Author: Leila Leibert

Nearly four years after a peace deal that ended Ethiopia’s last war, no one has answered for its atrocities, and impunity has begun to fuel the next one. 

Every evening, Mekdi Yilma calls her mother, Seble Beyene, in Addis Ababa from her home in Palo Alto, California. Since phone and internet service across Tigray went dark in late September, their calls have kept circling back to the same question. “We were told the peace would bring justice,” Beyene said. “The last time we have seen conflict reach this level, we lost two years of our country to war.”

For many observers, this lack of accountability lies at the heart of why Ethiopia is sliding back into this tumultuous conflict. The 2022 peace deal stopped the fighting, but the justice it promised never followed.

Ethiopia’s federal government fought the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF), the party that governs the northern Tigray region. Federal troops were backed by soldiers from neighboring Eritrea and the Fano, militias from Amhara, the large region bordering Tigray to the south. This conflict ballooned, and by some estimates, up to 600,000 people were killed marking it as one of deadliest wars in the 21st century.

Despite its scale, the war drew only a fraction of the attention given to Syria or Ukraine. “In 2020, when I told coworkers my family was in a war zone, they asked me where Tigray was,” Yilma said. Even the UN Security Council was unable to agree on a statement about Tigray in 2021, after Russia, China and India objected that it was an internal matter.

In November 2022, the both sides signed a peace agreement in Pretoria, South Africa, which committed Ethiopia to investigate abuses and hold those responsible to account. Yet an independent assessment reported by The Reporter Ethiopia this past May found that while the deal ended the fighting, it fell far short on the justice part. The UN Human Rights Council had also warned that credible accountability was crucial for lasting peace, urging Ethiopia to act. When the deal was signed, analysts at the Institute for Security Studies noted that Ethiopia had attempted transitional justice three times in the past five decades.

Amidst this chaos, accountability has also escaped. In 2023, Amnesty International cited that Facebook, Ethiopia’s most popular social media platform, amplified content inciting violence against Tigrayans through algorithms designed to maximize engagement. One of the victims was Meareg Amare, a chemistry professor who was shot dead outside his home by armed men in motor bikes after posts sharing his home address spread across the platform. His son, Abrham Meareg, said he reported the posts, but Meta only responded after his father had been killed. In 2025, Kenya’s High Court allowed a lawsuit brought by Abrham Meareg to move forward, seeking a $2.4 billion fund for victims and changes to Facebook’s algorithm. Meta, which says it has invested in safety and moderation, has contested the case.

For Yilma, a machine learning engineer, this risk feels close to home. “I build recommendation systems for a living. They reward whatever keeps people scrolling. With Tigray cut off, the outside world sees only what the algorithm chooses to show.”

The Pretoria agreement also left the war’s deepest divisions largely unresolved. For instance, Eritrea, whose troops were accused of some of the worst atrocities, was excluded from the deal. Likewise, the status of Western Tigray, land claimed by Tigray and Amhara, was left unsettled. When the federal government moved in 2023 to absorb regional forces, Fano turned against its former ally. Interestingly, the May assessment had warned of exactly this, concluding that without victim-centered accountability and reconciliation, the agreement would remain vulnerable to upturn.

On Sept. 20, seven armed groups, including the TPLF and the Fano militias that once fought against it, formed an alliance to overthrow Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed. The Ethiopian government blamed foreign powers for the escalation. Abiy’s spokesperson, Billene Seyoum, said the alliance had been operating with financial backing from neighboring Eritrea, and the army chief has accused Egypt and Sudan of supporting the rebels. In a Sept. 24 letter, the group Justice for Tigray insisted that “accountability must apply equally to everyone.”

Fighting has since spread into Amhara and Afar. Tigrayan forces seized three regional airports and Ethiopian Airlines suspended flights. The UN Human Rights Office reported that federal airstrikes, some reportedly carried out by drones, hit five schools in Tigray on Sept. 22. It has also documented allegations that the TPLF is forcibly recruiting civilians, including children. In Afar alone, a humanitarian source estimated that at least 150,000 people have been displaced.

