Bright Spots
Bright Spots December 1, 2025 As we move deeper into the holiday season, there’s a moment on the calendar that invites us to pause and turn our attention toward generosity: Giving Tuesday. Tomorrow is a day when communities shift from celebration to service, choosing to give back through donations, volunteering, and simple acts of kindness. It’s a welcome counterbalance to the swirl of consumerism, and it’s become one of the most powerful reminders that people genuinely want to care for one another. This year, we are marking the day by making a toast to you and to everyone who fuels the work of the Wassmuth Center through the many gifts you share all year long. Here’s to the people who inspire us. To the volunteers who show up early, stay late, and serve as amazing champions for human rights. To the program participants who stretch, question, and engage with courage. To the donors who turn possibility into reality through generosity. Every act of connection, curiosity, and commitment strengthens our mission to advance human rights and build a more just and joyful world. So this Giving Tuesday, our message is simple and heartfelt: thank you for making this work possible. This spirit of appreciation is at the heart of the Wassmuth Powerful Practice Notice and Name Bright Spots. When we intentionally seek out the moments – big and small – when care, courage, and creativity shine, we bring this practice to life. Noticing and naming bright spots means paying attention to what’s working, where growth is happening, and how people are showing up for one another. When we name these bright spots, we affirm what matters, strengthen what’s possible, and create momentum for meaningful change. Recognizing bright spots also affirms human dignity, reminding people that their efforts are seen, valued, and impactful. It sparks motivation by highlighting what is already moving us forward. And this practice builds a powerful feedback loop for learning, helping us understand not just where we’ve stumbled, but where we are succeeding and why. Idaho’s human rights landscape is full of bright spots – moments and people who illuminate what’s possible. Bill Wassmuth transformed personal threat into courageous leadership, standing up to extremism and helping build a community infrastructure rooted in justice. Marilyn Shuler devoted her life to advancing civil rights, shaping policy, expanding access, and ensuring that dignity and fairness remained at the center of Idaho’s public life. Their legacies endure because they consistently chose compassion, courage, and conviction, especially when the path was difficult. This fall, the Wassmuth Youth Leaders carried that legacy forward in powerful ways – from facilitating a story exchange with community members experiencing homelessness, to connecting classmates with mental health resources, to creating art that amplifies lesser-known human rights issues. These young people are emerging human rights leaders and huge bright spots in our community. Progress grows this way: through the steady presence of people who choose kindness, justice, and human dignity day after day. Each time we notice and name one of these bright spots, we strengthen the light for everyone. This week, we invite you to join us on our social media channels as we shine a warm spotlight on the people who make our mission possible, working hard to create a more just and joyful world for all. Join the celebration by tagging someone you’re grateful for, sharing a story of connection, or simply taking a moment to thank someone who shows up for others on our upcoming posts. As the season fills with gatherings, let’s send a ripple of gratitude across our corners of the world. Here’s to giving, generosity, and the people who make this work and this world shine. Thank you!
Gratitude in a Difficult Year
Gratitude in a Difficult Year November 24, 2025 As we enter a season that often moves at a relentless pace, it can be tempting to rush from one obligation to the next. Yet there is real power in slowing down and giving gratitude its moment. Even in a year marked by breathtaking chaos and unprecedented challenges to democracy, affordability, and basic decency, we have witnessed countless moments when people chose creativity, compassion, and community. Amid the dark, there have been brilliant points of light reminding us of our shared humanity and our capacity to care for one another. One enduring image that captures this spirit is of a protester extending a flower in peace while standing face-to-face with heavily armed officers. That simple act of courage and calm reminds us that we can choose to respond with care and joy. Over the past year, Americans found so many ways to extend that metaphorical flower: singing at marches, wearing humorous inflatable costumes at peaceful rallies, and building community through art, podcasts, music, and storytelling. Historians are documenting each day, connecting present events to our broader history and preserving these stories for future generations. These creative acts are resistance rooted in humanity, and we are grateful for each one. When neighbors felt unsafe because of their immigration status, people across the country stepped up—strengthening networks, sharing “know your rights” resources, and supporting neighborhood businesses. When government entities tried to erase the stories and contributions of Black, Indigenous, female, LGBTQIA+, and other historically excluded communities, people responded with book clubs, film series, and new platforms to keep those histories alive. And when our basic democratic functions were at risk, people came together to learn, take action, and remind one another of their collective power. Each of these responses reflects a deep appreciation for identity, truth, and democracy. As rising prices and a prolonged government shutdown put essential needs out of reach for many, people organized food drives, expanded mutual aid networks, and offered support without hesitation. We saw similar acts of generosity in the wake of floods, fires and other natural disasters. Neighbors helped neighbors because suffering is a human experience, not a partisan one. These acts of care remind us of the profound decency that emerges in difficult times. At the Wassmuth Center, we have seen individuals of all ages stretch themselves to understand hard histories and engage in difficult conversations. Young children, wise elders, and everyone in between have shown up committed to furthering dignity, building empathy, and collecting joy. For this, we are deeply grateful. These collective actions remind us that we do have agency and that communities rooted in dignity are not only possible but being built every day. The work is not easy, and the suffering many face is real. But together, we are better able to navigate the lows, lift one another up, and savor the moments of joy that sustain us. Thank you for continuing to walk with us, to engage, to imagine, and to help build communities where everyone can belong and thrive. We are grateful to do this work alongside you.
