At the Parthenon, the ancient Greek marble temple built on the Acropolis in Athens, Greece, between 447 and 432 BCE — the golden age of Athens under the leader Pericles. It is a masterwork of ancient art, math, and political power that still shapes how we build and think today.

It has now been 18 months since I placed my belongings in storage and set out to travel the world full-time on a four-year mission: to explore and better understand the world around me, to identify potential places to live if the United States falls further into fascism, and to finally visit the destinations I have dreamed of seeing for much of my life.

Along the way, I have had the privilege of observing and interacting firsthand with people in countries such as Argentina, where their course is still uncertain as they try to navigate choices with profound implications for their future; in Hungary, where they are dealing with the consequences of a historic shift in their political perspective; and in Greece, where democracy itself was first founded in 507 B.C.

Traveling has given me a perspective on these changes that extends beyond headlines and political commentary. It has allowed me to see how political decisions affect people, communities, and the everyday experience of living in a society undergoing change.

When people ask where I am from, I tell them I am originally from California. Somehow, that feels a little less embarrassing than saying I am from the United States—a country whose government, under Trump, has increasingly undermined international alliances and alienated many of the very countries I am visiting. Watching these developments unfold from abroad has been deeply troubling.

Yet this week, I have returned to the United States to vote in person. I have also returned prepared, if necessary, to use my voice and resources on the ground should illegal actions be taken to undermine free and fair elections or prevent duly elected officials from assuming office. These responsibilities are too important to leave entirely to others or to attempt to fulfill from thousands of miles away. The right to participate in a democracy is a privilege, but preserving that democracy also requires a willingness to act when its institutions are threatened.

A statue of Ronald Reagan, along with a similar statue of George H.W. Bush, stands guard over the last remaining soviet monument in Budapest, Hungary. I often had differences in values and principles with Reagan, but he at least showed respect for the democratic process and was a lifelong adversary against soviet aggression. In stark contrast, the current US President consistently strives to destroy the very foundations of our democratic principles while furthuring soviet objectives in direct betrayal of US allies, and in a manner consistent with his being a compromised soviet asset.

Traveling through countries experiencing political upheaval has reinforced my belief that elections can present voters with painfully limited choices. In many places, particularly in South America, the electoral process leaves voters choosing between a corrupt and deeply flawed candidate on the left and a similarly flawed candidate on the right whose politics may veer into authoritarianism. I use the terms left and right to describe political positioning rather than liberal and conservative because these labels are not interchangeable. In my view, some politicians on the right have abandoned traditional conservative principles while continuing to invoke conservatism as a political identity. The distinction matters: genuine ideological differences are not the same as a willingness to undermine democratic institutions.

When voters face such choices, I believe the long-term consequences of their decisions deserve careful consideration. If one candidate, however flawed, respects the integrity of free and fair elections while another threatens the democratic process itself, preserving the system in which future political choices remain possible should be a priority. This does not make the underlying problems disappear, nor does it guarantee a better future. It simply preserves the possibility of addressing those problems through democratic means. Peru, a beautiful country filled with extraordinary people, seems caught in a deeply troubling cycle of political instability that illustrates how difficult it can be to escape these circumstances.

In the United States, I see a somewhat different political landscape. In many races, I believe voters can choose between erudite candidates on the left who emphasize democratic institutions, scientific evidence, and the importance of truth and ethics, and candidates on the right whose positions or conduct raise serious concerns about democratic accountability, racism, corruption, and the rejection of scientific evidence. Of course, candidates vary, and political labels alone cannot tell us everything we need to know about an individual’s character or record. Nevertheless, I find these broader differences consequential, and remain perplexed that even when the differences between the candidates are so stark and obvious, that the voting populace still seems almost evenly divided between them.

Internet meme, origin unknown, describes the preplexing nature of the mindset of much of the voting populace in the United States. How does one explain it? It seems to require a society filled with people who are either cognitively challenged, profoundly ignorant, fundamentally corrupt or racist, subsumed in cult behavior and/or engaged in extreme hyper-partisanship.

Ultimately, I believe two closely connected struggles lie at the heart of our current political moment: the struggle over power and wealth between the ultra-rich and everyone else, and the struggle over reality between those who seek to establish the truth and those who spread lies and disinformation.