In 2025, the International Organization for Migration recorded 922 deaths and disappearances along the “Eastern Route” from the Horn of Africa through Djibouti and Yemen toward Saudi Arabia, nearly double the year before and the deadliest year since monitoring began in 2014. Ethiopians made up 97% of migrants tracked on the route. In 2023, Human Rights Watch accused Saudi border guards of killing hundreds of Ethiopian migrants attempting to cross from Yemen, a charge the Saudi government has denied.

Beyene has chosen to stay. “I do not need anyone to tell me who is to blame,” she said. “I need someone to write down what is happening now, so history cannot repeat a third time.”

Sources:

“As Fighting Intensifies, Humanitarian Source Estimates at Least 150,000 Displaced in Afar, Tigray TV Hit by Drone.” Addis Standard, 28 September 2026. Addis Standard article

Council on Foreign Relations. “Conflict in Ethiopia.” Global Conflict Tracker, updated 25 September 2026. CFR Global Conflict Tracker

“Former Enemies Form Alliance to Overthrow Ethiopia’s Abiy Ahmed.” Agence France-Presse, via inkl, 21 September 2026. Inkl Article

International Crisis Group. “Arresting the Dangerous Descent Back into War in Northern Ethiopia.” International Crisis Group, September 2026. Crisis Group statement

“Seven Ethiopian Armed Groups Announce Anti-Government Alliance.” Reuters, via U.S. News & World Report, 21 September 2026. U.S. News article

“‘Negative Peace’ Sole Outcome of Flawed Pretoria Agreement Implementation: Report.” The Reporter Ethiopia, 22 May 2026. Reporter article

Amnesty International. “‘A Death Sentence for My Father’: Meta’s Contribution to Human Rights Abuses in Northern Ethiopia.” Amnesty International, 31 October 2023. Amnesty report

“Meta Can Be Sued in Kenya over Posts Related to Ethiopia Violence, Court Rules.” Reuters, via Yahoo News, April 2025. Reuters article

“Amnesty Welcomes Kenya Court Ruling Allowing $2.4b Lawsuit Against Meta for Fueling Violence, Killings Amid War in Tigray.” AllAfrica, 4 April 2025. AllAfrica article

“Diplomats: UN Fails to Approve Call to End Tigray Violence.” Associated Press, via CFJC Today, 2021. AP article

Justice for Tigray. “Urgent Concern Regarding Ambassador Massinga’s Statement on Renewed Conflict in Tigray.” Change.org, 24 September 2026. Justice for Tigray letter

Africanews. “Facebook’s Algorithms Supercharged Hate Speech in Ethiopia’s Tigray Conflict.” Africanews, 31 October 2023. Africanews article

“Peace Agreement Pledges Transitional Justice for Ethiopia.” Institute for Security Studies, November 2022. ISS article

“HRC61 – Joint Statement on the Human Rights Situation in Ethiopia.” Government of Iceland, Ministry for Foreign Affairs, 2 March 2026. Joint statement

Reading this week’s passages provided a glimpse into a kind of censorship that looks nothing like the redacted and blackout sources I once imagined.

In the opening chapters of The New Censorship, Ayala Panievsky opens with Israeli journalist Ilana Dayan standing outside Netanyahu’s office in 2016, reading his attack on her, on national television where she had to broadcast the accusation that she was a traitor. For Panievsky, this moment previewed a global trend, from Trump’s “enemies of the people” to the AfD’s “lying press,” in which populist leaders attack journalists not by banning stories, but by drowning them out. She describes this new censorship as “authoritarianism masquerading as democracy.”

What struck me most was her argument that we have been defending the wrong side. Debates about the media tend to center on free speech, which protects the speaker, even one spreading lies. Panievsky instead centers the conversation on the public’s right to know the truth: our ability to vote, protest, and make decisions based on reliable, honest information we draw our own conclusions from. She is not dismissive of social media’s power to connect and mobilize, but she argues that no influencer or even chatbot can replace the years of collaborative reporting behind stories like Watergate.