Imagining a Future Where Everyone Has What They Need
Imaging a Future Where Everyone Has What They Need November 17, 2025 Efforts to advance human rights often focus on laws, court decisions, and political battles. Yet beneath these visible structures are the everyday realities that determine whether people can truly live with dignity. When basic needs go unmet, fear spreads, divisions deepen, and the conditions for othering take root. Human rights can only be realized when people experience well-being in their daily lives. The recent, record-breaking U.S. government shutdown brought this truth into sharp relief. Beyond exposing political dysfunction, it disrupted programs that millions rely on for basic survival, from nutritional assistance to healthcare support. The shutdown revealed how vulnerable people are when critical systems falter. Today, 1 in 8 Americans is food insecure. In a nation of such immense wealth, how can we accept policies that allow so many to go hungry, especially when government inaction can directly sever access to the resources people need to survive? Debates about whether government or private charities should provide food assistance often miss the larger context: widening economic inequality, wages that fall far short of living costs, and communities where affordable, healthy food is simply inaccessible. These forces overlap and compound, creating conditions in which not all people can enjoy the fullness of a healthy life. Healthcare reveals similarly deep fault lines. As subsidies expire and costs rise, millions face the very real possibility of losing their health insurance. The urgent question is not who should pay, but why so many Americans must choose between medications or groceries. When people are forced to sacrifice one basic need for another, it indicates profound structural failure. All of this points to a deeper tension: do we understand poverty as an individual failing, or as the result of historical forces, policies, and inequities that shape opportunity? The answer matters. The explanations we embrace determine the solutions we pursue — and whether those solutions reinforce stigma or uphold dignity. This is precisely where human rights come into focus. When people cannot secure essential needs like food or healthcare, they are often cast as responsible for their own hardship, and narratives that blame, divide, and oversimplify take hold. These stories create a harmful loop: stigmatized individuals are pushed further to the margins, economic and social inequalities widen, and communities grow more fragmented. Blame may be politically convenient, but it does nothing to improve people’s lives. After the devastation of World War II, the authors of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights understood this clearly. They had just witnessed how economic insecurity, social fragmentation, and widespread deprivation created fertile ground for fear, resentment, and authoritarianism. Article 25 affirms that everyone has the right to an adequate standard of living, including food and medical care, because the drafters had learned that societies cannot be stable or just when people are left to struggle for their most basic needs. Lasting peace, they understood, depends not only on legal protections and political agreements, but on the everyday conditions that allow people to live with dignity. The challenges we face today echo the very dynamics they sought to prevent. Even amid these challenges, communities across the country are demonstrating what becomes possible when dignity guides policy and practice. Local food networks that shorten supply chains, community health centers that integrate medical and social services, and neighborhood partnerships expanding access to healthy food and preventive care all show how effective solutions emerge when people’s well-being is the starting point. These efforts are not abstract ideals. They are practical, replicable models of what it looks like when systems prioritize people over partisan blame. Our responsibility now is to learn from these successes and incorporate the lessons into our communities. This work must begin with a simple but transformative principle: dignity is not conditional but universal. When we ground our efforts in the truth that every person deserves access to food, healthcare, and the basic means to live well, we can design a society where everyone can thrive. This essential human rights work begins close to home, and each of us has a role in carrying it forward. Together, we can create communities where dignity is honored every day.