These struggles reinforce each other. Concentrated wealth can be used to shape political agendas and influence public opinion, while disinformation can distract people from the economic forces shaping their lives. The result is a political environment in which fear and division can serve the interests of those who already hold considerable power.

I see the United States, under Trump, increasingly supporting an international order in which powerful leaders disregard democratic accountability in pursuit of their own interests. The relationships among Trump, Putin, and Xi Jinping raise fundamental questions about the future of international cooperation, the sovereignty of nations, the impunity given to the most weathy to act outside the bounds of the law, and the ability of democratic governments to resist authoritarian pressure. Meanwhile, vast resources are being directed toward political messaging that exploits fear, deepens divisions, and makes it harder for people to distinguish reliable information from deliberate manipulation. Those with the fewest resources and the least access to reliable information can be particularly vulnerable to these tactics.

Recent political developments in Hungary, Serbia, and Brazil offer reasons to pay attention to the resilience of democratic movements and the possibility of political change. The next chapters in the United States, Israel, and Western Europe will be equally consequential—not only for the people who live in those places, but also for the broader international order.

The civil unrest and political discontent visible in France and elsewhere in Europe are often framed by right-wing movements primarily as problems of immigration. I believe this framing can obscure deeper economic grievances, including wealth inequality, insecurity, and the perception that political and economic systems serve the interests of a privileged few. Immigration can be a genuine subject of public debate, but it should not become a convenient explanation for every social problem or a distraction from the structural inequalities that also demand attention.

The status quo in many countries clearly needs to change. Economic inequality, declining trust in institutions, and the sense that ordinary people have little influence over political decisions are serious problems that deserve meaningful solutions. But the direction of change matters. Replacing existing institutions with a Russia-aligned far-right government will not necessarily resolve these problems and in fact will likely deepen them by concentrating power even further. The consequences of Brexit and the political upheaval associated with Trumpism offer important reasons to examine the gap between the promises of political movements and the outcomes they deliver. Whether enough voters will draw the lessons I see in these experiences remains an open question.

Brazil’s political trajectory gives me some reason for hope that voters can reconsider their choices and that democratic institutions can endure periods of intense strain. Europe, too, has the opportunity to learn from the experiences of other countries before making decisions that may be difficult to reverse.

Ukraine’s future is especially consequential. If Russia succeeds in subjugating Ukraine, whether through military conquest or by exploiting divisions and political alliances that weaken international support for Ukrainian sovereignty, the consequences could extend far beyond Ukraine’s borders. The combination of military aggression, political influence, and disinformation presents a serious challenge to the security of Europe and to the principle that nations should be able to determine their own futures. A weakened Ukraine could encourage further aggression and make it more difficult for European democracies to resist authoritarian pressure.

Despite all of this, I have not lost hope in the possibility of a democratic United States and a world in which democracies cooperate to protect shared interests and fundamental freedoms. But hope, on its own, is not enough.

After 18 months of traveling, observing, and learning, I am increasingly convinced that the future I want to see will not preserve itself. Democratic institutions require more than admiration from a distance. They require participation, accountability, informed citizens, and the courage to defend the principles that make political freedom possible.

Democracy in the United States has lasted longer than it did in ancient Greece. But there is no guarantee it will continue. If the United States continues to be a country with a voting plurality that glorifies ignorance, cruelty, dishonesty, cowardice and evil, it will not survive as a democratic republic. The 2026 and 2028 federal elections will decide whether or not we can keep our imperfect union or if it falls as it did in ancient Greece.

The way of life I have always known is not guaranteed to endure simply because it has existed throughout my lifetime. Its preservation depends, in part, on whether enough of us are willing to recognize what is at stake and act accordingly. We must remain vigilant, use our voices, exercise our right to vote, and stand up for democratic values even when doing so is uncomfortable, inconvenient, or frightening.

I have spent the past 18 months exploring the world, trying to understand it more deeply, and considering where I might build a future if my home country changes beyond recognition. But I have also been reminded that there is a difference between finding a place where one can live freely and helping preserve a world in which freedom remains possible.

I still believe that world is worth fighting for.