Drawing on Cas Mudde and Jan-Werner Müller, Panievsky defines populism as a ideology that divides society into “the real people” and “the corrupt elites,” leaving no room for legitimate opposition. Under this logic, any criticism of the leader becomes betrayal of the people themselves. I found her example of Nigel Farage turning on the Daily Mail the moment it criticized him reveals how fragile loyalty has become, “In a single headline, the Mail went from being one of Farage’s staunchest allies to, in his view, conspiring with the Kremlin.”

Once journalists are framed as enemies, every critical story appears to confirm the accusation, so even a damning investigation becomes an asset for the populist. Social media rewards divisive content, amplifying a small, vocal minority while most users stay silent, and turns the occasional angry note on a reporter’s windscreen into constant, coordinated harassment. Having just watched the film “The Social Reckoning” this message of how hatred equates to more engagement was a tool platforms such as Meta embraced, meanwhile, the business model for news is collapsing. Lies are cheap and fast to produce, while truth is slow and expensive to verify.

Her own experience made this concrete. As an editor in Tel Aviv, she fought to put Sudanese asylum seekers being deported to third countries on her magazine’s cover, while advertisers pushed back. Given our class’s focus on migration, it struck me how easily refugees disappear from the news, not because anyone censors them, but because their stories do not sell. Panievsky also shows how populists and Silicon Valley tell a similar story about democracy: direct, majoritarian, and free of filters. In this version, journalists are no longer watchdogs but obstacles between leaders and the people, and professional expertise becomes distrust worthy rather than reliable.

These chapters left me wondering whether a public that increasingly avoids the news and has taken to social media to get their information is equipped enough to decipher reality from false agendas.

Memo on potential topics for Berlin Reporting– In Syria, coffee is not just a drink, its a connection to the culture, language, and land. Strong Arabic coffee brewed with cardamom is offered to guests as a sign of welcome, poured at weddings and funerals, and shared over conversations that stretch late into the night. It is a deeply rooted social ritual that is centered on hospitality and conversation. Over the past decade, this culture of Ahweh, traditional brew, has taken root in Berlin. Along Sonnenallee in Neukölln, often called the city’s “Arab Street,” Syrian cafés, bakeries, and sweet shops opened and staffed by refugees have transformed the neighborhood into a lively hub, rich in Middle Eastern identity and Arabic signage. For many Syrians, these cafés serve as living rooms, or third spaces, away from home and work: places to speak Arabic, follow news from Damascus or Aleppo, find work, and feel a sense of belonging.

I want to report on what these cafés mean to the Syrian community now, at a moment of profound uncertainty. When Assad fell in December 2024, Sonnenallee was filled with celebrations, but Germany’s response has made the future far less clear with a rise in anti-migration rhetoric and the AfD has called for Syrians to return home. For café owners who built businesses from nothing, the question of whether to stay, return, or try to live between two countries is no longer hypothetical. With food and drink often being a bridge between identities and diverse communities, I am interested in studying how these cafes have become a third space providing refugees employment and relevant information for support networks in the surrounding area.

I would structure my reporting around this particular third space, which has been a defining feature of the Syrian community in Berlin. I hope to conduct my research in a traditional coffee house, where elders gather and where owners may import cardamom and coffee blends that recreate the taste of home. The second is a family-run sweet shop or bakery, where Syrian pastries and coffee have become popular with Germans and other Berliners, showing how Syrian culture has become part of the city itself. My guiding questions are: Since Assad’s fall, are café owners and regulars thinking about returning to Syria? How has the political debate in Germany changed the atmosphere in these spaces, or how others see them? And what would Berlin lose if these businesses and the people who run them left?

These cafés also exist in a charged political context. I want to better understand whether Syrian café owners feel welcomed as part of the city or viewed with suspicion, and how that shapes their decisions about the future. Before the trip, I plan to identify cafés along Sonnenallee and in other Berlin neighborhoods with large Syrian communities, and reach out to owners through social media and community organizations. I will also contact Syrian community groups and Arabic-speaking Princeton connections who may have contacts in Berlin to gain translation assistance for my interviews. Since many older owners and regulars may speak primarily Arabic, I will arrange for a translator or bilingual guide where needed. 

