reasons behind this crisis are complex and multifaceted. Biological factors such as hormonal fluctuations play a role, but socio-economic stressors are equally significant. Poverty, workplace inequality, physical and sexual abuse, and the pressures of caregiving all contribute to heightened levels of anxiety and depression.
Yet these issues have existed for centuries—so why have rates increased so dramatically in recent years?
Professor Jayashri Kulkarni from HER Centre Australia at Monash University suggests that modern young women face a unique set of challenges in navigating their identities, including:
Career and educational aspirations
Body image insecurities
Sexual and relationship expectations
Social network development and maintenance
Social media exacerbates these pressures by fostering unrealistic comparisons and misinformation. Many young women engage in digital relationships that can deepen feelings of isolation and disconnect from reality.
Additionally, loneliness is an often-overlooked factor. Kulkarni notes that young women experience profound feelings of emptiness more commonly than acknowledged. The pandemic lockdowns intensified this issue, cutting them off from critical support systems and social outlets.
Surveys measuring post-pandemic mental health reveal increased rates of depression, anxiety, eating disorders, and substance addictions—especially among young women. Though the restrictions have lifted, their emotional wounds continue to linger.
A Generational Struggle
The pressures faced by young women today differ from those of previous generations. While women have long balanced multiple roles, today’s digital world imposes new standards—curated beauty ideals, relentless public scrutiny, and a culture where mistakes can be magnified and immortalized online. Unlike before, there’s little room for imperfection.
So, how do we help this generation of smart, creative, compassionate, and talented young women?
We start by reminding them that they are more than enough. We offer support not by merely asking what they need, but by showing up—attuned to their struggles, ready to help in ways they might not yet articulate.
We foster stronger communities so that no one faces their burdens alone, making caregiving a shared responsibility rather than an isolating duty.
We tell them it’s okay to stumble, that they are beautiful in every facet of their existence—flaws and all.
Most importantly, we hold them close in our hearts and refuse to let them slip through the cracks.
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This weekend, much of the world will celebrate Easter. Whether through Easter egg hunts or attending Easter Mass, it’s a time for families and friends to come together—a gentle reminder that we are more than just individuals and that moments of reflection are valuable.
My earliest memories of Easter involve waking up to an Easter basket filled with goodies beside my bed—a delightful gift from the Easter Bunny. After breakfast, we’d change into our new ‘Easter’ clothes, as my parents called them, and drive to downtown Chicago. We’d stroll along the lakeside, enjoying the usually pleasant spring weather. I have countless childhood photos of us posing by the lions at the Art Institute or with the stunning backdrop of Lake Michigan. As a child, I didn’t fully understand the reason behind this annual tradition, but looking back, I’m grateful my parents enriched us with these warm memories.
Since we weren’t raised religiously, we never went to church—not even for significant holidays. Growing up, I had only a vague understanding of who Christ was, and it never went much deeper than that.
It wasn’t until later in life that I truly grasped the narrative of the Passion and its importance to the Christian faith. While studying Religion Studies (an admittedly unconventional choice, given my upbringing—perhaps a story for another time), I realized just how much catching up I had to do. Over the years, I’ve come to find it remarkable how many people, even practicing Christians, don’t know the full narrative or the rich symbolism connected to Easter and the events surrounding the death and resurrection of Christ. This gap in religious understanding is especially evident in highly secular regions of Western Europe, but it’s not exclusive to them.
So, what does Easter mean to those who aren’t part of the Christian faith? Or, perhaps more accurately, what can Easter represent to those who don’t adhere to Christianity? The answer might surprise you.
Religion, as a topic, can be complex and polarizing. Many blame religion for societal issues. Others misuse it to justify their actions, while some dismiss it as outdated and irrelevant in modern life. But as a sociologist of religion, I take a different stance. To me, religion is deeply personal—it can be whatever someone wants it to be. It is a belief system, often enriched by traditions and symbols that foster a connection between the devotee and the divine. Some sociologists even argue that football fandom can resemble religious devotion, but that’s perhaps a discussion for another day.
Religious organizations, however, are a different matter. They are structured entities built around belief systems, with rules, resources, and responsibilities, much like other organizations. For now, though, I’ll focus on religion as a belief system rather than its institutional forms.