Stay Curious
Stay Curious November 10, 2025 In times of division, curiosity can seem like a small act. Yet it’s a practice that reshapes how we see the world. When fear and certainty creep in, curiosity is often the first casualty. We stop asking questions, lose sight of nuance, and begin to see people not as complex human beings but as others.. The slide from curiosity to othering is subtle but dangerous. When we stop wondering about someone’s story, it becomes easier to stereotype, exclude, or dehumanize them. Staying Curious, one of the six Wassmuth Powerful Practices, reminds us that human rights begin not with laws, but with the conviction that every person is worth trying to understand. To stay curious is to lean toward difference rather than away from it. It asks us to listen before labeling and to ask why instead of who’s right. Curiosity interrupts the Spiral of Injustice by replacing assumption with inquiry and indifference with attention. History confirms that the practice of curiosity has the power to disrupt injustice. In 1943, when Nazi orders demanded the deportation of Danish Jews, ordinary citizens asked questions instead of obeying blindly: What is happening? What can we do? Their refusal to stop looking for answers led to a nationwide effort that saved nearly all of Denmark’s Jewish population. Decades later, South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission modeled curiosity on a national scale. Structured listening sessions invited survivors and perpetrators to speak, ask, and be asked. The process was imperfect, but it showed that justice requires both judgement and understanding. South Africa’s willingness to face hard truths and learn from them fostered the emergence of a nation striving to heal divisions and build community. In the early disability rights movement in America, leaders like Judy Heumann challenged institutions not just to comply with laws, but to get curious about how environments exclude. That shift from viewing disability as a problem to seeing accessibility as a shared responsibility transformed policy and culture alike. These examples remind us that curiosity, while powerful, also requires discernment. It is not naive or limitless. Some people act in bad faith, spreading falsehoods, exploiting divisions, or refusing dialogue. Staying curious does not mean tolerating harm or engaging with those who deny others’ humanity. It means seeking to understand the conditions that allow harmful ideas to take root and using that knowledge to dismantle them. In this sense, curiosity is both compassionate and strategic. That balance – open yet grounded – is especially vital today. In a world where social media amplifies outrage and algorithms reinforce what we already believe, curiosity becomes a quiet form of resistance. It slows us down long enough to wonder: What might I be missing? Who isn’t being heard? How might this look through someone else’s eyes? In that space of honest questioning, empathy grows – and with it, the capacity for justice. At the Wassmuth Center, we see staying curious as essential to building a culture of human rights. Curiosity breaks down bias by revealing nuance. It opens the door to creativity and problem solving. Most importantly, it creates the conditions where dignity can thrive because to be curious about another’s experience is to acknowledge that their story matters. Before injustice takes hold, there is always a moment when someone stops asking questions. To stay curious is to refuse that silence. It is to keep listening, keep learning, and keep seeing one another as fully human. In this time of division, curiosity reconnects us to what unites us: our shared capacity to learn, to change, and to imagine a more just world together.
Vote for the Community You Want to Create
Vote for the Community You Want to Create November 3, 2025 Tomorrow, Americans head to the polls. On the ballot in the Treasure Valley: school board seats, city council races, and a levy that will help determine how we protect the open spaces that define Idaho. It’s easy to underestimate these elections. They don’t dominate the news or fill our mailboxes with glossy ads. But they do shape the communities we live in every day. The decisions made by local leaders influence what our children learn, how our neighborhoods grow, and whether we continue to have access to the public places that make this place home. At the Wassmuth Center we often talk about how human rights begin close to home. They take root in our daily choices – how we educate our children, the ways we share public spaces, and whether we ensure every voice is heard in civic life. Voting is one of the most direct ways we protect these rights. It’s one way we turn our values into action. Local elections rarely draw headlines, but their impact touches every classroom, every neighborhood, and every trail winding through our foothills. When we vote, we do more than select leaders or approve funding. We affirm dignity itself: the right of each person to learn, to belong, and to live in a healthy, thriving community. Before you cast your ballot, take time to learn about the candidates and issues shaping our shared future. Visit your local elections website for polling information and sample ballots, and explore nonpartisan resources to learn about candidates and issues. Every vote carries quiet power. These local choices are often decided by just a handful of ballots. Yet, their ripple effects can last for generations. Tomorrow is our chance to speak for the community we want to create.
