Listener Reviews

I finally identify with Aunt Deb. Usually, when she appears on SoftPower/FulStories, she asks why we should get involved internationally. This time she first asks George Clooney how any man could be so gorgeous. I confess that I envy Matt Brown, the journalist and former Peace Corps Volunteer in Guinea who was assigned to accompany Clooney to the frontlines of the war in Sudan during the Obama administration. I envy his sitting by Clooney’s bedside when Clooney got sick during a malaria outbreak. I would have willingly taken on Matt Brown’s assignment itself—even after the United Nations felt compelled to withdraw the lodging, helicopter transportation, security, and other support it had planned to provide because the government in Khartoum opposed its involvement. I'm as impressed by Matt Brown as I am by George Clooney, whose celebrity gave him the ability to draw attention to a part of the world that most Americans seldom think about but which both men knew and cared about. As much as I envy Matt Brown's assignment, I could certainly understand his relief when the assignment was over and Clooney’s safety was no longer his responsibility. He compared it to being a daycare provider: you hold your breath while the children are your responsibility, and then the parents return and the responsibility is theirs again. Imagine being responsible for bringing George Clooney safely home from a war zone! This episode also reminds me of how much more I want to learn about Africa. I know considerably more about North Africa, but listening to Matt made me want to learn about Sudan, Guinea, and other countries farther south. I also learned more about human-rights organizations such as Enough and Not On Our Watch. At the time of Matt Brown and George Clooney’s trip, USAID was thriving and able to do important work in places like Sudan. Listening now, knowing how much of that capacity has since been dismantled, I hope we can persuade people like Aunt Deb to look beyond our country and even beyond George Clooney’s good looks!

Joe Lurie’s segment is a powerful reminder of why his voice matters so much in this moment of global strife, hatred, and fractured understanding. I’ve followed his work for years and reviewed his book Perceptions and Deceptions, which feels even more urgent today as conflicts deepen between countries, religions, and races. Drawing on his formative Peace Corps service in Kenya and his many years leading International House at Berkeley, Lurie shows—through story, scholarship, and lived experience—how culture shapes perception and how easily misunderstanding becomes danger. His core insight still resonates: “You don’t see the world around you from your own window.” In a time when empathy feels in short supply, Lurie offers a framework for seeing more clearly and listening more generously.

There’s something poignant in the way perspectives shift and new realities unfold during a soft power assignment overseas. This collection of first-person accounts of life experiences shared by boots-on-the-ground Peace Corps volunteers. Department of State and USAID Fpreign Service Officers, NGO , and others reveal the deep richness of our big, beautiful world and its people. The familiar and the unknown dance together in rich, ever-changing tàpestries. The feelings, emotions, thoughts, and actions will resonate with many, providing valuable meaning and insight that can gently guide us during the challenging. changing times we live.in today .

This is one of the most powerful SoftPower/FulStories I've heard. Last year, at a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer gathering in San Francisco, I met former USAID staff members wearing shirts that read , "USAID Forever." I thought of them while listening to Susan Sullivan's moving eulogy, released on the first anniversary of USAID's death. Describing the dismantling of America's most influential foreign assistance, she pays tribute to the agency's 65-year legacy as she critiques its murder. She tells the story of the agency created by President Kennedy in 1961 to win "hearts and minds" around the world—not through military force, but through humanitarian assistance and development. (I was also struck by how she recreates 1961, reminding us of Elvis Presley and Sean Connery as the first James Bond!) She reminds us of an organization that rarely advertised itself to Americans, even while touching millions of lives abroad. She doesn't pretend USAID was flawless. She acknowledges bureaucracy and other shortcomings. But she also describes how its destruction has carried an enormous human cost. In addition to giving statistics, she illustrates that cost with unforgettable examples: food being destroyed instead of delivered to hungry people, disaster victims left without assistance from the US, and an agency dismantled at great expense while contributing almost nothing to reducing the federal deficit. She also places USAID's $40 billion annual budget (less than 1% of the federal budget) in the broader context of federal spending. She notes that the Pentagon has failed eight consecutive financial audits and contrasts the agency's elimination with the far greater sums devoted to military spending on the war on Iran. She also makes a very interesting revelation about which country, too rich to qualifying for aid, got half of the annual budget USAID had not because of need but because of its leaders personal ties with the US administration. Particularly compelling is her examination of how misinformation, conspiracy theories, and political rhetoric helped turn a respected institution into a target. She contrasts earlier bipartisan recognition of USAID's importance—even from leaders who later reversed course—with the speed and finality of its demise. "We miss you, USAID," Sullivan says at the close of her eulogy., and thanks to this episode (and Nicholas Enrich's), those who were a year ago unaware of all USAID was doing will miss it too.