What, then, can we all learn from the narrative of Easter? At its core, Easter is about forgiveness. Yes, it’s also about sacrifice, atonement, redemption, reconciliation, and salvation—but ultimately, forgiveness stands out as the central theme.
In the Easter story, Jesus Christ’s sacrifice and resurrection symbolize God’s forgiveness of humanity, restoring the relationship between the divine and mankind. Through Christ’s death and resurrection, Christians are reminded of the light that came into the world and the promise of life after death for believers.
Stripping away the language of the New Testament, what remains is a profound tale of an innocent man who takes on the burden of others’ sins, ultimately sacrificing himself so that others may find redemption. It’s a powerful reminder that we, as humans, have the capacity to forgive. Despite our flaws and mistakes, true and sincere forgiveness can pave the way for healing and renewal.
Forgiveness, however, doesn’t mean condoning wrongdoings. It’s about clearing the path for moving forward in a healthier, more constructive way. A friend of mine, who often reads autobiographies of women who have experienced assault, once shared her frustration: “In all the books I’ve read, the women always forgive their assaulters.” She couldn’t understand why. I told her, “Forgiveness isn’t about saying ‘what you did was okay.’ It’s about finding a way to move on.”
This insight isn’t my own invention—it’s something I learned from the Passion narrative. Sometimes, innocence is sacrificed for the sake of understanding the transformative power of forgiveness. To be clear, I don’t mean this literally. Please don’t sacrifice innocent humans and animals.
In today’s world, we are often so divided—by politics, money, and misconceptions about others. Anger drowns out understanding, and people frequently react to words without grasping their true meaning. As a society, we’re losing our ability to listen, to empathize, and to connect. We’re forgetting how to be a community—to care for one another, to understand one another, and to forgive one another.
This Easter Sunday, as you watch your children hunt for eggs, share a family brunch, or simply relax on the couch with chocolate eggs and old movies, take a moment for gratitude and forgiveness. Let it be a gift to yourself and those around you. Happy Easter.
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On April 5th, 2025, a symbol of burgeoning democracy took to the streets across the United States. The Hands Off! movement, an alliance of national and local organizations, orchestrated over 1,400 mass protests, with more than 600,000 people formally signing up, while an estimated millions rallied in solidarity. This movement, borne from the sentiment of citizens feeling a ‘hostile takeover’ of their democratic rights, showcased the power of collective action in the face of adversity.
At the heart of Hands Off! lies a threefold demand that reflects the anguished cry for justice and accountability:
An end to the billionaire takeover and rampant corruption of the Trump administration;
An end to slashing federal funds for Medicaid, Social Security, and other programs working people rely upon; and
An end to the attacks on immigrants, trans people, and other communities.
These protests erupted in the wake of turmoil in the stock markets following President Trump’s announcement of import tariffs on foreign goods. This move was met with a swift backlash from investors, signifying widespread disapproval and leading to global economic disarray—a stark reminder of how interconnected our societal fabric truly is.
But what do chaotic stock markets and passionate protests have in common? At their core, they both reflect a profound crisis of trust.
Trust is the cornerstone of governance. Citizens bestow their safety—and, by extension, their livelihoods—into the hands of their elected officials, expecting them to operate with integrity and respect. Politicians embody the values and responsibilities of the government, and when they fail to uphold trust, they erode the very foundation of democracy.
It’s crucial to remember that government is fundamentally different from the corporate world. While businesses exist to maximize profit, governments are meant to protect and empower their citizens. Today, the definition of safety encompasses much more than mere physical protection; it includes access to healthcare, education, and social services, safeguarding the vulnerable, and ensuring a society where everyone can thrive.
Unfortunately, since the advent of the Trump administration, this fundamental understanding has been jeopardized. Policy decisions that have shocked the nation—mass firings of officials, dismantling of crucial research funding, rampant deportations, attacks on diversity, and exorbitant tariffs—have not only tested citizens’ patience but also their belief in their leaders. Facing such upheaval, citizens are left feeling anxious and, at times, alarmed by the prospect of losing the rights and protections they hold dear.