The larger story may be about how a community that arrived seeking refuge has made itself part of a city, one cup of coffee at a time, and what happens when the country around it begins to question whether it belongs. Once in Berlin, I will remain open to stronger stories that emerge from conversations on the ground.

Reading this week’s passages provided a glimpse into how a party that has never governed at the national level can still reshape a country’s migration policy. What struck me most was Correctiv’s investigation into the secret meeting outside Potsdam, where Martin Sellner presented a “remigration” plan that targeted not only asylum seekers and foreign residents, but also “non-assimilated” German citizens. The idea that citizenship itself could be conditional, granted to some and withdrawn from others, was the most unsettling part of the story. Although the meeting was to remain secret, copies of letters were leaked revealing how this masterplan was an attack on the German constitution. This article made me question how secure citizenship is when its protections depend on who holds political power, and how democracy can protect itself against these extremes? 

What complicated the story for me was what came after. The Brussels Signal framed a Berlin court ruling as proof the story was “completely fabricated,” yet the dispute centered on specific statements rather than the meeting itself. This connected to last week’s readings on accountability, such as how Azmat Khan’s reporting revealed what military investigations had overlooked, Correctiv exposed what was meant to stay hidden. Both cases show that investigative journalism often becomes the only form of accountability available to expose the underbelly of this political battle.

The Courthouse News Service piece on the Brandmauer, the informal pact for mainstream parties never to govern with the AfD, showed how the firewall can hold formally whilst also eroding in practice. When Friedrich Merz’s CDU passed a migration motion with AfD votes, it demonstrated that the AfD does not need to hold power to set the agenda. Also, the Economist added that the AfD’s support is concentrated in struggling regions like the Ruhr, where economic decline and distrust of established parties have made its message more heard. From these readings, I gathered that the political ground in Germany actively shifting with the AfD strengthening in western Germany and reaching unseen levels of growth in the east.

Perhaps the most revealing pattern was how differently each refugee group has been treated as policy hardened. Ukrainians arriving after April 2025 were moved onto a lower benefit rate, while those who came earlier kept the higher one, creating a two-tier system within the same community. For Syrians, the protection rate collapsed from 44.4% in 2024 to 2.1% in 2025 after Assad’s fall, and family reunification was suspended until 2027. Afghans saw their resettlement program suspended, even though a court ruled that one family’s 2023 commitment was legally binding. The contrast suggests that migration policy in Germany is being shaped not only by numbers, but by which groups are seen as belonging.

I hope to pay closer attention to how these policies are experienced on the ground in Berlin, particularly among groups whose status has shifted the most, like Syrians awaiting family reunification. I have begun to wonder whether the firewall’s greatest weakness is not a formal coalition with the AfD, but the gradual adoption of its ideas by the parties meant to keep it out?

As conflict reignites in northern Ethiopia, questions around accountability ensue across borders.

Every evening after work, Mekdi Yilma calls her mother, Seble Beyene, in Addis Ababa from her home in Palo Alto, California. For the past five years the calls have followed the same pattern: first the news from the north of ongoing conflict between the Amhara and Tigray region, followed by a daily catch up on the lives they lead apart. 

Nearly four years after the Pretoria peace agreement ended the 2020–2022 Tigray war, Ethiopia is sliding back into large-scale conflict. On Sept. 20, seven armed groups, including the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF), the Amhara Fano militias that once fought alongside federal troops against it, and the Oromo Liberation Army, announced the Ethiopian Peoples’ Forces Alliance for Survival, with the stated aim of overthrowing Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed’s government. Four days later, the TPLF declared Tigray to be in a “full blown war” with the federal government.

Beyene has been following the fighting through the evening news via her satellite TV and reports from neighbors since phone and internet service across Tigray went dark last Friday, “The last time we have seen conflict reach this level, we lost two years of our country to war.” This harsh reality has been top of mind for her daughter Yilma who has not last visited Ethiopia since she immigrated to the states 14 years ago to become a machine learning engineer. Despite her distance from the conflict, it has touched every corner of the Ethiopian community back home and those who migrated to the States.  “During the war nobody outside Ethiopia seemed to take notice, the pandemic was taking hold of the media outlets, and I am afraid nobody is watching what is taking place now,” Yilma said.