I already knew that the dismantling of USAID had caused immense suffering around the world, but hearing Nicholas Enrich describe it from the inside made the story even more disturbing. As the official placed in charge of implementing many of the changes, he witnessed firsthand the incompetence, indifference, and needless cruelty that accompanied the cuts. One detail especially stunned me. Elon Musk boasted on X, "We spent the weekend feeding USAID into the wood chipper. Could gone to some great parties. Did that instead." Enrich's new book, "Into the Wood Chipper: A Whistleblower's Account of How the Trump Administration Shredded USAID," takes that callous metaphor and shows what it meant in human terms. Programs that had saved lives were abruptly halted, experienced public servants were discarded, and vulnerable people around the world paid the price. Chris Wurst conducts another thoughtful interview, allowing Enrich to explain not only what happened but why it mattered. Whether or not you followed the controversy as it unfolded, this episode offers a sobering reminder that behind budget cuts and bureaucratic decisions are real human beings whose lives depend on competent and compassionate government. It is difficult to listen to, but well worth hearing.

I wish I knew about This podcast earlier

I was impressed by how well Laura Migliorino expressed her ideals on the podcast and in her art work. Living up to her belief that "Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable," she created a project placing 100 pairs of white shoes throughout the state of Minnesota, marking the locations where ICE murdered, abducted, or traumatized Minnesotans. I'll be listening a second time and recommending this to others!

Limbert was one of the American diplomats taken hostage in Tehran in 1979, a crisis that exposed how badly U.S. diplomacy had failed. Listening to him today, it’s striking — and troubling — how many of those lessons remain unlearned. Limbert’s voice matters because he’s lived the consequences. His critique isn’t partisan; it’s a warning from someone who has seen what happens when diplomacy is treated as an afterthought. If you care about how the U.S. shows up in the world — and what happens when it doesn’t — this interview is worth your time.

John Limbert's remarkable journey—from Peace Corps Volunteer to diplomat to hostage—illustrates exactly why SoftPower/FulStories matters. Political crises dominate headlines, but understanding comes from hearing the stories of people who lived through them. Nearly fifty years after the Iran hostage crisis, Limbert still speaks not with bitterness but with curiosity, empathy, humor, and a diplomat's belief that understanding another culture is not a luxury. It is a necessity. I'll also remember this podcast because of John Limbert's description of the books the hostages got--MIDDLEMARCH, WAR AND PEACE--indicating that they weren't expected to be released anytime soon. Another fascinating detail is his cultural exchange with Ali Khamenei, now Iran's Supreme Leader. The episode underscores a theme running throughout the interview: political conflict and human interaction are not the same thing. Even in captivity, cultural expectations, curiosity, and conversation persisted.

While headlines push fear and talk of targets, Limbert brings what’s missing: a human, insider’s view of Iran shaped by decades of personal connection, language, and lived experience. As a former hostage and later a senior U.S. diplomat, he explains the overthrow of the Shah and the rise of clerical rule with clarity you won’t find in the usual soundbites. His message is simple but urgent: understanding Iran’s people and history matters far more than imagining where we can bomb. I can't wait for Part II!