Political leaders who betray the trust of their constituents often find themselves isolated. When citizens perceive their representatives as dishonest or disconnected, the consequences are severe. History teaches us that even the most steadfast leaders can tumble from grace when they neglect the voices of the people they serve. The mounting skepticism among Republicans themselves serves as a harbinger of a growing rift between Trump and his supporters—a worrisome sign of a faltering connection.
Amid this political storm, the President’s seeming indifference only deepens the rift. His weekends on the golf course juxtaposed against a backdrop of national unrest reflect a leader out of touch with the pulse of the nation. While he may believe that his time in office is secure for the foreseeable future, he underestimates the power of public sentiment. The impending midterm elections present a critical juncture that could either solidify or dismantle the political landscape.
Thus, as we stand at a crossroads, it becomes paramount for leaders to recognize that governance is not a game of cards; it is a profound responsibility that demands respect, transparency, and empathy. Trust is not simply a commodity to be bartered or manipulated; it is a sacred bond between the governed and those who govern. Rebuilding this trust begins anew with listening, understanding, and holding ourselves accountable.
The question facing us now is not simply about the policies that divide us but about the trust that binds us. In a democracy that thrives on the engagement and participation of its citizens, rebuilding that trust is not just necessary; it is our greatest challenge and our most urgent duty. A united call for accountability may very well be the key to restoring faith in our government and, ultimately, ourselves and each other.
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I recently finished a compelling series on The Rest Is History podcast, focused on the events leading up to the First World War, also known as “The Great War.” Not only is history presented in a captivating manner, but this series also encourages us to examine our present circumstances more critically.
One striking takeaway is that, as tensions escalated toward war, no one truly believed they were heading toward a catastrophic conflict. Despite the diplomatic messages being exchanged, the self-serving political alliances, and the awareness that one country’s aggression could provoke retaliation, leaders were convinced that a “great war” would not emerge from what they perceived to be minor conflicts. They underestimated the gravity of the situation, viewing the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria and his wife, Sophie, as merely an individual tragedy. It wasn’t until circumstances spiraled beyond control that some government officials realized the full impact of their actions—far too late for the over nine million soldiers, mostly young men, who lost their lives.
Studying history offers us a chance to analyze past events and learn from them. Social, political, and economic patterns transcend time, showing that when people are hungry and dissatisfied with their leaders, unrest often follows. In dire situations, the masses frequently seek a common enemy to blame for their grievances. While this scapegoating doesn’t remedy the underlying issues, the perception that action is being taken often fosters hope for the future.
Looking at recent years in the U.S., we can observe parallels to the discontent of the early twentieth century. I’ve explored this theme in earlier writings, such as “Humanity at a Crossroads.” (https://rosieglobal.com/2025/01/27/the-second-coming/) Many others have also drawn comparisons between pre-World War II circumstances and our current landscape. Just as we regard World War I as a precursor to World War II, we should examine the buildup to World War I to identify any warning signs that might signal a repeat of history.
Take Kaiser Wilhelm II, for instance—a figure marked by tragedy and misunderstanding. The grandson of Queen Victoria, he was both rejected by his family and teased for his physical disabilities. He channeled his grief into a deep desire for recognition and importance. When his beloved nephew and niece were assassinated, Wilhelm felt compelled to support the alliance between Germany and Austria, seeking revenge for their deaths.
The situation grew more complicated as Russia, allied with Serbia—the nation Germany and Austria were threatening—became involved. Russia feared that a war in the Balkans would jeopardize crucial trade routes, specifically the grain imports from Odessa and Kyiv. Meanwhile, while France officially held no alliance with Britain, Prime Minister Grey made informal promises to the French ambassador, leading to a tacit understanding that would come into play. With Germany and Austria-Hungary firm in their alliance, they found themselves flanked by two military power blocs: Britain and France to the west and Russia to the east.
One might assume this situation was a recipe for disaster, but then-world leaders saw it differently. Austria had previously invaded Balkan territories without facing serious consequences from Russia. The British were preoccupied with their own internal strife in Ireland, and Germany didn’t anticipate escalating into war. Wilhelm II naively thought that Serbia would accept their demands, leading to a manageable resolution. For France, while resentment lingered regarding the loss of Lorraine and Alsace, the idea of a “great war” was not on their minds; minor reprisals seemed sufficient.