Fighting has since spread into Amhara and Afar. Tigrayan forces seized three regional airports and Ethiopian Airlines suspended flights. The UN Human Rights Office reported that federal airstrikes, some reportedly carried out by drones, hit five schools in Tigray on September 22. It has also documented allegations that the TPLF is forcibly recruiting civilians, including children. In Afar alone, a humanitarian source estimated that at least 150,000 people have been displaced.

The renewed fighting lands on a population that never recovered from the last war. A two year conflict that killed up to 600,000 people, by some estimates, yet drew a fraction of the global attention given to wars in Syria or Ukraine. For many Ethiopians, the answer to war and economic collapse has been to leave. That has been something Yilma has thought deeply about, “Bringing my mother to the US has been a constant battle, even now that I hold a green card it is difficult for me to reconcile with and convince my mother to abandon the only life she knows.” 

In 2025, the International Organization for Migration recorded nearly 1,000 deaths and disappearances along the “Eastern Route” from the Horn of Africa through Djibouti and Yemen toward Saudi Arabia, double the year before and the deadliest year since monitoring began in 2014 with Ethiopians making up 97% of migrants tracked on the route. In 2023, Human Rights Watch accused Saudi border guards of killing hundreds of Ethiopian migrants attempting to cross from Yemen, a charge the Saudi government has denied.

“I was privileged in the sense that I came with a visa, a plane ticket, and a university to call home to,” Yilma said. Beyene expressed how proud she is of her daughter but worries about abandoning her country. “Mekdi was lucky. She had a way out that was safe, but most young people here are not as fortunate.” 

The Ethiopian government has turned around to blame foreign powers for the escalation. Abiy’s spokesperson, Billene Seyoum, said the alliance had been operating with financial backing from neighboring Eritrea, and the army chief has accused Egypt and Sudan of supporting the rebels.

For Beyene, the question is not who is to blame but whether anyone will be held accountable this time, “After the last war, we were told there would be justice. That was quickly forgotten. Instead, there is another war and the world should not look away again.”

Sources:

“As Fighting Intensifies, Humanitarian Source Estimates at Least 150,000 Displaced in Afar, Tigray TV Hit by Drone.” Addis Standard, 28 September 2026. Addis Standard article

Council on Foreign Relations. “Conflict in Ethiopia.” Global Conflict Tracker, updated 25 September 2026. CFR Global Conflict Tracker

“Former Enemies Form Alliance to Overthrow Ethiopia’s Abiy Ahmed.” Agence France-Presse, via inkl, 21 September 2026. Inkl Article

International Crisis Group. “Arresting the Dangerous Descent Back into War in Northern Ethiopia.” International Crisis Group, September 2026. Crisis Group statement

“Seven Ethiopian Armed Groups Announce Anti-Government Alliance.” Reuters, via U.S. News & World Report, 21 September 2026. U.S. News article

Written by Leila Leibert

Reading this week’s passages provided a glimpse into how institutions determine what is considered a threat as well as how little accountability and questioning follows once those decisions are made. What struck me most was Azmat Khan’s investigation into U.S. airstrikes, built on more than 1,300 of the Pentagon’s confidential civilian casualty assessments and visits to more than 100 casualty sites. Particularly, how the records repeatedly point to a pattern of confirmation bias. The incriminating lens in which seemingly normal activity, such as ordinary family routines, distorted real enemy activity from the innocent daily realities of civilians stood out most. People streaming toward a fresh bombing site were assumed to be ISIS fighters rather than rescuers, and in Ramadi, an “unknown heavy object” dragged into a building was discovered to have been an innocent child. The military’s own investigation estimated 7 to 24 civilian deaths, while Khan’s reporting found that more than 120 villagers were killed. Yet not a single record included a finding of wrongdoing or disciplinary action, and the families left affected were left largely unnoticed. I found his reporting revealed what happens when corrections are never made, the current methodologies of these investigations, and the stakes are human lives. 