While headlines push fear and talk of targets, Limbert brings what’s missing: a human, insider’s view of Iran shaped by decades of personal connection, language, and lived experience. As a former hostage and later a senior U.S. diplomat, he explains the overthrow of the Shah and the rise of clerical rule with clarity you won’t find in the usual soundbites. His message is simple but urgent: understanding Iran’s people and history matters far more than imagining where we can bomb. I can't wait for Part II!

John Limbert's Part 1 interview is both entertaining and enlightening. A Peace Corps Volunteer in Iran before the 1979 Revolution, Limbert combines humor, humility, and historical insight as he recalls a country where resentment of the Shah was already widespread. He tells amusing stories about cultural misunderstandings and admits that he sometimes felt he was in Iran mainly "to provide amusement for our host country." Among the more startling revelations is that some Iranians suggested that if he ever gained access to the Shah, he should assassinate him—a measure of the anger many felt toward the regime. Limbert also recalls meeting the Iranian woman he would later marry (apparently after losing a ping-pong game to her), adding a personal dimension to his account of life in Iran. The episode ends just as the hostage crisis begins to enter the story. Since Limbert would spend 444 days as one of the American hostages, Part 2 promises to be fascinating. In the meantime, Part 1 offers an engaging and nuanced glimpse of Iran before the storm broke.

Andrea Cristancho's story shows the power of soft power. Her engagement through programs like the Peace Corps in Romania illustrates how ordinary people can influence one another across borders and, ultimately, improve institutions from within. This episode also introduced me to the William R. Rivkin Award for Constructive Dissent from the American Foreign Service Association (AFSA)—an award worth looking up in an era when constructive dissent is badly needed. I was sorry to learn that Andrea's work with USAID came to an end when that agency was dismantled, and her story left me feeling an urge to send a constructive dissent message myself. Through both her experiences and her reflections, Andrea Cristancho offers a poignant reminder that listening, learning, and building relationships across cultures can be among the most effective forms of American soft power.

I find most Soft Power Stories engaging and inspiring, but this one made me cry—the first time I have ever cried over a Toshiba typewriter. (When you listen, you'll know what I mean!) Kao Kalia Yang describes her Hmong family in a way that is certain to stir hearts. She also made me appreciate anew why the Peace Corps Legacy Association chose Minnesota as the site of its Peace Plaza. The state has long been associated with a spirit of public service—from Senator Hubert Humphrey's early introduction of a United States domestic version of International Voluntary Services to the remarkable percentage of Peace Corps volunteers who came from the small Minnesota community where the plaza is being built. It is also home to many refugee families who, after being resettled elsewhere, found in Minnesota a second chance to build a life. Yang's story is a moving reminder of what can grow from that second chance—and of why so many people are determined to preserve it for others.

Paul White’s story is worthy of two interviews. Thanks to International Volunteer Services, his life was shaped by crossing borders—racial, cultural, and professional—and the results are inspiring. In Laos, he developed a deep appreciation for the Hmong whose resilience and loyalty were too often overlooked in U.S. policy debates. Those formative years set the tone for a long, principled career with USAID, where he became one of the agency’s most respected field leaders, known for listening first, honoring local knowledge, and insisting that development work be rooted in dignity rather than geopolitics. The two episodes trace a rare arc—one that shows how personal history, cultural humility, and decades of on‑the‑ground experience can shape a public servant who never lost sight of the people behind the policy

I don’t doubt the courage or good intentions of Paul E. White or of the Laotian people whose lives intersected with his. But at times, the podcast sounded less like an exploration of soft power than a retrospective justification for CIA subterfuge during the U.S. war in Laos. Under those circumstances, I can understand why International Voluntary Services eventually withdrew. In fact, I admired Paul White more in the earlier episode when he described building swing sets and teaching Laotians how to make school furniture — work rooted not in covert strategy, but in practical human solidarity. White also spoke movingly about the accomplishments of many Lao and Hmong refugees in the United States who rebuilt their lives after unimaginable upheaval. But those achievements reflect not the righteousness of the war so much as the resilience of people forced to survive its consequences, along with the help of individuals like Paul White who genuinely cared about the Laotian people themselves. What also haunted me while listening was the knowledge that the war’s consequences did not end when the Americans left. Laos still bears physical and economic scars from the bombing campaign, with unexploded bombs, land mines, and other hidden explosives continuing to threaten farmers and children decades later. Against that backdrop, stories of courage and friendship become not less meaningful, but more morally complicated.