It’s often said that hindsight is 20/20 vision, and that holds true, especially if we are willing to learn from the past.
In today’s world, allowing events to unfold without acknowledging the potential for catastrophic outcomes presents significant risks. As we observe long-standing alliances weakening amidst political division and economic troubles, we can see troubling parallels. Currently, we witness a major power led by an individual who craves reverence and control, potentially willing to disregard free speech and human rights for personal gain and political maneuvering. He has openly threatened military action to annex territories and imposed tariffs under the guise of protecting national interests, while also distancing the U.S. from international responsibilities and treaties.
Yet, despite these alarming trends, his supporters praise his leadership, viewing him as someone who delivers on his promises. They believe that his aggressive rhetoric is merely bluster. They think he will make their country great again. The potential harm it can do to other countries and peoples is of no concern to them.
Many leaders from other nations downplay the situation, believing that flattering this leader can mitigate his more extreme aspirations. They argue that annexation will never occur—it contradicts international law, after all. The prevailing thought seems to be that if they appease his demands, they can avoid dire consequences. They carefully try not to make waves or provoke an emotional outburst from him. He is regarded as a transactional leader; they think they know him and can play his game. However, underestimating the potential for conflict, based on familiarity with past behaviors and dynamics, can be a grave mistake.
So, we find ourselves at a crossroads. We can lull ourselves into complacency by the belief that current tensions can be managed. We can make ourselves believe it won’t come to an annihilation of democracy and human rights in his country. That he won’t start a war because he wants more power. That he won’t start a war because he wants to control trade routes. That he won’t start a war because he harbors a grudge against certain countries he feels treated him disrespectfully in the past.
Or we can recognize that we are positioned atop a powder keg, aware of the risks we face. That we must act progressively in order to maintain peace. The lessons from history are clear: ignoring the warning signs could lead us down a perilous path.
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Recently, I watched an Instagram video featuring an excerpt from Maria Shriver’s interview on CBS’ Sunday Morning. She discussed her journey of self-healing and, of course, her new book.
Her words struck a chord and have lingered in my mind ever since. She posed a powerful question:
“If the exterior labels fall away, who are you underneath all of that?”
This question is especially relevant for anyone on a journey of self-discovery or striving to define themselves. While Maria frames it through her circumstances—as a woman in her mid-fifties, recently separated, and having left her career behind years ago—this question resonates with countless individuals navigating their own identities.
Interestingly, the Netflix series everyone is talking about—Adolescence—explores similar themes. Adolescence has always been a time of identity formation, but today’s teenagers face added pressures, largely due to social media’s influence. The platform amplifies societal narratives about masculinity: what kind of men boys should aspire to be, how they should interact with others, particularly women, and the behaviors deemed acceptable. In Adolescence, the alpha male archetype is portrayed in troubling ways, associating aggression and violence with manhood—a deeply concerning depiction.
The theme of identity has been a cornerstone in art and humanities for centuries, yet it feels especially pressing today. We live in an era fraught with uncertainties. Global politics shake us daily, environmental changes remind us of our fragility, and the world feels increasingly unsafe. Adding to this, social media bombards us with endless imagery and voices telling us how to look, act, and feel—all while pushing us to conform to unattainable ideals.
In professional life, we grapple with expectations, peer pressure, and the financial constraints that keep us in jobs we dislike. We avoid discussing politics for fear of jeopardizing relationships. Vulnerability is often shunned, perceived as weakness. In this climate, labels become a shield—a way to present curated versions of ourselves and distance our true selves from reality.
One speaker—whose name I can’t recall—made a striking observation in another talk show: “Social media isn’t the problem; it’s merely a podium for societal issues.” While that’s partially true, it’s impossible to deny social media’s significant role in shaping our identities. For too long, social media has been dismissed as separate from reality. It’s not. It’s a tangible part of our lives, deeply intertwined with how we define ourselves. Popular labels often dominate, and in their quest for acceptance, many people adopt the most viral or trendy ones without question.
