They Count on Our Silence. We Choose to Speak.

When Pride Turns to Shame

When I read the headline—“U.S. Joins Russia in UN Vote on Ukraine”—my stomach sank.

Sadness. Anger. Embarrassment.

As a naturalized American, I’ve carried a hard-won pride in the stars and stripes, believing in the ideals they were meant to represent. But in that moment, the flag felt heavier, its colors dimmed by decisions I couldn’t defend.

I wasn’t just disillusioned—I was ashamed.

A Promise, Broken

I didn’t inherit this citizenship—I chose it. I stood in a room with others, raised my right hand, and swore allegiance, believing I was joining something greater than just a country.

But today, that promise feels broken.

Not because I misread the words, but because those entrusted with upholding them have abandoned their meaning.

I became an American because I believed in the promise of the American Dream. Not the glossy, commercialized version of success, but the deeper, messier idea: that democracy is a living, breathing experiment—a 250-year-old project grounded in freedom, justice, and collective responsibility.

I believed in its resilience, in its capacity for self-correction, in its checks and balances.

But now, as I watch an administration dismantle these very foundations, it feels like that grand experiment is imploding in slow motion.

The Weight of Betrayal

The betrayal cuts deep.

It’s not just the actions of a corrupt president—it’s the complicity of the institutions designed to keep him in check.

The courts. Congress. Even unchecked billionaires shaping the public square.

What once felt like democracy’s guardrails now feels like a fast track to authoritarianism. The very systems meant to ensure accountability have collapsed into complicity.

And the realization that we have four more years of this leaves an almost unbearable weight.

Stay or Leave?

I’ve thought about leaving.

When the last election took its sharp turn into the absurd, the idea of packing my bags and seeking refuge elsewhere flickered in my mind.

And it’s still there—a quiet, nagging option.

But alongside it is another thought, louder and heavier:

If everyone who’s angry leaves, who’s left to fight?

Because that’s the real question—when the systems fail, what can “we the people” actually do?

Building a Movement of Voices

For me, the answer started to take shape not in grand protests or sweeping reforms, but in something quieter: voices.

That’s why we are building DamesTalk—a platform designed to amplify women’s voices, challenge the status quo, and create real action.

As a Great Dames Board Member, an organization dedicated to empowering women, I’ve spent years advocating for leadership, innovation, and meaningful change. But in moments like this, advocacy isn’t enough—we need a louder, more connected movement.

This isn’t just a publication; it’s a rallying point.

A space where stories become power.

Where women and allies—leaders, innovators, everyday changemakers—connect, share experiences, and support each other.

Because if institutions won’t protect democracy, it’s up to communities to step into the void.

We Choose to Speak

I see it happening all around me—on platforms like Substack, Bluesky, and beyond.

People are raising their voices, refusing to be silenced, finding strength in each other’s words.

DamesTalk is part of that movement, and will be launching on March 4th.

It’s a place where voices come together, not just to share frustrations, but to build something stronger.

There’s a line that’s been echoing in my mind from the Obama era:

“Yes, we can.”

It feels almost naive now, like a relic from a more hopeful time. But at its core, that phrase still holds the fire I need.

Because hope isn’t about ignoring the rot—it’s about choosing to believe that rot can be cleared out, that something better can be built in its place.

So maybe the American Dream isn’t dead.

Maybe it’s waiting for those who refuse to let it slip away.

DamesTalk isn’t the whole answer, but it’s a start—a space for people to find their voices, connect, and resist together.

Because if there’s even a sliver of a chance that we the people can still turn this around, then we owe it to ourselves to try.

They count on our silence. We choose to speak.