I don’t doubt the courage or good intentions of Paul E. White or of the Laotian people whose lives intersected with his. But at times, the podcast sounded less like an exploration of soft power than a retrospective justification for CIA subterfuge during the U.S. war in Laos. Under those circumstances, I can understand why International Voluntary Services eventually withdrew. In fact, I admired Paul White more in the earlier episode when he described building swing sets and teaching Laotians how to make school furniture — work rooted not in covert strategy, but in practical human solidarity. White also speaks movingly about the accomplishments of many Lao and Hmong refugees in the United States who rebuilt their lives after unimaginable upheaval. But those achievements reflect not the righteousness of the war so much as the resilience of people forced to survive its consequences, along with the help of individuals like Paul White who genuinely cared about the Laotian people themselves. What also haunted me while listening was the knowledge that the war’s consequences did not end when the Americans left. Laos still bears physical and economic scars from the bombing campaign, with unexploded bombs, land mines, and other hidden explosives continuing to threaten farmers and children decades later. Against that backdrop, stories of courage and friendship become not less meaningful, but more morally complicated.

I was filled with both wonder and admiration for Paul E. White as I listened to his stories, but I was aghast by the "welcome" he did not get when he arrived in a deserted spot in Laos, later waking up to what made him (and me) think of the Ku Klux Klan. I can see what his story requires more than one episode. I'm looking forward to the second part!

"What's the Peace Corps" and "What's a social worker?" were two questions Diane Raleigh found satisfying answers to after leaving her New Jersey neighborhood most notable for its cabbage patches, and it was no Cabbage Patch Doll that she informally "adopted" for a year. I enjoyed hearing how her experience in International Living in Italy led to her living in Somalia and Nigeria, where being entrusted with a baby whose mother had died led her to help found a home for motherless babies--just one of her accomplishments. But maybe her greatest accomplishment was an enthusiasm and appreciation for the people with whom she always felt a commonality.

Because I'm horrified by the ongoing war-mongering and the $1.5 trillion proposed U.S. military budget for fiscal year 2027--especially when peace-keeping organizations are being diminished or abolished-- I cringed at the thought that Keith Mines' talents, curiosity, and empathy would be wasted in such actions as "Liberating Grenada." Of course, he had a lot of other overseas experiences--as a missionary in Colombia and in peace-focused organizations--and his empathy made him effective in working with people in Iraq. He clearly has his heart in the right place--with people and peace. It's good to learn that Keith Mines closed his career with peace-making. I'm sorry that this institute was abolished by DOGE. But listen to the end for all he's done.

Glenn Ivers exudes enthusiasm, smashes negative stereotypes, and fuels hope as he speaks with host and producer Chris Wurst about his experience living in Liberia and traveling in other parts of Africa. I’m making this review short so I can look up his documentaries “Soul of a Refuge,” “Literacy Saves Lives,” “Hope Is a Literate Woman,” and “The Angels of Bastogne."

Ashley Fairbanks relates what it's like to grow up with the pressure and privilege of a special identity and great expectations and to be now and forever a proud Minnesotan. At a time when this state is getting our attention as it defends against the weirding of America, I learned more about Minnesota as well as what it takes to be an organizer with a huge impact.

Mike Tidwell didn't grow up in privilege, but he certainly made the most of volunteer opportunities that made him "rich" ($70 a month, more than anyone else around him got) and "famous" as a Peace Corps Volunteer and educated people, sometimes running up against the village ethos that meant sharing rather than building on capital. He has also educated readers on climate change, starting with the trees on his own block, inspiring others in our "global community."

I so admire the Peace Corps volunteers who served in African countries. Mike Tidwell’s work in introducing fisheries projects in Zaire, and his environmental work since is truly inspirational. Another well-produced and educational episode! Thanks Chris.