Caring for All Children
Caring for All Children October 27, 2025 A community’s first responsibility is to keep its children safe. Every young person deserves the chance to learn, to play, and to trust that the adults around them are looking out for their wellbeing. When that promise is broken, the consequences echo far beyond childhood. Trauma caused by abuse, instability, and violence can alter a young person’s development and health for decades to come. And yet, time and again, children are put in harm’s way by the very people and systems that are supposed to protect them. These consequences aren’t hypothetical. Last week in the small farming town of Wilder, a government raid showed a shocking disregard for the safety of everyone present, especially the children. Witnesses report agents zip-tied young people and adults. Children watched their parents taken away without explanation. Families were separated in a matter of minutes. What should have been an ordinary afternoon is now a traumatic memory many will carry for the rest of their lives. Despite only a handful of arrests, more than 100 people were swept into detention centers across the region. Behind each number is a family left wondering when — or if — they will be reunited. Will they ever feel safe in their own community again? We are also left with important and urgent questions: Who counts as part of our community? Which families deserve safety? How wide is our circle of care? Our leaders often speak about “family values” as core to who we are as Idahoans. But values mean little if they only apply to some families. When we say we care for children, that cannot depend on what they look like, which languages they speak, or where they were born. True family values require caring for each other without conditions. Thankfully, many Idahoans are living those values. Neighbors, educators, and faith communities are stepping in to support the children who have been affected. Their care shows the kind of community most Idahoans want: one grounded in dignity, not fear. The harm in Wilder was avoidable. There are better, more humane ways to enforce the law. Agencies can use strategies that respect due process, community safety, and the wellbeing of young people. When enforcement relies on militarized tactics instead of measured communication and coordination, trust erodes in the very institutions meant to protect us. Children end up paying the highest cost for decisions they had no part in. We can turn away, insisting this is not our issue, not our family, not our children. Or we can widen the circle of who we care for and show up for one another. We have a choice. The kind of Idaho we build will be defined by how we respond now. Will we let fear decide for us, or will we lead with dignity, courage, and care for every person who calls this place home?
Where Courage Lives
Where Courage Lives October 20, 2025 Earlier this month, more than 350 of us gathered for the Wassmuth Center’s annual Change Your World Gala, united around the theme A Call for Courage. The energy in the room was unmistakable, a shared recognition that we are living through a time when fear and division often drown out empathy and reason. The very foundations of dignity and democracy feel strained. We don’t need to list all of the ways our shared values are being tested. The headlines do that every morning. What we do need to name, and claim, is courage. But what is courage? For many, this word conjures images of battlefield heroics or acts of defiance under the glare of history. However, its root—from the Latin cor, meaning heart—points to something quieter, more intimate. Courage is not the absence of fear but the resolve to act in spite of it. It’s not reserved for the extraordinary few. It’s a daily practice, a habit of the heart that is strengthened one decision, one conversation, one act of integrity at a time. At the Wassmuth Center, building this collective courage muscle is at the core of our mission. Through education, we help people of all ages learn to recognize injustice and take courageous action to interrupt it. At the Gala, we celebrated two educators who embody this kind of everyday courage. Shayna Lopez, a social studies teacher at Gem Prep Meridian South, helps her students see history not as a static record but as a living call to action. In her classroom, empathy is practiced as intentionally as multiplication, and human rights are explored through the choices people make every day. Shayna shows her students that courage begins with listening, questioning, and choosing kindness even when it’s not easy. We also honored Sarah Inama, World Studies teacher at East Junior High, whose conviction was tested last year when she was asked to remove a sign in her classroom that read “Everyone is Welcome Here.” Sarah said no and ultimately decided to take a job in a different district at the end of the school year. For her, creating a classroom where every student feels seen and valued isn’t up for debate. Her quiet resolve rippled far beyond her classroom, reminding us that inclusion often begins with one person willing to courageously stand firm in love. Our keynote speaker, Reverend Nancy Taylor, deepened this call for courage. Decades ago, when many hesitated to confront bigotry in Idaho, Nancy stepped forward with other community leaders, believing that a public space devoted to human rights could help bend hearts toward understanding. Her vision helped shape the Idaho Anne Frank Human Rights Memorial. Nancy recounted this journey, illustrating that courage doesn’t always arrive with a roar. Sometimes it builds—stone by stone, word by word—until compassion has a solid place to stand. While groups who work to restrict rights come and go, the Memorial, its words and the courage it inspires, endures. These are stories of heart. They remind us that courage lives in classrooms and neighborhoods. It lives wherever people choose curiosity over certainty, connection over fear, and dignity over indifference. Shayna, Sarah, and Nancy teach us that courage begins when we choose to live our values. The call for courage is not a one-time event. Heeding the call is a daily practice, a way of living that keeps our shared humanity alive. To everyone who joined us at the Change Your World Gala and financially supports our work as well as to all who connect, learn, and create with us throughout the year: thank you. Your presence, participation, and belief in this work embody the courage our world so deeply needs. As we move forward, let’s carry the spirit of this year’s Gala with us. Let’s keep answering the call for courage, and together we will create a more just and joyful world.