Maria Shriver’s statement, “I went on a spiritual quest to find out who I was, what shaped me, and who I wanted to be”, is not just her journey—it’s a universal one. Whether adolescents, young adults, or mature adults, we all yearn to know who we are when the exterior layers are stripped away. Yet, in this digital age, it’s all too easy to ignore this intrinsic need or outsource it to curated content. After all, who has the time or energy for genuine self-reflection?
Nevertheless, prioritizing that question—who am I without my exterior labels?—is essential. To be honest, I don’t have an answer yet. Like many others, I define myself through external markers: my career, location, hobbies, marital status. But strip those away, and I’m at a loss.
So, thank you, Maria, for posing this question that has stayed with me. I’ve decided to take the time to “de-label” myself and embark on the journey to discover my authentic self. I sincerely hope Maria’s words and shows like Adolescenceinspire more people to do the same—to explore their identities beyond societal labels and external expectations.
Perhaps such introspection could lead to a more connected society, one built on genuine human connection. It could provide space for our children to grow without social media’s overwhelming influence. It could empower individuals to embrace their uniqueness—uncategorizable, vulnerable, and talented beyond the confines of catchy phrases or viral posts. Imagine that: a world where we don’t need labels to define who we are.
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March 2025 has emerged as a month marked by significant political events that have reverberated not only throughout the United States but also around the world. The preeminent topic of discussion has been American politics, led by the increasingly controversial Trump administration.
President Donald Trump intensified his administration’s activities by signing multiple executive orders, including a provocative move to designate English as the official language of the United States. Other contentious decisions included shutting down several state-funded broadcasters and commencing the dismantling of the Department of Education. These measures sparked debates on the implications for education equity and media diversity.
The ongoing war in Ukraine entered its fourth year, with increasing pressure to find a resolution. President Trump actively pursued peace negotiations, even hosting discussions in Saudi Arabia aimed at establishing ceasefires in key areas, such as the Black Sea. The U.S. also proposed stricter sanctions on Russian oil and secondary sanctions on its buyers to push Russia towards a general ceasefire. However, talks have been marred by tensions, including a disconcerting public exchange with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky. The European Union, along with Britain’s Prime Minister Keir Starmer, reiterated support for Ukraine, pledging substantial financial aid, advocating for stronger sanctions against Russia and a reassured military presence to deter further aggression.
In related international dynamics, the U.S. military undertook airstrikes in Yemen against Houthi targets, resulting in casualties that raised alarms about ongoing conflicts in the Middle East. This coincided with controversy that erupted when journalist Jeffrey Goldberg was inadvertently added to a Signal group chat involving senior U.S. officials. The chat revealed sensitive details about strikes against Houthi targets, sparking concerns over operational security.
In the realm of trade, the Trump administration’s imposition of a 25% tariff on automotive imports has drawn fire from Canada and Japan, both of whom condemned the tariffs as attacks on their economies. Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney, who recently achieved a landslide victory to become prime minister, responded firmly, pledging to retaliate against this protectionist tactic.
Furthermore in the North America, Greenland held elections for its Inatsisartut, with the center-right opposition party Demokraatit winning a plurality of seats. This marked a significant shift as the ruling Inuit Ataqatigiit–Siumut coalition lost its majority. Meanwhile, U.S. President Donald Trump stirred controversy by refusing to rule out the annexation of Greenland during a meeting with NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte.
Escalating Israeli-Palestinian Conflict
The fragile ceasefire in Gaza entered a precarious second phase, only to collapse under worsening conditions. Israel demanded the release of all hostages held by Hamas, blocking humanitarian aid and resuming intense bombing campaigns. The renewed airstrikes resulted in extensive loss of life and destruction across Gaza, with over 404 Palestinians killed and 560 injured on March 18 alone—a devastating toll since the January ceasefire began. UNICEF reported that one in three children in North Gaza now suffers from malnutrition, describing the humanitarian crisis as “catastrophic.”
The international community expressed grave concern over these events. The United Nations Human Rights Council accused Israel of committing war crimes and acts of genocide, citing systematic destruction of healthcare systems and gender-based violence. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu dismissed these claims as “biased” and “antisemitic,” further deepening divisions.