The Reuters podcast “Drone Wars” left me wondering how political leaders could hold machines accountable as warfare becomes more autonomous. Khan’s reporting suggests the problem began much earlier, and in many cases, the command that approved a strike was also responsible for examining it. The Times, by contrast, did what military officials admitted they had not done: analyzed the assessments in aggregate to uncover patterns of failure. As we turn toward an AI-driven future, the harder question is how targeting systems built on assessments like these will be diligenced for bias, and whether their errors will ever be corrected or simply just iterated upon. 

This “due diligence” carried into this week’s reporting on Germany. Euronews reported the deportation of 81 Afghan men on a flight coordinated with Qatar, with the Interior Ministry stating that all of them had criminal records and were legally required to leave. Each was given up to €1,000, a legal loophole, since German courts can block removals if returnees face destitution, a detail that says a great deal about the conditions awaiting them. Likewise, Politico described Afghans who had been promised resettlement left in limbo in Pakistan as German migration policy continues to harden. In both cases, decisions about who is safe enough to welcome and who should be removed leave little room for the voices of those affected to be heard.

Across these readings, the Times piece on church asylum offered a different picture providing readers a look into ways communities have fought to protect these groups. As the state moved to deport refugees, communities of faith opened their doors and sheltered them. It left me wondering what happens when the only accountability left comes not from governments, but from journalists like Khan and congregations willing to take people in and provide a voice to their stories.

Written by Leila Leibert

Reading this week’s passages provided a glimpse into the social fabric of the Ukrainian refugee and migrant crisis, which has been experiencing a transformation of its own. From emergence to permanence, the 1.3 million Ukrainians under temporary protection, have become a defining part of Germany’s social fabric. What struck me most was the circular return of many of these migrants, traveling back to Ukraine to care for their loved ones, and returning to Berlin. The Kyiv Independent’s report on the planned “unity hub” in Berlin also reflects this shift as it is intentionally built to help refugees build careers and community in Germany. The war also has shaped literature and the bookshelves reach for. The New York Times piece on Ukrainian children’s books describes titles that help not only children but families grapple with the separation, exile, and death in a language children can understand. Providing children with words to describe the challenges their families have faced as well as to the wider audience of kids who may know someone affected, that be a neighbor, classmate, or friend. 

With much of the vocabulary coming from the battlefield, I could not help but think about how even the war itself has been shaped by mass-produced AI drone technology. Listening to the Reuters podcast “Drone Wars” I began to learn how war is often fought in a way that whoever gains air superiority first holds the ultimate advantage. The podcast largely frames Ukraine as being a testing ground for the next generation of weapons. I also began to wonder as artificial intelligence becomes more and more integrated into military technology, how can political leaders hold these machines accountable especially as the decision making process becomes more autonomous. From a social media perspective, the visibility of these drone attacks has also shaped the content of the war and literature representing it, so representing it in a way that is digestible to the minds of young readers is something I find fascinating. 

Beyond the technological advances, ordinary life in Berlin has been shaped by the active presence of the war in the foreground. Those living in Germany are learning to cope with a war they have escaped whilst also being reminded of the ever presence of it ripping apart the very place they call home. While the emergency may be deemed over, the war is not. This being felt in Berlin which has reported a marked increase in attacks on refugee shelters amidst the far right political movements. Anti-migrant rhetoric coupled with the hardening of German migration policy has made these populations a target and settling into Berlin a challenge in this current political climate. Moving forward, I hope to pay closer attention to how their religion and culture will be shaped by communities in Berlin as their lives become more deeply rooted in Germany. Watching the documentary Faith Under Siege made me also wonder how religious unity and faith is becoming a coping mechanism to the refugees trying to stay connected across borders.

Written by Leila Leibert

Reading this week’s passages provided a glimpse into the lives of the refugees fleeing Syria and internal political conflicts that persisted within the country. What struck me most was the extraordinary sacrifice these refugees took to reach Europe in the first place, oftentimes having to abandon their family, adapt to new languages, and face the stigmas of their migration. This abandonment, not only of citizenship in their home state, but their communities and professional identities adds another layer of their ability to adapt. 