From the First Stewards to Our Shared Future
From the First Stewards to Our Shared Future October 12, 2025 On Indigenous Peoples’ Day, we honor the original stewards of this land: the many Indigenous nations whose deep relationship with the earth has sustained life here for thousands of years. We acknowledge that we live on lands long cared for, named, and nourished by them—lands whose stories continue to shape us today. Despite immense loss and displacement through colonization, Indigenous peoples continue to protect the land, preserve their cultures, and advocate for justice and sovereignty. Their histories are not separate from the American story. They are its beginning, its grounding, and its foundation. To consider what it means to be an American is to confront the complexity of this shared story. For generations, a single, simplified version dominated. This telling of history celebrated pilgrims “discovering” a new continent, subduing the land and its inhabitants, and building a democracy promising liberty and justice for all. But history told only through triumph leaves out truth. And without truth, the promise of freedom cannot stand. Over time, voices once silenced have broadened and deepened the American story—Indigenous peoples and enslaved Africans, immigrants and refugees, women and laborers, LGBTQ+ individuals and people with disabilities, and everyone else who expanded the definition of freedom through struggle and persistence. Their stories challenge us to understand that being an American is not about sameness or supremacy. Being an American is about our shared capacity to confront injustice, repair harm, and imagine something better together. When we listen to these stories, we also learn that being American is not a static identity. It is continuously shaped by the narratives that surround us. We learn from Indigenous practices that heal forests and rivers, from immigrants whose creativity fuels innovation, and from neighbors who show up for one another in times of crisis. The soul of this country lives not only in its founding documents, but in the moments of joy, creativity, and care that bind us to one another. So what does it mean to be an American? It means refusing to settle for a story that excludes. It means expanding our understanding of who “we, the people” truly are. And it means gathering the fragments of our past, proud and painful alike, to weave a living tapestry that holds every story, every struggle, and every triumph in its threads. Only then can we move forward, together, toward the America we have yet to become. Imagine an America brave enough to face its full story, humble enough to learn from it, and courageous enough to include every voice in crafting the next chapter. In this tapestry, each of us is both thread and weaver, bound together by the stories we honor, the justice we pursue, and the hope we carry for generations to come.