Syria
The new Syrian government faced severe challenges as violence erupted against former supporters of ousted President Bashar al-Assad. Despite promises of judicial fairness, sectarian reprisals led to devastating massacres. Over 1,300 Syrians, including 973 Alawites, Christians, and other minorities, were killed in just 72 hours during clashes between the transitional government and pro-Assad forces. The Syrian Observatory for Human Rights (SOHR) reported that pro-government forces executed 52 Alawite men in Latakia and killed over 750 Alawite civilians in western Syria. Thousands of civilians remain missing, with reports of mass graves and cremations to conceal the scale of atrocities.
In response, the Syrian presidential office announced the creation of a National Security Council to address internal security issues. Meanwhile, the European Union pledged €2.5 billion in aid, and Germany committed €300 million to stabilize Syria and address its humanitarian crisis. Vice-President of the European Commission Kaja Kallas emphasized the need for stability, advocating for lifting sanctions to restore diplomatic ties.
Asia
Foreign ministers from Japan, China, and South Korea convened in Tokyo to address shared challenges, including aging populations and climate change. The meeting aimed to strengthen regional cooperation and prepare for a leaders’ summit. Japan raised concerns about North Korea’s security threats, while China criticized protectionism and the politicization of science. This trilateral dialogue underscored the importance of collaboration in navigating global uncertainties.
In a landmark decision, the Tokyo District Court ordered the dissolution of the Unification Church, marking the first revocation of a religious organization’s status in modern Japanese history. The ruling followed investigations linking the church to manipulative fundraising practices and its controversial ties to the assassination of former Prime Minister Shinzo Abe. The decision has sparked debates about religious freedom and accountability.
Former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte was arrested at Manila’s Ninoy Aquino International Airport upon his return from Hong Kong. The arrest warrant, issued by the International Criminal Court (ICC), charged Duterte with crimes against humanity during his controversial “war on drugs.” He was swiftly extradited to The Hague, Netherlands, where he now faces trial.
A catastrophic 7.7 magnitude earthquake struck Sagaing, Myanmar, on March 28, causing widespread destruction and claiming over 1,000 lives in Myanmar and 10 in Thailand. The quake damaged 61 ancient pagodas and religious buildings, including the Four-Storied Monastery in Inwa. Myanmar’s government declared a state of emergency as rescue efforts continued.
Africa
In Somalia, conflict intensified as Al-Shabaab militants launched attacks. A 24-hour siege at a hotel in Beledweyne resulted in 15 civilian deaths and the elimination of six attackers while an assassination attempt on President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud near Mogadishu’s Aden Adde International Airport left 10 dead and 20 injured. These incidents led to calls for Mohamud’s resignation amid worsening security and governance crises.
In Ethiopia, the National Defense Forces reported killing over 300 fighters from the Fano armed group during clashes in the Amhara region. This marked a significant escalation in the ongoing conflict.
Angola confirmed the initiation of peace talks between the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) and the Rwanda-backed March 23 Movement (M23). The negotiations aim to address the long-standing conflict in the mineral-rich eastern DRC.
In Khartoum, Sudan, the discovery of 11 bodies, including women and children, at the bottom of a well added to the region’s turmoil. The Sudanese government accused the Rapid Support Forces of being responsible for the deaths, highlighting ongoing instability.
The European Union announced a €4.7 billion investment in South Africa for aid and development projects, stepping in after the United States ended most of its USAID programs. This move highlighted the EU’s commitment to strengthening ties with South Africa amidst shifting global alliances. Meanwhile, U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio declared South African Ambassador Ebrahim Rasool persona non grata, citing his criticism of Donald Trump’s 2024 presidential campaign. This decision underscored growing tensions between South Africa and the U.S.
Bolivia
Severe floods in Bolivia led to the declaration of a national emergency. Over 50 lives were lost, and more than 100,000 people were displaced. The government mobilized resources to address the crisis, emphasizing the urgent need for international support.
European Preparedness Strategy
The European Commission unveiled a new preparedness strategy, urging citizens to stockpile 72 hours’ worth of food, water, and essentials. This initiative aimed to enhance resilience against natural disasters, cyberattacks, and geopolitical crises.