Loubna Mrie’s memoir captured the unavoidable reconciliation with the very structure and government regime that provided her father, an ally of the Assad regime, a life of privilege and corruption. What stood out to me was how her own family, grandmother and her uncles, went silent instead of helping her mother since they were too afraid of what the regime might do. This betrayal made me think of the distance and separation that my own mother endured. More particularly, the sacrifices she made leaving Ethiopia, immigrating to Europe before starting new beginnings and a family in the United States. 

Reading Patrick Kingsley’s book reminded me of my mother’s story too. The years of lost connection she had from her own parents and siblings as they exiled to Germany, and her struggle contorting herself to fit in Western society, teaching herself five languages in an effort to get her point across. It made me question the feasibility of reversing migration once someone has established a new identity elsewhere– a question I find myself asking about my own mother.

A profile on Carina Fucich by Leila Leibert

When you have the opportunity to sit next to Carina Fucich, you can’t help notice her calm and attentive nature. Once you listen to her, you begin to better understand the history of restlessness and recovery that has shaped her.

Shifting her weight, crossing one leg, then uncrossing it the next minute, she maintained full attention throughout our interview. This was despite, her body negotiating a comfortable seating position with the park chair. Post-interview, when the lecture ended and we said our goodbyes, she didn’t linger. She grabbed her bike, secured her helmet, and was gone within seconds, pedaling off smiling and waving a friendly goodbye. 

It was a small moment, but it captured something her friend Rachel had told me. Fucich physically cannot sit still, “Her mental health and wellness fully depends on her ability to do some sort of active sport every single day.”It’s a rule Fucich has lived by for years. One that outlasted the sport that defined her very childhood and adolescence: soccer.

Watching her that afternoon, that claim didn’t feel like an exaggeration. If anything, it felt like a doctor’s diagnosis.

Soccer was less a hobby but more of an organizing principle throughout her childhood. It was something deeply rooted in Fucich, something that she thought about constantly, trained relentlessly for, and built her identity around. Another friend, Kyle, who met her only after she’d arrived at Princeton, remarked how “She would talk about how her practices went and stuff… how she wouldn’t have the chance to become as good as her soccer idols.”

A knee injury ended her dreams of going pro her senior year of high school. For a person who had built her sense of self around motion, the sudden stillness was its own kind of injury she had to battle. Her ambitions of becoming a D1 athlete naturally faded away and her focus became honed in on her immigrant parents objectives of academics over athletics. The daughter of a Maltanese immigrant mother and Croatian father, she described her upbringing was largely shaped by the “American Dream”, where academics were viewed as the surer path forward. 

Even that reinvention came with its own cost. Fucich tried to keep soccer alive in her life at Princeton by joining the club team as a freshman and got injured again. “It would have been easy for her to put soccer and the complexity of her injuries behind her,” her friend Sophia said, “but she put her passion and enthusiasm first.” The second injury arrived at a particularly hard moment being her first time living far from home, facing a recovery process she’d already been through once and had hoped never to repeat. “Not only was she a freshman at Princeton, but she also had to confront a daunting recovery process and the reality that she would lose her sport,” Sophia said. “However, her strength and humility triumphed once more.” This strength to bounce back was something that every friend of hers I interviewed brought to light. What stands out in the accounts of people who know her well is the fact that she still managed to shrink passions to a scale that her knees could tolerate.

What she rebuilt after the injury was the very infrastructure of a life that was never meant to be static or still. Her vision for her life is designed around being organized, deliberate, and constantly, staying in motion.

Whilst soccer gave her the structure to become a stellar athlete. Losing soccer taught her the habit of being dynamic.

Interviewer: Leila Leibert

Interviewee: Carina Fucich

Profile Lead & Outlining

Now a junior in the Civil and Environmental Engineering Department of Princeton University, Carina Fucich, a daughter of a Maltese immigrant mother and Croatian father grew up in a small pocket of Queens, a sharp midfielder with the dream of one day becoming a D1 athlete launching soccer balls into field nets.