The Courage to Listen
The Courage to Listen October 6, 2025 In the work of human rights, it is easy to picture progress as the product of sweeping gestures – marches that fill the streets, speeches that stir nations, laws that enshrine justice. Yet history teaches us that the most powerful change often begins not with speaking, but with listening. This is why Listen Deeply stands as one of the six Wassmuth Powerful Practices. Lasting change does not only emerge from the words we proclaim but from the courage to hear and honor the truths of others. To listen deeply is to offer your full presence to another person. Not simply to hear their words but to seek to understand their feelings, perspectives, and needs. It is listening without interrupting, judging, or rushing to fix. At its heart, it is an act of honoring the dignity of another person. History shows us again and again that listening is transformative. During the Civil Rights Movement, long before Dr. King’s words rang out at the Lincoln Memorial, countless living rooms, church basements, and community halls were filled with stories. Black citizens who had endured exclusion, discrimination, and violence shared their lived realities. White allies who would go on to volunteer and organize were shaped by listening, truly listening, to those truths. The courage to act began in the willingness to hear. The women’s suffrage movement offers another lesson. Before the 19th Amendment, advocates crisscrossed the country collecting testimonies from women whose voices had been shut out of public life. Their stories of working, raising families, and contributing to their communities without representation shifted hearts and minds. Lawmakers were not persuaded by arguments alone; they were moved by the lived experiences of women who shared their stories. Listening made space for a new vision of democracy. The farmworker movement of the 1960s tells a similar story. Cesar Chavez and Dolores Huerta did not start with speeches or legislation. They began by sitting with farmworkers in the fields and kitchens of California’s Central Valley. They listened to stories of long hours, low pay, and unsafe conditions. From that deep listening grew a movement that redefined labor rights in the United States. Their leadership was rooted not in speaking first, but in honoring the voices of those most impacted. These moments remind us that deep listening is revolutionary. It affirms humanity, builds trust, and uncovers truths that might otherwise remain hidden. In a world that rushes past pain, listening slows us down. It changes how we relate to others and to ourselves, opening the door to a more expansive way of being. The practice itself is simple, though not easy. It asks us to be fully present, to set aside distractions so that the person before us knows they matter. Deep listening invites silence rather than rushing to fill it, reflection rather than assumption, curiosity rather than judgement. It asks us to listen not only for words but for the emotions beneath them and to ask questions that make space for someone else’s truth to unfold. At the Wassmuth Center, we know that advancing human rights requires us to hold this space. Laws may establish rights, but cultures of dignity are sustained by the ways we engage with each other. Listening deeply is a radical way of insisting that every voice matters. It is how we uncover stories of exclusion, recognize harms that may never make headlines, and cultivate the empathy needed for communities where belonging is possible for all. Think of the last time you felt truly heard. Someone gave you the gift of holding space for your truth. How did it shape your trust in them? Your own courage to speak? Now imagine multiplying that experience across classrooms, congregations, workplaces, neighborhoods, and nations. What might shift if our starting point was not persuasion but presence? What if our first move was not to argue but to listen? Might we see each other as fellow humans rather than opponents or enemies? Listening deeply is not simply a skill. It is a moral stance. It is how we create belonging, advance justice, and honor the dignity of every person we meet. Alongside the other five Wassmuth Powerful Practices, it reminds us that building a culture of human rights is not only about what we achieve in the Statehouse, but also about how we choose to show up for one another every day.
The Purpose of Education
The Purpose of Education September 29, 2025 Across our country, classrooms have become battlegrounds. Books about slavery, civil rights, and LGBTQ+ experiences are removed from shelves in some districts. State legislatures debate which histories can be taught and which are excluded. These disputes raise a fundamental question: what is the purpose of education? Long before today’s controversies, Aristotle offered a guiding insight: “Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all.” At the Idaho Anne Frank Human Rights Memorial, these words are etched in stone. They remind us that education is not only about knowledge. It is about shaping the kind of people we become. Will we raise a generation equipped only with (some) facts and formulas, or one capable of empathy, imagination, and ethical responsibility? The very roots of the word educate mean both “to nourish” and “to bring forth.” Education should nourish human potential, calling forth curiosity, courage, and the capacity to engage the world with both rigor and compassion. True education creates spaces where questions are welcomed, mistakes are embraced as part of discovery, and dignity is honored. When reduced to indoctrination, education betrays this higher purpose. Doctrines demand conformity; education cultivates inquiry. Indoctrination closes minds; education expands what can be imagined, examined, and understood. This is why recent calls for “patriotic education” are so troubling. While framed as unity-building, these efforts often strip away complexity, presenting one-sided narratives that risk replacing education with indoctrination. The challenges of our time demand citizens who can analyze with rigor, empathize with depth, balance pride with honesty, and hold hope with responsibility. As debates continue over what students can read, explore, and discuss in school, we must hold fast to the true purpose of education: to grow curiosity, compassion, and courage alongside knowledge. If we want a nation built on decency, integrity, and dignity, we must nurture both hearts and minds—supporting learners to care, to question, and to create communities where everyone can thrive.