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 democracy. 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.

And this wasn’t an abstract realization.

I remember watching an elected official openly defy the Constitution, just to consolidate power. Hearing a judge defend an indefensible ruling with a smug certainty that nothing could hold him accountable. Listening to a political leader lie outright, not caring whether we believed him—only whether we were too exhausted to keep fighting back.

That’s when it hit me: this isn’t just a failure of leadership. It’s a test of what we, as a people, are willing to accept.

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.

Because leaving would be easy. A clean break. No longer watching the slow-motion destruction of something I once believed in. No longer feeling complicit in a system that seems beyond repair.

But alongside it is another thought, louder and heavier:

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

I know I’m not alone in this. I’ve had conversations with friends who say the same thing—"I don’t recognize this country anymore." Some have already made their exit plans. Others, like me, feel trapped in the in-between, unsure whether to cut their losses or keep trying to fix what’s broken.

But what if staying isn’t just about fighting?

What if it’s about reclaiming what was always ours?

From Disillusionment to Action

I sat with this feeling for a long time—this tension between betrayal and belonging. Between wanting to turn away and knowing I couldn't.

Because the truth is, I’m not alone in this moment of disillusionment.

I see it in conversations with friends who feel powerless against forces bigger than them. I hear it in the voices of people who once believed in the system but now wonder if it was ever built for them at all.

And yet, despite everything, I still believe in something fundamental: the power of voices.

Even in moments like this—especially in moments like this—speaking out is an act of defiance. It’s a refusal to let corruption and complicity go unchecked. It’s a declaration that the promise of democracy doesn’t belong to politicians alone.

It belongs to us.

But here’s the problem: we’ve been taught that our voices don’t matter.

Why We Built DamesTalk

I’ve seen it firsthand.

When we created The Great Dames Book, we saw so many women hesitate before sharing their stories. “I’m not a writer.” “My story isn’t that important.” But the moment they spoke their truths, something shifted—not just in them, but in the people who heard them.

Because that’s the thing about stories. They move us, connect us, wake us up to the realities we might otherwise ignore.

And yet, so many people—especially women—hesitate to share their stories. Not because they don’t have them, but because they’ve been conditioned to wait for permission.

DamesTalk is that permission.

It’s a safe, encouraging space where women and allies come together to speak, listen, and amplify one another. It’s a place where we push back against the forces that want us quiet, where we remind each other that our words—our truths—matter.

Because when one person speaks their truth, another finds the courage to do the same.

And that’s how change starts.

I think of a woman who shared her story in our soft launch—someone who had never written publicly before. She hesitated before submitting, telling me, "I’m not a writer. I don’t think my story matters."

Then she saw the response. The flood of comments saying, “This is exactly what I needed to hear.” The private messages from women who had felt the same way but had never been able to put it into words.

And suddenly, she wasn’t just telling her own story—she was holding space for others to tell theirs.

That’s what DamesTalk does.

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.

This isn’t just about storytelling—it’s about collective power. It’s about making sure that when history looks back on this moment, it sees more than complicity and collapse.

It sees people who refused to look away.

It sees women who stood together, who shared their truths, who built something stronger in the face of a world that wanted them to stay quiet.

I won’t pretend that change is easy. I won’t say that speaking out is always enough.

But I do know this: Silence has never saved us.

So we will keep speaking. We will keep writing. We will keep telling the truth, even when it shakes the ground beneath us.

Because words lead to action. Action leads to change. And change is still possible—if we fight for it.

They count on our silence. We choose to speak.

Robert Ford followed the call to "Go West, Young Man," moving from the UK to the US in 1995, drawn by its can-do culture and deep-rooted spirit of giving back. In 2010, he proudly became a US citizen.

Robert writes about technology, storytelling, and culture on Substack and helps organizations navigate the digital landscape through his consultancy, Digitis.

Because investing in ideas—and the next generation—is how we shape the future.