The Peace Corps and American Values: A Legacy Worth Defending

Getting to know our Philippine community (El Nido, Palawan, 2004).

In 1961, when President John F. Kennedy created the Peace Corps, he tapped into a fundamental American ideal: that our nation’s greatness is measured not only by our strength but by our generosity, our curiosity about the world, and our willingness to serve others. 

I could summarize all the ways Peace Corps makes America safer, stronger, and more prosperous—how returned volunteers have shaped U.S. policy (on both sides of the aisle), strengthened national security through cultural intelligence, and driven economic growth by founding billion-dollar companies and life-changing nonprofits.

But that was never the point.

While its impact can be measured in security and economic terms, its true legacy is something less tangible but more enduring: the values it represents.

When We Stop Showing Up, Who Are We?

Baby Ben, Peace Corps Georgia (Tbilisi, 2011).

There’s a saying: You don’t miss the water until the well runs dry.

As America turns ever inward, rapidly retreating from Kennedy’s vision, I find myself thinking more about the Peace Corps, what it stands for and why it matters. 

It has shaped our lives in profound ways, taking us across three continents and ultimately bringing us here to Botswana.

Our Peace Corps story first started when Kris proposed more than 20 years ago with applications in his hand. I was more excited about becoming a volunteer than any ring he could have presented. Adventure! What a perfect way to start a marriage. 

Since then, the Peace Corps has been woven into the fabric of our family.

Ben was quite literally born into the Peace Corps community in the Republic of Georgia, where Kris was the Director of Management and Operations.

It was in Georgia that I learned democracy is worth fighting for. That people around the world look to the United States for a playbook on building a free and fair society. And yet, as America retreats from that role, those who once looked to us for guidance are left searching for a new path.

I discovered that there’s no better relationship builder than sitting around a supra table piled high with Georgian delicacies, where the ‘tamada’, with unrivaled poetic mastery, weaves history, humor, and wisdom into every toast.

Mari and Ben after a walnut harvest at her family’s farm.

And I met my dear friend Mari, who grew up during the collapse of the Soviet Union. While I spent my childhood in Flint, Michigan, she navigated revolution, civil war, two Russian invasions, food shortages, and bread lines. They had one hour of electricity a day, but she said that despite the darkness, they still had hope.

The impact of service isn’t measured only in policies or statistics. It’s in the daily exchanges, the trust built over time, and the small moments that remind us what we share as human beings. 

I think back to the moments more than 24 years ago when we were volunteers in the Philippines. We worked alongside local communities to protect vital marine ecosystems and combat infectious diseases, helping establish some of the region’s first community-managed marine areas while supporting malaria prevention efforts that drastically reduced infection rates. Kris helped start a farmers market that is still in operation today.

We connected with government officials, and even met then-President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, who toured our projects and thanked us for our service.

More Than Power: The Values That Define Us

Our Philippine Family.

Ultimately, I see the Peace Corps as a reflection of a certain kind of America—one that does not seek to dominate but to understand, that measures its strength not only in weapons but in wisdom. We should be asking:

Do we want unity or division? 

Curiosity or judgement? 

Humility or arrogance? 

Empathy or indifference?

Generosity or greed?

I like to think that in each of these countries, we left something behind—not just skills or projects, but a recognition that we have more in common than we do differences. 

We also took something with us—lessons in resilience, kindness, and the deep bonds that form when people choose to see one another.

Despite what they see of America in the news, I hope the people we met have a different reference point for the values our country stands for. And I hope the Peace Corps continues to build those connections in places and ways we may never fully see.

Because, like it or not, we are all connected now.

The Cost of Forgetting Who We Are

Ben and his buddy Nono in Gaborone, Botswana.

Here in Botswana, we’ve learned a lot about what it means to recognize one another. The most common greeting—Dumela—is more than a hello. It’s an acknowledgment: I see you. To withhold a greeting, to pass someone by in silence, is to act as if they don’t exist.

Without the Peace Corps and other foreign affairs programs, that’s the message we will send to the world—that we no longer see them. That we have turned inward, stopped listening, and chosen withdrawal over engagement.

Thankfully, the work of recognizing each other, of showing up, doesn’t belong to one institution alone. It’s a choice we make every day—in the way we engage with the world, in how we listen, what we say, and in what we choose to stand for. 

Do we approach the world with humility or arrogance? With curiosity or judgment? With generosity or indifference?

Which side of these values do we want to stand on?