Pope Francis’ Recovery
Pope Francis faced a life-threatening health crisis after being admitted to Rome’s Gemelli Hospital on February 14, 2025, with bronchitis that escalated into double pneumonia. During his five-week hospitalization, the 88-year-old pontiff endured severe respiratory complications, including mild kidney failure and anemia, requiring mechanical ventilation and oxygen therapy. Despite these challenges, he showed remarkable resilience and was discharged on March 23, returning to the Vatican to continue his recovery. Doctors prescribed two months of rest and rehabilitation, and Pope Francis expressed heartfelt gratitude for the prayers and support he received during this critical period.
Good news
Amidst the backdrop of war and strife, there were moments of hope including a few historic firsts in leadership. Zimbabwe’s Kirsty Coventry was elected as the first female president of the International Olympic Committee—an achievement celebrated globally. In Namibia, Netumbo Nandi-Ndaitwah was sworn in as the country’s first female president. Her leadership symbolizes a new chapter in Namibia’s political landscape, emphasizing progress and inclusivity.
In a groundbreaking study published in Nature, scientists uncovered a previously unknown aspect of the immune system, offering promising avenues for personalized treatments against infections. By exploring the proteasome—a cellular system responsible for protein degradation and recycling—researchers discovered a vast reservoir of natural antimicrobial peptides. These peptides, which increase production during infections, demonstrated effectiveness in combating harmful bacteria in human cells and mice.
Despite the tumultuous events, March 2025 showcased human resilience in various forms, from political shifts and disaster recovery efforts to innovative scientific advancement. It highlights a world at a crossroads, grappling with conflict and the pursuit of peace, as leaders and citizens alike navigate complex challenges.
Growing up, my paternal family would gather at my grandmother’s house for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and other special occasions. My uncles and father delighted in sharing amusing tales from their childhood—tales filled with harmless tricks played on my young, widowed grandmother. Eyes sparkling with laughter, tears sometimes streamed down their faces as they recalled the times they pretended to break the TV or staged accidents, lying ‘unconscious’ on the ground.
When my grandmother remarried, her daughter, my aunt, became the target of the pranksters’ mischief. With the arrival of the grandchildren, the identity of my paternal family crystallized: we were the pranksters. We reveled in these stories, and I cherished watching my family relive their past, united in joy around the dining room table.
Stories come in countless forms, yet they all share one powerful trait: they shape our identity. Whether it’s a cherished book, a childhood poem, or a family anecdote, these stories resonate within us. They evoke emotions, transport us through time, and root us in our shared history.
In today’s society, we often observe a troubling detachment among people. I believe this stems from a profound loss of stories. Yes, we are inundated with stories on social media and television, but these are not the narratives I’m referring to.
Social media storytelling often represents mere snippets of information, crafted with the intent of selling something—whether it’s a product, a persona, or a curated experience. We ‘sell’ ourselves, seeking validation in the form of likes from like-minded individuals. Yet, these stories fail to unite us; they do not foster a connection to our historical or familial roots.
What I long for are the stories passed down through generations, narratives created not for likes but for fostering a sense of belonging. These stories weave us into the fabric of family, community, and culture. They elicit laughter and tears and reinforce our sense of heritage.
As I observe people on public transportation, at work, in restaurants, or even around family kitchen tables, I see them transfixed by their screens—the blue light captivating their attention. Families are often engrossed in their phones, virtually connected to fragments of information, while the opportunity to share real stories—about their past, about our neighborhoods, or about cultural events that shape our daily lives—slips away unnoticed. They could reminisce about loved ones who have departed but remain an integral part of our identities. They could tell tall tales of their younger years.
However, this is not the story of 2025. We are disconnected, relying on social media’s distorted version of reality. As I reflect on the growing hatred in society, the fear children face at school, the obsession with constructed beauty, and the pervasive loneliness afflicting many, I ponder whether what we truly miss is more than just stories. We are missing the narratives that define us—what unites us, what makes us unique, and what encapsulates the essence of being human.
We have become a culture distanced from our heritage, severing our ties with past generations. Without these connections, we lose our sense of belonging to a greater continuum—a tapestry of humanity. We have become distracted from what truly matters. We have become victims of the blue light.
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